Now she had anewset of problems.
The exit was one of those fireproof doors with the horizontal bar across the center that acted as the locking mechanism. There was no way she’d be able to press that bar without it making at least alittlenoise. Also, it was very possible the stairwell doors came equipped with alarms.
Only one way to find out.
Grimacing, she gently pushed on the bar, and then blinked when the door cracked open without a sound.
Thank you, Lady Luck!she silently crowed as she slipped through the crack and quickly shut the door behind her.
The stairwell was indistinguishable from any other. Concrete steps. Metal railing Unflattering florescent lights. The stale air smelled faintly of cigarette smoke—someone snuck in on their break to indulge their nicotine habit.
Wrapping the blanket securely around her shoulders, she wasted no time beginning her descent. If she’d thought the tile in the hallways was cold, it was nothing compared to the painted concrete steps. Her bare feet stung as she raced down, down, down one floor. Then another.
Since she wasn’t sharing a hallway with Agent Mulder, she didn’t attempt to quiet her breathing. It sawed from her lungs, dry and raw-sounding. And every time she hit a landing, she expected to see agents waiting on the stairway below, weapons drawn. With every step closer to the exit, she expected to hear a door open above her and the sound of jackboots giving chase.
Not that FBI agents wear jackboots. More like oxfords or wingtips, but—
Her thoughts skidded to a halt at the same time her feet did.
She’d made it to the ground floor.
Holy flying shitstains!
She hadn’t really expected to get that far.
The door to the outside was no different than the door to the stairwell. And when she pushed it open, the bitter winter air stole her breath. It was the kind of cold only people from the Midwest—or maybe Siberia—could appreciate.
She nearly slunk back inside the vestibule. Standing trial was surely less awful than stepping out into the frigid February night.
Then she saw the figure parked on the access road just beyond the fence. A darker shadow among the dark shadows of the trees lining the roadway.
She might’ve thought she was imagining things—thought her desperate mind was conjuring up a hallucination—except for a nearby streetlight glinted off the chrome of the motorcycle’s exhaust pipe. And there was only one place in the whole country that built bikes like that.
Black Knights Inc.
Sam!Her heart screamed.
9
Sam flipped up the visor on his helmet when one of the two rear exits on the FBI building opened.
He’d parked beneath the trees outside the fence, which meant he was a good sixty yards from the building itself. But floodlights glared from the rooftop, turning the empty, paved expanse between him and FBI headquarters as bright as day, and spotlighting the moment Hannah appeared on the threshold.
Despite the distance, there was no mistaking her pale, heart-shaped face. And she was the only person on the planet with hair that was every shade of purple under the sun.
Why is she wrapped in a blanket?he wondered. Before he could answer that question, an even more alarming one blasted through his head.Holy fucknuts! Is she barefoot?
Bastards!He railed against the agents who hadn’t thought to let her put on shoes before whisking her away into the night.
Just as with any other body of law enforcement, the Federal Bureau of Investigations attracted results-oriented types. Meaning sometimes FBI agents were so eager toget their man, or in this casetheir woman, they overlooked compassion and basic human decency.
Bastards, he thought again.
Cesar hadn’t mentioned anything about what she’d been wearing—ornotwearing—when the FBI had taken her. If he had, Sam would’ve come prepared with…well, not with a car. No one at BKI drove four wheels except for Becky, and the only reasonshedid was because she needed room for two car seats. Everyone else was the proud owner of one of her fantastical creations.
Tooling around town on a quarter-ton of polished steel and sex appeal wasn’t just fun as shit, it was also a way for them to be rolling advertisements for the business. And when the weather got inclement? They did as every other city dweller did and took the train, hailed a cab, or called an Uber.
Of course, a taxi or an Uber was out of the question when it came to a prison break. And the nearest train stop was six blocks away. Which meant Pale Horse had been his only option.
