The Man Who Crossed Worlds (Miles Franco #1)

Chapter Twenty-Three

I left Desmond and Tania to get a cab while I took Desmond’s car. The drive went by in a blur of slick streets and distant gunfire. I was speeding, but no cops were going to bother pulling me over. They had more important things to worry about.

I clutched O’Neil’s phone in my hand while I drove. There was no way in hell I was letting the thing out of my sight. It was all I had to get to Todd, and by God I was going to do it.

I’d allowed that son of a bitch to hurt Tania too many times. I wasn’t going to do it again. This wasn’t even about Bluegate anymore, no matter the way my stomach burned every time I heard another building crashing down.

Maybe the cops could stop Todd without me, maybe Vivian would get what she needed to take him down. But I couldn’t wait for that. I was going to give Vivian the cell phone and tell her everything I knew.

Then I was going to track him down and bring him to his knees.

I slammed on the brakes outside Vivian’s apartment, nearly losing control as I brought the car to a skidding halt. A passing pedestrian running to get out of the rain gawked at me, his mouth hanging open while he stared at my battered face. I slammed the car door behind me and ran up the stairs to Vivian’s building. I only hoped she was home. I’d never get to her if she was working, surrounded by cops. And going directly to any other police officers was out of the question. I didn’t trust them not to be working for Todd. Vivian was the only one I could rely on.

I used a Pin Hole on the outside lock, took one look at the elevator, and sprinted up the stairs. They were still muddy with the bootprints of the armed police. That was one good thing about all this city-wide destruction; no cops would be spared to hang around Vivian’s place waiting for me to come visit. At least, I hoped there wouldn’t be.

I reached the fourth floor and realized I couldn’t remember which apartment was hers. Then I spotted the fragments of wood on the ground and the still-shattered lock on apartment 402.

“Vivian,” I called, pushing the door open. “You home? I got a present for you.”

No response. I stood in the doorway, staring around. The cops had really given this place the once over. The apartment had been Spartan already, but the cops had trampled dirt over the bare wooden floor and knocked over the few pieces of furniture so it felt like I was in a haunted house out of some movie.

I stood like an idiot for a few more seconds, then stepped inside, making for her bedroom. If she wasn’t here, I’d drop off the phone along with a note. Maybe she was asleep. God knows I would be if I had the chance.

“Vivian?” I tried again.

A muffled noise answered me this time. It hit me too late. I opened the bedroom door and took a step inside.

Vivian lay on the bed, fully dressed, her normally perfect hair mussed and tangled around her face. She bore a fat lip that trickled blood and drool down onto her chin and the collar of her shirt. Her eyes were half-shut, and all I could see were the whites.

No, no, no. My thoughts were already yammering as I followed her arms up above her head, to where her wrists were attached to the headboard with a pair of handcuffs.

Fuck. No. She had to be alive. She was tough. Oh Jesus, who the fuck had done this?

I took a step toward her. Then came a single, ominous click, the sort that only comes from a gun.

“Easy, Miles,” Detective Todd said. “That’s enough.”

I froze. Well, my legs did, but my hands had different ideas. They went for the Pin Holes in my pocket.