Blake shivered in the back of the taxi. She had paid the driver with emergency cash she had sewn into the hem of her nightgown weeks ago-a subconscious preparation she hadn't understood until now.
The driver looked at her suspiciously in the rearview mirror. She feigned a drunken giggle, playing the part of a party girl who had a rough night.
She got out at a desolate corner in the Meatpacking District. The smell of old grease and saltwater hung in the air.
She walked two blocks, checking reflections in shop windows to verify she wasn't followed.
She approached a condemned brick building. Her mother's secret asset.
She pried loose a loose brick near the foundation. The physical key was there, cold and rusted.
She climbed the fire escape to the third floor.
Inside, the air was thick with dust and neglect. It smelled of abandonment.
She locked the heavy steel door behind her.
Sniff.
Beneath the dust, there was a metallic tang. Fresh blood.
Her muscles tensed. Someone was here.
She grabbed a rusted length of pipe from the floor.
She moved silently toward the living area.
A figure lay on the moth-eaten sofa.
A man. Dressed in black tactical gear. Blood soaked the side of his abdomen.
She approached cautiously, the pipe raised.
He was unconscious. His skin was pale, his dark hair matted with sweat.
She checked his pulse. Weak. Thready.
She saw a gun on the floor. A modified Sig Sauer.
She kicked the gun away, sending it skittering across the floorboards.
She recognized the face. It was plastered on tabloids and intelligence briefings. Crown Prince Elias.
"Of all the gin joints," she muttered.
Logic dictated she leave him. Or call 911.
But 911 meant ID checks. She couldn't afford that. And a Prince... a Prince was a powerful asset.
She found a dusty first-aid kit in the bathroom.
She boiled water on a portable stove found in the pantry. The blue flame hissed.
She returned to him. She ripped his shirt open. Gunshot wound. Through and through. Clean exit, but bleeding heavily.
She cleaned the wound with a bottle of vodka she found in a cabinet.
He groaned in his sleep, his body twitching, but he didn't wake.
She stitched him up. Her hands were steady. Every loop of the thread was an investment in her future.
