Grayson

Thirty-two steps to the service elevator. On a floor plan, that distance feels short and easy. In real life with a hostage and screaming nurses and police aiming guns at your head, each step might as well be a mile.

“Neither one of us will make it out of this alive,” London says. “They will shoot through me to get to you, Grayson. You’re a convicted serial killer twice over. You’re not leaving this hospital.”

I breathe in her scent. The sweet note of lilac bolsters my courage and frees me of the sedative, urging my adrenaline to pump harder. “They’re not shooting a renowned doctor. The state doesn’t want that lawsuit.”

Her laugh is hollow. “So you did use me. This was the plan. Somehow you figured getting me here would be your best chance at escape.”

I pull her closer and we inch another step backward. “This is a conversation for later.”

“Sullivan.” Detective Foster aims his gun upward. “I’m putting my weapon down.” He holds one hand up and hunches to set his piece on the floor. He then orders the other officer to do the same. “We’re not doing this here, or anywhere else. If you release Dr. Noble, then we’ll all forget this happened. It’s not as if you can be prosecuted any more heavily than you already have been.”

I smirk. “That’s not a very good argument, detective.”

His brow furrows as he realizes my point. “But you don’t really want to hurt your doctor, do you? She’s been the only one in your corner.”

I gain another two steps toward the elevator. “Again, not a good counter strike. She fed me to the wolves. Or did you miss her fascinating testimony?”

“Sullivan, don’t—don’t take another step…,” he warns.

I hear the elevated pitch in his voice; he knows he’s lost this round. I tug London toward the wall, using it to shield our right so I can focus on the officers to our left in the adjacent hallway as we ease toward the elevator threshold.

“Push the button,” I tell her. She does, and when the doors slide open, I jerk her inside. “See you at the bottom,” I say to Foster before the doors close.

I hit the Lobby button, then count down the seconds. At ten, I push in the Stop button. The car jerks to a halt.

“What are you doing?”

“Trust me,” I say, and oh, the beautiful look of pure hatred on London’s face heats my blood. She’s breathtaking when she’s livid.

“We’re not a team,” she grates. “I diagnosed you as delusional in open court. God, I was right.”

“I know. It was brilliant, by the way.” I stuff the gun behind my back and lift a section of the car ceiling, sliding it back. “You should feel proud of that—the way you callously led the jury to kill without remorse. They have you to thank for not losing any sleep over it. Took less than two hours to convict me.”

I step onto the bar and hoist myself through the ceiling.

“I did not—”

“You did. You can stop lying.” I look down at her. “Give me your string.” I extend my hand. Her eyebrows push together in confusion. “Now, London. Give me the damn string in your pocket.”

She curses and digs out the black thread.

“All of it,” I demand. “I know you keep more.”

She hands up the roll of string. I unravel it and hand her one end. “Tie this around the red button.”

She does. “You said you don’t want to harm me. Are you letting me go?”

I show her the gun. “Don’t lose that sharp brain of yours just yet. Give me your hand.”

I pull her onto the top of the elevator, and we’re seconds from finding out if this plan will work. I guide her toward the ladder on the side of the shaft and then seal myself around her.

I pull the thread.

The elevator jolts and propels downward, continuing it’s journey to the lobby. “Climb,” I order.

We reach the roof of the hospital. Once I have London out of the shaft, I dispose of the gun. She anxiously stares at where I hid the weapon behind a skylight.

“I never liked them,” I say. “No art in shooting someone.”

Her feet move backward. “I’m leaving now, Grayson.”

I look up into the darkening sky. “What time is it?” When she doesn’t respond, I grab her arm and wrench off the thousand dollar watch she wears. I flip on the radio, gauging how close the search is to us. “You have less than one minute to make your choice,” I tell her. “In ten minutes, they’ll have downtown secured and blocked off. Then we have twenty minutes to make it out of the state. So you get one of those minutes. Decide.”

She pushes her hands through her hair. “You’re giving me a choice?”

“I give everyone a choice. You’ve been making choices since the first day we met.” I offer her my hand. “You can go back, try to insert yourself back into your life of lies, or you can come with me and find out how far the rabbit hole goes to get your answers.”

She shakes her head. “I can’t.”

I breathe hard. “You can. You can do anything you want, and I promise, I will let you go.”

