Chloe stretched her arms over her head like Oliver had shown her earlier.
To be honest, she'd enjoyed Yoga more than she thought she would. First, because Oliver had let her ogle him at her heart content, and second because for the first time in weeks, her back and shoulders didn't hurt much even though she'd been hunched over her laptop for hours. Sure, she was sore—her body had rediscovered muscles she'd happily ignored for twenty years or so— but it was the good kind of sore, if that made any sense.
One eye on the alert window that monitored the Green Arrow's position in the Glades, she reread her email to Sister Clare. Midway through her proof-reading, she'd noticed the same mistakes were coming over and over. So she backtracked to the documents she'd already corrected and confirmed what she suspected. Most of the students had trouble with their pronouns and used way too many apostrophes. Those were common mistakes easy to correct with simple tricks. Satisfied, she attached her corrections and clicked "send".
"Arrow to Watchtower. You're here, Tower?"
"Go ahead, Arrow."
"Nothing much is happening around here. I'll make a detour to the docks then head back."
"Copy that, Arrow."
She almost quipped about frogs and drowning rats, and decided to spare him. In under three hours, he'd broken a mugging with a potential rape attached to it and two car-jackings. Chloe had tried to look out the window before she retreated to Oliver's office and the rail of the terrace had been out of sight, lost in a mix of steady rain and fog. Now, if the slowing staccato on the skylight was any indication, the rain was letting out at last.
Out of boredom, she looked around the room. The furniture mixed glass and dark wood in a utilitarian yet comfortable design. He'd hanged a painting in front of the desk, a splash of bold ocher and sienna colors in abstract forms so very different from the more classical hand sketches or Black and White lithography he had everywhere else she wondered if there was a story behind the Art piece. She still had a lot to learn about Oliver. Every time she thought she had him pegged another detail put the portrait she'd brushed of him upside down.
Her stomach rolled disagreeably at the thought. Chloe closed her eyes for a minute, breathing deeply as her fingers clenched on the edge of the desk. The wave of queasiness passed, replaced by a low gurgle.
"So it's snack time…"
"You're talking to me, Angel?"
Oliver's voice in her ear gave her a jolt. She'd almost forgotten she was still on the comms.
"Huh, no, sorry. I, huh… I was talking to myself." More or less. She'd read somewhere talking out loud to your coming child during pregnancy was a habit many women picked up. It was probably ridiculous to start now, since the fetus was about the size of a grain of rice with no heartbeat and even less ears. Chloe shrugged the thought off. Who cared? It soothed her.
Her stomach clenched again, somewhat painfully this time. The blonde pushed to her feet. She briefly thought about the delicate tiramisu in the fridge. The cream melt on the tongue, the biscuits a cloud of orange and chocolate flavor. She'd enjoyed every bite earlier but as mouthwatering as it was, now she wanted salt. Something she could chew. Maybe cheese? Chloe whooped to herself as she opened the fridge door to take out the Brie and the Gruyere Hal and Tess had brought with them the day before.
"You sure you're all right over there, Sidekick?"
Shoot, she'd forgotten the stupid contraption again. "I'm fine, Arrow. I'll be right back, okay? Just… Don't do anything foolish in the next few minutes."
"Hey, you know me."
"Yes, I do. Watchtower offline."
Chloe put her communicator on the counter. She cut some brie and forwent bread and crackers, nibbling on it directly from the knife. Not the safest way to eat, but she was famished. A green apple winked at her from the bowl so she picked it up, sliced one piece off and spread the rest of her brie on it. It filled a hole without satisfying her taste buds. She wanted a real spread for her Gruyere.
She sighed. It lacked peanut butter. Oliver's severe allergy forbade anything containing peanuts came within a mile from the penthouse. Almonds were safe from the ban, as long as he didn't eat them. But she'd finished the almond paste last week, and neither had thought to replace it. In the chaos of the last few days, grocery shopping had taken a brutal tumble down the priority list. She regretted the oversight. Almond butter would be delicious with the stronger taste of the Swiss holed cheese.
