The Miles Between Us

Chapter 3 On The Run

The gala was reaching its crescendo. Inside the ballroom, the clinking of champagne flutes sounded like a countdown. Senator Sterling stood at the podium, his voice booming about "the future of the American family," while Julian Vane stood beside him, looking at Clara like a prize he’d already won.

Jake stood by the service entrance in the back hallway, his cello case slung over his shoulder. Every instinct told him to run. He had his pay envelope; he could go home to Mia and stay out of the crossfire of the most powerful people in New York.

Then, the heavy oak doors burst open.

Clara came stumbling out, her high heels clicking frantically on the marble. She had torn the expensive lace of her hem to move faster. Behind her, the muffled sound of her father’s voice stopped abruptly, replaced by the sharp shout of a security detail.

"Jake!" she hissed, her eyes wild. "The car. Please tell me you have a car."

"It’s a beat-up '05 sedan parked three blocks away, Clara," Jake said, his heart hammering against his ribs. "If you get in that car, there’s no coming back. You know that, right?"

"There is nothing to come back to," she said, her voice breaking...

They didn't have time for a cinematic goodbye to the city. As they hit the humid night air of Manhattan, the sky opened up. A torrential downpour—the kind that turns the city into a blur of neon and grey—soaked them instantly.

"Hey! Stop right there!"

Two men in dark suits emerged from the Plaza’s side exit. They weren't NYPD; they were Sterling’s private "fixers," and they were fast.

"Run!" Jake grabbed Clara’s hand.

They sprinted down 58th Street, dodging tourists and puddles. Jake’s boots splashed through the water while Clara eventually kicked off her heels, running barefoot on the cold New York pavement. They reached a rusted, silver sedan tucked into a dim corner of a parking garage.

Jake threw his cello into the backseat, shoved Clara into the passenger side, and slammed the car into gear just as a black SUV roared around the corner, its high beams blinding them.

"Get down!" Jake yelled.

He floored the gas, the old engine screaming in protest. He swerved through a narrow alleyway, the side mirror clipping a trash can with a deafening bang.

As they screeched onto the West Side Highway, heading for the George Washington Bridge, Clara looked back. The lights of the Manhattan skyline were fading into the mist.

She reached into her damp silk bodice and pulled out a small, silver thumb drive. "He’s going to track my phone," she realized, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

Without hesitation, Jake grabbed her gold-plated iPhone and tossed it out the window. They watched it shatter against the asphalt at 70 miles per hour.

"Welcome to the real world, Princess," Jake muttered, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "Current destination: anywhere but here."

"I have to find a man named Elias Thorne," Clara said, staring at the bridge towers ahead. "He’s in the Midwest. He’s the only one who can unlock what’s on this drive."

Jake looked at the gas gauge. It was half-full. He looked at the girl beside him—ruined makeup, wet hair, and the daughter of a man who could destroy him with a phone call. Then he thought of Mia, tucked away in Brooklyn. He had to call her, but not yet. Not until they were over the state line.

"The Midwest is a long way, Clara," Jake said. "A lot of miles."

"Then we better start driving," she replied.