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I show her the gun. “Don’t lose that sharp brain of yours just yet. Give me your hand.”
I pull her onto the top of the elevator, and we’re seconds from finding out if this plan will work. I guide her toward the ladder on the side of the shaft and then seal myself around her.
I pull the thread.
The elevator jolts and propels downward, continuing it’s journey to the lobby. “Climb,” I order.
We reach the roof of the hospital. Once I have London out of the shaft, I dispose of the gun. She anxiously stares at where I hid the weapon behind a skylight.
“I never liked them,” I say. “No art in shooting someone.”
Her feet move backward. “I’m leaving now, Grayson.”
I look up into the darkening sky. “What time is it?” When she doesn’t respond, I grab her arm and wrench off the thousand dollar watch she wears. I flip on the radio, gauging how close the search is to us. “You have less than one minute to make your choice,” I tell her. “In ten minutes, they’ll have downtown secured and blocked off. Then we have twenty minutes to make it out of the state. So you get one of those minutes. Decide.”
She pushes her hands through her hair. “You’re giving me a choice?”
“I give everyone a choice. You’ve been making choices since the first day we met.” I offer her my hand. “You can go back, try to insert yourself back into your life of lies, or you can come with me and find out how far the rabbit hole goes to get your answers.”
She shakes her head. “I can’t.”
I breathe hard. “You can. You can do anything you want, and I promise, I will let you go.”
She releases a manic laugh. “This is fucking crazy. You’re crazy!”
“Is that your professional opinion, doctor?”
Stare cast over the horizon, she shakes her head. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Even if it means discovering the truth?” I say, and her gaze nails me. “The absolute certainty of uncovering everything your father kept from you?”
It’s there in her pensive eyes, the longing, the desire to unmask that which terrifies her. Curiosity alone isn’t enough—to a narcissist like London, this is the promise of her story. Her. her. her. It feeds her vanity.
She secures her bag over her neck. “They’re going to put you to death. And I swear to God, Grayson…I will be there to watch.”
She takes my hand.
I close my fingers around her palm, feeling the beveled scar. “I hope you will be.”
But not before we end this.
I pull her behind me as I take off toward the edge of the building. Her pain will slow us down. I’ve thought about that, though, how to get us out of downtown the fastest, with the least amount of effort.
The sounds of helicopter blades chopping the air hovers near.
I let her go down the fire exit first. “Don’t look at the ground,” I instruct. She curses the whole way down the side of the building, but she makes it.
Police sirens bounce against the cement and brick, the hospital nearly barricaded. I grab her arm and lead her to the thick brush of trees and bushes where we halt before the freeway.
“We have a minute to make it to the bridge before the dogs pick up our trail.” I look down both lanes, gauging traffic. The darkness will give us some cover, but not for long.
“Why are you doing this…?” she asks aloud, but it’s not intentionally directed at me.
I palm her face. “You know why—you know why you’re here. To demand the answers he kept from you.”
A tear slips free, and she blinks away the wetness. She’s not crying; her adrenaline is running high. Good. It will help cancel out her pain.
“We’re leaving, London. Now.”
