Page 38 of Lethal Vengeance
“Would you mind some company? I run in the mornings… Although not usually quite this early,” I state wryly, silently groaning at the time. But you do what you must when you want to spend a few minutes with an interesting woman.
She taps her phone. “I’ll give you five minutes.”
Throwing the covers off, I stand and stretch the kinks out. Sleeping on the ground is brutal. It’s one thing to do it for the British Army, but quite another for a woman.
When I look at Quinn, her eyes are fixed on the morning wood that’s tenting my jogging bottoms.
“Ahem,” I politely clear my throat, praying silently to the supreme being above as she slowly drags her eyes up to mine. “How about ten minutes?” Even harder now than when I awoke, the extra minutes are necessary.
“Sure,” she replies, her voice strained. “I need some water.” She scrambles to her feet and walks over to the kitchen.
The view of her from behind in those form fitting leggings almost puts me on the ground. I dart a glance at the other three, who are wide awake and watching the whole thing, an amused expressions on their faces.
“Oh, sod off, will you,” I say irritably, striding across the room to the shower.
Eleven minutes later, I walk out to find Quinn gone.
Zane taps on his watch. “One minute late.”
Cruz smirks. “She said to tell you she’s heading east, if you want to join her.”
I bring up a mental map of the area to find the best place to intersect her and take off running.
Four minutes later, I exit the alley right after she passes. My eyes automatically drop to take in the incredible view, but it’s not the sight I most want to see. Pushing forward, I come up alongside her.
She pulls out her earbud. “Took you long enough. I usually run five to six miles each morning. Are you up for it?”
It was dim in the loft this morning, so I wasn’t able to get a really good look at her, but now I can clearly see the toll of last night’s events. There are dark circles under her eyes, and a world of thinking behind them.
My body settles into its stride, ready to take on a few miles, and I nod. “Sounds good.”
Running clears the clutter from my mind. The best ideas and solutions come when my feet are pounding the pavement and my mind is free to wander. It’s my favorite part of running.
About a mile in, an idea hits me. I glance at her face. It’s still drawn, her thoughts weighing her down, and I can’t stand it.
God, I hope this works or I’m going to look like a bloody fool.
“Tag, you’re it,” I tap her on the shoulder and take off. When I look back, her mouth is wide open in astonishment. I laugh and lift my hands, egging her on.
She shakes her head at my antics, but a second later, her eyes narrow and a look of determination settles on her face. I’m about a half a block ahead when she disappears down an alley.
The map in mind tells me there are four possible routes she could take and more than a two dozen exits. Game on.
For the first exit, I keep people between me and the cross street. When nothing happens, I decide to take a stealthier approach at the next intersect point. Entering a shop, I exit out the back into the alley, hoping to catch her off guard, but she’s not there.
The third option is a huge intersection. The light is red, and a dozen people are waiting to cross. I jog in place beside them. It’s almost impossible to keep track of all the people here. I smile. This is the place I’d choose. My eyes dart from face to face, up and down the block, but I don’t see her. Unable to relax, I run across the street the second the light changes. There’s still no sign of her.
A peddler on the street hands me a flyer. Not willing to throw it on the street, I look for the nearest rubbish bin and spot one almost three doors down by the chemist. Jogging toward it, I start to slide the flyer into the trash when I see the bright red letters:Tag, You’re It!
I stop. My head swivels back to the peddler on the corner. The old man is looking directly at me and laughing.
Playing dirty, huh? I pull out my phone and find the app I’m using to track everyone’s phone. I assigned each person their own color. The green dot tells me she’s about a mile ahead and to the right. With a burst of speed, I take off, phone in hand, tracking her down.
Twenty yards, I’m close. My eyes bounce from one dark-haired woman to the next. A swinging ponytail catches my eye. Laughing silently, I slide up from behind and tap her on the shoulder.
“Tag! You’re it!”
But the woman who turns around isn’t Quinn. Confused, I look down at the app on my phone. The green dot is right here.
