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“O— okay,” I breathe hotly, blood drumming in my ears as I climb out of the car. The warehouse is empty, but they obviously make some sort of clothing here. Shirts or jackets? Following the wall, the huge, silent building creaks ominously when the wind rushes outside. I reach a stairwell that brings me up two floors before a door that says ‘Roof Access,’ and I pause. Taking a huge breath, I hold it before opening the door and ascending. Before emerging onto the roof, I put the earpiece in, clench, and unsurely release my jaw. “J— Jack? Hello?”
“I hear you,m'eudail,” Relief floods my system at the sound of his voice, and I open the rooftop door. Large bulges of iron stick out from the floor, and I look around uncertainly. “Are you on the roof? Walk to the north side, and you’ll find the gun. Make sure to stay low, so no one sees you.”
“Yeah,” I answer, starting off at Jack's directions. True to his word, I find the rifle on the floor, already assembled, and I sit down to pick it up. The cold, familiar weight settles in my palms, and I pull the gun up over the lip of the edge and peek through the scope. “I can see the podium and stuff.”
“Just breathe. You’re doing great, Heather.” Jack’s voice is gravelly and firm, and I nod to myself.
“I’m not giving birth here. Tell me a story—” I begin to say but am shocked when Mayor Shaw emerges from the rec center’s entrance. She’s early! Shit! My heart leaps into my throat, and I can’t hear Jack above the blood drumming in my ears. Panic slams into my gut, and I lick my lips nervously. My hands tingle and I can only follow Shaw’s fiery, red hair as she walks down the steps.
“Shoot her now! Heather!” Blinking sharply at Jack’s demand Mayor Shaw disappears behind a sleek, black car. “Damn, fucking shit!”
But Mayor Shaw doesn’t get into the car despite the waiting, open door, and I grind my molars hard. A reporter stops her, thrusting a microphone into her face, and I caress the rifle's trigger tentatively. The recoil blasts my shoulder, thebangof my shot threatening to shatter my eardrums before Shaw crumples and disappears from my view.
I shot a person... dead. Flinging myself back onto the tar-shingled rooftop, I grasp at my throat and chest and wheeze painfully. I shot someone dead. I killed someone, and it wasn’t an accident.
Rolling onto my hands and knees, I gag in horror even as awareness tingles the backs of my eyes. Trepidation prickles painfully down my spine. Glancing up, a man I don’t recognize appears from behind a hooded air conditioning grate. Fear grips my muscles, and I duck even though he clearly sees me.
“Don’t move!” The man is pointing a gun at me, and I freeze.
“Heather— Heather,” Jack’s voice filters through my fear, and the man in front of me takes a step cautiously. “Run, Heather! Run for the fire escape!”
My body moves with no direction from my petrified mind, and I book it as hard as possible to the right. The setting sun threatens to blind me, but I don’t dare look back even as a bullet ricochets by my feet. Stumbling to roll across the roof, I only look over to aim the sniper rifle haphazardly. The man jumps out of the way but is not fast enough to get to cover. A bullet rips through his leg, hanging out from behind an iron cover. I scramble to my feet to run for the roof's edge, but there is no fire escape.
Is it on the other side? Glancing back, I tense when I see the man crawling out from his hiding space and hobbling to his feet. Throwing my leg over the side of the roof, I fight my worry as I stare down at the full garbage dumpster below.
“Shit, shit, shit!” I jump two stories into the dumpster, the garbage bags cushioning my fall. Burrowing down, I kick open the door and slither out into the alley to make a break deeper down. I take a sharp right away from the warehouse down a maze of side streets before Jack’s car suddenly skids to a stop in front of me. Jumping, I cry in shock, goosebumps blanketing my body before he pops open the back passenger door.
“You dummy!” I shout at Jack once we speed away, and I kick the back of his seat sharply. “The fire escape! I don’t even know where the stupid fucking fire escape is! You couldn’t have said left or right! God!”
Throwing myself down on the seat, the rifle falling onto the floor of the car, I groan and cover my face.
My only solace is getting dumpster juice all over Jack’s stupid car, and I resist the urge to cover my face with my hands. “What the hell was that? Who was that guy? Jack!”
“Stop screaming, Heather,” Jack says sharply, not looking back at me, and I sit up straight. He must feel me glaring at him because he sighs and rubs his chin and neck. “That was Norman Long, an FBI agent who’s been on my ass for a few years. But that’s what the prosthetics and wig, and the contacts, and the mask— that’s what it all was for. He can’t recognize you. You’re perfectly safe.”
“FBI!” I screech in horror, and the car jerks a sharp swerve. “Oh, my God. I shot an FBI agent. Oh, God, I’m so fucking screwed—my life is over.”
“Will you take a breath and calm the fuck down a second!” Jack’s sharp growl pierces my brain, cutting through panic, fear, and adrenaline. Finally, he looks back, a slight, tender smile stretching his lips and brightening his eyes. “I’m proud of you, Heather. You pulled it off even though things didn’t go to plan. Just relax. Everything’s gonna be fine. I’ll take care of the rest.”
CHAPTERNINETEEN
Jack
“I can’t believe you jumped two stories into a dumpster,” I chuckle, impressed, as she glares at me hotly from across the bathroom. “You really are everything I’d hoped, Heather.”
“Don’t sweet talk me right now,” she grumbles as she wipes herself furiously with a cloth. She shakes and won’t let me near her, but I give her the space she wants. Even across the bathroom, I can see how tense she is, the muscles in her back writhing wildly. “What does that even mean?”
“You’re more upset about having to run away than you shot and killed someone.” I point out, and Heather stiffens. She whirls around, throwing the dirty cloth at me, but it lands in the middle of the bathroom. I fight a fond smile. The silence is dense, only broken when she turns on the shower and I scan her naked body critically. She couldn’t get out of her clothes fast enough, and her face was red and angry from tearing off her prosthetics.
“I did what you wanted,” Heather says eventually, her voice hollow, and I nod. “I want to go home. I must work in the morning and need time by myself.”
“That’s fine,” I replied, surprising her. She glances at me skeptically, and I walk over to her to grip her tight shoulders and squeeze comfortingly. “Let’s have a truce. I’ll respect your life like you want. Your job, I’ll take into consideration. I’ll compensate for... situations like last night where you had to lie to your coworker, and I’ll try to avoid that happening again. And in return, I just want you to be everything I think you can be, Heather.”
“How unfairly one-sided,” Heather sighs, lifting her hand to check the shower's temperature. She steps inside, escaping my grasp, and I’m pleased by the resignation in her expression. “It’s as good as I’ll get, though?”
“I’m more than happy to give you the best you’ve ever had,” I say cheekily, grinning when Heather turns her face sharply away with a huff. Water spills down her body, and she sets about wiping the grime from her hair and where the wig didn’t cover her. Leaning against the wall, I cross my arms over my chest before speaking up again. “Norman Long is inconsequential. I’ve had tangles with him, and he’s failed miserably every time. Don’t worry about him. You’re not on his radar at all.”
“He better be. How’d he even know where I was?” Heather groans, tilting her head back to work the shampoo into the thick strands. I grunt, rubbing my jaw; I can’t just tell her I have no fucking idea how.
