Chapter Thirty-Eight


The first day of May brought with it a gloriously warm sun that had everyone lounging on the school grounds before the afternoon bell. Midtown had a short recess after lunch, typically meant for students to get exercise, but really everyone just used it to hang around and text each other.

I wasn't feeling the sunshine, but Peter was adamant I'd get fresh air, and cajoled me into joining him and Ned (and MJ, although she refused to be considered an official part of the group because she didn't want to "participate in clique culture"). I complained the whole way, convinced that Aunt May put him up to this. Still, I didn't turn back. Suffering the sunlight to be with my friends seemed like a better idea than sulking indoors alone.

Now, I lied on top of an outdoor picnic table, basking in the sun and considering a nap. The sun, as it turned out, really did feel good. It was so warm that I wanted to take off the baggy sweater that had been my trademark for most of April. I only didn't because that would prove Peter right.

"See, I told you it'd be nice," Peter said. Spoke too soon.

I squinted one eye open to look at him, sitting at the table to my right. He and Ned were trying to fold origami cranes for math class (don't ask), and so far had managed to make some very crumbled ducks. "I'm saying nothing."

"Enjoy it while it lasts," MJ said from the next table over, her nose deep in the covers of Atlas Shrugged. "As soon as finals come around, we're not going to be seeing much of the great outdoors."

"Wow, Michelle, you're, ah…" Peter paused, a mischievous grin growing across his face. "A real ray of sunshine, aren't ya?"

MJ snorted, then stopped suddenly as if remembering herself; she cut Peter a positively venomous look. She quickly stuck her nose back into her book — maybe to hide the flush rising in her face.

Peter, oblivious, turned back to me and Ned, "Either of you guys thinking about going to the Spring dance?"

That caught me by surprise, and apparently Ned, too. We glanced at each other before shrugging in unison.

"I want to, just depends if my mom will let me," Ned replied. He glanced over me to a table on the other side, where another group of kids sat. "And if Liz says yes if I ask her."

"Why would she say yes? The Spring dance is for underclassmen — she's a Junior, she gets to go to Prom," Peter pointed out, but at Ned's discouraged look, he quickly added, "Well, I mean, it can't hurt! Popular kids, you know, they go to all the dances. Right Mia?"

"I don't really think I'm your expert witness on this, Mav." I said doubtfully. What did I know about popular kids? I was never one of them. But Peter threw me a pointed look, tilting his head towards a wilted Ned, so I sighed and added, "I mean, yeah, sure, she's really nice. Probably wouldn't mind going, and everyone else would be psyched to see her there. You should definitely ask her, Ned."

That seemed to do the trick. Ned perked up immediately, smiling at me. "You think so? Maybe I will. And I guess there's no shame in going stag, is there?"

"We can all go together!" Peter said, holding out his arms and almost clipped my nose.

I carefully pushed his hand away, frowning. "Did I just get volunteered?"

Peter pretended not to notice me. "I don't know, maybe."

"Uhh," I considered my next words for a very long moment, trying to make them as nice as possible. "I don't think I want to go."

"Why not?" Ned asked. "It's your first high school dance. Well, actually, the first one would have been in December but both of you guys were grounded and couldn't go… but you're not grounded this time!"

My frown didn't let up. Even if I hadn't been grounded at the time, the school's seasonal dances were not really my cup of tea. I didn't even attend Baby's First Shindig at Jefferson Middle School (although that was just as likely due to medical reasons as much as personal choice — but still). "Eh, I don't know, Ned."

"Aunt May thinks it might be a good idea," Peter offered in a very tentative voice, casting me a wincing look out of the corner of his eye.

And for good reason. It definitely wasn't what I thought he was going to say. My frown focused on him. "Aunt May told you she wanted me to go to the dance? Why didn't she tell me that herself?"

"Well, she didn't say it specifically," Peter said, his shoulders hitching up to his ears, grimacing slightly. "But she might have asked me if you mentioned it at all, and I said no, because, well, you hadn't, and then she may or may not have casually remarked that she hoped you might want to go this year, do something fun…? No pressure, though." Peter dropped his shoulders, setting his chin on his hand. "To be honest, I think she just wants to buy you a dress. She likes going shopping with you."

