No Way Back: A Novel Read Online Free PDF

behind me.
    I spun.
    It was the black guy who I had seen with the dead agent down in the lounge. Who had to be the person I’d just heard on the radio.
    Our eyes locked and he seemed to recognize me. Then he reached inside his jacket for his gun.
    Oh my God, Wendy . . .
    “Federal agent!” he yelled. “Stop and put your hands in the air!”
    I stood, frozen. A voice inside me shouted that a federal agent had just ordered me to stop.
    But another, far more convincing, told me, If you do, this guy might kill you, Wendy! You just watched his partner murder a man. They were clearly here for something dirty. You can’t chance it. You have to get out of here now!
    “Here’s in there!” Backing down the hall, I pointed toward the hotel room door. “Your partner. He’s been shot.”
    Then I started to run.
    “Stop. Now!” I heard him shout again from behind me.
    I didn’t. Ten feet away, the hallway turned to the right and I flung myself around the corner just as a bullet whizzed by my head and slammed into the wall.
    I screamed.
    I prayed that he wouldn’t come right after me but instead would check on his partner. Who could be bleeding out. Or even dead. Which hopefully would buy me a few seconds.
    Or maybe he’d radio a third person. Down in the lobby. I had no idea how many were even involved.
    I sprinted down the long hallway, not sure what he was doing behind me. I knew that even if I screamed bloody murder and pounded frantically on the doors; even if people came out of their rooms to see what was going on and I was somehow spared; even if the police believed my story of what actually had happened in there, I would still have to face my husband and tell him what I’d done. Either way, my life would come crashing down.
    I raced around another corner, no idea if there was even a stairwell there. Up ahead, I saw a dimly lit sign that read Emergency. Thank God! I barreled through the door without looking behind, flew down the fire stairs as fast as my boots would take me—seven floors, my heart racing almost as frenetically as my feet. I had no idea what awaited me at the bottom. Hotel security? The police? With guns drawn?
    Maybe a third agent?
    I made it down the seven floors in what seemed like seconds. Above me, I heard the echo of the door opening and someone shouting down the stairwell. Loud footsteps coming after me.
    Oh, God, Wendy, hurry . . .
    Almost out of breath, I pushed through the security door on the ground floor. It opened to an unfamiliar part of the lobby, and I let out a gasp of relief that no one was around. Composing myself, I got my bearings and hurried toward the main entrance. An hour ago, I had come through it, a marital spat with my husband the most pressing thing on my mind.
    Now I was a witness to a murder. Now I had killed someone myself.
    Now I was just hoping to stay alive.
    I buried my face in my jacket and scarf and hurried through the revolving doors, the brown-uniformed doorman pushing me through with an accommodating wave. “Have a nice night.”
    I gave him a quick wave in return, not knowing what else to do.
    Outside, I didn’t know which way to turn. I wasn’t sure how close behind me the agent was. Park Avenue is a two-way street, bisected by a divider in the middle. The closest cross street was Thirty-Eighth, but the block to Madison Avenue was straight and long, and if the guy came out and saw me turn, there would be no place for me to hide.
    Grand Central station was four blocks north. Even at this hour, it would be busy with commuter traffic and offer plenty of places to hide. I knew I’d be safe there.
    I buried my head in my down coat and ran across to the other side of the street, heading north. I clung to the dark cover of the high-rise buildings.
    A block away I glanced back and saw the agent who’d been chasing me come out of the hotel. He looked up and down. I pressed myself against a large, bronze sculpture in the courtyard of an office building on