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the floors alone, he told himself he was going home, following Patricia’s instructions. But something deep and primal was screaming out, demanding he run as far and as fast as he could.

The police have somebody watching you, that voice said. Despite what Patricia had told him, they knew where he was and they were coming.

The elevator doors opened. As Liam stepped off and rounded the corner toward the lobby, the four police cars he’d seen from a distance pulled up to the curb, lights flashing. Any doubts he had they were coming for him were gone. Bash stepped out of one, uniformed officers stepped out of the others.

Liam moved back into the alcove that housed the elevators before anybody saw him. That primal instinct to run was growing stronger. He needed a second to think. Giving in to that instinct would be crazy. If he ran, if he dodged and weaved and managed to avoid getting caught, he would become a criminal for real, even if evading arrest was his only crime.

But so what? He had unwittingly destroyed any chance Patricia’s defense had by talking to the neighbor. And she herself had said she didn’t have a better strategy. If he went to jail now, he might never get out. That terrified him. He couldn’t imagine living the rest of his life the way he had those two days awaiting his arraignment. His only chance was . . . was what? Then it came to him—his only chance was to find the real killer, and it looked like he was going to have to do that on his own.

From the elevators, Liam only had access to the twentieth floor. Returning to ConnectPlus would be as useless for his escape as staying where he was. He needed to find another way out.

He glanced around frantically, seeing nothing that would help him and reconstructing the layout of the ground floor in his mind. On the other side of the alcove, closer to the lobby, there was a mail drop. Along the back wall, partially visible from the street, was a stairwell.

That might work, he thought.

Reaching it without being seen would require a little luck. But since he had no other choice, Liam made a run for it. There was no reason to be cautious, peering around the corner to see where the cops were and weighing his odds of success. Either they’d see him or they wouldn’t, and if they did, a full-out sprint was his best chance of getting away.

He slammed through the door and took the stairs down. He hoped they would lead to a loading dock at the back of the building or a basement where he could hide. And perhaps they did indeed lead to one of those places. But since for Liam, they stopped at a door secured by a wall-mounted scanner, it didn’t matter where they went.

He stayed there for a minute or so, crouching down and doing his best to hide, in case any of the cops came in after him. When they didn’t, Liam was confident he had made it to the stairwell unseen.

He quietly eased back up the stairs to the ground floor. He wiped the sweat off his forehead using the sleeve of his overcoat. He placed one hand on the doorknob, slowly turned it, and hesitated. He imagined coming face-to-face with Bash when he cracked the door open to see if the coast was clear. But having ruled out the stairwell, the lobby was his only way out. He breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth, and pushed the door forward an inch. No cops. Another inch. Still no cops. He had been certain there would be at least one—a lookout Bash had left behind—but they must all be on their way to the twentieth floor.

A group of well-dressed office workers stepped out of the elevator alcove. Acting on instinct, Liam blended in behind them, keeping his head down and the collar of his overcoat up.

As he approached the revolving door, he noticed two cops standing outside by their cruisers. So that was where Bash had placed his lookouts. If Liam was going to make a clean escape, he was going to have to get past them unnoticed. He kept his pace slow so as not to draw attention, pulled out his phone, and held it to one ear to further obscure his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see them watching him as he turned left onto the sidewalk and melded into the throngs of foot traffic.

One tapped the arm of the other and pointed in Liam’s direction. Liam picked up his pace. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the second cop had pulled out his radio. He didn’t have to be a genius to know the cop was saying something about him.

Liam pushed his way through the pedestrians and around the corner. The cops started to move, closing in fast. They shouted for people to get out of the way, for Liam to stop.

There’d be no losing the cops on foot. Thankfully his car was parked in a four-story lot at the end of the street. If he could get to it, he’d be home free. Until then, the best he could do was stay far enough ahead of them so that they couldn’t catch him.

Liam slammed through a gray metal door that took him into the parking lot’s stairwell. Last time he’d looked back, he had a forty-foot lead. The time before that it had been fifty. He took the steps two at a time. The stairwell smelled like urine. The handrail was chipped and sticky. Once on the third floor, Liam went through another metal door. This one was red and was marked with a large “N3.”

His car was parked midway along the back row. He reached it without getting caught, jumped in, slammed the gearshift into reverse, and took off. As he wound his way down to the first floor, ignoring the