One Good Reason (Boston Love #3)(93)

Sending a cryptic message seems even less ideal; sure, in his drug-addled state there’s a chance Birkin wouldn’t realize I was the one sending texts from his phone if they aren’t an overt call for help… but there’s an equal chance that Parker and Nate would have no idea what I was trying to tell them.

Hello, slow and painful death.

In the end, the decision comes down to trust.

Trust that the universe isn’t always out to get me.

Trust that, sometimes, you can count on people.

And, ultimately, trust that Phoebe’s unfailing addiction to all things fashionable will finally serve a purpose other than making her look fabulous.

The message I sent has no words — only an image.

I have to hope it’s enough to lead them to me.

As time ticks by, I feel my blood pressure slowly rising. I can’t stop wondering if I made the right decision.

Of course you didn’t, idiot, a nasty, doubtful voice whispers. When Parker gets a text message from a random number with nothing but a picture of a Hermès handbag, he’s going to think it’s a butt-dial and ignore it.

Another voice chimes in. Don’t worry. That guy you love? He’s pretty smart. He’ll know it’s from you. He’ll figure it out.

“This is taking too f*cking long!” Birkin is getting more belligerent with each passing minute. “Why is it taking so long?”

“I’m doing my best.” I try to keep my voice steady as I watch him come closer. “They have a strong firewall. Maybe if you undid my hands I could type faster.”

“Shut up!” He waves the needle closer. “For the last time, I’m not untying your f*cking hands, you little bitch.”

I type out a few more strings of nonsense code.

How long has it been since I sent that text?

At least a half hour, maybe more.

Assuming they understood what I was trying to say, it’ll still take time for them to track down possible locations. His house. His old practice. I was unconscious on the ride here, thanks to motherf*cking Steve, so I have no idea how long it will take them to find me…

Too long.

Birkin is itching at his skin like it’s crawling with invisible bugs. He can’t seem to stand still — he’s pacing tight circles behind me, muttering to himself.

“Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up.”

I type faster.

“I don’t think you understand the severity of this situation, Zoe,” he says, putting his face right up next to mine so his breath puffs against my skin. “Lancaster — he owes me money. I need that money to—”

Buy drugs.

“—to get out of here,” he says, eyes flashing. “To get out of this damn city. I can’t stay here anymore. My reputation — Lancaster said he’d give me so much money it wouldn’t matter. But now…” He leans in closer. “You f*cking ruined everything. Everything!”

I flinch back as his hands slam against the desk.

“What time is it?” he hisses, reaching into his pocket.

No, no, no, no. Don’t look at your phone.

“Wait!” I yell, voice cracking. “I think— I think I’m about to crack the firewall!”

Birkin is strangely silent.

My fingers stop moving — they hover over the keys, shaking with the effort not to turn and look at him. My legs tense up, poised to run if no other option presents itself. With my hands bound and my head spinning, there’s pretty much no way I’ll outrun him. But I’m sure as shit going to try.

“What the f*ck is this….” I hear him mutter.

I don’t wait another second.

Pushing back with all my might, I roll the desk chair toward him as I leap to my feet.

“You little bitch!” he screams as the chair collides with his legs. I see him stumble sideways to avoid it but nothing more, because I’m too busy running for my f*cking life.

I burst through the office doors and sprint down the hallway, trying to find my way out through the maze of hallways and broken furniture. It’s dark — so dark I can barely see my hand in front of my face — and my progress is painfully slow as I lurch forward, almost falling several times.

I can’t afford to fall. With my hands bound, it’ll take me forever to get back up.

For a few mind-numbing moments, all I can hear is the sound of my own panting and the thundering of my pulse between my ears as I stumble forward. But eventually, another sound creeps in.

Footsteps.

Slow, steady footsteps, trailing me through the darkness like a spider in a web.

He’s coming.

Pure terror cripples my system as my teeth sink into my lips in a desperate attempt to stifle my panicked breaths. I feel blood fill my mouth as I break the skin.

There’s no choice but to keep going. I feel my way along the walls with my bound hands, trying to keep calm, telling myself I must be nearing the doors.

“Zoe,” Birkin calls in a sing-song voice through the dark, sounding uncomfortably close. “We both know how this ends.”

I bite my lip harder and keep moving.

“If you’d just cooperated with me, this could’ve ended differently.” His tone switches from playful to pissed so fast it’s hard to digest. “But you had to be a little f*cking bitch. Tell me, who did you send that text to? Your friends at the FBI?” He laughs. “Trust me, they won’t find you. Or… they will. Eventually. But, probably not in the condition they’re hoping for.”