AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Forty minutes have passed when I feel satisfied that nothing is amiss outside. At least, that I can see. So, I turn my attention to the interior of the apartment.
If only I had my electronic bug sniffer. But that’s at my apartment. So, for now, I’ll have to rely on good old-fashioned snooping.
Systematically, I look through the living room. Lifting the framed art, the decorative statues, the pillows, and coasters. Feeling moderately satisfied, I move to the bedroom.
Spinning in the center of the room, I take in all the places I’d hide a camera if it was me spying. There are at least twenty spots. One by one, I investigate. Not in the clock. Not in the mirror. Not in the—
On no! I gasp. Then curse. My fingers shake as I pick at the decorative emblem on the lamp. My god. Tucked in the corner of the gold emblem is a tiny camera. A very tiny, very expensive camera.
My stomach cinches tight. No! This is not happening.
Stumbling back, I fight to control my breathing.
Did Scotch know?
Would he do this?
Why would he bring me to an apartment that’s bugged?
Or did somehow Pavel intercept the call about the apartment last night when we were flying. No, that makes no sense. It was a satellite phone. One that Marshall feels secure using.
Nothing makes sense!
I’m fully hyperventilating when I realize I have nothing solid to go on. Nothing to make me believe that I’m safe. Nothing to support that Scotch is in on this. And the only thing to do in a situation like this—assume the worst.
Okay. Come on, Simona. Get your crap together. You know what to do. I force a diaphragmatic breath to calm my nervous system.
When I turn, that’s when I catch sight of a second camera, over the doorway. Tiny, white, and barely visible. Invisible to the untrained eye.
My whole body feels disjointed as I stumble to the bathroom. I quickly gather all of the medical supplies into a spare trash bag, then I rush back to the bedroom. My button up shirt is laying on the chair, unbuttoned. I can’t do it myself with the sling on, so I lift the sling over my head and toss it to the ground.
Growling, I shove my injured arm into the shirt sleeve. Jesus. It hurts like hell. My fingers fumble with the buttons. Of course I get them misaligned, off by one button. But that’s the last thing I’m worried about.
Shoving my feet into the cheap plastic flip flops that Scotch bought along with the clothes, I fly toward the front door.
When I stand up on tiptoes to look out the peephole, I almost scream.
A man is right outside the door.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Heart pounding so hard I can barely hold my body still, I stare at the delivery man who’s knocking on the door with a scowl on his face.
Wearing a nondescript blue uniform, the man has a plain brown box, the size of a brick in his gloved hand.
People wear gloves when they commit crimes. Heinous crimes.
Leveling my pistol on the door, I carefully back away.
Fuck.
Someone could have seen me on the cameras and known I was going to run. So, they sent in an operative.
My only option is the window in the hallway. It opens over a small covered porch for the apartment below.
The plastic bag is a total hindrance, I drop it on the floor and concentrate on getting myself through the window with only one arm. Nothing’s easy like this.
The outside air is shockingly cold when I push myself out onto the roof. Scanning the terrain, I feel only mildly confident I can get to cover before someone could grab me or gun me down.