"...Oh." I lied back down, pressing my lips together. Well, I couldn't really argue with that. I wasn't a big fan of shopping, or dresses, but knowing May had fun with it sort of lessened my own distaste.

"Hey, Mia," MJ's voice caught my attention and I looked up to meet her dark eyes hovering over the top of her book. "If you go to dance, I'll go, too."

Her eyes snapped to Peter. "And not because of you."

"What? I'd never assume you would—" Peter started to protest, utterly baffled, but MJ had already turned her back on us, leaving him at a loss. Shaking his head to himself, Peter looked back to me. "So what do you think?"

"If we all go together, I think it'd be a lot of fun," Ned said, shooting one last odd look at MJ. "With or without certain extra guests."

Both of their eyes turned to me. Maybe MJ, too, but I couldn't tell with my head back on the table. Unsure of what else to say, I decided to go with the diplomatic option. "I'll think about it."

It would satisfy them, for now. To be honest, I didn't always have the energy just to go to school on a normal day, so I wasn't sure if I'd be up for a dance, an entirely new experience with lots of loud noises. But the Spring dance was at the end of May — there was plenty of time to decide. To see if I felt better enough.

And the idea of going with my friends, going dress-shopping with Aunt May, did sound enticing, even if the concept of the dance itself didn't. I certainly wasn't lacking for reasons to go.

Maybe it'd be nice. School dances were what normal kids do. And there was nothing more than I wanted right now than to feel normal, to have a normal experience.

It was worth it to at least try it once, see how I felt about it — then I could say, for a fact, whether or not I ever wanted to go to another one again, and no one would be able to argue with me.

"...So I saw him again, that guy that's been hanging around here lately?" In the background, I heard Flash's usual loud-mouthed bravado echoing across the grassy picnic area. "I swear, he's been following me..."

"You saw him here?" Liz gasped, sounding shocked.

"Yeah, a few times." Flash replied. "Thought he might've been someone's parent, but he's gone when the last bell rings."

"That's kind of weird. Did you tell anyone?"

"My father. Not really sure if he's done anything yet, but if I see that guy following me again, I'm definitely calling the police —"

I sat bolt upright, alarmed. "Wait, you saw someone following you? What did he look like?"

Flash blinked at me, startled by my intrusion. He was at another table fifteen feet away — I hadn't exactly been a part of the conversation until this point. Not even eavesdropping distance. Even Betty, Tony and Liz, sitting next to him, were giving me weird looks. Had I looked behind me, I would've seen the startled expressions on Peter and Ned's face as well. But all of that was irrelevant — I stared at Flash, unblinking as I centered all my attention on him and whatever he was just talking about.

"Uh, you know," Flash stammered, coming over it as I rolled off the picnic table and approached. "The usual. Tall white guy, dark hair, buff, dodgy-looking. Couldn't really see his face, he had a baseball cap on. Looked like he went shopping at Goodwill and hadn't showered in a week."

I did not expect such a precise description. Suddenly I was thinking hard of everything Flash had said up to this point, making sure I hadn't missed a single detail. I'd never gotten a long good look at my ghost but this sounded extremely familiar. It only confirmed the theory I'd been toying with in my mind for the past couple weeks. For the first time, someone else saw him, too. He wasn't a hallucination.

Flash must have seen how fast the blood drained out of my face, because he quickly added, "But I handled it! He wasn't that scary. Not the first time some asshole wanted to intimidate my dad. I just got in his face and told him off."

My stomach dropped out of my chest and off the face of the earth. "You confronted him?"

"Well, no one's stupid enough to hurt me, not if they want anything out of my dad, so," Flash just shrugged, looking rather pleased with himself. I couldn't tell if he was putting on the bravado or was actually this egotistical. "I mean, all I had to do was yell at him, and he left. Heh, they don't make 'em like they used to."

I blinked. "He just… left?"

"Yep. Haven't seen him since." Flash said with a smile. Then something seemed to occur to him, and he fixed me with a different look, his eyes widening. "Wait, Mia, were you — were you worried about me?"

