Chapter 6 - Packing the Monitor in the Dark
The harsh rattle of the stairwell door echoed through the hallway just as my hand locked onto the door's deadbolt. I didn't breathe. I grabbed the canvas duffel bag, stuffing the remaining gauze, tape, and the buzzing digital monitor inside while the metal pole clattered softly against the wooden floorboards.
A sharp knock rapped against the door. Three heavy strikes, followed by a pause.
"Open up. Federal marshals," a flat, practiced voice called out.
They weren't corporate security anymore; they had escalated to official badges, which meant the corporate network reached deeper into local law enforcement than I had anticipated. Another knock rattled the frame, harder this time.
I turned toward the narrow service window overlooking the rusted metal fire escape. The hinges protested with a loud groan as I shoved it upward, letting in a rush of cold autumn air and the distant roar of morning traffic. The metal stairs dropped down into a narrow alleyway choked with gray trash bins and discarded pallets. It was our only exit.
Just as I swung my left leg over the sill, the apartment door burst inward with a splintering crash. Wood shards sprayed across the linoleum floor. I dropped onto the metal grating of the fire escape, pulling the window shut behind me and latching it just as a pair of heavy shoulders slammed against the interior glass.
I scrambled down the rusted steps, my bandaged right arm throbbing with sharp bolts of pain every time I gripped the railing. Below me, the alley was quiet, shadowed by towering brick walls that cut off the morning sun. I hit the pavement, stumbling slightly before catching my balance on the damp concrete.
Footsteps clattered on the iron stairs above—fast, heavy, and closing the distance.
"Hey!"
I whipped around, my hand instinctively dropping toward my pocket. She stood near the mouth of the alley, half-hidden behind a large green industrial dumpster, her hands clutching a brown paper grocery bag. Her eyes widened in shock as she took in my sudden appearance and the sound of heavy boots above us.
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"Move," I hissed, grabbing her arm and pulling her into the deep shadows behind a delivery truck idling by the corner.
We slipped past the truck and onto the crowded sidewalk of the cross street just as two men in suits burst out of the alley, scanning the pedestrian traffic in both directions. We blended seamlessly among office workers and delivery couriers, walking briskly toward a municipal parking garage two blocks away where an anonymous rental sedan waited. My fingers trembled slightly against the steering wheel as we pulled out into traffic, leaving the skyline and the breached safe house behind us in our rearview mirror.
