Flee (35 page)

Jack
stood up.

"The
suits have closed off the west wing on the sixth floor. That's where your
sister is."

"I
need a gun."

"I'd
prefer you stop killing people in my city, if you don't mind. Besides,"
her lips curled into a smile, "didn't you say you liked to live on the
edge?"

"Thank
you, Jack," I said. And I meant it.

The
cop walked to the door, then stopped.

"If
you need a friend someday, I work out of the 26th District. Look me up."

"I
will."

"And
nice work saving the world, Chandler."

Jack
left.

I
hurt in a billion places and was dog tired. No doubt the hospital was crawling
with operatives, and I probably had less than a five percent chance of getting
out of there alive. The odds were even worse if I tried to rescue Fleming.

But
my parents would have been proud, because even after all that had happened,
after the hellish day I'd had, after all I'd done and all I'd lost, my upper
lip was as stiff as can be.

Quitting
was not an option.

I
opened the bag Jack had left, found one of my shirts, and felt along the seam
until I reached the fifty dollars and the lock pick.

"Hold
on, Sis," I whispered. "I'll be right there."

end