Dammit. For a second, I was almost speechless, before the aggravation steamrolled my fear. Not bothering to deign Flash's question with a reply, I turned on my heel and walked away.

"Is — is that a yes?" Flash called after me. "Mia?"

Ignoring him with a roll of my eyes, I stalked towards Midtown's gates as fast as I could, to put distance between us. Indeed, as Flash said, no one was there. Still, my stomach coiled at the thought that someone had been lurking around here and I never noticed. I still couldn't believe what Flash said was true, yet he didn't seem to be lying. He certainly didn't know just who he was dealing with.

If my gut instincts were true, then Flash just shooed away the Winter Soldier like a damn dog.

This was giving me a headache.

Passing cars in the teacher's lot and stopping at the steps that led down the street below, I took a gander around. The street noise was louder here, but no one was close by. None of the pedestrians I saw seemed particularly interesting or suspicious. Had he really been following me to school?

"Mia? Hey, Mia! Are you okay?" Peter trotted up next to me, his voice dropped to a low register even though there was no one around to overhear. None of the kids were allowed to hang out here in the parking lot, and it was distinctly quieter here. Still, the way he glanced furtively around, indicated he understood that I was anxious. He came to a stop and said, "You think it's that stalker guy again? The one from the graveyard?"

Of course, I had been nurturing the idea that it might've been the Winter Soldier — or Bucky Barnes, or whoever he was at this moment — was the one following me. The bullet casing had been a big indicator, and the general stance and body posture was hard to mistake, even from a distance. His avoidance, however, was not something I could understand, why he was stalking me but not doing anything else.

"Maybe," I muttered, biting my lip and looking around again. There were passerby on the other side of the gates, and on the opposite street, but no one that stood out to me. No one on the rooftops or railings, either. "I guess it just freaked me out a little, I'm sorry,"

If the Winter Soldier was following me, it had to be for a reason. Probably to kill me, because what else was he good for? But if that was the case, why wasn't I already dead? He's had thousands of opportunities at this point.

At any rate, I didn't feel like I could tell anyone because I didn't have enough proof.

"You're fine," Peter said, reaching out to touch my arm. "You know I've got your back. If he's still out there, we'll find him."

I gave him a wan smile but didn't encourage the thought. I had brought up the idea of being followed to Peter once before, just to test the waters, and he said his Spider Sense could pick up on that sort of thing — and he hadn't so far. Still, I wanted him to be careful, to not go jumping out as Spider-Man right from his bedroom window. The last thing I wanted was for the Winter Soldier to interpret Peter as a threat. Which I was concerned about now. "If you do, don't… don't confront him. He could be dangerous."

Peter tilted his head, brow furrowing. "How dangerous?"

Well, I couldn't tell him straight out the Winter Soldier; that might make Peter more likely to attack, not less. And just because I was pretty sure Peter was stronger than a Super Soldier didn't mean one couldn't seriously hurt him. I wasn't sure how explicit I could get, so I went for the safe option. "HYDRA dangerous. Me dangerous."

"Oh," Peter rocked back on his heels, nodding slowly. He glanced back up to the picnic area, where students were still lounging. Ned and MJ, minding their own business, no idea anything was wrong. Flash, who'd already gone back to talking with his friends. The kind of life our lives could easily disrupt. He looked back at me with a frown. "I thought HYDRA was dead. How can they still be after you?"

"There's always going to be remnants, people who slip through the cracks," I said with a shrug. I didn't know for sure who might have slipped through, but I wasn't stupid enough to believe that the FBI, CIA, whoever managed to catch all of HYDRA's current operatives. Steve's mission alone was proof of that. "I don't know if there are any following me, but… tread carefully, okay? Watch out for who you pick fights with."

"Copy that, Goose." Peter said, giving me a two-fingered salute off his brow. It was meant to be tongue-in-cheek, and I trusted that was just Peter's usual deflecting with glibness, and not him actually ignoring the danger. Both of us were well aware of what might happen if a fight got deadly.

