Page 76 of Hunt Me
His shout fragments into echoes. My knees buckle. Someone catches me—or maybe I’m falling, but I can’t tell anymore.
The world narrows to a pinpoint of light.
Then nothing.
21
ALEXI
The line goes dead.
“IRIS!”
I’m already moving, shoving my laptop aside. It crashes to the floor, but I don’t care. Nikolai’s on his feet, phone pressed to his ear, barking orders.
“Dmitri, Erik—with me. Now.”
We thunder down the stairs. No time for the elevator. My mind fragments into a thousand calculations, each one leading nowhere good. Federal operatives. Armed entry. Panic room breached.
How long since the call? Three minutes. Five at most.
Too long.
The SUV’s engine roars to life before I reach it. Erik behind the wheel, Dmitri riding shotgun. I dive into the back seat as Nikolai slides in beside me.
“Go!”
Tires shriek against pavement. Erik cuts through traffic like he’s running a heist, not racing to save?—
Don’t think it. Can’t think it.
My phone vibrates. The emergency beacon Iris was activated before they took her. GPS coordinates flash across the screen, triangulated through three different satellites.
Her apartment. Still there.
“Faster.”
“We’re doing ninety in a residential zone,” Erik snaps.
“Then do a hundred.”
Nikolai’s already on the phone with our contacts. “We need eyes on Commonwealth Avenue. Federal plates, black SUVs, anything suspicious in the last ten minutes.”
The city blurs past. Every red light that Erik stops at feels like an eternity wasted.
Morrison. Sentinel Operations. Project fucking Nightshade.
I should have locked her in my penthouse. Should have refused to let her leave. Should have?—
The SUV screeches to a halt outside her building.
The front door hangs open; the lock mechanism is shattered. No vehicles. No operatives. Nothing but broken glass glinting on the sidewalk.
I’m out before the engine stops, taking the stairs three at a time. Dmitri and Erik flank me, weapons drawn. Nikolai brings up the rear, still coordinating on his phone.
Her apartment door’s been kicked in. The frame’s splintered, hanging by one twisted hinge.
“Clear the rooms,” Nikolai orders.
