Finally the elevator dings and she steps inside.
The doors close.
She’s gone.
And I’m standing there like an idiot, staring at the empty space where she was standing, wondering where she’s going dressed like that.
Twenty seconds pass.
Something snaps.
Before I can think it through, I’m racing out of my office. The elevators are occupied. I can see through the glass that both cars are heading down. By the time one comes back, she’ll be long gone. I whip past Piper in reception, and burst out the main entry doors.
I shove through the south emergency stairwell door.
The crash bar echoes through the concrete shaft as I start down. Twenty-eight floors. I take the stairs four at a time, my leather shoes slapping against the metal grating. My hand trails the railing for balance.
This is insane.
Iknowthis is insane.
But I don’t stop.
My breath comes harder as I pass floor twenty.Fifteen. Ten. My thighs are burning by the time I hit the parking garage level.
I burst through the exit door and spot Indira and Callahan by the Mercedes, running through pre-departure checks. They both look up, surprised.
I’m not supposed to be down here for another two hours.
“We’re leaving,” I say. My voice sounds rough. Unhinged. I’m gasping for breath.
Callahan’s expression doesn’t change at all. He’s professional to the fucking core. “Where to, sir?”
I don’t know. I look at Indira. “Just drive.”
Indira exchanges a glance with Callahan. The kind of look that saysthis is weirdandshould we be concerned?
But they don’t question me. They never do.
Which is probably part of the problem.
Too many yes men.
We’re pulling out of the garage in under thirty seconds. I scan the street through tinted windows, my heart pounding.
There.
A Black Uber pulls away from the loading zone. Bree’s profile is visible through the rear window.
“That car,” I say. “Follow it. Stay back.”
Another exchanged look. Callahan’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. But Indira pulls into traffic three cars behind.
The Uber heads downtown. Through Midtown. Past Union Square. The evening traffic crawls and I’m grateful for it because every stop light gives me a chance to catch my breath and ask myself what the hell I’m doing.
Following my secretary.
Likea stalker.