By law of averages, Peter was more likely to run into trouble than I was, given his moonlighting career as Spider-Man. So far he's never gotten into trouble with anyone with superpowers or weapons (that didn't have anything to do with me, so the Extremis soldiers didn't count), but it was only a matter of time, I figured. Someday he was going to run into someone who was going to really test his abilities, and there was a good chance I wouldn't be there to help. That wasn't a comforting thought, but it was a reality I was aware of.

Peter was a homemade hero wearing a suit sewn from his old pajamas. He just wanted to help people, protect the neighborhood — I didn't want him getting caught up in an age-old shadow government with Nazis and the KGB.

It was only in gym class later, after the fact, that I realized it was actually kind of... messed up that Flash was so used to this sort of thing that he'd grown dangerously overconfident about it. What if he'd been incorrect? What if his father pissed off the wrong guy? What kind of parents allowed their kid to end up in that sort of situation?

A part of me wanted to talk about it, but I wasn't sure how to accomplish that without Flash completely ignoring the message because it was me doing the talking. Sure I was concerned about it, like a normal acquaintance might be, but that didn't mean I actually felt he was anything more than a mild nuisance to me.

Maybe that was messed up, too.


~o~


"Be honest with me, Fletcher," MJ said gravely. "You think this is a good place for a haunting?"

I looked up at the old hotel, the Lutece. Built sometime in the 1920's, classical Art Deco facade, somehow still in operation after all these years… and our first location for a haunted sleep-in for Midtown Conspiracies. (Also the only place Aunt May would reasonably let us stay at for a night, since the abandoned hospital in Washington Heights, with structural issues and asbestos, was immediately vetoed). "I think it's a good option. A nice way to ease into it. And I think the rain helps set the mood."

We were both huddled under the large umbrella that MJ had the foresight to bring along with us. It was chilly, our breaths puffing in the air in front of us as we stared up at the five-story building, with its dim, warm lights illuminating the windows. We'd just spent the last couple hours getting B-reel footage for the show — we had yet to secure the funds (weekly allowance money) to afford a night's stay here. The hosts were nice, though, more amused than anything else that two teenagers were doing a "school project" on the haunted building. It was part of the appeal for the Lutece, and I was surprised to find that it actually drew in customers, the kind that apparently enjoyed sleeping in haunted places.

I didn't know why I was judging, when I was going to be one of them, soon.

"I don't know why you wanted to do it so late at night, though," I said, shaking some water off my boot."We could've done this during the day, too, without needing special permission from our parents."

Over my shoulder I had the bag of camera equipment, designated carrier since MJ's arms got too tired. MJ had her hands busy keeping the umbrella upright, shaking slightly in the chilly night rain. May weather was fickle and the nights could still be unfriendly. Even the streets were relatively empty, one the spare vehicle passing by every few minutes or so. Every so often sirens would ring in the far distance. It was actually kind of peaceful, for ten'o'clock in Bushwick.

"My mom was cool with it, and May loves me, so it was a cinch," MJ said with a cool smirk. She wasn't lying: Aunt May did like her, and the only reason I was allowed out this late was because I wasn't here alone. Apparently, Aunt May saw MJ as a responsible element in my life.

"Besides," MJ continued as we turned away from the hotel and began our way towards the nearest subway station, about three blocks away. "It'd be really obvious if our filler stuff was filmed in the day time, when our actual episode is going to be set at night. It's for authenticity. Production value! We are artists!"

"Alright, alright," I laughed, holding out my hands in surrender. MJ's passion for the art of amateur Youtube filmmaking was not to be denied. "I believe you. It's gonna work out great."

"Good," MJ hummed in satisfaction, a bounce in her step now. "Also, we should press Peter into service. He could be a good cameraman."

"You want Peter to be our cameraman?" I asked, throwing her a skeptical look. "I thought you didn't like him."

So far, Midtown Conspiracies was a club of two — just me and MJ. For the most part, I was sure MJ wanted it that way, didn't want too many cooks in the kitchen and all that. I was totally cool with letting her have full creative control to do whatever she wanted. It was just fun to tag along and provide commentary. Until now, MJ had never expressed a desire to recruit anyone else.

