War(54)

I needed to move quickly.

But where to?

The police were completely out. I didn’t know if they were looking for me, considered me a suspect. Even if they welcomed me with open arms, by the time I explained what happened, he would probably be long gone.

I wouldn’t dream of going back to that godforsaken place where Priest had gone before.

So where…?

The Simpson Building.

He’d said he was going to the Simpson Building. I could go there. Maybe find someone, someone who could help him.

The highway was up ahead. I pointed the car toward it and then, driving as fast and recklessly as I dared risk, I made my way back to the city.









Milan



The city still slept, but it was starting to come awake when I stopped and parked about a block away from my destination. Knowing my luck, I’d get towed, but at this point, I was more than willing to take the risk.

I had no other options, and something, that same instinct that had told me I could trust him, now told me I would find help here. Wishful thinking, perhaps, but I would grasp onto any chance to save him.

Moving quickly but cautiously, I made my way toward the Simpson Building, looking up at the dilapidated skyscraper. It had been empty for years, its namesake lost to bankruptcy, and the neglect was apparent in its shabby facade, the air of neglect around it setting it apart from the other, more vibrant buildings on the block that were starting to light up in preparation for the people that would fill their halls. I hardly ever came downtown, but I knew the patterns well enough, and knew that soon the streets would be clogged with traffic, making travel that much harder, taking precious seconds away from him, seconds I knew he couldn’t spare.

I stayed back, watched the empty building for any signs of life. There were none. The place was silent, empty, like a tomb.

Or a place that was made to look like a tomb.

I laughed, wondering what Priest would think of my newfound detective skills. Then I sobered when I remembered that if I didn’t come through for him, he wouldn’t think anything about anything ever again. My chest ached with the pain of that thought, but I stood up straighter, iron in my spine, my conviction now stronger than ever.

I wouldn’t fail him.

All traces of humor gone, I rushed toward the building and pulled at the door, not at all surprised when it didn’t open.

The building was situated on a corner, so I walked alongside it, looking up before focusing on the side door.

It was also closed tight, but still I pulled at it and then looked up at the weathered marble on the side of the building, searching for something.

There was nothing.

Frustration was rising as I wandered back to the front of the building, my heart beginning to pound. I stopped at the main door, at a loss for what to do. I stared up again at the still-foreboding building facade.

Then I caught it from the corner of my eye. A small flash. I stared at that spot again waited, seconds passing, watched so long that I was almost convinced myself I hadn’t seen it, that maybe I had imagined it.

But as I watched, I saw it again.

A camera.

It was a camera.

And if there was a camera, there would be someone to watch it.

I stepped closer to the door, kept my eyes on the spot where I’d seen the flash, and then begin waving frantically, jumping up and down.

Nothing.

I changed tactics and closed my palms together, silently imploring, begging.

I glanced away for a moment and stared at the door, then looked around the corner, waiting for something.

But again, there was nothing.

My heart sank, and I quickly tried to think of another way to get whoever was in there—and I knew there was someone—to come out.

Maybe if I banged on the door.

I took two steps toward it and then paused in my tracks, the pressure of the object at the back of my head warning me to stay still, though everything inside me insisted I run.

Those next excruciating seconds passed slowly, fear making it a struggle to stay still when I wanted to run, the silence from the person behind me, one I hadn’t yet seen, only intensifying that fear.

But Priest needed me, and that knowledge gave me the courage to speak around the fear. “Can you—”

“Shut up.” The voice that came out was calm, icy, and far more terrifying than any of the other terrifying voices I’d heard in these last days.

“Step backward, slowly, no sudden moves,” the man said.

I went to comply, lifted my foot, and then froze again at the sound of a second voice, this one feminine, warm, and most surprising of all, friendly.

“Adrian, that’s no way to treat a visitor.”

The pressure at the back of my head was gone in the next second, and my lungs began to reinflate.

I stayed still, though, waited and listened to the click of heels against the concrete that was getting closer. When the woman stood in front of me, I looked down into a pair of friendly brown eyes.