Page 105 of A Breath of Life
In the vast lobby, I slowed to a fast walk, not wanting to draw attention. I aimed for a different wing, one that would bring me to my destination. The entire time, I noted faces and reactions, studying both the conspicuous and the inconspicuous. It was impossible to tell if I had been spotted or was being followed. The lobby bustled with thick crowds at that time of day, and my anxious brain couldn’tdecipher the good people from the bad. Everyone looked like a villain and innocent at the same time.
I weaved through groups of men and women, apologizing as I went, offering smiles I didn’t feel, and shying away from anyone who looked at me for longer than a heartbeat.
“I’m here,” Costa announced as I barreled through a set of restricted doors someone had just exited and into a long hallway. His voice in my ear startled me. In my flight and with roaring panic as a companion, I had forgotten he was on the other end of the line.
“I’m coming.”
The door behind me slammed, and I was greeted with more offices and an empty hall. It was an administrative section of the building I wasn’t familiar with. I ran, knowing only that I needed to get to the rear as fast as possible. Prisoner transport doors. I had a vague idea of where to go.
A second later, a gravelly-voiced man shouted for me to stop. I glanced back to find I’d been followed by a courthouse security guard. “Sir, you can’t be down here,” he yelled. “Authorized personnel only.”
“I have a meeting with someone,” I yelled back.
“What?” Costa asked.
“Nothing. I’m almost there.” I picked up my pace when the slap of shoes on tiles sounded from behind me. I didn’t have to look to know the guard was on my heels.
“Shit.”
“Are you being followed?” Costa asked.
“By a security guard, yes. By a creepy fucking syndicate member? No idea. I didn’t stop to take notes or ask questions. Fuck, I hate running.” My lungs burned. Twice, I nearly wiped out when my shoes slid on the polished floor. I came to a juncture and hesitated, unsure which way to go. With no time to decide properly, I swung left.
“I thought you wanted to be a cop at one time. You know that includes some element of cardio, right?”
“Fuck off, Costa. I don’t need your anecdotal report on my fitness level right now. I’m being chased, and this place is a fucking maze with no way out.”
I wound another corner at random, and an exit appeared a dozen or so meters ahead. The security guard was hot on my tail and closing in. His shouts echoed against the walls, demanding I stop.
“I’m… almost outside. Not sure if it’s the right door… Fuck me… Be prepared… to fly,” I warned, barely gasping the words out.
Costa cursed as I shouldered out of an emergency exit and into an alley. I half expected an alarm to sound. For a moment, I couldn’t see Costa’s car and thought I was in the wrong place. The beep of his horn jolted me, and I found him parked twenty yards away behind a white transport van near a different set of doors.
“Fuck me.” I ran toward him and dove into the passenger seat as the guard burst outside.
“Drive. Go, go, go!”
He hit the gas, peeling away from the curb as the security guard shouted something I couldn’t make out. In the side mirror, I watched the man tug a radio off his belt and speak into it. Heart thundering, lungs wheezing, I buckled up and was about to say something to my cousin when a figure standing at a different rear exit caught my attention.
The man spoke into a cell phone but didn’t seem to notice us. He wore a black suit and tie and might have blended with every other guy in the vicinity of a courthouse, except that I recognized him.
“Shit.” I spun, watching the man as Costa flew past. It was him all right. Mr. Hi Glitter Converse cleaned up nicely. Had I not spent the previous day keeping such a close eye on him, I might not have noticedat all. Spiffed out in a suit and polished dress shoes, he appeared ten years older and far more threatening.
At the security guard’s shouts, the man’s attention shifted. Registering the officer’s alarm and swiftly finding its source, the man noticed our fast-fleeing vehicle. Whether he had enough time to take note of the car’s occupants or license plate, I didn’t know.
By the time we rounded the corner and were out of sight, I wanted to throw up. Perhaps I’d gotten away unseen—at least from the people who mattered—perhaps I hadn’t. I banked on the former since processing the latter conjured scenarios I didn’t like.
Costa took us onto the main road and drove without speaking for a long time while I caught my breath. His white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel spoke volumes. I had disconnected our call once we were together, but I stared at my phone, at Diem’s contact number, debating if I should call him, alert him, or at least see if he was okay.
“Don’t.” Costa’s warning burrowed into my scrambled brain. “Not yet.”
“Why?” I knew why. If they had Diem, they had his phone. If they had his phone, they might be able to track my call and determine my location. I’d lost them—hopefully—for now.
“Shut it off.”
“My phone?”
“Yes. Until I can look at it.”
