Chapter 13: The Fire Alarm
Behind the heavy velvet drapes, Clara pressed her back flat against the cold glass of the window. She held her breath, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Less than three feet away, Eleanor Pendelton paced across the antique Persian rug, the sharp click of her heels acting as a terrifying metronome.
"I don't care what you have to do, Brody," Eleanor hissed into her cell phone, her tone dripping with aristocratic venom. "If Arthur is alive, he's going to go after the offshore routing numbers. He needs the decryption key from this office, and then he'll need a secure terminal."
There was a pause as the sheriff spoke on the other end. Eleanor let out a bitter, humorless laugh.
"Check the old properties," she commanded. "The watchtower, the hunting lodge, the old textile mill. He’s a creature of habit. Find him, Brody. Because if those files make it to the FBI field office in Seattle, you won't just lose your badge. We'll both spend the rest of our lives in federal prison."
Clara squeezed her eyes shut. The textile mill. Eleanor had just guessed their hideout. They were running out of time.
Eleanor’s footsteps moved closer to the window. Clara saw the silhouette of the woman's hand reach out, her manicured fingers brushing the edge of the velvet drape. She was about to pull it back to look at the street below. Clara braced herself, her hand instinctively gripping the heavy brass flashlight she kept in her chef’s coat.
Suddenly, a deafening, piercing shriek shattered the silence.
The building's fire alarm system flared to life, strobe lights flashing violently in the hallway. An automated voice boomed over the intercom, ordering immediate evacuation.
Eleanor flinched, dropping her hand from the drape. "Dammit," she muttered into the phone. "The fire alarm just went off. Get your men in the lobby to secure the exits. I'm coming down."
The heavy oak doors slammed shut.
Clara didn't wait to exhale. She darted out from behind the curtain, sprinting into the hallway. The executive floor was a chaotic mess of confused staff members and ringing alarms. She tucked her head down, blending into the stream of bodies rushing for the emergency stairwell.
When she burst out of the basement loading dock, the cool morning air hit her like a physical blow. Julian was leaning against the back of the catering van, tapping his foot anxiously.
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"Tell me you got it," Julian said, his eyes scanning the alleyway.
Clara pulled the silver USB drive from her pocket, her hands shaking so badly she almost dropped it. "I got it. But Julian, Eleanor knows about the textile mill. We have to go. Now."