"I don't!" MJ said, a little too quickly, and she didn't meet my gaze as she continued. "But it can't be you, because you'd make me look like a munchkin with your height. And it can't be me because if I drop another camera again, Mr. Mendoza is gonna have my ass. Besides, with Peter as our man, it means we both get to be on camera, talking to each other, which will be way more engaging for the audience, don't you think?"

"Hm," I said, pretending to deliberate on it as we walked along. MJ was going for the hard sell here, for some reason. Of course I had no issue with Peter being cameraman for Midtown Conspiracies. He probably wouldn't even need any convincing, so long as MJ didn't bully him too much. I just wanted to make her sweat a little. "Sure, why not."

The sigh of relief was probably meant to be quiet, but I heard it loud and clear, and didn't fail to notice the slack in MJ's shoulders. I just smiled to myself and didn't make any further comments.

The smile quickly faded when I saw movement in the corner of my eye.

I didn't turn my whole head, just flicked my eyes over. Didn't want to give myself away as I spotted the male silhouette standing just inside an alleyway across the street. The streetlamp only illuminated his boot — slick with rainwater, steel-toed.

And very, very real.

My heart launched into my throat, but I made myself remain calm. He was standing less than sixty feet away. Easily the closest he's ever been and far too near for my comfort.

That's bold of him, I thought to myself, wondering what had caused the change in behavior.

He didn't recede back into darkness, didn't disappear like the last two times. Just stayed where he was. I could see the slight shift in his head as he watched us from across the street.

And woefully obvious of him. I didn't think the Winter Soldier would be so… unsubtle. Unless he was trying to intimidate me.

… Which was working.

MJ, meanwhile, was just chatting away next to me, apparently having not noticed we had company. That was fine. I could work with that.

"Hey, MJ," I said, interrupting her mid-sentence and trying my best to not to be too rude. I had no idea what she was just talking about and all my effort was centered on keeping my tone naturally light. I kept my eyes focused on the figure in the distance as I said, "How 'bout you go take the subway and I'll walk home by myself, okay?"

"What? Are you sure?" MJ asked, her brows pulling together. She hadn't seen the man lurking in the corner. "It's kind of a long walk from here…"

The Lutece was in Brooklyn, thankfully, so it wasn't an outrageously far away from Queens, at least for me. But the distance was the least of my concern right now. I just wanted to get MJ out of here, as fast as I could. "Yeah, I'm sure! I can't really do subways right now and, uh, I don't want to worry your mom or anything."

"Well, if you're sure…" MJ said, somewhat reluctantly. She jabbed my in the arm. "But you text me when you get home, okay? I'm not losing my favorite cohost before we even upload our first episode."

"But I'm your only cohost!"

"Exactly."

I had slowly picked up my walking speed as we talked, enough for MJ to try and match me but not so fast that she'd stumble and complain. The subway was just around the corner and I was more than a little relieved to see the green sign appear overhead. I went so far as to walk MJ all the way down the steps, through the turnstiles (swiping my card even though I wasn't going to board), and all the way up to the line she'll take and waiting for it to arrive. All the while I kept an eye on the exits and surrounding area. There were very few people down here at this hour. Mostly service workers and attendants.

"Damn, Peter wasn't kidding when he said you didn't like coming down here anymore," MJ said, her eyes casting up and down in a worried look. She offered out her hand, "Here, I'll take the equipment."

I hesitated before handing over the duffel, embarrassed that my twitchiness had gotten away from me. So far, the figure had not followed us down here. Not that I could tell, at least. But I didn't want MJ to get hurt, and ensuring she got on her train was one less worry off my shoulders.

The rush of wind and screeching brakes announced the arrival of her train. We waited, wincing as the cabins rushed by, until it came to a stop. As the doors opened and let out occupants, MJ turned to me and said, "Are you sure you don't want to come? My place is closer. We could even do something like… I dunno, a sleepover? Hopefully May won't mind too much?"

That got me to laugh despite myself. "I didn't think you were the type."

