Chapter 5 - The Red Line
Norah didn't waste time crying or contemplating her fate.
She spent the next three hours packing everything she owned into two old canvas duffel bags. She took her clothes, her mother's silver locket, her few books, and the fifty thousand dollars, which she carefully wrapped in towels and stuffed deep into the bottom of her main bag.
She left a handwritten note and three hundred dollars in cash on the kitchen counter for her landlord, left her key on the table, and walked out of Apartment 3B forever at 11:00 a.m.
She rented a quiet, furnished room under a fake name at a small motel near the highway three miles outside her old neighborhood. It smelled of bleach and pine cleaner, but the lock on the door was heavy, and the window looked out over a busy, well-lit intersection.
For three days, she stayed inside. She watched the news on a buzzing television, waiting for a story about a diner alley murder or a warehouse raid.
On the fourth morning, it happened.
The local news channel broadcasted a live breaking report from the Silver Spoon Diner. The screen showed yellow police tape stretching across the alley where she had found Julian. A somber news anchor reported that the diner's night-shift cook, Jimmy, had been found dead behind the building, and the diner itself had been completely burned to the ground in a suspicious midnight fire.
Norah sat on the edge of her motel bed, her hands cold, her blood running thin.
They had gone back. The men who tied Julian to that pipe had returned to clear their tracks. They had questioned Jimmy, realized someone had used the back door, and destroyed the entire property to erase any potential evidence or witnesses.
If she had stayed in her apartment—if she had gone to her shift at five o'clock that evening—she would be dead right now.
Her flip-phone vibrated on the bedside table.
Norah jumped, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She picked up the phone with trembling fingers. The screen displayed an unknown number.
She hesitated for three agonizing rings before flipping the phone open and pressing it to her ear. She didn't speak.
"Norah," a deep, familiar voice said through the speaker.
It was Julian.
"How did you get this number?" she whispered, her voice tight with panic.
"I own the network you're using," Julian answered calmly. "Are you watching the news?"
"Yes," she choked out, tears finally springing to her eyes. "Jimmy... the diner... they burned it all."
"I know," Julian said, his tone dropping into a dark, murderous growl. "They were looking for you. My men found two of their scouts watching your old apartment building two hours ago. They know a woman from the diner took me from that alley."
Norah pulled her knees up to her chest, pressing the phone hard against her ear. "What am I going to do, Julian? I can't hide in a motel room forever. I don't have anywhere to go!"
"I promised you that you wouldn't die for helping me," Julian said softly. "Step outside your room. Look at the parking lot."
Norah stood up, pulled the heavy curtain back an inch, and looked out the window.
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Standing beside a sleek black sedan in the motel parking lot was the tall, silver-haired man from her apartment—the one Julian had called Vance. He was looking directly up at her window, holding a phone to his ear.
"Get your bags, Norah," Julian said over the line. "My people are bringing you home."
