Page 73 of Every Last Breath

Chimes dinged from the train across the way, and his skin prickled. Doors were about to close.

“Let’s go, lady,” he snapped at her, trying to get her moving.

Lights of the approaching westbound train on his side did the trick.

A horn blared, kicking the woman into action, hustling to the platform. She grabbed both his hands and he held tight to her forearms and heaved. Thankfully, she was lighter than she looked, but his back still protested. A black kid in his late teens, with headphones on, helped him tug her the rest of the way up onto the platform.

“You okay?” Cole asked.

She nodded, and tears streaked down her cheeks. Covering her face with her hands, she broke into sobs. Yellow T-shirts gathered around her, and Cole shot to his feet.

The train on the other side pulled out. The steel cars vanished down the dark tunnel. He swept a frantic gaze over the platform. Empty.

Cole’s blood drained from his head as a hot ball of panic burned a hole in his gut.

Maddox and the Ghost were both gone.

Cole grabbed his phone.

* * *

Metro, Washington, DC

12:46 p.m. EDT

On the crammed train, Aleksander slid between passengers, working his way to the car door. Folding around people, smooth, fluid, he didn’t draw a single glance.

He grasped the door handle and looked over his shoulder.

Lovely Agent Kinkade had hopped onto the seventh car. She was trapped well behind him, since he’d made it onto the third from the front.

Two minutes. That’s how long she had to close the gap before the train pulled into the next station. Before he disappeared.

He glided onto the second car, sliding the door shut.

She wouldn’t make it. Despite valiant effort. She was a determined fighter.

It’d been a shock seeing her in the lobby and a disappointment to find her companion glued to her side, Scarface ever bound in gravitational orbit around her.

Following his instincts to split up and have Val stay at a different hotel with half their supplies paid off. Luck was on his side. But how did they find him?

He’d been careful, kept a low profile.

Yet as he’d returned from scouting the location he’d chosen, there she stood in the hotel lobby. Seeing her caught him off guard in the most exquisite way, and he’d faltered.

A mistake he wouldn’t repeat.

Pressing forward, he snaked past passengers, maintaining his lead. The train slowed into the Judiciary Square station. He skated around three teenage boys to the opening doors.

He’d lose her, but she’d keep coming. And along with her, several agents and, of course, the man with the scar. He disliked having his hand forced, but it left him no choice. The situation must be remedied.

The doors opened. Aleksander leapt out, zipping through the shuffling exchange of passengers, and darted for the staircase. Grasping the railing, he peered over the side. Agent Kinkade pushed through the crowd, sandwiched in the muddle of people. She looked up, catching his gaze. Stilled, as if debating, then drove on. Ever onward, Kinkade.

He pounded up the steps to the main Metro level and dashed to the staircase leading outside. Sunlight cut through the artificial glare of the station. Warm, fresh air ripe with good fortune caressed his skin.

The natural choice, the smart one—the one Agent Maddox would expect—was for Aleksander to turn right, head east three blocks to the bustling Union Station.

A person could disappear in the yawning maw of the transportation hub that spat out multiple exits. So easy to be swallowed up in one’s pick of Metro or commuter rail lines spread across eighteen platforms and twenty-two tracks and at least ten different bus lines. Better than the Americans’ Baskin-Robbins thirty-one flavors. Sweeter too.