MJ and I had never had sleepovers before; sure, we'd visited each other's places but never stayed over for the night. MJ had once derided the very concept once, way back in January. Called it 'a shallow social experiment disguised as a traditional female bonding ritual'. I wasn't sure if I agreed with her on that front, but I didn't mind either way. Hearing the suggestion now just brought the comment back to the forefront of my thoughts; It wasn't often MJ changed her mind on things.

"I'm not, but," MJ shrugged. She stepped onboard and turned, giving me a wry smile. "It's you, Mia. Hell, I might even like it."

"Thanks," I said, smiling. That was possibly the nicest thing she'd ever said to me. "Maybe next time, okay?"

Another time where I wasn't being followed, where I didn't want to lead them directly to MJ's home and give them someone else to target. I wasn't going to put one of my best friends in danger like that.

"Sure," MJ said, stepping back as the doors closed in front of her. She waved behind the window and yelled, her voice muffled, "Remember to text me!"

The train was already chugging out of the station as MJ was talking. I waved her off, and then she was gone.

Now to deal with the current problem.

I headed out the same way we came in. Didn't think much of it at first, was mostly focused on those around me, keeping an eye out for cameras and police (a force of habit, not because I was actually worried about being seen). I had just passed through the turnstiles again and came to the foot of the steps when I looked up.

And saw the man standing at the top of the subway stairwell, looking down at me.

Again, his face hidden in shadow. My heart leapt into my throat and I immediately backtracked a little. I watched him from below, wondering what to do. Trying to capture any other details, making sure he was real. The way the rain bounced off his head and shoulders, the sheen of his leather jacket, the water matting his blond hair to his scalp —

Blond hair?

That… that couldn't be right. Not to mention the hair was too short. Buzzcut. Decidedly military. Not impossible for the Winter Soldier to shave his head but also dye it? That was never something he did before, not in all the photos that Diana had of him.

Above me, the man shifted. Started walking down the steps.

That wasn't the Winter Soldier.

It wasn't Steve, either — the second thought crossed my mind. This guy's form was too stocky, maybe even too short to be him, although at this angle it was hard to tell. But I knew immediately it wasn't Steve simply by the way he walked. Steve had a strong, upright gait, a quiet confidence that demanded attention. This man had too much swing in his shoulders, and he put more weight on his left foot than his right. A slight limp. An old injury?

It wasn't how the Winter Soldier moved, either. This one moved too heavy, too much… swagger. I didn't know how else to describe it.

He was also getting closer. I had to move my ass.

Backing away, I turned on my heel and once more slipped through the turnstiles (earning a weird look from the booth operator). Now in the loud din of the station, I couldn't hear any footsteps behind me, whether they were fast or short. Looking behind me said he hadn't caught up at least.

I decided to head to the other exit. It would take me a few blocks further from Fayette Gardens, the Parker residence in Queens. But I didn't have a choice. I had to lose my tail and that was the only other exit.

Being in the subway did not help my anxiety. The loud noises, the deep echoing and fluorescent lights, the lack of windows and the ever present notion that I was deep underground, did not make me feel safer. It made me feel trapped. I walked as fast as I could without drawing direct attention; hoped I looked like I was just someone late for their ride. It took me only three minutes to reach the second exit, on the side of the platform (had to wind up a second level of rail-lines, slip through an open train cabin to get to the other side) but it felt like ages.

I prayed it would be enough to throw off the man that was following me, but I was also highly aware that this was low traffic hours for the station and I had not changed my silhouette. Not much to steal and not enough people around to get away with it. I would be easy to spot from a distance.

As I slipped through the other set of turnstiles, I reached for my phone. I could call Peter when I got back topside. Maybe he could help.

Just as I climbed the first step, I looked up. And saw another man standing at the top of the stairs.

My heart stopped.

He wasn't moving. Just standing there. Waiting.

Watching.

It couldn't possibly be the same person. Could it? Had the man just back-tracked up on the streets, raced me to this side?

Didn't seem likely. If this man just raced over here, he was looking pretty chill. Not out of breath. Leaning against the stair railing like he was bored. And he wasn't the same man, I realized, squinting up. This one had a different jacket, some kind of vinyl material. There was a small red glow following the movement of his hand. A cigarette.

