“Ineedtodoanother interview.”
“Fuck no! Get your bag. We’re moving.”
“Lucy.” He grabs my hand, but I shake it off.
“No! You’re listening to me now. You pick up that bag, we are moving. Now. Whatever you want to do, whatever interview or social media account you want to check can wait until we get to the safehouse. This is non-negotiable. Are you hearing me?”
Owen, for once in his life, doesn’t say anything. He takes in my small frame, my face contorted in anger, and looks at my finger pointing at his chest as he nods.
And just like that, we are back to bickering.
“What? No smart response?”
“Remember the saying that Maria used to say?If you have nothing constructive to say, keep your mouth shut.”
“Well, look at that folks, he’s learning.”
He turns around and picks up his bag, throwing it over his shoulder. His last night’s tuxedo still hugs his body.
The phone buzzes from my pocket, and Andrews’ name flashes.
Extraction four minutes.
“Come on.”
“Hang on,” he says, walking to the kitchen counter and grabbing a manila envelope out of one of the drawers.
I wait by the door and peek my head round, scouting the corridor, checking it‘s empty.
“Why has no one been intrigued by the gunshot?” he asks, one step behind me.
“Because people would rather bury their heads in the sand. The local community page on Facebook will have lots of comments I’m sure.”
“Sad, isn’t it? How we all hide behind our keyboards—”
“Sad isn’t the word I’d use. Come on, this way.”
I lead the way, past the doors to the stairs, and begin our ascent to the roof in silence, except for the sound of our breathing as we move quickly up the ten flights. My heart beats rapidly, adrenaline still pumping through my body like a drug.
I glance at my watch and see that we are running behind. Picking up the pace, I start to jog. He’s barely cracked a sweat. I knew he stayed in shape but was expecting him to be heaving by the time we arrived at the black fire door that opens to the roof.
I rest my ear against it, the metal cold on my cheek, and listen intently.
“Is that a helicopter?” Owen asks, the mechanical hum of the propellers coming through the thick fire door.
“Yup. Get ready to move.” He nods.
I open the door and see a small passenger helicopter hovering on the roof. The side door opens, and I’m surprised to see Andrews himself waiting. His body leaning out, his hand extended towards us.
Sensing my hesitation, Owen nudges me gently when I come to a halt.
“We good?”
“Yeah sorry. Go ahead.”
He takes the lead, taking Andrews’ hand and pulling himself into the cab. I follow. We fall into our seats as Andrews closes the door, and signals the pilot to move out.
He passes us two headsets and waits for us to put them on.
