The desk feels like it’s ten miles away, not ten feet. My hands shake, and I almost drop the memory card. Then insert it upside down. “Shit.”
By the time I finish making copies of the files I need, my heartbeat roars in my ears loud enough to drown out the vacuum. Or maybe Bettina had to move further down the hall? How long has it been? A quick glance at the clock on the screen sends panic flooding through my limbs. Brix is almost done with his workout. I have to go. Right now.
Stripping out of my sweater, I tug at my bra. The tiny hole I made in the lining of the cup is just big enough to hide the small piece of plastic. If I can’t get to the garage, if the Lexus keys aren’t there, if anyone sees me…maybe I’ll be able to keep the card a secret until I find another chance to run.
Another chance? Simon would never let you out of his sight again. If he even let you live.
By the time I crack open the office door, my inner voice catches up with reality.
He won’t kill you. He can’t. He needs you to hide his money. He’ll just hurt you over and over again until you stop fighting. Until you’re so broken, there won’t be anything left.
The hallway is empty, the house utterly silent. No one will question the soft tapping of my boots on the travertine floors, but I’m so tense, each step sounds like a gunshot to my ears.
At the door to the courtyard, I stop and check all around me. Adrenaline tightens my chest, and sweat dampens my palms. Go. Right now. Before anyone sees you.
I’m going to make it. My fingers curl around the garage door handle, but before it opens more than a crack, a rough hand grabs my arm. I’m yanked back—so hard I stumble. My ass hits the ground. All the air leaves my lungs.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Brix glares down at me, a snarl twisting his lips. “You’re not allowed in there.”
I can’t talk. Can’t breathe. Can’t move. Until Bettina bursts through the French doors into the courtyard.
No.
“You leave Miss Hope alone!” she screams. Brix whirls. Just slow enough for Bettina to jump onto his back. Her good arm winds around his neck, and she holds on tight. Shit. Move, Hope. Move!
Breath rushes back into my body with a strained whoosh. Pushing to my feet, I lunge for the garage door. Seconds away, Brix pulls out a switchblade. It sinks into Bettina’s forearm, and she crumples to the ground with a whimper.
“Run!” she cries. Lunging, she grabs Brix by the ankles. He grunts, trying to shake her off. One punch. Two. Blood streams from her mouth. Still she holds on.
I’m frozen. Help Bettina? Or escape? I can’t let her risk her life for nothing. She whimpers what might be the word “go.”
I spin on my heel, but my indecision costs me. Pain slices through my left arm, hot and sharp. A heavy weight slams into my back. Down again, my knees crack against the flagstones. Another burning strike, this one to my thigh.
I kick with all my strength, and bone crunches under my boot. Brix roars. The weight lifts. Blood streams from his mangled nose. The knife is just out of his reach. I lunge for it, my fingers closing around the metal seconds before he realizes what I’m doing.
I can’t fight him. He’s too big. Too strong. Even with the blade, I’ll lose.
Chucking it at his face, I turn and sprint for the garage.
“Bitch! Get back here!”
I slam and lock the door seconds before he reaches it. My gaze sweeps around the huge building. Simon collects cars like he collects brothels, and I have my choice of four different vehicles. The Lexus SUV is closest and, thank God, the keys are inside.
Brix’s words are too muffled for me to hear as I start the car and jab the remote for the large rolling door, then the find the button for the gate in the perimeter wall. I made it this far. If I can make it out of town…if I’m fast enough…if I can get to the highway… Maybe I’ll live long enough to make it to Seattle.
Five hours later, I pull into a gas station. Thank God I chose a dark red sweater this morning. No one can see the blood staining my sleeve. Or my black slacks.
I don’t have a phone. Or a purse. Or any possessions. Just the five hundred dollars in the center console. The attendant gives me a sideways glance when I slide four twenties across the counter. “Pump Six, please.”
If I thought I had time, I’d load up on first aid supplies and treat the deep gashes to my bicep and thigh. But when I crossed into Idaho, I realized how stupid I was. The Lexus has GPS. Brix can track me. So I hand over another twenty for a couple of candy bars, a bottle of water, and a Welcome to Idaho t-shirt and try to hide my limp as I return to the pump.
I tear the t-shirt into strips while I fill the tank, then tie one around my arm and the other around my leg when I’m back on the road. Dangerous at seventy miles per hour, but so is bleeding to death.
Ahead of me, dark, ominous clouds fill the horizon. Eight more hours. Give or take. I should have bought a coffee. Or three. Flooring it up a hill, I pray I’m fast enough—or lucky enough—to still breathe free air tomorrow.
The day is losing its battle against the darkness, and the storm isn’t helping. Flurries started an hour ago. Another thirty minutes, and I’ll be over the pass. Or trapped in a blizzard.
My heart skips a beat—or three—when the passenger-side wheels leave the road.