Chloe put down her knife. The rain had stopped and she craved spreading almond paste on her cheese. Just thinking about it made her mouth water and her taste buds sing. It would take more time to ride the elevator down to the ground floor than run to get her threat at the 24/7 delicatessen down the street and come back.
Her decision made, she moved quickly to collect her shoes, her wallet and bundled herself in her coat before she entered the elevator.
The storm had washed out the city's smell, miasmas born of crowds and vehicles alike. Her lungs prickled from the combined tang of salt and cold. Chloe closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. This was one of the rare things she missed of Salinas Point, and to some extent, the Bavarian Alps. At thirteen, she would have sworn she was a city girl at heart, the more crowded the better. Then Lionel had happened, and she'd learned to enjoy the charm and freedom smaller cities offered.
Chloe sidestepped a puddle. The Christmas lights painted the fog wrapped around the business district in white, red and green. Only the cheerful shapes of garlands prevented the eerie atmosphere to turn into a Halloween B-movie set. She shivered and pushed the thought aside. The wind was biting. Chloe slipped her hands deeper in her pocket. Her fingers curled into fists with difficulty. The almond butter suddenly became less tempting, but since she'd come all the way down…
Her flat pandas made little noises on the pavement. A couple of taxis bulleted past her in direction of the opposite corner of the Elysian Gardens and the entrance of what Star-citizens affectionally the Milky Way, the hyp-club area of the city. Chloe gave a brief thought to Harper, who probably worked tonight. Salinas Points felt a lifetime away. Maybe it was. Chloe stuck her nose in her collar for warmth. She'd stepped out without gloves, or even scarf, completely oblivious to the most basic cautions. Yes. The Chloe who'd hidden in the brick building by the sea was a different person.
Her eyes stung at the sudden memory of her life before Oliver. Scared of her own shadow, paranoid, alone… "Oh suck it up—"
"Good idea." Metal burnt the skin of her neck. "Don't make a sound."
"Arrow to Watchtower, do you copy?"
Oliver kicked the leg of his bike off. She'd been adamant he didn't hear her raid the fridge, so the first three times he'd called, he'd thought nothing of it. That was over one hour ago, and now he was getting worried. She'd only asked for a few minutes. It wasn't like to fall off the grid without warning.
He switched the communication to her helmet. The earpiece was out of question since she'd signed off, but at least she would hear traditional phone rings.
'Hi, I'm not available right now, please leave a message.'
Oliver frowned.
Chloe swallowed past the lump in her throat. The man pressed the syringe harder into her skin. She dared not make a sound, even to call Clark.
"We're going to take a little walk."
Her legs moved stiffly, ladened by fear. She had no phone. She'd neglected to put her earpiece back on before leaving the penthouse. Her MACE was in her purse, back at the penthouse. She was alone. Acid boiled in the pit of her stomach.
'Hi, I'm not available right now, please leave a message.'
"Damned it!" Oliver swore as his tenth call ended in voicemail again. She wasn't answering her cell, or the landline for the penthouse. Chloe slept like a cat. A whisper across the room woke her up. She should have gotten to the phone by now.
The bike skid dangerously when he turned on Grant without powering down. He forced himself to breathe. Oliver redialed.
He was dragging her back to Queen Tower, through a maze of dark alleys she vaguely remembered. Her neck hurt. Knowing their possibly destination gave her some strength. Oliver used those same alleys to come and go at night. If she managed to stall…
Steel punctured her skin. "Keep moving."
Oliver squinted at the side mirror. He had a tail. He shut out his lights, veered into the next street. The Elysian Gardens were just ahead. If he managed to shake the car shadowing him, he could go through them. The memory of another night flood his mind, unbidden. The first time the Green Arrow had met Chloe Sullivan, he'd scared her to death. He remembered his mad dash through back streets, unable to shake the guilt and the fear she'd get hurt before he got to her.
The car reappeared in the mirror.
She counted in her head to fight the panic raising. One two three inhale. Hold. Four five six exhale. One two three inhale. Hold. Four five six exhale. She counted her steps. The stones under her feet. The paint marks on the wall. How many eggs to make pancakes. How many feet in a yard. How many heartbeats in a minute.
