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My head pounded, palms sweated, stomach crunched at the terror that ripped through me. All I could think about was that threat. I saw The Raven thrown from the top of the Cathedral of Learning, tumbling, head over heels, screams lost to the rushing wind . . .
“Hunter?” I whispered, pivoting to a sharp arc as a breeze whistled again.
A splotch of blue wedged at the corner of the windowsill caught my eye, furthering the trepidation. Blue rose petals.
Quinn.
With trembling fingers, I called the police again and told them there was an assault in progress. “Hurry, 32nd floor of the Cathedral of Learning.”
“Police are on their way.”
“They’re outside the bathrooms.”
“Remain where you are . . .”
A grunting cry stung through the window gap. The phone dropped from my grip and clattered against the tile. I pushed on the foiled glass. Meeting resistance, I shoved my shoulder against it, wedging it open. I thought I’d made a fair amount of noise, but the direction of the wind and traffic and beeping horns below worked in my favor.
A dark, stone balcony stared at me, framed by an inky sky and a smattering of city lights.
“What are you going do about it, Raven?”
A judgment and a dare all at once.
Thwack!
A gurgled gasp, followed by a cry.
Sneaking out of the window, I tiptoed to the edge of the building. My hands and cheek pressed against cold, pocked concrete, and I peered around the edge of the cornered balcony.
I absorbed the scene like I had Freddy’s punch to my gut. It took all my effort not to fold in on myself and sink into a useless puddle.
Jack stood with a gun pointed toward the ground, his body turned away from me toward Hunter, who’d been dragged into the corner of the balcony and slumped there. Mitch crouched at his side, mumbling repeatedly how sorry he was but claiming he didn’t have a choice.
Jack’s been working with someone to gather information, lure out The Raven.
Everything about Mitch had been a lie? But he seemed genuine. Seemed like he really cared about Hunter—
Wait. He studied improvisational theater. Was he really that good of an actor? Was he gay at all? Had this whole thing been a set up from the moment we met?
Queasiness flared up my throat.
And I set that upon Hunter.
God, had that moment when he banged into me again at the café been part of this plan?
My weight sagged against the building as if I’d been pushed from behind, but it was Mitch’s betrayal that weighed me down. It was the blood dripping from the corner of Hunter’s mouth.
I thought of the moment in my office when Mitch casually held my stapler. I wanted to slam my fist down on it and puncture him, the same way he was doing to my friend.
Blinking back something hot and wet, I prayed he would be okay. I’d never prayed before, it didn’t seem like a practical thing to do, but right now . . . now I was beyond practical. It was as if I were a puppet and my master was tugging invisible strings—strings that made me want to throw up and cry and punch something.
At least Hunter seemed to be taking this calmly. His blue eyes clasped onto me for a second before he darted his gaze to the side.
I followed it to The Raven, standing in those tightly-fitting boots Garret had mentioned, cargo pants, leather gloves, and a navy jacket with a large peaked hood, angled toward the ground.
From here it was easy to see how she could have been mistaken for a guy.
As she lifted her head, I caught a glimpse of her shadowed face. Now I knew who it was, I could see it. Her. Shannon.
Quinn stood to the left, rubbing the back of his head like he’d been shoved hard against the side of the building and had knocked it badly. He braced an arm around Shannon, stepping on the blue rose bouquet choked of life at his feet.
Shannon urged forward, but Quinn wrapped his arms around her waist and held her back. He too was calm, but there was the undeniable glow of fear lighting his face a pale green.
“Don’t, Shan,” Quinn said softly. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Is this why you kept trying to prevent me from doing this?” The hood shifted, revealing Shannon’s cold blue eyes trained intently on Mitch. She shuddered, and her voice came out strained. “People like them and victims like Travis are the reason I wanted to be out there.”
“I’m sorry, but—” She stomped on Quinn’s foot and pulled at his thumbs, freeing herself, and lunged toward Jack.
He lifted his gun and pointed at the bird tattoo peeking through Hunter’s ripped shirt. “Stay back.”
“Let my brother go.”
“I’ll let him go,” Jack said. I glanced toward the window praying for the police to hurry up. “After I’ve ruined your life the way you ruined my brother’s.”
