Chapter 6 No.6

No.6

Annelise didn't look back. She grabbed Algernon's hand, hauled Clemie onto her hip, and ran.

They burst out of the side exit into the chaotic scene at the curb. The Rolls Royce was listing to one side, its alarm blaring. Security guards were running toward the car, shouting into their radios.

"This way!" Algernon yelled, pointing toward the parking garage. "Level B! Blind spots!"

They sprinted across the access road, dodging a shuttle bus that honked angrily.

"Stop them!" Casimiro's voice roared from behind them, carrying the authority of his employer.

Annelise's lungs burned. Her legs felt like lead. But the fear of that man in the car-the man whose presence felt identical to the one that haunted her nightmares-gave her wings.

Two men in black suits peeled away from the car and started chasing them. They were fast.

"Blace!" Annelise gasped.

Blace was lagging behind, dragging the suitcases. He let go of the handles.

"Leave them!" he shouted.

He grabbed a row of metal luggage carts parked near the entrance to the garage. With a grunt of effort, he shoved the whole row sideways.

The carts crashed into each other, creating a metal barricade across the path.

The first bodyguard slammed into the carts, cursing.

They made it into the dim concrete throat of the parking garage.

"Where now?" Annelise panted.

"Yellow Cab," Algernon directed, looking at his watch. "Exit 4. There is a taxi dropping off a passenger. Timing is... now."

They rounded a concrete pillar. Sure enough, a yellow taxi was just pulling to the curb, a passenger getting out.

Annelise didn't wait. She shoved the passenger-a startled businessman-aside before he had fully retrieved his bag.

"Sorry!" she yelled. She threw the kids into the back seat and dove in after them.

"Drive!" she screamed at the driver. She pulled a wad of cash from her pocket-her emergency fund-and threw a hundred-dollar bill onto the front seat. "Drive! Just go! Queens!"

The driver, a heavyset man with a thick beard, looked at the money, then at the pursuing bodyguards in the rearview mirror.

He grinned. "You got it, lady."

He slammed on the gas. The taxi screeched away, tires smoking, leaving the bodyguards shouting in the exhaust fumes.

Back at the curb, Archibald watched the yellow tail lights disappear into the traffic. His own security was helping him out of the now-lopsided Phantom.

He stood perfectly still, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His knuckles were white.

"Sir," Casimiro panted, running up to him. "The car is disabled. The tires were... chemically corroded at the valves."

Archibald didn't care about the car. He didn't care about the money.

He turned to Casimiro. His face was terrifyingly calm.

"Did you see the boy?" Archibald asked softly.

"The... the one who attacked Jenelle?"

"The one with my eyes," Archibald corrected. "The one who disabled my car with a toy."

Casimiro swallowed hard. "The resemblance is... significant, sir."

"I'm not interested in significance," Archibald snapped. "I want facts. I want to know who those children are. I want to know where she has been hiding them."

He walked toward the backup SUV that had pulled up, ignoring Jenelle, who was now being attended to by a different guard.

"Pull the city surveillance," Archibald ordered. "Access the NYPD grid. Use the facial recognition software. I want that taxi found. I want that woman found."

He climbed into the dark leather seat, his heart pounding a rhythm he hadn't felt in years.

He closed his eyes, and the image of the boy's face burned behind his eyelids.

And Annelise. The look on her face.

Rapist.

Why had she called him that? She was the cheater. She was the one who had betrayed him. Why did she look at him with such genuine, horrifying fear? It didn't add up.

"Find them," Archibald whispered to the empty air. "Bring them to me."

In the taxi, Annelise pulled the kids into a pile, hugging them so tight it hurt. She was sobbing, dry, heaving sobs that shook her whole body.

"It's okay, Mom," Blace said, patting her arm awkwardly. "We got away. I melted his tires. It was awesome."

"Don't ever do that again," Annelise cried, kissing his dirty forehead. "You could have been hurt."

"He was big," Clemie whispered, her eyes wide. "He smelled like... sadness. And rain."

Annelise shuddered. She knew that smell. It was the smell of the man who had ruined her life. How could her ex-husband's enforcer smell exactly like him? The coincidence was so terrifying it felt like a curse.

And now, he knew they were here.

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