Free A Is for Apple by Kate Johnson Page A

anywhere.”
    “Duh.”
    I got out of the lift on the ground floor and made my way across the glossy marble to the bar. But out of the corner of my eye I could see a familiar-looking figure in a shiny suit…
    I walked a little faster. There were footsteps behind me and I knew I’d been spotted. If I went into the bar, he’d follow me.
    I’d go outside, pop into a shop or something, take a walk around the block…
    Damn, it was past midnight, there’d be no shops open. But by the time I realised this, it was already too late. I was outside, and I had only a few seconds to decide which way to go.
    I was wearing trainers, my blisters covered over with plasters, but they still hurt as I started to run. I went north, turned onto 33rd Street, then past Broadway, down Sixth—I think—my lungs bursting. I’m not a good runner.
    Left, right, left, left again—I kept going until I was so lost I couldn’t even find myself. Panting, leaning against a shop window, I watched a few people go by, none of them paying the tiniest bit of attention to me.
    Okay. Time to figure out where I was and limp back home.
    I found my way to Broadway and headed north, fairly sure I was going the right way. Yes, street numbers were going up. Only a few more blocks to go. I guess that’s the good thing about Manhattan—easy to navigate. How had I run all this way? Wow, I must have burned off loads of calories.
    Goody, more junk food.
    I was waiting for the Walk sign to change when I realised it. There was a black car—an anonymous American Ford with darkened windows—purring down the street towards me. I watched the passenger window open, and a familiar face atop a shiny suit looked out at me. And then I saw the gun he was holding, and I threw myself down behind a bank of mailboxes as two shots rang out past me.
    Jesus.
    The car passed on, I heard it speeding away, so I got to my feet and forced them to move faster, running back to the hotel. I had to warn Xander and get out of here.
    It happened when I was crossing 31st Street. I’d glanced at the Walk sign and seen it in my favour, so without stopping I pelted over the street. Then I heard a roar and a screech and an awful crunch, and realised the car had hit me. Then I skidded onto the road, my head hit the tarmac, and everything went black.

Chapter Five
    Someone with a strong Noo Yoik accent was speaking very close to me, touching my face, telling me to wake up. There was an ambulance on the way. I was to stay still.
    I opened my eyes and looked up at a concerned round face, dark skin in a dark uniform. A cop.
    “Hey, lady, you okay?”
    I feebly wriggled my arms and legs and, having decided my back wasn’t broken, lifted my head.
    “Did that car just hit me?” I said in indignation.
    “Yeah. It sped off before anyone could get the licence plate.”
    Not that I needed it. I had a feeling I knew who’d been in that car, and I had a feeling it wasn’t theirs.
    I started to pull myself to my feet, but the cop protested.
    “You should stay still, you could be hurt—”
    “I’m fine,” I said, a blatant lie. My leg throbbed where the car had hit and my shoulder ached where I’d skidded along on it. But I pushed him away and stood up, swaying a little. “I’m good.”
    “You should wait for the ambulance—”
    “I don’t have insurance,” I said, remembering this vital fact of the American health system. You’ve got to have money to be ill. Well, no—you’ve got to have money to get treated. So much for equality. “I really have to go. I have a flight in a couple of hours.”
    “You do?”
    Not yet, but wait until I get on the phone.
    “Thanks.” I pulled my wallet out of my pocket and pressed a note into his hand without looking what it was. “You’ve been very helpful, uh, tell the ambulance I’m feeling better, erm, I’ve got to go…”
    And I took off, stumbling, feeling like I'd just been put through a food processor.
     
    I got on the next flight out. It