Chapter 27
1966words
I twisted in my seat, peering through the Aston Martin's rear window. Headlights loomed behind us—too close, too persistent as we wound through Boston's rain-slicked streets.
"Black SUV?" I asked, heart hammering against my ribs.
"Third car back. Been with us since we left the estate."
The pendant camera felt impossibly heavy against my skin, its contents burning like a live coal. Evidence. Proof. Everything we needed to destroy Alexander and Vivienne—if we lived long enough to use it.
"Could be coincidence," I said, not believing it for a second.
Felix's laugh was sharp, humorless. "I stopped believing in coincidence the moment I started dreaming about your death."
He took a sudden left turn, tires squealing in protest. The SUV followed.
"Definitely not coincidence," I whispered.
Rain pelted the windshield, transforming streetlights into fractured stars. Felix drove with controlled precision, each movement calculated, eyes constantly checking the rearview mirror.
"We need to get somewhere public," he said. "They won't try anything with witnesses."
"The police station—"
"Not yet." Felix shook his head. "We need to secure the evidence first. Make copies. Insurance."
He was right. If we went to the authorities now and something happened to the camera, we'd have nothing. Just our word against the Blackwood empire.
"My apartment," I suggested. "I have equipment there to download the files."
Felix nodded, taking another sharp turn onto a busier street. The SUV fell back slightly but remained in pursuit.
"Call Professor Harlow," he said. "Tell her to meet us there."
"Why?"
"Because we need a witness. Someone respected. Someone they can't easily silence."
My fingers trembled as I dialed. Professor Harlow answered on the third ring, her voice sleep-rough.
"Lyra? It's nearly midnight."
"I need your help," I said, the words tumbling out. "It's about Alexander Blackwood's collection. I have proof of forgery. And more. Much more."
A pause. "Where are you?"
"Heading to my apartment. Can you meet us? It's important. It's—" I swallowed hard. "It might be dangerous."
Another pause, longer this time. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."
The call ended. Felix glanced at me. "She's coming?"
I nodded. "Twenty minutes."
"Good." His jaw tightened. "Because I think they're calling for backup."
The SUV had dropped further back, but a second set of headlights had appeared, moving to flank us from a side street.
"Felix—"
"I see it." He accelerated, weaving through late-night traffic with terrifying skill. "Almost there."
My apartment building loomed ahead, its brick facade never looking so welcoming. Felix pulled into the alley behind it rather than the front entrance.
"Back door," he explained, killing the engine. "Less exposed."
We moved quickly through the rain, Felix's arm around my waist, his body partially shielding mine. Water plastered my hair to my face, sapphire gown clinging to my legs, heels slipping on wet pavement.
The service entrance required a key card. I fumbled in my clutch, fingers numb with cold and fear. Behind us, car doors slammed in the distance.
"Hurry," Felix urged, his breath warm against my ear.
The lock clicked. We slipped inside, into the service corridor that smelled of garbage and floor cleaner. Felix secured the door behind us, then guided me toward the service elevator.
"Fifth floor," I said, pressing the button with shaking fingers.
The elevator groaned upward, ancient machinery protesting. Felix pulled me against him, his heartbeat strong and steady against my cheek.
"We're going to be okay," he murmured into my hair.
I wasn't sure if he was reassuring me or himself.
My apartment door looked exactly as I'd left it—deadbolt secured, welcome mat slightly askew. No signs of forced entry. I unlocked it with trembling hands, half-expecting to find intruders waiting inside.
Empty. Dark. Safe, for now.
Felix secured the door behind us, checking the locks twice before drawing the curtains closed. I moved through the darkness to my desk, powering up my laptop with unsteady fingers.
"We need to hurry," he said, helping me remove the pendant. "They won't be far behind."
The camera connected to my laptop with a soft chime. Files began transferring—financial records, bank statements, insurance documents. The evidence of Alexander and Vivienne's crimes flowing onto my hard drive in neat digital packages.
"How long?" Felix asked, pacing by the window, occasionally peering through a crack in the curtains.
"Two minutes for the transfer. Then I'll upload everything to a secure cloud server."
He nodded, tension radiating from his shoulders. "And then we go to the FBI. Tonight."
"What about Professor Harlow?"
"We'll leave her copies. In case..." He didn't finish the sentence. Didn't need to.
In case we don't make it.
The thought hung between us, heavy as a funeral shroud. I focused on the screen, watching the progress bar inch forward. 68%. 69%. Too slow. Far too slow.
A sharp knock at the door froze us both.
"Lyra?" Professor Harlow's voice, muffled through the wood. "It's me."
Felix moved to the door, checking the peephole before unlocking it. Professor Harlow swept in, her silver hair damp from rain, eyes sharp with concern.
"This had better be good," she said, shrugging off her coat. "I was having a lovely dream about tenure committees spontaneously combusting."
Despite everything, I laughed—a sound edged with hysteria. "It's good. It's beyond good."
I gestured to the laptop where the files had finished transferring. Professor Harlow moved closer, adjusting her reading glasses as she peered at the screen.
"What am I looking at?"
"Evidence of art fraud, money laundering, and insurance fraud," Felix said, relocking the door. "All orchestrated by Alexander and Vivienne."
Professor Harlow's eyebrows shot up. "That's... quite an accusation."
