The Night Janitor by T. F. Allen

Author:T. F. Allen [Allen, T. F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General Fiction
Publisher: T.F. Allen
Published: 2019-05-01T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 28

Annamaria stepped off the stage to the sound of thousands of clapping hands and cheering voices. She dabbed her forehead with her sleeve. The lights she once craved now seemed to burn her skin each time she gave a speech, raising her body temperature to an uncomfortable level.

Two Secret Service agents escorted her through a narrow hallway backstage of whatever conference center they were in. She’d already forgotten its name. All she knew was she needed fresh air, space to breathe. The campaign circuit was harder on candidates than it looked on television. No wonder Senator Blair had developed a serious drinking problem.

The first hallway led to a narrower, darker one. The agents edged into her personal space. She elbowed one out of her way—the same agent who always stared at her from behind his dark sunglasses. Like that was a subtle way to hide his creepiness.

They reached the end of the hallway. A door opened. Morning sunlight seeped under the covered parking area beyond. She ducked her head and crossed the threshold. A black SUV waited, its rear passenger door held open by yet another agent. A fourth sat behind the wheel. The government provided layer upon layer of security even for a simple ride to the airport. And she wasn’t even running at the top of the ticket. This was the future she’d chosen—being shoved into cars and planes by men with short haircuts and stern expressions. And it would only get worse. How many agents did Senator Blair have to put up with?

She approached the SUV, then stopped. She grabbed the hand of the agent holding the door. Unlike the other agents, this one had kind eyes. She stared into them, blinked, then whispered, “Grand mal seizure.”

The agent went stiff, his neck muscles straining against his skin. His body convulsed and slammed against the SUV. Two other agents rushed forward and caught him before he could fall.

Annamaria sidestepped the melee. She raced around the rear of the SUV toward the exit. The fourth agent—the one from behind the driver’s seat—met her there. He extended his arm like a traffic cop. “Ms. Varner, what are you doing?”

She reached into her purse, pulled out a tiny can of mace, and sprayed the agent’s face.

The agent guarded his eyes with his elbow and charged. The impact nearly took her breath. He tackled her, fell on top of her, covered her with his massive torso. He peeled her fingers away from her mace can. Annamaria strained against him, but he was too strong. She stifled her gag reflex. The man smelled like allspice and cigarette smoke.

The agent spoke into his wrist. “Diamondback secure. Backup needed.”

She reached for his exposed neck and dug her nails into his skin. This one deserved to suffer. With a blink and a whisper, she sealed his fate: “Asphyxia.”

The agent wheezed in a breath. The sound confirmed her words had done the trick. The agent’s neck turned red, then purple. The strength he’d used to hold her down dissipated like air from a balloon.

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