Page 14 of Saving Jennifer
They’d just reached the bottom when the world exploded. The force of the blast threw Jennifer forward onto the pavement. Heat seared her back, and debris rained down around her. For a moment, she couldn’t hear anything but a high-pitched ringing sound. Then strong hands hauled her to her feet, and Noah’s face swam into view.
His mouth was moving, but she couldn’t make out the words. Shaking her head, she pointed to her ears. A look of understanding crossed his face. Gradually, sound returned: sirens in the distance, people shouting, the crackle of flames.
“We need to move.” There was a cut above his eye, blood trickling down his temple. His expression was grim. “They’ll expect us to wait for first responders. We can’t stay here.”
Jennifer looked back at the building. On the upper floor—their apartment—black smoke billowing into the night sky. People were pouring out of the jazz club below, some coughing, others shoving to get outside, staring in horror at the inferno.
“They tried to kill us,” she whispered, reality sinking in. “The Amirs tried to kill me again.”
Noah’s grip on her arm tightened. “And they’ll succeed if we don’t move. Now. Come on.”
He pulled her into the shadowed alley beside the club, away from the gathering crowd. Jennifer stumbled after him, legs shaking, her mind racing.
“Where are we going?”
“Away from here,” Noah replied tersely. “Gator’s going to meet us. We arranged a meet up spot, a contingency plan in case we needed one, but we need to stay mobile until then.”
They emerged onto a side street, less crowded than the main thoroughfares, but still busy with nightlife. Noah kept them moving at a brisk pace, his hand at the small of her back, guiding her through the throng of bodies. To anyone watching, they’d hopefully appear to be just another couple out for the evening, as long as they didn’t look too closely at the soot on their clothes or the tension in their postures.
“Your uncle,” Jennifer barely got the words out before a bout of coughing forced her to stop walking and catch her breath, “he’ll be able to find us?”
Noah nodded. “Gator knows this city better than anyone. We need to keep moving, change direction often. Make it harder for anybody to track us.”
They turned down another street, one lined with shops mostly closed for the night. Jennifer’s nerves were stretched to breaking point, every shadow concealing a potential threat, every passing stranger a possible pursuer.
“The couple in the apartment next to ours,” she said suddenly, the thought striking her like a physical blow. “Did they—”
“The club was evacuating when we left,” Noah assured her. “I heard the alarm. And the gas seemed concentrated in our unit. I don’t think it was an accident. It was targeted.”
A chill ran down Jennifer’s spine. “How did they find us?”
“I don’t know,” Noah admitted, his jaw tight. “But I intend to find out.”
They crossed another street, weaving through a group of tourists who were too intoxicated to notice their disheveled state. Too drunk to notice the acrid scent of smoke filling the air. The night was warm, humid in the way only New Orleans could be, and Jennifer could feel sweat mingling with the ash on her skin.
“We need to contact Carpenter Security,” she said, suddenly remembering the backpack Noah had given her, still clutched in her hand. “They need to know what happened.”
“They know.” Noah replied. “I texted them the code for an emergency extraction while we were coming down the fire escape. Plus, I talked to Gator. He’ll have told Samuel the minute we hung up. They’ll have people looking for us.”
Jennifer nodded, a small measure of relief washing over her. Then she saw it, a sleek black car crawling down the street toward them, moving too slowly to be a casual driver. They’d made it to the edge of the French Quarter in their mad dash away from the apartment, to where the streets were active with traffic, even at the late hour.
Noah obviously spotted the car too. Without a word, he pulled her into the recessed doorway of a closed boutique, pressing her against the wall, his body shielding her from view. The car passed by, the darkly tinted windows making it impossible to see inside.
“Could be nothing,” Noah murmured, his breath warm against her ear. “But we can’t stay here.”
He was close enough Jennifer could feel his heartbeat—steady, controlled, unlike her own racing pulse. Despite the danger, she was acutely aware of his proximity, of the solid warmth of his chest against hers. Even during their crazy mad dash for safety, he made her feel almost giddy.
“Noah,” she whispered, not sure what she wanted to say.
He looked down at her, his eyes dark and unreadable in the shadows. For a moment, something electric passed between them—an acknowledgment of the tension that had been building since they’d been forced into this intimate proximity day after day.
Without a word he pulled back, all business once more. “This way,” he said, guiding her back onto the street and down another alley. They emerged onto a street filled with jazz clubs and bars, along with the ever-present coffee shops that seemed to occupy every street corner. Even this late at night, people sat at little tables, fueling with caffeine and sugar, the soulful music spilling out onto the sidewalk. Noah steered her into the crowd, using the throng as cover. Jennifer tried to blend in, tried to look like she belonged, but her heart wouldn’t stop hammering. She was sure everyone they passed could hear it pounding inside her chest, the racing thump, thump, thump loud in her ears, almost drowning out the music pouring from the open doorways they passed.
“We’re going to meet Gator in Jackson Square,” Noah was saying, “He has a friend who owns a tarot shop there. We can—”
He stopped abruptly, his grip on her arm tightening to the point of pain. Following his gaze, Jennifer felt her knees weaken, and she’d have collapsed to the ground if Noah hadn’t been holding onto her. The blood drained from her face.
Standing not twenty feet away, scanning the crowd with predatory intent, was Rashid Amir.