Flee Read Online Free PDF Page B

out of her fingers, feeling her wrist as her pulse weakened
and ceased. For a few seconds, I simply panted, waiting for my breathing to
catch up, my heartbeat to slow down. The bright motes swimming in my vision
faded, and I was able to study her body. She was about my height, my size. Her
black bathing suit was a simple one piece, worn for function not flattery. Not
that she needed fashion tricks to look thin and fit. Her body was as honed as
mine.
    I
frisked her, locating a bulge that contained an extra clip for her weapon. I
also found something else. Something both intriguing and disturbing. In her
right shoulder strap, sewn into the seam, was a fifty dollar bill. In her left
strap, two pieces of wire that felt like lock picks.
    Questions
bombarded my mind. Questions I didn't have time to address. I removed the towel
to look at her face, intending to memorize it.
    I
wouldn't have to.
    Staring
at her was like staring at my own reflection. The jaw, the haircut, the
cheekbones, the nose, even the eyes were mine.
    This
woman looked so much like me she could have been my clone.
     
    "After a lethal encounter, clean up is your first priority,"
The Instructor said. "If the area is still hot, leave immediately. But if
you can take a few seconds to hide the body, that will buy you a few minutes or
hours down the line. If there's time to search the body, do so. However,
distinguish between gathering intel and processing it. You can think about what
you found after you're safe. Dwelling on things while you're still in danger
will slow you down and get you killed."
     
    My
breath caught, and I spent five useless seconds just gaping at her. At me. This was impossible.
    Wasn't
it?
    I
touched her hairline, looking for plastic surgery scars. Found none. No contact
lenses either. I tugged down her suit, exposed her left breast. There, below
the nipple, was a small round mole.
    My mole.
    I
felt dizzy, as if my thoughts were whirling around me. I was looking at myself,
staring at my own face, my own body, dead.  This couldn't be happening. I
wasted three more seconds attempting to process what I was seeing, and then a
bell went off in my head reminding me I had to get out of here.
    Tugging
out my phone, I took a quick, full body picture of the dead woman. Then I
pressed her thumb to the phone's screen and took a second pic of her
fingerprint.
    After
placing the bloody towel back over her face, I dragged her into the closest
toilet. Hoisting her onto the seat brought the stars back, but I managed to get
her balanced. Then I tore off the top portion of her bathing suit and tied it
to the water pipe behind her so she'd stay in the sitting position. I locked
the stall door, shimmied underneath it, and grabbed a fresh towel.
    A
quick walk around revealed the locker room was empty. I located locker 352. My
fingers were shaking, my whole body was shaking, and it took me twice as long
as my normal eight seconds to pick the padlock. After grabbing the duffle bag
inside, I toweled off, stuck the suppressed .22 into my khakis against the
small of my back, and forced myself to focus on my next move. The hitwoman must
have a locker, but there were hundreds here. I had no time to break into them
all. Whoever was after me could send someone else, or someone might already be in
place.
    I
needed to get to a safe house. Someplace I could absorb this, recover, plan my
next move. I checked the clock on my encrypted cell. Only an hour and thirty-six
minutes until my meeting with Cory.
    It
was also ten minutes past the time Jacob said he'd call.
    The
tremor that had claimed my muscles delved deeper, centering in my chest.  Jacob
never missed a call. For the first time in almost a decade, I was on my own.
With everything that had happened in the past hour, that made me feel the most
off-balance.
    I
relocked my locker, shouldered my duffle, and left the locker room, getting my
breathing under control. The Pilates class was still going on. The woman at the
front