"It's not an accusation when we have proof," I replied, pulling up the financial records. "Look at these transfers. The paintings were supposedly purchased for eight million each, but only two million went to Rousseau's gallery. The rest circled back to Alexander's personal accounts."
She leaned closer, frowning. "And these insurance valuations—"
"Twelve million per painting," Felix finished. "They're inflating values, planning to report theft or damage for the insurance payout."
Professor Harlow straightened, removing her glasses. "Why show me this? Why not go directly to authorities?"
"Because we need someone they can't easily silence," I said. "Someone respected in the art world who can verify our findings."
"And because they're following us," Felix added grimly. "We need to distribute the evidence. Make it impossible to suppress."
Professor Harlow's expression hardened. "You believe you're in actual danger?"
As if in answer, my phone buzzed with a text. Unknown number.
*I know what you took. Return it, and you might live through this. You have one hour.*
I showed the screen to Felix, my hand trembling. His face went pale, then flushed with anger.
"We need to leave. Now." He turned to Professor Harlow. "Can you upload these files somewhere secure? Somewhere they can't be traced back to Lyra?"
She nodded, suddenly all business. "I have secure university servers. Give me five minutes."
As she worked, Felix moved to the window again, scanning the street below. "Black SUV," he reported. "Parked across the street. Two men inside."
Ice slid down my spine. "How did they find us so quickly?"
"The pendant," Felix realized, picking up the camera necklace. "It must have a tracker."
He dropped it into a glass of water on my desk, the sapphire disappearing beneath the surface with a soft plop.
"That won't stop the signal for long," he said. "We need to move."
Professor Harlow looked up from the laptop. "Upload complete. I've sent copies to my university account, my personal email, and a cloud server only I can access."
"Thank you," I said, squeezing her hand. "This puts you at risk too."
She snorted. "I'm seventy-two years old, dear. Risk is all I have left to live for."
Felix checked his watch. "We should separate. They're less likely to follow all of us."
"Where will you go?" Professor Harlow asked.
"FBI field office," he replied. "It's open 24/7."
A crash from the hallway made us all freeze—the sound of the stairwell door being forced open. Heavy footsteps followed, approaching my apartment.
"Fire escape," I whispered, pointing to the window.
Felix moved quickly, forcing the old window open. Cold rain blew in, soaking the curtains.
"Professor, you first," he urged. "Take the back alley, get to your car."
She nodded, surprisingly spry as she climbed through the window onto the metal landing outside. "Be careful," she said, eyes finding mine. "Both of you."
As she disappeared down the fire escape, the footsteps in the hallway stopped—right outside my door. A soft scratching sound followed. Someone picking the lock.
"Go," Felix whispered, helping me through the window. "I'm right behind you."
The fire escape was slick with rain, the metal grating cold against my bare feet—I'd abandoned my heels inside. Five floors down, the alley waited, dark and uninviting.
I started climbing down, the wet metal treacherous under my feet. Felix followed, pulling the window closed behind him to buy us precious seconds.
We were three floors down when my apartment door crashed open above us. Shouts followed, then the sound of running footsteps.
"Faster," Felix urged, his hand at the small of my back.
The last ladder to the ground was stuck, refusing to descend. Felix didn't hesitate—he jumped the remaining distance, landing in a crouch on the wet pavement.
"Jump," he called up to me. "I'll catch you."
I hesitated for only a second before letting go, falling through darkness into his waiting arms. The impact knocked the breath from my lungs, but his grip was sure, strong.
He set me on my feet, keeping hold of my hand. "Run."
We sprinted down the alley, rain pelting our faces, my sodden gown tangling around my legs. Behind us, a shout—they'd spotted us from the window above.
"This way," Felix pulled me around a corner, into a narrower passage between buildings.
We emerged onto a busier street, traffic still moving despite the late hour. Felix flagged down a passing taxi with desperate urgency.
"Federal Building," he told the driver as we tumbled into the backseat. "It's an emergency."
The driver—middle-aged, with kind eyes that widened at our bedraggled appearance—nodded. "Everything okay?"
"No," I said honestly. "But it will be."
As the taxi pulled away from the curb, I saw the black SUV turn onto the street behind us, moving slowly, searching.
"They're still looking," I whispered to Felix.
He pulled me against him, his arm a shield around my shoulders. "They won't find us."
The taxi wove through late-night traffic, putting distance between us and our pursuers. I leaned into Felix's warmth, suddenly exhausted, the adrenaline crash leaving me hollow.
"We did it," I murmured against his chest. "We got the evidence."
His lips pressed against my temple, a gesture so tender it made my heart ache. "You did it. You found the truth."
"About the forgeries. About the money laundering." I looked up at him, rain-soaked and beautiful in the passing streetlights. "About why they killed me."
"They won't hurt you again," he promised, voice rough with emotion. "Not in this lifetime or any other."
The taxi turned onto a main thoroughfare, picking up speed. In the distance, the Federal Building rose against the night sky—solid, imposing, safe.
Almost there. Almost done.
My phone buzzed again. Another text from the unknown number.
*You've made your choice. Now watch what happens.*
Before I could show Felix, a second message appeared. This one with an attachment—a photo.
My blood turned to ice.
"Felix," I whispered, holding up the phone.
The image showed Professor Harlow's car—driver's side window shattered, door hanging open. Empty.
They had her.
And they wanted us to know it.
