Page 154 of Exposé

Not for me.

Nate’s body jerked, the sickening crack of bone snapping echoing through the speakers. The assassin went limp, collapsing to the floor in a lifeless heap. A vibrating purr brushed against my ankles as the cat weaved around me, oblivious to the horror unfolding on the screen.

Standing over the body, Nate’s chest rose and fell with each ragged breath. Victory clung to him like a shadow, but his legs wavered. He stumbled back, bracing against the kitchen wall, one hand pressed to his bleeding side.

His fingers pulled away slick with crimson.

"Fuck." The word left his lips in a hoarse rasp, his head tipping back against the wall.

Through the speakers, the wail of an approaching siren pierced the tension, faint but closing in fast. Nate’s head snapped forward, his gaze darting around the room. He shoved off the wall, each movement labored and staggered toward the phone lying discarded on the floor.

Bending down, he picked it up, holding it in his hand as his shoulders stiffened. He didn’t move, didn’t dial. Just paused.

"What are you doing?" I hissed, leaning closer to the desk as though my voice could somehow reach him. "You need to get to a hospital."

His eyes lifted, cutting through the camera feed like a blade. For one heart-stopping moment, Nate's gaze stared right into mine.

"If you're watching this, you better fucking run, Ava."

My stomach bottomed out.

The air rushed from my lungs.

My vision spotted.

I glanced around the room and darted to the closet, throwing open the doors.

A black shirt with the words 'I'm here because you broke something' hung on the hanger at the end of the rod.

This is his place?

He knows I'm here.

I backed away, my heart in my throat, my airways constricting.

Taking one last look at the monitors, I gasped.

"Where did he go?"

Rushing for the door, I swung it open, and ran down the hall, leaving the door wide open. I took the steps two at a time, threw the keys on Martha's desk with a quick thank you, and bolted to my car before she could even look up from her program.

Where am I going to go?

I tore open the driver's door and sank inside, checking the back seat before starting the car, then peeled out of the dilapidated parking lot.

This is bad.

This is worse than Martin Keller's case.

Tears streamed down my face, my vision blurring as I gripped the wheel and merged onto the freeway, the car carrying me farther from the city with every mile.

Forty-five minutes later, the gaslight chimed. The needle hovered over 'E,' a silent warning that I couldn’t outrun everything.

Great.

Pulling off onto a small gas station, I dug through my pockets and purse, searching for a twenty. Something, anything to get some gas in and get further.

"Come on, come on. Where did it go?"

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