He holds out the envelope. "Dr. Red Mercer?"
"Yes."
"This is for you."
I grab it. Before I can say "thank you," he turns and hurries toward the elevator.
I close the door and lock it, then put the knife on the side table. The envelope is thick and rigid, the kind meant to hold its shape. My name is printed across the front in clean black type.
I carry it back to the table and stare at it with my heart pounding.
Stop being a pussy.
It's just a note.
Cautiously, I open it and pull out a single sheet. It's typed and has only four sentences.
Exit via the stairwell in five minutes.
Do not bring your phone.
Get into the SUV.
Shred this.
My pulse ticks higher. I glance at the clock, then read it again before psychoanalyzing Demi.
Five minutes is generous enough to signal confidence.
She knows I'm not scrambling.
She knows I'll be ready.
A quiet exhale leaves my chest. I glance at the clock on the wall.
Four minutes and change.
I pick up my phone and stare at my reflection on the screen, then put it down. I slide my wallet into my pocket and take the paper to my office. I stick it in the shredder and watch it get eaten into tiny pieces.
This is insane.
What have I gotten myself into?
I shouldn't go.
Demi's my only link to Blue right now.
I return to the kitchen, grip my keys, and wait another two minutes. Then I lock my front door and head toward the stairwell. I descend two steps at a time until I get to the bottom.
My heart thumps hard against my chest cavity. I push my shoulder into the door, and the lock releases.
Sunlight, and a black SUV that's parked so close to the exit I can barely open the door, fills my vision. I hesitate for a second.
The passenger window slides down. A man’s gruff voice orders, "Get in the back." He rolls the window up.
My throat turns dry. I ease my grip from the rail and step down, shoulders brushing brick as I squeeze between the building and theSUV, opening the door. Leather and recycled air rush out at me. I duck inside and pull the door shut.
The lock snaps into place, and the SUV surges forward before I've fully settled. Momentum presses me into the cold, plush leather. My hands brace against the cushion, then curl into my thighs when the street blurs past the tinted glass. I draw in a breath through my nose, then another, slower this time. Words scrape their way out. "Where are we going?"
