Chapter 5 - The Secret Elevator
We sprinted down the dimly lit corridor, our footsteps muffled by the thick Persian rugs. Every shadow looked like an enemy; every flicker of the storm-tossed lights outside felt like a trap closing in.
“Where does the service elevator go?” I panted, struggling to keep up with his long strides despite my aching muscles and the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
“To the underground loading bay,” Lincoln said, not slowing down for a second. “There’s an old delivery van parked down there. Keys are in the ignition. You’re going to take it, drive straight to your apartment, grab your niece, and leave the city.”
I yanked my hand out of his grip, stopping dead in the middle of the hallway.
Lincoln turned back, staring at me in shock. “Delia, what are you doing? We don't have time for this—”
“I am not running away while you walk back into a slaughterhouse!” I hissed, my voice fierce despite the terror clawing at my throat. “You think I survived three weeks of eviction notices, dead-end hotel jobs, and scraping by just to turn tail and leave a man to die because he hired me to babysit him?”
Lincoln stared at me, sheer disbelief warring with something raw and unrecognizable in his pale gray eyes.
“You don't understand,” he said, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper. “Garrett has a dozen armed men. If I go back down there alone, I might not make it. If you stay with me, you’re signing your own death warrant.”
“Then I guess we’re both in trouble,” I snapped, pointing a finger at his chest. “Because I am not going anywhere until this is finished.”
Before Lincoln could argue, a loud, heavy mechanical clunk echoed from the end of the hall.
The digital keypad beside the service elevator blinked from red to green.
The doors slid open with a smooth hiss.
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Standing inside the brightly lit car, holding a heavy-caliber submachine gun with an easy, relaxed smile, was Garrett Mallory.
“Well, well,” Garrett chuckled, stepping out of the elevator and raising his weapon directly toward us. “I always wondered what it took to rattle the great Lincoln Frost. Turns out, all it took was a stubborn housekeeper with a death wish.”
