SHE HAD TO STAY ALIVE just a few minutes longer.
Elena Meyer crouched in the alleyway, fighting the dizziness. Keep it together, girl. Breathe.
She felt her side. Warm and sticky where blood was still oozing from the gunshot wound.
Fight the darkness. Fight the fog creeping over her forehead and descending over her eyes.
Gotta keep moving. Gotta make it count.
Elena stood and steadied herself against the brick building. Her legs wobbled. As she tried to walk, her feet suddenly felt as if they were encased in concrete.
One foot forward, then the other.
And again.
And again.
A sound. What was that?
She turned. A bottle rolled across the paved alleyway, the high, hollow sound echoing off brick buildings. Someone was behind her.
He was there, somewhere in the dark.
How in the hell had he found her? She’d been so careful. But ever since she’d known him, he was always one step ahead.
“Always remember something,” he’d said. “I know you better than you know yourself. You do know that, don’t you?”
Only now, at the very end, did she truly believe him.
Her vision fogged and consciousness started slipping away.
No …
She still had a job to do. She patted her jacket pocket, making sure her precious cargo was still there.
She turned and threw herself forward, toward the lights and traffic of Fifth Street. If she could just make it there before …
Click-clack.
Click-clack.
Footsteps hit the pavement behind her, echoing off those buildings. She imagined he was wearing those expensive Berluti leather shoes he was always so damned proud of.
Click-clack.
Click-clack.
The steps moved faster.
Click-clack-click-clack-click-clack.
She couldn’t let him catch her. Not now, not after all she’d been through.
Click-clack-click-clack.
Tough luck, you son of a bitch.
Summoning the last bit of strength she would ever have, Elena threw herself into Fifth Street’s second lane of traffic.
Wham!
She felt herself flying before she even saw the car. She didn’t feel the impact as she collapsed in a heap on the cool pavement.
Squealing brakes. Excited screams. A crowd, which included two police officers, surrounded her. Seconds after that, at least half a dozen cell phones were pointed in her direction, ensuring that her death would soon be online fodder.
She wanted to reach into her pocket and show them all what had led her to them, but she couldn’t move.
The sights and sounds grew dimmer by the second, but she could still make out those Berluti leather shoes in the crowd.
He wouldn’t dare show himself. Not in front of the police, not in front of all those camera phones.
She wanted to smile, but none of her muscles worked anymore.
I beat you, you son of a bitch.
The shoes backed into the alley, retreating into the darkness.
I beat you …