CHIPPED

Chapter 4

Mr. Murder retracts his finger from the trigger but he still points it at my head. I know he won't kill me, at least for right now. He can't have the cleaning lady witness my murder. If he did, he'd have to kill her too. Oh. Oh-no.

"We're not done here." He finally backs away, the gun still directed at me. When he gets to the door, he finally turns away and I can breathe again.

He opens the door to a small, tan skinned young lady. She looks so weak and innocent. If she knows what's best for her, she'll leave immediately.

"Hi, we don't need cleaning service right now." Mr. Murder almost shuts the door in the girl's face before she barges into the room with her cleaning cart. He stares at her in complete awe, and with a hint of hatred as well. She just interrupted his one chance of killing me. He's only going to have one chance because I won't allow this situation to occur again, and he knows it. His plan has been ruined. I try to hold back a victorious smile.

The girl picks up the articles of clothing strewn across the floor and places them back into my suitcase. It's almost as if she's purposely avoiding the blood on the desk and the dent in the mini fridge. She takes out a broom and heads towards the bathroom. Meanwhile, I've slowly composed myself and hold my hand to my back in an attempt to ease my pain.

"Mr. Jacobs," The girl addresses the man that's been nameless in my own head for hours now. I suppose she checked the name of the person who made the reservation. I have to admit, I'm a little disappointed that I don't recognize the name. I thought if I figured out his name, that some clue would be revealed to me.

Mr. Jacobs walks over to the bathroom doorway to see what she needs. He looks antsy and anxious. The man is sweating buckets and she's talking to him like she's asking him what his favorite color is.

"Have you ever been swept off of your feet?" Suddenly, a broom is placed between his legs and is twisted in a way that literally sweeps him off of his feet. My hand that isn't on my back flies up to cover my mouth. What just happened?

I rush over to Mr. Jacobs' side and see him still squirming. Before I make eye contact with the girl who has earned my respect on two accounts now, I take his pistol out from inside his coat. I have no intention of shooting him, but I know he would take advantage of this moment if the roles were reversed right now. Instead, I take the end of the pistol and knock him out by beating it against his head. When he wakes up, I'll already be gone, and I'll have the gun.

My eyes still don't look at the girl who saved my life. I rush over to the other side of the room to zip up my suitcase, grab my laptop bag, and run away. I don't know where I'm going, but I know it's far from here.

"Wait, where are you going?" The girl asks me, and I finally look up. Her eyes are a Carribean blue, with flecks of gold around her iris. Her dark brown hair cascades past her shoulders with curls like tiny springs.

Looking from her to Mr. Jacobs is a drastic contrast. When I bend down to see if there's any other weapons I can grab, I notice a white piece of paper sticking out of his pants' pocket. My fingers gently pull it out and my heart races at the information scribbled across it.

Willder Gordon - 89 Jenkins Drive, Sydney

I hand the girl the card with the address, "I guess I'm going here."

She eyes it over and hands it back to me with a nod of her head, "I'll go with you."

Shaking my head, I reply with a stern voice, "No. This is United States government business. I can't bring you into this."

She smiles, which is odd in our current circumstances, "I was brought into this when I heard the commotion from this room next door. Plus, I saved your life, so I think you owe me some sort of explanation as to why that man had a gun to your head." She crosses her arms over her light blue uniform. A white apron is tied around the skirt portion of her outfit.

A sigh comes out of my lips, and I realize that she's already been exposed to too much tonight. In addition to what she's witnessed, she knows where I'm headed and that could be disastrous for both of our well beings. I have to consider all of this in a rather short time, because I know the other secret service men are going to come looking for Mr. Jacobs.

"Fine," I slap a hand across my face, knowing I'm going to have some regrets, but I think taking her along is for the best. Except for one small detail. "I need to know your name."

"Neva Carney. What's yours?"

I grab the handle of my suitcase, "For security reasons, I'm going to tell you my fake name: Parker Hanes. If you earn my trust, I'll tell you my real name. Now, we don't have time for you to change. I have a few other men who have the same plot to kill me, and I don't think your broom can fight off all of them at once." Before she can respond, I whisk her away and we run out the door. Mr. Jacobs is still unconscious on the floor.

"Is there a back exit we can take so we won't have to meet anyone in the lobby?" I ask, finally releasing her wrist. She keeps a steady jog next to me and points up ahead for a staircase.

"One more thing; do you know where that address is and how to get there?" I ask her frantically.

"We'll take a taxi and tell him the address. We're about ten minutes away from Sydney."

My heart was beating out of my chest, and not because I was running. It was the fact that I was running for my life. Oddly enough, Neva was keeping up with me despite my panic. It's a wonder I don't fall down the steps.

When we reach the end of the staircase, ten floors later, the exit door leads outside and I push on it with all of my strength. Neva follows behind me, beginning to pant like I am. She automatically flags down a yellow car with a white TAXI sign on top of it. I'm relieved to see such a simple car pull over to the curb and let us inside. My laptop bag is draped across my shoulders and my suitcase is thrown into the back seat of the cab first. I allow Neva to sit up front and hand the driver our address. He appears to know where he's going, but I can't relax until I find Willder and tell him everything that's happened.

As we pass signs for Sydney, I take in the scenery of the beautiful city. If I could afford a vacation home, I know I would stay here too. Willder had the right idea in coming here for a relaxing, beautiful view. The street lights shine on the water, giving the whole city an enhanced feature that most pictures don't give justice to. It's simply breathtaking.

The driver makes an abrupt halt at a huge mansion. We must be here. What will I say to Willder first? That I was pardoned from federal prison? That I was almost murdered? That we're both in danger?

Neva doesn't follow me inside, because I forced her to stay in the taxi. If anything were to happen to a girl I just met who rescued me from being shot, I would hate myself forever. She was more likely safer in the taxi cab.

The mansion may be huge, but the driveway was shorter than I anticipated. None of the lights are on inside or out. Maybe the old man already went to bed.

I knock on the wooden door, and wait for him to answer. The hedges have not been trimmed in a while and the grass needs to be mowed. Perhaps I'm at the wrong house or he isn't here at the moment.

Turning the doorknob, I realize this house is unlocked, and that's when I reach for the gun I stole from Mr. Jacobs. Someone may have already found Willder before I could. I'm not going into a dark, unsecure house without protection.

Cautiously, I turn on one light switch closest to the door and find nothing out of the ordinary. As I take a few steps into what looks to be the living room, I find a note lying on the light red couch. Hesitantly, I pick up the paper and read it in my head.

I'm not here. I extracted the chip. Good luck finding me now, Rushwood.

-Willder