“This way!” Sarah dragged me out the back loading dock. The cool night air hit my face.
We sprinted across the asphalt toward the employee parking lot. Sarah’s old, battered sedan was parked right near the exit, facing out. She had prepared for this.
“Get in!” She shoved me into the passenger seat and vaulted into the driver’s side.
She fumbled with the keys. I looked out the window. One of the mercenaries was sprinting toward us, a baton raised high.
“Sarah!” I screamed.
The man reached the car just as the engine roared to life. He swung the baton, smashing the passenger window. Glass shattered over me. I shrieked, covering my face.
Sarah slammed the accelerator. The car screeched forward, the open door clipping the mercenary and sending him spinning into the darkness. We tore out of the lot, tires smoking, leaving the nightmare behind.
We drove in silence for ten minutes, Sarah weaving through traffic like a stunt driver, checking the rearview mirror constantly. The wind roared through the broken window, chilling me to the bone.
“Why?” I finally whispered, picking glass out of my hair. “Why did he do that? Why did he call me an asset?”
Sarah didn’t speak. She reached under her seat and pulled out a manila folder and a small digital voice recorder. She tossed them into my lap.
“I broke into his study this morning,” Sarah said, her voice flat and hard. “I knew something was wrong with his ‘business trips.’ Listen.”
