Chapter 4: The Kitchen Exit
Before I could answer, the bell above the diner door chimed again with a sharp, jarring ring.
Two men in dark, ill-fitting overcoats stepped inside. They didn't look like ordinary patrons; their shoulders were too wide, their movements too synchronized as they scanned the room. One of them had a small Bluetooth earpiece glowing a faint blue in the dim fluorescent light. Sterling’s private recovery crew. They hadn't wasted any time tracing the signal from the burner phone or anticipating where an ousted architect would run.
"Don't look back," Elena whispered, her voice dropping an octave as she smoothly pulled the manila folder back into her trench coat. "Head toward the service exit behind the restrooms. Now."
I grabbed the dark wool jacket off the booth, sliding my arms into the sleeves as I stood up. The movement sent a sharp twinge of pain through my bruised ribs, but I forced my posture straight, channeling the weight of the garment.
Across the room, one of the men in coats turned his head toward our booth. His eyes locked onto mine. Recognition flashed across his face, followed immediately by a predatory smirk. He started walking between the tables, brushing past a startled waitress carrying a tray of coffee mugs.
"Hey!" the waitress yelled, stumbling as her tray clipped a chair.
The distraction bought us three seconds. I grabbed Elena’s elbow and pulled her hard toward the narrow corridor beside the kitchen doors. Behind us, a heavy voice boomed over the diner's ambient chatter: "Stop right there, Vance!"
We burst through the swinging double doors into the diner kitchen. Heat hit us like a physical wall, smelling of frying onions and bleach. Two cooks turned from the flat-top grill, their eyes widening in alarm at the sight of a bruised man in an expensive suit and a young woman in a trench coat bolting through their workspace.
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"Back alley's bolted from the outside," one of the cooks shouted over the hiss of grease. "Use the basement stairs by the walk-in!"
I didn't hesitate. I shoved open the heavy metal door marked AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY just as the kitchen door banged open behind us. Shouts echoed off the tiled walls. I pulled Elena down the steep, concrete steps into the cool, damp dark of the basement, letting the heavy fire door slam shut behind us, our boots clattering down into the unknown.
