Page 107 of Rage

I come up beside Angelica. “Is anyone here armed?” I ask.

She barely spares me a glance. “They’re always armed,” she whispers. She reaches the door, pounds with the heel of her hand. “Open up!”

A young woman wearing a robe, her hair piled on top of her head, opens the door. Her eyes widen when she notices my uniform. “Why are the cops here?” she asks.

I brush past her. “Give me the phone.” I motion to Lucy. “Get her a shirt. Lock the door. Quick.” I look at Angelica. “Is there another way out of here?”

“There’s a window,” she says. “In the bathroom.”

We’re standing in the foyer of a dressing room. There’s a mirrored vanity against the wall to my right. A changing area with a bench and privacy curtain. Six lockers against the wall. Farther, a narrow door opens to a restroom.

Lucy darts to one of the lockers and jerks it open. She drops to her knees, yanks out a platform high-heeled shoe, and reaches into the toe. Turning to me, she hands me a flip phone.

“If anyone asks, it’s not mine,” she whispers.

I snatch it out of her hand, punch in Tomasetti’s number.

He answers on the first ring, his voice harried and curt.

“I’m at The Cheetah Lounge,” I say quickly. “In trouble. I’m with three women in the dressing room in the back. Brooks and Wingate are armed. Bouncers, too.”

He starts to say something else, but pounding rattles the door. “Open the fucking door!”

I disconnect, drop the phone in my pocket. I look around, spot the vanity. “Help me drag that vanity to the door. Barricade it.”

In tandem, the three women join me. Grunts and the shuffle of shoes sound as we shove it against the door. When it’s in place, I sprint to the bathroom. It’s a small space that smells of urine and drugstore perfume. “The cops are on the way.”

“You’re leaving us?” Lucy’s face crumples.

“It’s me they’re after,” I tell her. “You’ll be safer if I’m not here.”

“But—”

“Don’t let anyone in,” I say, cutting her off. “If they get through that door, tell them I left.”

I turn to the window. It’s tiny with frosted glass. Barely enough room for me to get through. I slap open the lock, throw it open. Stepping onto the commode, I brace my legs and shove my shoulders through.

“I got you.”

I glance down, see Angelica standing below me. “Go! I’ll hold your legs.”

I work my shoulders through, my hips, reach out to break the pending fall. “Okay!”

She releases me and I plummet. My shoulder hits the ground, so I roll, get to my feet, look around. I’m at the side of the building. The rear lot is to my left. The trees and, farther, the service station just beyond. I’ve no flashlight. No idea if anyone is back here, looking for me. No time to waste. I take off at a jog, keeping my eyes on the parking lot to my left. The front of the building to my right. People walking around in the front lot.

I pull the cell from my pocket as I run, hit the redial.

“Where are you?”

“Service station behind the club.”

“Got it.” I hear stress in his voice. The hum of a vehicle and I know he’s on his way. “I’m four minutes out. Skid’s on his way.”

“Hurry.”

I disconnect as I enter the copse of trees. Glad for the cover. I drop the cell into my pocket as I go over a tumbledown wire fence. Another twenty yards and I’m through the trees. I cross a narrow grassy area. The lights of the service station seem unnaturally bright. The pumps are to my right. Two vehicles filling up. Dumpster to my left. Convenience store dead ahead, another vehicle parked in front.

I’m midway to the store when headlights flash to my right. A vehicle turns in to the station off the street, moving fast. At first, I think the driver is pulling in to get gas. But the engine revs and the vehicle comes straight at me.