She releases a manic laugh. “This is fucking crazy. You’re crazy!”

“Is that your professional opinion, doctor?”

Stare cast over the horizon, she shakes her head. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Even if it means discovering the truth?” I say, and her gaze nails me. “The absolute certainty of uncovering everything your father kept from you?”

It’s there in her pensive eyes, the longing, the desire to unmask that which terrifies her. Curiosity alone isn’t enough—to a narcissist like London, this is the promise of her story. Her. her. her. It feeds her vanity.

She secures her bag over her neck. “They’re going to put you to death. And I swear to God, Grayson…I will be there to watch.”

She takes my hand.

I close my fingers around her palm, feeling the beveled scar. “I hope you will be.”

But not before we end this.

I pull her behind me as I take off toward the edge of the building. Her pain will slow us down. I’ve thought about that, though, how to get us out of downtown the fastest, with the least amount of effort.

The sounds of helicopter blades chopping the air hovers near.

I let her go down the fire exit first. “Don’t look at the ground,” I instruct. She curses the whole way down the side of the building, but she makes it.

Police sirens bounce against the cement and brick, the hospital nearly barricaded. I grab her arm and lead her to the thick brush of trees and bushes where we halt before the freeway.

“We have a minute to make it to the bridge before the dogs pick up our trail.” I look down both lanes, gauging traffic. The darkness will give us some cover, but not for long.

“Why are you doing this…?” she asks aloud, but it’s not intentionally directed at me.

I palm her face. “You know why—you know why you’re here. To demand the answers he kept from you.”

A tear slips free, and she blinks away the wetness. She’s not crying; her adrenaline is running high. Good. It will help cancel out her pain.

“We’re leaving, London. Now.”

The race to the bridge is our biggest challenge. We leave the sounds of the search behind as we cross the highway. Cars stop in the middle of the street, horns blare. Thirty seconds to go.

I pick up the pace once we’re on the median. Her gasps of pain sting my ears. I feel her pain for her, and I would take it if I could. The destination is in sight. Another five seconds and we’re here. “Stop.”

She doubles over to catch her breath. “We’re in the wide open!”

I look over the side of the bridge. “We’re going down.”

Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “No. I’m not dying for you—”

I grab her around the waist and pull her back against me. She kicks and fights as I ease up against the cement railing. “You already made your choice.”

I take her with me over the edge.

The creek water hits us with an icy fist. A rock tears into my shoulder. I aimed for the deepest part of the Brandywine, but it’s still a shallow pool.

“Oh, my god!” She sputters and wipes at her face. “I hate you.”

I circle my arms around her and haul her close. “You act as if you’ve never swam in a creek, country girl.”

Her fists beat at my arms, splashing water. “This is madness—”

I turn her toward me, taking her face into my hands so I can stare into her brown eyes. “This is so much more than madness. This is what obsession does to a person.” I swallow hard. “Believe me, I have tried every way to get you out of my system, out of my head… I can’t. I’m only trying to make sense of the nonsense. We’re connected, and we belong together. I’m already a dead man. So if I die in pursuit to obtain the unattainable…then that’s a death I can honor.”

She blinks through the droplets of water, her gaze flicking over my features. “You’re doing this because you believe you can what…? Feel love?” She shakes her head against my grasp. “Jesus, Grayson. That’s insane. And impossible. You’re confused and sick.”

“Then we’ll be sick together.”

I push off the floor of the creek to stand, bringing London with me. “Stay on the bank. Track through the water. Dogs can’t scent us in the water.”

She’s managing, but I can sense her lethargy. She’s fading fast. As soon as her adrenaline wears off, she’ll be in too much agony to continue. I just have to get us outside of downtown. Then I can take over for her.

I smile to myself. Nurture is a strange thing.

My objective over the past year hasn’t always been clear. The more I researched and learned about London, the more my goal has changed. But there has been one remainder that has consistently stayed the same.

Her.

She’s the answer to my purpose.

With death row as my only certainty for the future, a short life sentence of penance isn’t an option any longer. I’ve paid my dues to this world, a world that robbed me early on, that fashioned me into a killer and now wants to punish me for it. I owe it nothing.

But for her…I can be more. I can be whole. The completeness that we mean together is a satisfaction to the compulsions that has consumed me for months. Demanding to be obtained.

She is my salvation. And I am her long-awaited consequence.