Page 224 of Quinlan

I take one toward the hallway.

“Ms. Palmer, please,” he says, though it’s obvious that his attention is split between me and the kitchen.

That’s all I need to pull the door and close it in his face. I break into a sprint and mash the button for the elevator. Again and again and again.

“Come on.” I bounce on the balls of my feet, summoning the elevator to get here faster.

“Ms. Palmer.” Ashton wrenches the door open, yelling behind me.

His footsteps echo in the hall. One, two, and then—

“Thank fuck.” The metal door slides open, and I rush inside. Push theclose doorbutton first, then mash the one that’d take me to the lobby.

Close already, I pray to the god of elevator doors.Please, just close and take me downstairs.

“Ms. Palmer.”

I scream when Ashton outstretches his arm.

He barely makes it before the door slides closed in his face. I hear him right before I start descending.

“We have a situation.” His voice reaches past the closed door. “Ms. Palmer is on her way down. She’ll be wearing—”

Just because I don’t hear the rest doesn’t mean I don’t have the information I need. Whoever’s occupying the front desk will look for a woman wearing a gray sweatshirt. That’s the first thing they’ll recognize when I step out to the lobby.

The sweatshirt has to go. I rip it off my body, fold it into a neat square, and hide it behind my back.

“I see someone,” a tall, blond man in a black suit speaks into a black walkie-talkie. He leaves his station, approaching me, his gait long. When he lifts his palm to me, he says, “Ms. Palmer, hold, please.”

“Me? Ms. Palmer?” Lying comes naturally to me today. It’s as natural as the anger and sense of mission inside me.

“I was told…” The man cuts his gaze to my black shirt. This isn’t the gray sweatshirt he’s supposed to be looking for. His eyes narrow when they snap back to mine.

“Maybe it’s the woman who got off on the fifth floor?” The soft sound of the elevator whooshing behind me means it’s going up. To Ashton, who could be back here at any moment. “Hair kind of like mine? Gray sweatshirt?”

The man’s thumb is punching the button on his walkie-talkie before I finish the sentence. “Fifth floor, Ashton.”

“On it.”

“I hope you find her.” I sidestep the bulky man, tucking the folded sweatshirt to my front. “Have a nice day.”

“You too, ma’am,” he says absently.

In a few long strides, I’m out in the street. A strange feeling creeps up my back. I sense a set of eyes on me, and my gut turns. My men aren’t here. When they stalk me, butterflies explode in my belly. I’m not nauseous like I am now.

Whoever this is, they’ll have to wait, if they’re even here at all. It could be the adrenaline making me imagine things.

I have to get to Rex.

My feet are the only mode of transportation available at the moment. Using the subway or hailing a cab isn’t an option when I don’t have a cent on me. I had my wallet app on my old phone. I don’t have anything on this one other than outgoing calls and texts to a few selected numbers.

I walk faster than I have in my entire life, blending into the crowd as best I can.

Rex will listen to me today, damn him. I’ll get all up in his face and confront him about being a monster.

As I’m eating up the distance toward Maeve’s, the world finally makes sense. The clouds have separated somehow. The skies are blue. Clear.

So is my head.

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