Page 83 of Don't Game Me
Becca backed up until the wall stopped her. Someone should do something for Lisi. Why wasn’t anyone moving?
Quan’s face remained devoid of expression. He didn’t move to help.
Smithson brushed Becca out of his way. He felt Lisi’s neck. “Call an ambulance. Still has a pulse.” He paused. “Shit, I can’t feel it anymore. How the hell did she get poison?”
“I’m dialing.” Quan whipped out his phone. “No signal. Becca, will you please step outside?” He picked up the phone on the wall but didn’t immediately dial. Instead, he glanced back at Lisi as if waiting for something. Her body tensed with one final gasp, and then she fell lifeless again. Quan shook his head as if coming out of a daze and dialed.
Becca stepped out and retraced her steps out of the building without another word to Quan. The entire exchange spooked her. Something non-kosher just went down.
Was Quan on the other side? Against them?
No. He’d helped them out more than once in this investigation against Symphis. He’d saved Tori’s life, and arguably Becca’s as well. Tori had known him for years on the Dynasty gaming team, and she trusted him, which was good enough for Becca.
Her mind couldn’t function clear enough to sort through.
She rounded out of the building and jaywalked across six lanes of traffic to the coffeehouse across the street. Seconds later, Quan and Smithson exited the NSA building, searching. For her?
They might be waiting for the ambulance. No sirens screeched nearby.
Her knees buckled. She slid to a sit into a stiff, wooden chair, trembling.
Help. Needed help.
The burner phone Quan had given her was her only method of communication. Crap. Quan or someone else from the NSA could track her with it. She excavated the cell phone from her pocket and dumped it into the trashcan.
A dash through to the kitchen at the back of the restaurant and out the back door amid several protesting workers landed her in an alley. She ran. And ran. For as long as she could until her lungs burned and the dizziness in her head was so bad the world blurred. She’d woven a random pattern until she recognized her location close to Grand Central Station. She could get a new phone there. She still had a bit of cash left over from her time of being off the grid, which surprisingly made it through hospitalization without disappearing.
She slowed to a walk to fit in with the crush of people inside the station.
Her “bad feeling” could be sedative-induced paranoia. Quan had never given any indication to be anything other than an ally in the quest to find Symphis. Maybe it was the other guy, Smithson, who’d given her the willies.
Once she’d purchased a pay-as-you-go phone from a vendor, her fingers dialed without her even thinking.
Jake answered on the second ring.
He actually answered.Thank God.
“I don’t know what to do, Jake. I’m scared,” she rushed out.
“What’s wrong? Why aren’t you in the hospital? This sedative is a motherfucker.” The low tone of his voice soothed her. She heard Noah talking in the background.
“I’m sorry. This is probably all my imagination or psychosis from the drug, but I freaked, and now I’m here. I’m not sure what to do or where to go.”
“Slow down. Where are you?”
“Quan invited me to confront her. Lisi. He’d arranged an interview at the NSA headquarters, but it was off the record and had to happen now because she’s getting moved to Virginia later today. When I got there, it wasn’t what I expected, and then she killed herself with some sort of poison right in front of me. Or maybe someone else killed her. She had a seizure and passed out but looked pretty dead. I got a bad feeling, freaked out, and ran. What should I do?”
“Are you somewhere safe?” His tone came out tight.
“Yeah…I don’t know. Sorry. Not sure why I’m crying, but I feel overwhelmed and confused. Probably because of the drug.” She wiped her nose and rubbed her eyes while trying to breathe through the hiccup sobs. “I don’t know who to trust. I can’t imagine Quan intended anything bad and only wanted to help, but something wasn’t right. Maybe it was the other agent who did something. I don’t know what to do. Do I try to go talk to Quan, or go home? But which home?”
“First, I need you to get somewhere safe. I’ll come and get you. Then we can figure out what’s going on. Where are you?”
“Grand Central. Now that I’m saying all this out loud, I think I overreacted. This has to be me making this up in my head.”
“Get on the Green Line headed toward Union Square. Get off at Union Square. Go to the Flatiron Building. It’s a gate guarded office building so once inside you can’t go up unless you have permission. I’ve got a friend who works on the third floor that’ll make sure you get in. He’s an investment broker named Heath Evans. Dark hair, about five-eleven, and wears black rimmed glasses that make him look like Clark Kent. I’ll see if he can meet you in the lobby. If you don’t see him, ask the attendant for him. Stay in Heath’s office until I get there.”
“I could go to NJ Legacy.”
