Chapter 10
Inside Mrs. Higgins’ sewing shop, the air was thick with the comforting, nostalgic scent of warm iron, beeswax, and rolls of brightly colored fabric. Dust motes floated lazily through shafts of morning sunlight piercing the grimy, stained-glass windows. Rows of old Singer sewing machines lined the wooden tables, surrounded by spools of thread and half-finished quilts.
Leo crouched behind a massive cutting table draped in heavy green velvet, his small hands clamped tightly over his mouth to muffle his ragged breathing. His chest heaved up and down as hot tears continued to track through the dirt on his pale cheeks. He clutched the faded leather strap Jax had given him so hard his knuckles had turned entirely white.
From the front of the shop, a sharp, metallic rattle echoed through the floorboards. Someone was trying the front doorknob.
Leo’s heart slammed against his ribs like a trapped bird. He inched backward, his scuffed sneakers scraping silently against the worn wooden floorboards until his back hit a towering stack of cardboard fabric boxes. He squeezed his eyes shut, whispering a frantic, silent prayer that Jax was okay, that the man with the gun hadn't—
Bang.
The heavy thud of a shoulder hitting the front door downstairs shook the entire building. Mrs. Higgins’ muffled, indignant voice rang out from the ground-floor landing, sharp and trembling with righteous fury. “You cannot come in here! This is private property! I’m calling the sheriff right this instant!”
A cold, emotionless voice answered her from below—a voice that sent a fresh wave of terror straight down Leo’s spine. “Step aside, ma'am. Unless you want your little sewing shop condemned before noon.”
Leo knew he couldn't stay hidden here. If they cleared the ground floor, they would sweep the upstairs loft within seconds. His big hazel eyes darted frantically around the room, searching for another way out. Past the rows of colorful fabrics, near the back corner, was a narrow wooden stairwell leading down into a rear alleyway behind the laundromat.
He moved with agonizing slowness, slipping out from beneath the green velvet drape like a ghost. Every board he stepped on creaked with a sound that felt deafeningly loud to his hyper-sensitive ears. He kept his eyes locked on the shadowy opening of the back stairs, his small frame trembling with exhaustion and fear.
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Just as his hand reached out to grasp the wooden handrail, the heavy oak door at the front of the loft splintered open with a loud, resounding crash.
Heavy footsteps echoed across the wooden floorboards upstairs, coming straight toward him. Leo didn't hesitate anymore. He turned and threw himself down the narrow staircase, tumbling the final three steps in a messy heap of limbs and frayed clothing. He scrambled to his feet instantly, bursting out the rear exit door into the blinding sunlight of the alley just as a heavy-set shadow appeared at the top of the stairs behind him.
