It gave me just enough time to get the fuck out of Dodge.
Water exploded from the gaping holes created when Zagan’s body struck the wall. Two sinks tore free, drenching my clothing and the surrounding tile in a tidal wave of cold water. I grasped the solid butt of the gun, staggered across the slippery floor and bolted for the obliterated remains of the door.
I had to get away from the chaos behind me.
“Less than a fortnight!” Zagan screeched as glass shattered; the noises somehow seemed to go hand in hand. “You have ten days remaining to pay my due! Then I will own your fucking soul!”
The time meant little to me—something I was aware of but didn’t truly think about. Truthfully, the roadblock was another crack in the eggs I was continually dancing on. Initially, all I could hear was fighting. Then, strangely, the noises stopped and there was only silence.
Gone were the outraged roars and ear-piercing hisses.
All I could hear were the rubber soles of my Nikes as they made contact with the floor. I ran, keeping my arms extended to maintain a steady balance. If my knee hurt, I couldn’t feel it. My mind was too numbed, my heart too goddamned heavy. The sounds of footsteps behind me sent me into an uncontrollable panic.
I lunged for the stairs, started down and lost my balance midway.
I hit different parts of my body as I fell—my thighs, my hips, my sides, my arms—and collapsed in a wadded heap at the base of the staircase. Whatever touched my shoulder sent me into blind terror. I lashed out with my fists, swinging the gun in jagged, cutting thrashes.
It was do or die, and I was not going to face the oblivion.
Not here.
Not now.
Not alone.
Warm hands encased my biceps and dragged me toward a solid chest. In seconds, those same hands stilled my wild movements. I was aware of a steady rocking, the motion deliberate and calm. Then, the most softly spoken words—words that didn’t make any sense—were whispered into my ear. Something stroked my drenched hair over and over again. I dissolved into gut-wrenching sobs, unable to bear the suffocating weight of anguish. I cried until I couldn’t breathe. I gulped for air, drawing greedy pulls of oxygen into my lungs.
“Don’t cry,” an unexpected, feminine voice whispered.
My breath caught and my heart stalled. Cautiously, I lifted my head and peered past the shoulder protecting my trembling body. I met the understanding eyes of Zippo. She wasn’t looking through me, but at me. She nodded, and for the first time I was able to perceive her as an entity and not an anomaly.
Then they came.
The ghosts of the New York Public Library surrounded me, and with them came an unforeseen surge of power, solidarity and comfort. Their stares were not sightless and their faces were no longer blank. The focus of their attention was apparent, their pity and understating resting solely on me. The heaviness of my burden lifted, no longer so difficult to bear.
Nothing ever truly died. I knew that.
Zippo seemed pleased by my reaction. “You see clearly now.”
“Yes,” I replied softly. “I do.”
Carter’s questioning voice interrupted us. “Rhiannon?”
I turned away from the gazes of those I’d never truly seen until now and peered into the face of what was now a man—not a beast—holding me. I didn’t know what Carter was, and I didn’t care. It didn’t concern me. Something far more important was at stake now. I had people to see, things to do and a debt to sever.
“You’re going to have to let me go,” I informed him in a feather-light voice, enforced by the one thing I needed most.
Hope.
Chapter Four