I slump in the plastic seat, staring at my feet encased in high, gorgeous Jimmy Choos. Look great hurt like hell. I probably should have worn running shoes, but that would have been too obvious. In the early morning, the train is empty, and I listen to the sound of its wheels clicking over the rails.
“Ya almost made it,” a voice from behind me says.
I never heard him come in. That’s what happens when you spend the night moving from subway to subway. By morning, you’re so tired you get sloppy.
“Detective Moore,” I say. “This is a surprise.”
“Sure it is.”
“I don’t suppose I could interest you in getting off at the next stop and letting me go on alone.”
“Don’t suppose you could. You’re a person of interest.”
“Only to Donald.”
The brakes squeal and the train slows as I shoot him in the face with the .38 I carry in my left pocket. I walk to the door without looking back. Donald didn’t warn him that I’m left handed. Too bad for Detective Moore. And to think I was ready to get out for good.
Now I have to tie up that final loose end.