The Man Who Crossed Worlds (Miles Franco #1)

Chapter Eighteen

It did strange things to your head, finding yourself on the run from the cops. It was different than running from gangsters or pissed-off customers, where you could identify the people who were hunting you. When you were a fugitive, you were on the outside. You were an enemy to society, and anyone who saw your picture on the six o’clock news could send the cops in your direction. The paranoia set in, and pretty soon you were so wrapped up in the role of fugitive you had no recollection of the man you were before.

I ran through the streets, kicking up rainwater with every step, praying that the night and the pouring rain would hide me. I had no vehicle. My bike had been trashed, and even if it wasn’t there was no way of going to my apartment without getting myself a new pair of metal bracelets.

So I ran. The night wailed with sirens, sending me diving into the cover of darkness every time a police car screamed past. I’d shaken them immediately after leaving Spencer’s, but the whole police department seemed to have chosen tonight to give up the donuts and beer and actually do their job for once. Lucky me.

I’m pretty sure the rain was the only thing keeping them from leaving their cars and hunting through the alleys on foot. That was a blessing, I suppose, though I felt significantly less blessed when my jacket was once again soaked through. My hair was plastered to my forehead, and my shoes squelched with every step. I made my way east, with no clear plan of what to do next. I barely had enough strength to summon a Pin Hole to unlock the cuff still swinging from my wrist.

I had a roaring headache that threatened to split my forehead in half. I was still reeling from Todd’s betrayal. The guy seemed to think he was doing good, but how he’d convinced himself of that was beyond me. Starting gang wars wasn’t exactly a fool-proof plan for saving the city. Innocent bystanders had a nasty habit of getting in the way of gangster bullets even in the smallest turf wars. I shuddered to think what would happen when the whole underworld drew their guns and started shooting at once.

And that wasn’t even the bit that really boiled my potatoes. It was the way he planned to do it. The son of a bitch had used me, had corrupted everything important to me. His plan relied on turning Tunnelers into crazed killing machines, just like the fucker had done to Tania. I suppose if he wanted to kill the gangs’ stranglehold over the city, giving the local government good excuse to take out every freelance Tunneler in the city was one way to go about it. But how many Tunnelers would be killed in the process?

Damn it, I was so tired. I needed to find somewhere to sit and hide. I needed friends, a commodity I was in short supply of at the moment. I didn’t want to draw any of the few acquaintances I had into this, but I didn’t have a choice. I’d be in and out quick, just get a change of clothes and some food to keep me going. My stomach felt like it was trying to eat itself.

So I took the stairs into a subway station. The trains ran late in Bluegate, and a few people were still scattered around on the platform, some drunk, some with no place else to go.

For a moment, I thought about lying down next to the homeless guys on the broken tiles. The way I looked at the moment, I’d blend right in. Christ, for all intents and purposes I was homeless anyway. It’d be so easy to give up and stop caring.

But I trudged past them all the same and found the board with the route maps. It took me a few seconds to get the colored lines in focus.

A middle-aged woman in a smart suit gave me a glance and edged away from me. I realized I’d been muttering to myself. Keep it together, Miles. Don’t draw attention. You sure as hell can’t afford it now.

My eyes were drawn to the red line on the map. It went east. East was good. In the back of my mind, I must’ve already known I was heading to Desmond’s place. He lived with his boyfriend—partner, I think he called him—in an apartment complex that bordered on Lavender Park. I could trust him. The only question was whether he’d trust me.