Oliver made a sharp turn in a barely there opening between two buildings. The concrete grated his bare shoulder like sandpaper. The sudden sting almost ripped his control of the bike. His admirers would need to go all the way to Queen Plaza then back to get to him. That bought him enough time to cross the street and disappear in the underground parking of the Gardens. He didn't dare use the hidden door behind the building. The rear tire screamed in abuse when he gunned the engine. Chloe was still not answering the phone.
The stitch in her side hurt when she breathed. The little air she managed to suck in hissed in painful meows each time she tried. Her vision tunneled to a mass of grey shadows. The vice grip he had on her arm was the only thing holding her up. Her hands hung limply along her sides as he dragged her like a rag doll.
Her heart beat too fast but she didn't register the pain any more.
The parking was desert. Oliver drove down to the third level in record time, careful to stay in the blind sports of the cameras. The one at the entrance he hadn't been able to avoid. He only needed ten minutes, fifteen tops, to go up and reassured himself Chloe was tucked in bed and sound asleep. After that, the Green Arrow would make his exit or Watchtower would erase all traces of him entering the building.
The elevator ride never felt so long.
She knew he was talking. The roar in her ears prevented her to understand more than disjointed words. "Ruin… Market… Money…". Nothing made sense. Panic scorched everything in its wake. The back of her eyes burnt. Her neck when he'd pricked her. Her ribs were her heart punched a hole into them to escape.
Chloe wanted to lean forward, to bend so that her head stopped swimming for only an instant. If only she could breathe…
"Chloe?"
The living room was empty. One lamp lit the armrest of the couch. Oliver pulled away his glasses, searching the space with fresh eyes.
"Chloe?" He called again.
She wasn't in the kitchen. He found an apple, barely cut, and the Watchtower's earpiece next to it.
Oliver swallowed bile. He reached their bedroom in three steps. Empty. Dark. Lifeless.
What about Watchtower? She'd left one lamp burning in the living room, maybe…
He forced his feet back to the wood panel that concealed the stairs. Deep down, he already knew.
She needed air. She needed to calm down. Her heart wanted to give out. Chloe wrapped one arm around her midsection to help her focus. The nausea shot up her throat so fast she froze in fear she'd gag.
"Move."
Her stomach was warm against her arm. She couldn't collapse. Not now. Not ever.
"No."
Her pipe eased all of a sudden. Air rushed in, and with it, clarity. "I know you."
He thought about calling Clark, have him search in the whole city. He didn't. For all he knew, she'd asked her super friend to whisk her away.
Oliver hurled her purse across the room. She was gone. She left her phone, her laptop, her passport, all the things he could use to track her down. Why? They were happy. They were planning a future together. She'd said she loved him. She wouldn't leave him. He had to trust she wouldn't. Something must had happened for her to disappear like a thief.
He typed frenetically at the laptop to check the cameras. Her dreamy smile when she entered the elevator punched him in the gut. Oliver called the feed from the neighborhood cameras on screen.
"I can't breathe…"
"I told you to shut up."
The needle nicked her throat again. Chloe hissed in pain and fury. "If you hurt me, Oliver will make you pay."
"He put a bounty on my head! The minute Queen threatened Nabokov, Nabokov turned on me!"
"Let her go, or you'll regret the Bratva didn't find you first."
He kept his eyes on Zlythe to avoid the sight of the needle pressed into her pale skin. He had a clear shot to the man's head. Oliver steadied his hand on the compound bow. "Let. Her. Go."
The arrow he'd notched moved backward by an inch. The scumbag pulled Chloe on her toes as if to use her as a human shield with his arm around her throat. Her blown eyes shone in the dark.
"I'm dead anyway! Just shoot!"
Oliver coldly considered his options. If he missed his shot, Zlythe risked to inject her with whatever was in that damned syringe. Oliver felt cold sweat trickled down his back. He knew what was in the tube. He knew all too well. He concentrated on his aim. He had limited choices. She was too short to protect the man's neck. He'd never taken a life before.
Oliver let the arrow fly.
