The lot spread over what must’ve been two blocks. Charlee covered it as fast as she could run, flying over the concrete to the side of the building and putting the safety of its brick foundation at her back.
Four stories up, the roof was a stark flat horizon against the glaring sun. Heaps of leaves and garbage lined the back alley. There were so many places to lie in wait. The urge to run back to Jay’s car made her legs tremble.
The alcove for the back entrance to her apartment was around the corner. She side-stepped along the building, back to the wall, paranoia spiking her heart rate. Jay would come after her as soon as he found something to cover his face. What could she say to convince him to leave? Think, think, think.
34
Jay pushed off the seat, shouldered past Tony, and sprinted across the parking lot. The endless pavement, the streak of passing cars, and the gathering crowd dimmed away.
Charlee huddled with her back against the corner of the building, her eyes on the trees that lined the back fence.
Someone moved behind the building, just feet from where she stood, but the angle of the corner probably shielded the movement from her view.
Jay rubbed his eyes, his legs burning. The profile of a man shifted toward the corner where she lingered. The man’s walk seemed off, unnaturally stealthy, and too zeroed in on that damned corner.
“Charlee! Behind you.” Jay’s wig shifted sideways as he dodged a parked car.
The stalker reached inside his jacket. A black metal barrel flashed.
“Charlee! Charlee!” Jay ripped off the wig and tossed it, where it hit the man flanking him as he ran. “Goddammit, Colson, I told you to stay with her.”
“The perimeter’s not safe.” The older man gasped, maintaining Jay’s pace.
Charlee slipped around the bend and out of his sight.
“Charlee, no!” The scream barreled from his chest, and he ran harder, faster.
The race to her building was the longest moment in his life, one in which timing and speed could change everything. His heart thundered, his muscles heated, and his legs wouldn’t move fast enough.
Footfalls pounded after him. “Mr. Mayard,” Tony shouted from his other side. “Go back to the vehicle.”
The concrete blurred beneath his Chucks. He neared the side of the building and was slammed into it with the force of Tony’s body.
Her chest pressed against his back, and her hands and gun on the brick caged him in. She bent her neck and shoved her face in his. “The threat isn’t neutralized.” Her gray eyes became steel cannons. “I need you out of the kill zone. Back. In. The vehicle.”
Any other time, her look alone would’ve had him checking his pants for his balls. He bucked her off his back and skirted around her.
She shoved an arm out to block his forward motion. The downside of a top-notch bodyguard was her over-the-top-fucking-notch guarding.
“There’s someone back there with Charlee. Move.” He spiked the last word with venom.
Her lips peeled back in a snarl. “Argh!” She spun ahead of him and put her back to his chest, positioning his body behind the cover of hers. Her left hand hovered a wobble away from his hip. Her right aimed a Glock up and out in front of her. “Stay behind me.”
Ahead of them, Colson led with his raised pistol, his other hand on the device in his ear as he spoke low into a mic. “This is Colson. Possible gun threat. The principal will not leave the kill zone. Need a mobile support team yesterday.”
They inched forward, and Tony’s hand brushed his leg. It was a haunting presence of his aunt’s hand on tattered little boy briefs. He recoiled and grabbed his head against the images of the shed, the soiled mattress, and Aunt El’s cruel smile.
He stumbled toward the corner of the building. Fight it. Focus on Charlee. Reaching into his pocket, he fingered the nasal bottle. A lift would sharpen his concentration, numb his trigger, and nourish his strength. Fuck, his grip on the present was spinning, darkening.
Tony crowded him, her nearness invading his focus and conjuring pollution from the sewer of his mind. He could taste the soot in the oven. He could hear the hollow reverberation of his aunt’s mewling. You’ll stay in the Bolo until you warm up to me, little boy.
A wall of hot ash and rust blackened the sun. Not now. Stop. Fucking stop. His fingers scraped uselessly on the brick building, on the Bolo oven’s door. Charlee could be struggling, hurting, and he was fucking trapped, couldn’t reach her. He fumbled with the inhaler from his pocket and huffed two burning squirts into each nostril.
The rush tipped his balance, and Tony caught his elbow. The sensation from her hand rippled over him, through him, like water. He was sailing, driven by the wind.
“Mr. Mayard?”
A strong sense of buoyancy sighed through his body, and the mist of scared boyhood evaporated into the cloudless sky. Vigor pumped through his limbs and strengthened his spine. He broke away from Tony, racing past her. Urgency flogged his thoughts, pushing him faster, harder.