If I survive this.
Eames retreats. He has the look of a spooked horse—breaths heaving and skittish steps. Carla is coughing on the smoke, eyes red-rimmed. “No,” she begins to say, her voice hoarse, but Eames snarls at her.
“Shut up,” he says. “You endangered everyone in this building. You don’t get to talk to me.” He looks at me. “What do we do with her?”
“We’ll put her in the mail room,” I answer. “She can keep Matthew company.”
And maybe being locked in a small room with a corpse will make Carla rethink her career choices.
“Come on,” I say. We have to move quickly. Vale will be sending reinforcements, I’m sure.
Carla tries to speak a third time, her voice still smoke-rough, but Eames says, “So help me I will dump you in the pool if you say another word. Got it?”
Her jaw snaps shut so quickly that I hear her back molars click. I look sharply at Eames, surprised by his vehemence.
“Come on,” I say, nodding toward the mail room. “We should—”
But I never get the chance to finish that sentence. There is a hiss of air and then a stinging pain in my back. At first I think I’ve been stung by a wasp or a hornet—or maybe even Edgar accidentally jabbed me. And then I touch something hard and cold. I yank it free, ignoring the fresh wave of pain as I do so.
In my palm rests a tiny hypodermic needle.
I gape at it for a moment, uncomprehending. Then I remember Carla looking up. As though checking for something.
“Shit,” I breathe.
“What,” Eames begins to say, looking down at the tiny dart. Confusion, alarm, and realization cross his face in quick succession.
I thought myself so clever for setting this little trap. But all the while, Vale set up her own.
There is a second whisper of air. Eames throws himself behind one of the succulents. I follow him, putting the plants between myself and the shooter.
My hands curl into fists. Anger pulses through me, but it’s directed inward. I was so stupid. Always,alwaysassume the enemy is as smart as you are. I underestimated Vale and her crew.
“Shit,” says Eames. His eyes are red from the smoke, his voice hoarse. “Augusta—”
I shake my head. “Don’t worry about me. You weren’t hit?”
He runs his hands over his chest, his arms, his stomach. “I don’t think so.”
“Good.” I lean my head back against the potted plant. I reach down, digging Bud’s radio out of my pocket. I hand it to him. “You take this. Use it to eavesdrop on them, if you can. I’m going to run. Lead the sniper away. You get back to 309.”
I see the moment he understands that I’m not going to be with him. His lips press tight. “No.”
“Don’t argue,” I whisper. “There’s no time.”
“I want to help you,” he says.
I nod. “You did.” The world is fragmenting all around me. I feel wrong: heartbeat slowing, breath sluggish, lips going numb.
“Eames,” I say. “You—you’re a good person. You were brave enough to step between me and a gun. Now you need to be brave enough to leave me here. Think about Piper. You take care of Piper—and the old lady, okay? Promise me you’ll keep them safe.”
He opens his mouth to argue, but I shake my head. There is no time to debate this, and he knows it.
His jaw clenches in frustration but he gives me a nod. “I promise.”
“Thank you.”
I push myself to my feet, putting my silhouette in full view of anyone on the upper floors. Let them chase me. Then I turn and run for the stairs. I have to lead the sniper away from Eames. Even if it kills me. “Edgar, you’re with me.”
