into the limo,
into the limo, slamming doors, driving off.
Leaving Harris alone.
Resting was nice, but Gaby was still two stories up. He reluctantly rose and began climbing the narrow, shaky metal steps of the fire escape.
Gaby floated up into wakefulness. The side of her face still hurt where he—
She veered away from thinking about him. This wasn’t hard. There was plenty to occupy her attention.
She was folded up in fetal position, wrapped in what felt like heavy linen. The air was so close and warm she found it hard to breathe. She was being jolted up and down, but was up against a hard surface: muscle over bone, someone’s back, a very broad back.
His back. She was being carried.
She groped around as much as she could—not easy, as she was tightly pinned—and reached over her head. There was a small hole above her, drawn nearly closed by cords; she twisted and looked up through it, seeing nighttime clouds.
She was in a bag. They’d stuffed her into a duffel bag and were