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She glanced at Finn. The look on his face suggested he was thinking the same thing.
"Go make sure she's alright," he said. "I've got this fella."
Sheila, her breath labored from the fight, turned her focus back to the room where Sage had been left alone. As the adrenaline began to wane, worry crept in, and she knew she needed to check on the psychic immediately. She rushed into the other room, her eyes scanning for any sign of Sage.
"Damn it," she muttered under her breath. The room was empty, no trace of the woman who had been at the mercy of the large man just moments ago. Sheila's gaze flicked to the open window as a gust of wind sent the curtains billowing.
"No," she whispered, the realization dawning that Sage must have taken the opportunity to escape during their struggle.
"Stone, what's going on?" Finn called from the doorway, his face etched with concern.
"Sage is gone," she replied tersely, striding toward the window. Her heart raced as she peered down the fire escape, catching sight of Sage's figure below, almost at the bottom. Sage looked up, her eyes wide with fear, her breathing ragged.
"Stop!" Sheila shouted. "Stay where you are!"
But her words seemed only to fuel Sage's desperation, and the frightened woman continued her descent.
"Damn it," Sheila cursed, her frustration mounting. She couldn't let Sage slip through their grasp; they'd come too far to lose her now.
"Stay with him!" she told Finn, not waiting for a response before making her way toward the window.
Gritting her teeth, Sheila swung herself over the windowsill and onto the fire escape, her feet hitting the cold metal grating with a clang. She forced her legs to move faster, taking the steps two at a time as she descended after Sage.
"Come on, Sheila, think," she muttered to herself as she descended. She glanced ahead and noticed a dumpster below, its contents brimming with old furniture—just soft enough, she hoped, to cushion her fall and prevent her from injuring herself. It was a risky gambit, but given the head start Sage had, Sheila was pretty sure Sage would disappear in one of the crowded streets nearby if she didn't find a way to catch up with her quickly.
"Here goes nothing," she whispered, tensing her muscles and pushing off the edge of the fire escape. As she fell, she tucked her body into a roll, distributing the impact across her shoulders and back.
Sheila hit the dumpster with a loud thud, its contents shifting beneath her. For a moment, she lay there, mentally checking her body to make sure nothing was broken. Then, ignoring the discomfort and stench, she scrambled out just as Sage raced past the alley entrance.
"Sage, stop!" Sheila yelled, dropping to the ground and sprinting after her through the narrow passage.
The alley was littered with discarded boxes and puddles of stagnant water. Broken glass crunched underfoot as Sheila ran, gradually closing the distance between herself and Sage.
As they reached the end of the alley, Sage stumbled out onto a busy street, colliding with a biker wearing bright neon colors. They fell together, the biker crying out as he lost his balance.
Sage tried to scramble to her feet, but she tripped on one of the pedals, and that was all the delay necessary for Sheila to catch up. She grabbed Sage's wrist, holding her back.
"No more running," Sheila said, breathing heavily. "I think it's time we went back to the station and had a little chat."
Sage spun on her, her eyes wild. "He was attacking me, didn't you see that? I'm the victim here!"
"I did see that," Sheila answered quietly. "But if that's the case, then why did you run from me?"
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Sheila handed Sage an ice pack, her eyes studying the woman's bruised throat. The marks were deep, jagged, and ugly—a stark contrast to Sage's otherwise delicate features.
She'll be explaining those bruises for a while, Sheila thought.
Sage's dark hair hung in damp, tangled strands around her pale face, and her eyes were wide with fear, darting between Sheila and Finn as though looking for an escape. It was clear she didn't want to be there, sitting in the cold and sterile police interrogation room.
Then again, who would?
The room itself was small and uninviting, its gray walls bare save for a one-way mirror. A single overhead light buzzed incessantly, casting harsh shadows on the metal table bolted to the floor. The atmosphere was tense, and Finn stood by the door, his arms crossed, watching the scene play out with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.
"Who was the man who attacked you?" Sheila asked Sage, cutting right to the chase.
"Derek Steele," Sage whispered, avoiding eye contact. "I've never met him before today."
