“You’re an angel from heaven. You came to protect me,” the little girl said.
Britt stammered. “An … angel?”
“You look like my mommy,” the little girl said confidently. “She’s in heaven.”
Her heart broke for the child, seeing someone who reminded her of the mother she’d loved and lost. Britt pulled the girl into her arms. She smelled of strawberries, everything sweet,innocent, pure, and perfect. She closed her eyes, not wanting to let the child go … wishing she could hold her forever and keep her safe.
Terror-laden screams erupted from the other side of the hedges. The trampled sound of children scrambling in fear as chaperons called out for them, beckoning them to safety.
Pulling back, Britt blinked away the tears as she lifted the little girl and placed her on the slide. “Go on, climb up as far as you can. Don’t come out until you hear the police, okay?”
The little girl nodded, her awe-struck gaze replaced with panicked worry. Britt maneuvered as much as she could in the tight space, shoving the little girl further into the slide and hiding her out of sight.
“Get down. He has a knife!”
“Someone call 9-1-1!”
Britt stumbled back from the slide. Satisfied that the girl couldn’t be seen, she grabbed the red rubber ball when the man emerged at the entrance to the play area. He was breathing hard, knife in his hand. His dark, cold eyes scanned the space, then landed on her … and the look of recognition reflected there sent ice flooding through her veins.
Chapter 10
“Who are you?” Britt demanded.
“Doesn’t matter who I am,” the man snarled. “What matters is who you are.”
He lunged for her.
Britt hurled the ball at him. The rubber ball connected with his chin. Britt rammed her shoulder into his chest, sending them both stumbling. Her advantage lasted seconds, but it was enough.
She bolted from the playground enclave, taking a sharp turn from the park and heading to a dense cluster of buildings separated by narrow alleyways.
The man recovered, his boots pounding the centuries-old cobblestones behind her. Each impact echoed off the pastel colonial buildings, multiplying until it seemed an army pursued her. A flash of steel caught the afternoon sun, reflecting off the buildings. He was too close. Close enough for her to see the knife extended in his hand. The blade was long, serrated, meant for more than threats.
He knew who she was … and he was hellbent on taking her back to captivity. She wouldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t survive being imprisoned again. She’d rather die.
Britt darted down a narrow alley, the weathered walls so close she could touch both sides. Paint flaked off against her sweat-slicked shoulders as she scraped past. She glanced behind. The man’s pace slowed as his broad frame struggled to move as easily through the tight space, giving her an advantage. One she couldn’t give up, no matter how much her feet throbbed with pain, her leg muscles ached and cramped from the exertion.
She burst onto Oyster Street, nearly colliding with tourists photographing the red-roofed Anglican church. Their startled exclamations faded as she sprinted past the old customs house, its yellow walls a blur. A glance over her shoulder showed the man pushing through the crowd, his face twisted with rage.
The knife glinted again.
A woman screamed.
Tourists scattered.
Britt rounded the corner onto King Street. The uneven cobblestones threatened to betray her with every step. She weaved through the market stalls, knocking over a display of fresh plantains. The fruit scattered everywhere, but her pursuer merely leaped over the obstacle.
"You can't run forever," he called, his voice carrying a smile that made her skin crawl.
He was right. Locals emerged from shops, drawn by the commotion. Some pulled out phones. Others ran in the opposite direction, fearing for their lives. Britt dove down another alley, this one leading toward the waterfront. The salt air hit her lungs as she emerged, the harbor spreading before her, a cruel barrier to her escape.
A horn blasted as she darted toward the street. A delivery truck screeched to a halt inches from her, blocking her path. A hand seized her hair from behind, yanking her head back. Cold steel pressed against her throat as she stared at the stunnedtruck driver, not believing what was happening in front of his eyes.
“Got you," he whispered, his breath hot on her ear as he pulled her away from the road. She stumbled over the cobblestones as he dragged her further away from help, further from freedom.
She grabbed his arms, gripped tightly around her neck, desperate to avoid being cut. The layout of this part of Conrad blazed through her memory. Was he as familiar with the town as she was? Could she use that to her advantage?
A pastel blue building came into view—a set of condominiums with an interior parking lot that could be entered through the alley. It was her only chance of escape. She had to take it.
