Page 2 of The Getaway Guy
She’d convinced herself that a bit of quiet would go a long way to help her get a grip on the anxiety ripping through her like a tornado. That all she’d needed was a moment alone to catch her breath before she did what everyone expected of her.
And maybe a shot of something strong to steady her.
But when the breath turned into gasping inhalations and the shot of booze hadn’t worked, panic hadreallykicked in, and she’d dazedly scribbled out the message for Ana to give to the man who was supposed to be Quinley’s husband in a matter of minutes. She’d removed the gorgeous, ridiculously expensive ring, whispered one last apology no one could hear, and bolted for freedom out theonlydoor that didn’t have guards stationed outside of it.
Her grip tightened on the railing of the next balcony, but she couldn’t bring herself to let go of her side. Wind whipped the sheer edge of the train embellishing her tight dress, and she glanced down long enough to confirm that when Webster’s updated their definition of “crazy,” a picture of Quinley Anders, runaway bride, was going to be included.
Because who else but an insane woman would risk falling to her death by shimmyingovera penthouse railing and around a pillar to the next balcony in a wedding dress that, now that she’d had time to reconsider, fit her like a mummy’s wrapping?
What had she beenthinkingagreeing to this design? Was the tight fit a subconscious thing about how she’d felt trapped?
A shrink would have a file full of notes from this.
Maybe she should write a “how to run away from your wedding” guide for brides but skip the part about balcony scaling from twenty stories up.
Now or never, Quinnie. Stay or go. Do or…die.
Body shaking, she took a deep, salt-air filled breath as she looked out at Carolina Cove from her sky-high perch in case it was her last and then shifted her weight to her right foot before firming her grip on the hot metal and yanking herself from one side of the concrete support pillar to the balcony next door.
Her left foot slipped when she tried to find purchase, and a muffled cry left her lips before she glommed onto the railing like a succubus. Once she found her footing, she rail-flopped once again, uncaring of how she landed so long as shewasn’tdangling off the side of the building.
A stream of rapid-fire Spanish sounded, and the very surprised maid Quinley had seen cleaning the adjoining suite and balcony next door rushed out of the suite onto the balcony toward her. Quinley panted for breath, a near hysterical laugh bubbling out of her chest when she realized she’d done it. She’d made it to the other suite without doing the swan dive of death.
The maid helped her stand on wobbly legs, and once upright, Quinley pressed a finger to her lips to beg the housekeeper’s silence. The housekeeper’s expression revealed her shock because she undoubtedly knew Quinley’s identity and what her sudden appearance meant, but the woman nodded weakly.
Quinley swallowed hard and made her way across the living area to the suite’s exterior door, pressing an ear to the surface to listen for voices out in the hallway.
When she heard none, she opened the door as quietly as possible and noted that this suite opened into a different corridor than hers, a definite bonus because it meant her security detail, stationed outside her penthouse door, were none the wiser.
Yet.
After a last glance and shushing motion at the wide-eyed maid, Quinley slipped into the hallway and quick-stepped to the service elevator, wondering how such a tight dress could make so much noise when she moved and praying all the while the security guards downstairs monitoring the many cameras were too busy studying the arriving guests to notice the bride escaping.
She shrank back into the corner of the elevator by the numbered panel and tapped her fingers rapidly against her hips, tap, tap, tapping her anxiety out in frantic movements.
A bell dinged, the elevator stopped and the door opened into a back hallway leading to the kitchen, maintenance, and service rooms that kept the hotel functioning. One peek showed her that hotel staff were everywhere. As wasmoresecurity. She swallowed hard, about to give up hope of escape, when a chance break in the flow of foot traffic allowed her to rush from the elevator to hide behind a monstrous pillar disguised as a faux palm tree.
Sweet baby Jesus, thank you.
She leaned her forehead against the scratchy surface and tried to catch her breath and slow her heart rate.
Had the alarm been sounded? Were her bodyguards searching for her? Had security noticed her in the footage from the hallways and elevator? Were they currently rushing toward her?
What would they do if they caught her?
Stop her. Of that she had no doubts whatsoever.
Their job was to protect her, not keep her from running away. But when the bride was leaving the billionaire who employed them… Well, the writing was on the wall, so to speak.
Shereallyshould’ve planned her escape. Not that she’dplannedto leave her fiancé at the altar. But every girl needs a Plan B for situations such as this. That would’ve come in handy right about now.
Five or so minutes ago, the wedding was still a go, but considering her current predicament, all she could do wasgountil she couldn’t anymore.
So why are you just standing there? Escape, escape, escape!
She sucked in a shallow breath. Dear God in heaven,whywas this dress so tight?
Her heart pummeled her chest as though trying to break free from her like she was the hotel. She peeked around the pillar for her next move and thankfully she spotted a side door. An emergency exit.
