Chapter 6 - The Shadow in the Aisle
The vibrating hum of my phone stopped as abruptly as it had started, but the damage was done. The sound had bounced off the concrete walls, echoing with crystal-clear precision through the rows of metal shelving.
Travis stopped dead in his tracks. The blue light from his phone screen washed over his face, carving harsh, unforgiving lines across his features.
"I know someone is here," Travis called out, his voice dropping into that cold, commanding register he used when closing a hostile corporate acquisition. He took two slow, measured steps down the central aisle, his leather-soled shoes clicking heavily against the floor. "Show yourself now, and maybe I won't have security drag you out in handcuffs for industrial espionage."
I didn't move. My back was pressed hard against the cold metal of the shelving unit, my fingers locked around the handle of my cleaning cart. The USB drive containing four thousand files of financial corruption and hidden shell accounts felt like a burning coal in my uniform pocket.
Travis stepped closer, the shadow of his shoulder stretching across the linoleum right toward my hiding spot.
"Eliza?" he murmured, a sudden note of realization cutting through his cold exterior as he caught a glimpse of the gray uniform fabric poking out from behind the rack. "What the hell are you doing down here?"
He rounded the corner, his hand shooting out to grab my wrist, but I was already moving.
With a sharp jerk, I shoved the heavy industrial cleaning cart directly into his path, sending a cascade of mop buckets, chemical jugs, and plastic bottles crashing across the floor in a chaotic wave of suds and plastic.
Travis cursed loudly, stumbling backward as the cart slammed into his shins.
May you like
I didn't wait to see if he was hurt. I turned on my heel and sprinted down the secondary service corridor toward the emergency freight elevator at the back of the archives.
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