32. A Flight to Catch

Tems reacted first, as she expected. In a flash, he was on her, seizing the back of her chair and pulling her away from the man. But Sydney was already moving—twisting her neck back until her teeth found the skin of his arm.

She bit down as hard as she could.

Tems dropped her with the chair, hissing in pain through his teeth. Sydney spun with the chair on her back, then threw herself into him. They crashed to the floor hard enough to break the chair—and suddenly Sydney felt looseness in her limbs as the chair's broken bars slid out from under her arms.

The man pointed his gun at her from the floor.

It was just enough of an awkward angle that he couldn't get a precise shot—so Sydney ducked, putting her bound arms up high in the air and bracing herself.

The bullet shot straight through the tape, grazing her wrist in the process.

Pain shot down her arm in a trail of fire. Sydney swore through her teeth, but forced herself to keep moving, pulling the ripped duct tape apart with the strength of her wrists. Her arms came free.

Blood from the graze smeared against the floor as she ducked low. Tems managed to seize her sleeve and yank her hard toward him, but she slipped out of her jacket like water. Then she turned toward the open window and hurtled out into the night.

She could hear Tems yelling behind her, but she didn't dare look back. Time only existed in seconds now—she could hear it in the pounding of her heart as she sprinted up against the wall, lungs aching, and launched herself over the top. Behind her, an alarm started to blare—and suddenly a spotlight illuminated the ground around her in a blinding flood of white.

She squinted in the glow and ran for the police car that Tems had initially led them both toward. Sure enough, it was still there.

And when she arrived at it, she flung the door open to see that Tems had left the jeep running. He must have spent all his energy dragging her semiconscious form from the car earlier, had completely forgotten about it.

She whispered a thank-you to every god in the world and leapt into the driver's seat. As she revved the engine, she saw the first shapes darting out from the gate.

She didn't wait to see if Tems was one of them. Instead, she slammed her foot down on the gas pedal. The car zoomed forward onto the road with a roar and a scream of rubber against cement.

A bullet pinged against the car's back windshield.

Sydney ducked instinctively. Her eyes darted up to the rearview mirror to see a motorcycle skid onto the road right behind her, followed by two more. The one in the front was Tems—she could see his hair streaming behind him, because he hadn't bothered to throw on a helmet.

Sydney turned her eyes onto the road. Three miles to the airport. She wasn't going to be able to outrun Tems, not in this car, not against a motorcycle, not against a fellow agent who had aced his driving courses—but she could outmuscle him.

Suddenly, she threw the car into reverse. The tires screamed in protest as she spun around until the car faced Tems—then slammed on the brakes.

Tems veered away at the last second before he could collide with her hood. His motorcycle careened off the road and into the grass.

Sydney slammed on the gas pedal and spun the car back around, then forced it onward. She could feel the car struggling from the abuse.

"Steady, girl," she muttered, patting the steering wheel. She flipped on the radio, searching for a channel that might be mentioning the commotion that Winter had stirred up in the city.

It took her just a few seconds to find a station. An explosion of cheering came on, and in the midst of the chaos, she could hear a reporter shouting in Malay over the noise.

"—and we still have no word on whether Mr. Young is in the car or whether he has been safely removed from it. There appears to be some effort in the crowd to make space around the car, but there are too many pushing inward. Look, here come two more police cars! They've got their work cut out for them. The intersection is still closed as a result, and—"

Sydney shook her head. If Winter could make his way back to the airfield, they might have—

Something slammed hard against the back of her car. Sydney was thrown forward against the steering wheel—a second later, she saw the two other police motorcycles fanning out on either side of her, stretching a metal wire between them. Now she could make out the barbs on them. They were going to try to puncture her tires.

She spun the steering wheel and hurtled off the road into the dirt. The car tires protested against the rough terrain.

"Stay together," she pleaded through gritted teeth as she fought to drive back onto the road. The dirt changed suddenly to asphalt again.

Another bullet pinged against the driver's window, sending long cracks up the glass. Sydney only had time to force the car into the second lane before a second bullet hit the window.

It shattered this time. Glass sprayed against Sydney's face as she went.

Now she could see the airfield in the distance, the curve of its roof like a beacon in the night.

She looked in the rearview mirror to see the police motorcycles giving chase. Her jaw tightened. "Come and get me," she snapped.

Then she threw her car back in reverse as hard as she could.

The car slammed into the first motorcycle, then the second. They went flying—the police riders rolled against the pavement as Sydney veered forward again.

The gates leading into the airfield were still thrown open, as if expecting them. Her gaze searched frantically for Winter's jet—for a second, she thought it might have been forced to leave them behind again. But this time, it was still there.

A black motorcycle screeched in front of her. The rider flung himself off the bike as it careened right into her car.

Sydney slammed her foot down, but not fast enough. The motorcycle crashed into windshield.

Her seat belt cut into her chest as the car flipped on its side from the impact. For an instant, all she could see was darkness and stars. Metal screamed and crunched around her. The car jolted to a halt on its side.

Her head swam as she forced her eyes open. Glass shards were everywhere—she was hanging sideways in her seat, the belt the only thing keeping her in position.

Just like Niall, seconds before he died.

Get out,she told herself.

She struggled to unclip her belt. When she did, she fell with a painful thud onto a blanket of glass. The twisted parts of the car seemed to close in around her like the jaws of a beast. Sydney dug her boots against the steering wheel and pulled herself up as hard as she could, reaching for the passenger window that gaped above her.

She pulled herself out of the car's wreckage and slid to the ground. The jet was so close now.

Behind her, she heard the crunch of footsteps on broken glass. She didn't need to look over her shoulder to know that it was Tems.

"Stop," he called.

She didn't. Instead, she broke into a run again. Her lungs screamed for her to stop, but she forced herself onward. Every muscle hurt.

"Stop," Tems shouted again. This time, she heard the click of a gun barrel behind her.

Before her, she saw the jet turn on the runway. Was it on? Sure enough, a pilot sat in the cockpit, and he was turning the jet so as to prepare for takeoff. It was headed straight for them.

Sydney slowed to a stop and forced herself to turn around and face Tems. There was blood smeared across his face—his angry grimace told her he'd gotten hurt during the chase, too. He had a gun pointed at her, and his finger rested on the trigger.

His eyes went to the jet. Then back to her. He lifted the gun higher and pushed his finger down slightly on the trigger.

She put her hands up. The jet drew closer.

Tems narrowed his eyes at her. He was going to shoot her, she realized suddenly. So much for wanting her alive.

Just as the thought jolted through her—

A figure barreled out of the darkness and slammed into Tems, knocking him off his feet.

It took her a second to recognize him.

Winter.