In Pursuit Of ✔

A Close Call

Henley wanted to scream. She was just about to. Then she heard a click.

Casting her gaze down, she saw Randall holding a pistol with a silencer on it. He pointed it at her leg.

"You can either come with us with two fully functioning legs, or one." Angelica's voice was close to Henley's ear. The hairs on the back of Henley's neck stood up on end. "It's your choice."

Henley closed her mouth and clenched her jaw together.

"Good girl."

Angelica's threats weren't the reason why Henley hadn't screamed. Even if it wasn't an intelligent instinct, she would rather fight than go quietly. No, she had seen a dark figure flash in the doorway behind Randall. It was a figure of hope.

"Let's go." Randall jerked the gun toward the back door began walking toward it. Henshaw was behind her and he gave her a shove in the door's direction. Henley slowly followed Randall, and as soon as Henshaw got completely out of sight of the restaurant, he took out his own firearm.

Praying her suspicions were right, Henley braced herself for whatever was coming once they passed through the door.

Randall went through first. Nothing.

Henley followed. She could just make out a profile in the shadows. She kept herself tense, ready to run or fight, whatever the occasion called for.

Henshaw was third.

Henley heard a smack.

She whipped around just in time to see Henshaw crashing backward into Angelica. From the back of the building, Henley saw a van racing toward them. Randall turned around, but it was too late.

Nick had already grabbed Henley's arm and was pulling her in the opposite direction of the incoming van. After a split second to gather her wits, Henley started running as fast as she could, but her nerves were rattled once again when she felt something small and fast wiz past her face.

Rounding the corner, Henley expected Nick to take her back to the car. He didn't. Instead, he stopped in front of a motorcycle. He handed Henley a helmet.

Henley did not understand what was going on. She took the helmet and put it on, swung her leg over the bike behind Nick, and held on.

She could hear the slamming of a van door and the screech of tires, but then the roar of the motorcycle drowned out all other.

Henley couldn't see where they were going; she could only feel the twists and turns that Nick took dangerously fast. On occasion, she could hear the squeal of tires behind her. She kept her head down and pressed to Nick's back, her arms wrapped so tightly around his middle that she was surprised he was still able to breathe. Hell, her own stomach clenched so tightly, it was a miracle that she still able to breathe.

Henley was a trusting person. She trusted her family and many people at Berkeley; she had trusted the C.O.D.E. Agents in San Francisco, and despite the patchy frostiness, she had trusted Nick since the beginning. But she had never, ever, in her life trusted someone as much as she now trusted Nicholas Rowland. She clung to him like a life raft, leaning with him into turn after turn, wishing that it would be over and they would be out of danger, but feeling as though that moment would never come.

It could have been ten minutes and it could have been an hour, but eventually, Nick began to ease up just slightly on the acceleration. Henley had heard no sounds of the van behind them for a while. Then, pulling around a sharp corner, Nick put on the brakes and harshly came to a stop.