I heard footsteps behind me. Distant, echoing, but only a single pair. Glanced back and saw a dark figure in steel-toed boots swiping through the turnstile. Walking towards me.

I was starting to feel trapped. Not knowing what else to do, I continued my steady ascent. I was a stair section to the right of the man at the top, but I was still closing distance. He could easily intercept me once I got close. I certainly couldn't turn around, unless I wanted to confront the guy behind me. Now I was severely regretting not getting on the train with MJ. Maybe I could have averted this.

Too late now. For whatever reason, neither charged. They continued acting casual, for a reason I couldn't divine. As I climbed the steps, I carefully slipped my phone out of my pocket, glanced at the screen.

No service.

Shit. I had to get higher. I dialed in Peter's number, just to be ready when I hit the call button.

I'd never get the chance.

I forced myself not to run, to cause any alarm as I kept going at a steady pace. Remain normal. Don't give them a reason to shoot you. If they even had weapons. I couldn't be sure, not in the darkness, not at this distance.

Finally, my feet hit the landing. The smoking man, less than six feet away, leaning against the railing. Taking a drag of his cigarette.

Ignoring me completely.

The street was to my right, an alleyway to my left. I went left, so I wouldn't cross behind the smoking man. To get as far away from him as possible.

But he didn't follow me. The narrow walls rose up around me, but at least I was in open, fresh air. Rain pounded my head and I was completely soaked halfway through that alley. I tucked my phone back into my pocket, warring with my confusion. Maybe the smoking guy was just chilling and I simply imagined him to be a threat?

Footsteps behind me. Just as I reached the other end of the alleyway, I glanced behind me. The blond buzzcut was still following.

Well, I wasn't wrong about him at least. I picked up my pace, finding myself on an empty street, some kind of business district with a building under construction directly ahead of me. White tarp drifted like ghosts in the night, wind pattering on exposed metal and plastic.

To my left, about thirty feet away was a white, unmarked van.

To my right, I saw a man nearby leaning against a lamp post. His head turned in my direction. He straightened.

Heart in my throat, I kept walking straight ahead, crossing the street at an increasing pace. By the time I reached the other end of the street, I was at a quick jog, vaulting over the yellow sawhorses and slipping into the construction zone. It was dead quiet here, no activity, no people. A good place to hide in and call for Peter. I wasn't sure what he could do but I knew I was better not being alone. I glanced at my phone again. Still no service. Was I in a dead zone? Maybe I had to get up higher.

There was a sign announcing what this building was called and what it would eventually look like, but I paid no attention to it as I slipped through a narrow hole between two parts of a low wall of orange plastic chain link, meant to keep out pedestrians. Not me. The dirt ground and great tower of red I-bars and concrete expanded before me. I weaved around barrels and construction vehicles and stacks of sandbags. Into the building itself, my footsteps soundless on the bare cement floor as I found a set of basic wooden stairs and climbed up and up. Better that if Peter reached me, it was off the rooftop where we could immediately swing away from danger if we had to. And harder for them to find me.

In here, the rain was so much louder than it was outside. All the plastic and hollow space and open windows made for fantastic acoustics and made it easy for me to hide any sound I made. Still, I crept slowly around, finding myself on the top most floor — eleventh, twelfth? To put as much distance and confusing ground space to throw off any scent. Peter could get up here no problem.

I trailed through the rooms up here, looking for a good window or opening. The topmost floors were the least complete, and there were a lot of holes in the floor I had to avoid, including a giant shaft that would one day serve as an elevator.

And no sign of my tail.

Eventually, I hunkered down against an outside wall, under an open window. It gave me a good view of the street below, that I had just entered from. No one was down there. The man at the lamppost had disappeared. The white van was still there.

And the blond one, nowhere to be seen. I smiled to myself. I'd lost him.

I had just raised the phone, my thumb hovering over the dial button, when I saw a gleam bounce off the glass.

A red dot.

I ducked just in time before the drywall next to my head exploded.