Page 59 of Something like Redemption

“You can do this,” he affirms, in tune with the fact that I’m nearly having a mental breakdown.

Quinn extends his hand, indicating he’s ready for Lucky.

Nodding, I pick Lucky up and carefully pass him to Quinn, who tucks him securely under one arm. Lucky whines, and Quinn coos him as he takes his first small sidestep, scaling across the thin ledge to the platform with a rickety old fire escape leading to the roof. My heart hammers against my chest as I watch him holding the rail with one hand and Lucky in the other. I can’t watch, but I also can’t turn away until I know my two boys are safe.

This is the stuff you see in movies, where trained stuntmen and safety cables are involved. Sadly, we have neither.

Only when Quinn is close to the platform do I take a deep breath and step over the rail, just like Quinn instructed. Everything inside me shrinks in fear. I’m not a fan of heights, especially death-inducing heights. I don’t know why, but I feel safer doing this with my eyes closed, which is certainly not recommended by anyone, I’m sure. But I can’t do this with my eyes open because the less I see, the better.

I mentally count each step, and counting to twenty has never taken so long. My hands have a death grip on the rail, and I try my best to step as quickly as possible without slipping, trying to think of anything other than the fact I’m eighteen stories up in the air.

Mercifully, Quinn’s hand grabs my wrist, and I open my eyes as he helps me over the rail and onto the platform, which shakes violently in the cruel wind.

“Watch your step,” he says, looking up. “I’ll be behind you, Red. I won’t let you fall.”

I know he means that in every possible way, and I nod, taking a deep breath as I hold the banister and take my first step.

True to his words, Quinn is only one step behind me, and when I step through a stair, nearly falling straight through, Quinn grabs me from behind to steady me. Thankfully, the rest of the climb is less eventful, and we make it up in one piece.

Quinn grabs my hand the moment we make it to the roof, about twenty-two stories up, and pulls me toward the door. I let out a breath as it opens, and we bolt down the stairs, two at a time.

The only sound is our feet pounding frantically on the steps and our labored breaths bouncing off the concrete walls. As I see the numbers on the walls decreasing as we descend, floor by floor, I tell my burning muscles it’s only a little farther, and then this will all be over.

Finally, we get to the ground floor in a matter ofminutes, both panting and puffing, but running on pure adrenaline.

Quinn opens the door cautiously, looking out through a sliver, and after a few seconds, he motions with his head that the coast is clear. We both walk out quickly, not wanting to draw too much attention to ourselves, as patrons already look at us strangely, probably appalled by our disheveled state.

Both our boots pound on the marbled floor, and as the front door slips into view, I breathe out a premature sigh of relief because a policeman steps out of nowhere and blocks the exit while talking into his walkie-talkie. Quinn reaches for me and pulls me behind a wall, shielding me with his body.

“What are we going to do now?” I ask into his chest, panting loudly as his heart pounds against my cheek.

Quinn doesn’t reply. He only peeks out from behind the wall, spying on the officer.He pulls back in, cursing under his breath.

“This is my fault. I’m so sorry. I didn’t think the police would be onto us so soon.”

Pulling out of his embrace, I raise my eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

But he only shakes his head and peeks back out to see if our exit is still blocked.

My heart races, and my stomach churns. This is it. This is really it. But I’ll be damned if Quinn goes down with me. I try to shrug out of his hold, but his arms tighten around me.

“Don’t even think about it,” he snarls, understanding my plan to give myself up.

“It’s the only—”

But Quinn pulls me out into the foyer before I have a chance to finish my sentence.

We head toward the door that is no longer manned, and I shrink into my hair as I can see two police officers by reception, talking to Janet, who has her hand pressed to her chest. A look of pure horror is plastered all over her painted face, no doubt realizing that she was flirting with a fugitive.

We’re almost at the exit when the concierge steps forward, opening the door for us, his back toward the police, blocking us from their view.

“Go to 300 Labouri Street. Tell Jason I sent you and that you’re Quinn.”

Quinn sighs, touching the concierge on the arm. “Thanks, Rodney.”

Rodney?How does Quinn know his name? Before I have time to question him, I’m getting yanked outside, and we’re running down the street, our boots thumping on the pavement.

I’m gripping Quinn’s hand like it is my lifeline because I’m afraid to let it go. But I’m not afraid for me. I’m afraid for him. What if he gets hurt because of me?My stomach roils with the thought, and I think I’m going to be sick.

---