Page 8 of Off the Grid
She disappeared around the bend.
“McKenzie!”
Not even a pause.
Goddamn, she’s fast.
Leo kept his eyes glued on her platinum-blonde bun as he chased her across Eighty-Sixth Street and down a set of stairs to the underground subway platform. Clearly a native, McKenzie didn’t miss a beat as she scanned her MetroCard and slid through the turnstile, never glancing back. The screech of a slowing train echoed across the cavernous tunnel, loud enough to make Leo wince as he ran thigh-first into the locked turnstile, no card in hand. He cursed—at his luck and at the bruise he’d no doubt have later.
The first car slid into view.
McKenzie took a step forward.
Leo put his palm on top of the scanner, shifting his weight.Now or never.
He jumped, vaulting over the bars and onto the platform as the doors to the train rolled open. McKenzie followed the herd inside and turned, eyes widening in surprise as she made eye contact with him.
“Miss—”
“Not so fast,” a deep voice growled and a hand clamped around his forearm, jerking him painfully back. Cold steel circled his wrist, then cinched into place with a resounding clink. “I saw you jump.”
Now, this is a first.Leo sighed. He hadn’t seen the cop standing watch on the platform. His gaze had been too locked on the target, but it wasn’t his fault. He was used to working as a pair, and Nate usually handled the surroundings.
“Let me go. I’m a Fed.”
“Oh, like I haven’t heard that one before.”
“No.” Leo used his other hand to grab his badge and shoved it into the cop’s face indignantly.Three times in one day—that’s got to be a record or something.First the flight attendant. Then McKenzie. Now this.I’m never going out in casual clothes again. I’ll sleep in my damn suits if I have to.“I really am a Fed, and I have to get on that train.”
The cop’s jaw dropped and he let go.
Leo turned.
But it was too late. The doors slid closed. McKenzie lifted her palm, offering a small wave as the train lurched into motion and sped away.
- 4 -
McKenzie
The last thing McKenzie saw before the platform disappeared from sight was the fiery glare burning to life in the agent’s eyes. She dropped her hand with a sigh.
That wave might have been a mistake…
A spark of guilt flickered in her gut. The agent had seemed like a nice enough guy, and he was clearly trying to do what he believed was best. It wasn’t his fault he’d been misinformed. Jo and Addy—McKenzie’s Jo and Addy—were fine. She’d spoken to them this morning. No one was kidnapped last night. No one was a criminal. They’d been their normal bubbly and entertaining selves, discussing code browns and chocolate ganache without a lick of stress in sight. Even the cops made mistakes, and McKenzie knew that better than most. Any other day maybe she would’ve tried to explain her apprehension, but not today. Her schedule was too tight. There was no time to waste, especially not for a Fed.
At least, that was what she told herself. But as McKenzie continued to stare into the impenetrable black on the other side of the train window, a memory seeped through the cracks, oozing to the forefront of her thoughts—the real reason she’d simply had to get away. She could blame work as much as she wanted, and it was probably mostly true, but there was something lurking beneath all that ambition. The agent had no way of knowing what his sudden appearance at her front door would unlock, but the little bit of guilt she might have otherwise felt was quickly smothered by the weight of her past.
“McKenzie, honey, would you get that?” her mother called from the dining room, where she sat with two other ladies discussing their upcoming charity auction.
Her father was upstairs in his study, but McKenzie was by the front door, in the middle of untying her cleats. Her mother hated when she dragged mud through the house, so she always sat on the cold stone floor of the foyer the second she got back from soccer practice to tug them off. She stood, one foot bare and the other in a half-undone cleat, and yanked open the door.
Two men in suits stood on the other side, tall and imposing.
She’d never seen them before.
“Is your father home?” one asked. His voice was deep and kind, but overly so, with the subtle hint of suggestion. No one recognized fake in another person’s tone better than a middle school girl.
McKenzie crossed her arms. “Why?”
