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“I’m not worried.” I fake smile back, because I’m totally worried. Swarms of butterflies soar in my belly when I exchange purses with Sophia. “I can’t believe we’re really doing this. Are we really doing this?”
Sophia stares at me with what I can only describe as an older sisterly look. “Yes, we are. You’re going to get out of town. You have the contact information of your friend?”
I nod. “Yes, I have her number.” A girl I work with named Gretchen said I could crash with her for a few weeks. Not too many people know about her quaint little home in Southern Georgia, so no one should find me there.
“Good, don’t tell me where or the name. You have everything you need?”
“I do.” I hold up the phone I bought yesterday. “Burner is ready, so no one can track me.”
Sophia tilts her head. “Wait, what did you do to the phone?”
I laugh a little. “It’s dazzle.”
“It’s called a burner phone for a reason.” She grabs the phone from my hand and turns it over to inspect the diamante diamonds I stuck to the back side.
“It’ll be fine. No one will even notice.”
She hands the phone back to me. “Try not to flash it around.”
I drop it in my handbag. “Once it’s over, you’ll call me?”
“I don’t have your number.”
I grab the phone and open it, looking for the number to it. “I’ll text you the number.”
Sophia places her hands over mine. “No, don’t. If things go south and Bishop tortures me, it’s best I know nothing. Call your father in three weeks to see if it’s safe for you to come home.”
I hug her. “I’m so nervous.”
“Everything will be ok.”
We step apart. “The security detail shouldn’t come into the house. They’ll just sit outside the door all night, watching and waiting.”
Sophia laughs a little. “I can handle them.”
“Ok, wish me luck,” I say with a smile and a little twist of my hips.
“Luck.”
I step out the front door, ignoring the two security men, Kellan and Jude, behind their station across from the door. I pull out my phone, pretending I’m busily texting someone, tapping away on it, and cross to the elevator.
Breathe.
Be cool.
The doors slide open when I press the button, and I step inside, keeping my back to the guards. So far, so good. I hit the lobby button with the palm of my hand and pretend I’m so involved with the phone.
“Hold the door,” Kellan calls out.
Ugh. I need to breathe, or I may just hyperventilate and ruin the entire plan. As if I’m going to oblige his request, I turn around and reach toward the panel, accidentally on purpose pushing the door close button.
Wasted effort, because the guard slips his hand through the opening just as the doors almost slam shut… and they whoosh back open.
He steps inside. “Thanks.”
I mumble an unintelligible word back and tap frantically on my phone, pretending I’m in a heated argument with someone. Oh, maybe a boyfriend. Yes, a boyfriend who sends me flowers all the time. Obviously, he must screw up a lot to send me frequent flowers. Asshole. Maybe that’s why we’re in a fight right now.
I’m so involved in my make-believe story, I pay no attention to the man when he speaks.
“I asked if you’re having a good day?”
“Sorry.” I laugh, too high key and off pitch. “Boyfriend troubles.” And then, I’m back to tapping so he’ll leave me alone.
He chuckles. “Well, hopefully he apologizes.”
I say nothing back and breathe a sigh of relief when the elevator reaches the lobby. The doors slide open and I rush out as the guard says have a nice day.
I don’t even bother answering him. He can think Sophia is a bitch all he wants. Ha. I laugh at the thought for a moment.
Warm sunshine hits my face as I step onto the sidewalk.
I made it.
Freedom.
I stick to the plan—head south and get to the subway station as quickly as I can.
Before anyone figures out I’m on the loose.
It feels like a million eyes are on me as I weave through people on the sidewalk, so I lift the hood over my hair and hat, hustling away as fast as I can. The subway entrance is only a few feet away when a car screeches to a halt next to me. Coincidence, I’m sure. No one knows who I am. No one knows I’m even here.
A tall man wearing dark clothing exits from the backseat of the sedan. Instinct propels my feet faster towards the stairs. But not fast enough. The man grabs my arm, and before I can scream, a rough, solid hand slaps over my mouth. My feet lift from the street and I kick them as I’m thrown into the back of the car, screaming at the top of my lungs as the car speeds away.
