Every Last Breath
Page 42
“Who in the Gray Box can do that?”
“Sanborn knows it can be done. Daniel Cutter is capable of executing it.”
“Damn it to hell.” Falling from the sky in a disabled helo and crashing into the freeway wasn’t on his top ten list of ways to go.
The Tysons Corner Center mall had a parking garage and wasn’t far. They could land on the uncovered top level. This time of day, it’d be vacant.
On the way, he shared everything he knew. Details of the offshore account, timing of when it was opened, the not-so-coincidental correlation to his late wife’s accident, Willow’s failed polygraph, the heat Sanborn was under. The possibility of a whitewash.
When he’d finished taking a wrecking ball to her life, she looked dazed, face ashen, arms clenched around herself. He set the chopper down on the top level of the multistory garage. It was empty as he’d expected. He unbuckled her harness to help her hurry along, but she stared straight ahead, unblinking.
If she went into shock, they were screwed.
“Willow.” He caressed her cheek, aching to erase the sudden insanity engulfing her life.
An unnamed longing beat at his chest—the primal need for something deeper than physical pleasure with this woman, something greater than the instinct to protect her. The inclination was undeniably dangerous.
“Willow,” he said again, more firmly.
She blinked, snapping out of her trance. Her hazel eyes found him.
“You with me?”
Grasping her pearls like a lifeline, she nodded.
“We’ve got to move.” He wished there was time to comfort her, but it wouldn’t take the Gray Box long to track them.
They hopped out, meeting in front of the helicopter. While scoping out the location of security cameras, he offered his hand. Her delicate fingers wrapped around his, and his body tightened at the shocking warmth, the innocent way she blindly trusted him.
He couldn’t fail her.
They hustled down four flights of stairs. The mall’s doors opened before the stores at seven thirty for walkers. College kids flocked to the Starbucks with its early hours and free Wi-Fi, and they tended to drive cheap beaters prime for stealing.
He prowled for a car easy to hotwire.
Isolated at the end of a row, an old Ford looked good. They made a beeline for it. Empty coffee cups and brown fast-food napkins littered the back seat. The front passenger window was cracked low enough for a small hand to get through.
“Stick your arm through the window and pull up the little black knob.”
“We’re stealing someone’s car?”
“Borrowing.”
Brow furrowed, she stuck her arm through the crack in the window. Even on her tiptoes, she couldn’t reach the knob.
“I’m going to lift you, okay?” He scanned the parking garage. Still alone.
Once she nodded, he put his hands on her hips and lifted. A vicious twinge ripped into his chest from where the bullets had struck the vest. She grasped the knob and pulled, unlocking the door. She scooted inside to the driver’s seat, unlocked the other door, and climbed back to the passenger’s side as Gideon hustled around the car.
He jumped in and removed the panel of the steering column. Glancing around, he felt for the right wires, stripped the tips, and tried them until he sparked the engine and the beater started.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“We have to make a couple of stops. Then we’re going to see a friend about passports.”
She clutched her purse, face riddled with worry.
“I’ll keep you safe and we’ll figure out who’s framing you. Everything will be okay.”
He left out the part about how things would get a hell of a lot worse before they got better.
Order Juno Rushdan’s next book
in the Final Hour series
Nothing to Fear
On sale August 2019
Acknowledgments
First, thank you to the men and women who fight to protect our freedom. Your sacrifices are appreciated.
Writing a book is a solitary task that is never easy, but this story never would’ve made it out into the world without the help and support of many people. Special thanks to my phenomenal agent, Sara Megibow. You took a chance on me and found Every Last Breath a home. I asked a million questions that would’ve had other agents running for the hills, but your patience has been tireless. You go above and beyond with your encouragement, advice, and outside-the-box ideas.
A huge thank-you to my kick-butt editor, Mary Altman, for your discerning vision, infectious enthusiasm, and seeing the potential in this book. I couldn’t have asked for a more diligent and understanding editor. To the entire team at Sourcebooks, from Dominique Raccah, to the art department, publicity, and sales, I would like to express my gratitude for your belief in this series.
Thanks to my critique partners and beta readers for providing invaluable feedback to make this book stronger.
Imagine Dragons: thank you for creating such amazing music that inspires my writing and motivates me during a workout.
Thank you so much to my patient husband, for allowing me to barricade myself in the office, juggling our awesome kids when I’m writing, and supporting this crazy endeavor. You guys are the ultimate cheering squad and mean everything to me.
To anyone who picks up one of my books: I’m beyond grateful that you read it and for telling your friends to read it, too. Word of mouth means the world to an author. Thank you!
Thank you for reading this Sourcebooks eBook!
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