Today’s not going as planned. I’ve bribed a child for information, thrown a perfectly good pair of heels in the middle of the street, and am currently chasing down an ex-convict like I’m auditioning for the Olympics.
My lungs are screaming, my legs are burning, and yet I can’t stop. Every time I close the distance between us, Sara glances over her shoulder and picks up speed. I feel like a predator chasing prey, except the prey has better cardio.
“Hey,” I scream. “Stop running.”
She turns sharply into an alley, and I push harder, adrenaline overriding my common sense. When I round the corner, she trips on a crack in the pavement. I’m so close I can’t stop myself, and we both go tumbling to the ground in a tangle of limbs and spilled groceries.
“Good Lord!” I gasp, struggling to pin
