James

Despite the cold, my heated face streams sweat which soaks down my neck and into my clothes.

Slow down, Man…

You can’t sprint for a mile…

I drop to a trot and my heartbeat decelerates to something more sustainable. The banging behind my ears subsides.

Don’t panic…

The kidnappers may say Don’t be late, but their priority is the money.

Irony slaps me around the cheeks. Here I am, in an area I wouldn’t normally consider walking at night, certainly not alone. And I’m running through it, toting a bag containing a cool million in cash.

The steady rhythm of my jogging sets a metronome ticking in my head, clearing my thoughts.

How fast is a jog?

Six miles an hour?

So, I should cover my mile in the ten minutes I have.

Calm down…

Nonetheless, I find myself counting paces; eating up distance with each one…

They must be watching me…

Where are they watching from?

A parked car?

alley I pass, where they

Could be anywhere.

Once an attractive place for pleasure boats

for the edge of the more reputable parts of town. As the name suggests, it

lawns. The fountain, also floodlit, dances and sparkles by the central Christmas tree which

one or two exceptions to that

resting on knees as I regain

For what?

pace, scanning

in the

“James?”

arrived, Ross, but

the message say,

the note, reading aloud. “Corner of

along behind the western side of the square. Perhaps it’s the other

Stupid… Stupid…

right. I’ll

down, James. Keep

reply. He’s right, but

red-bricks built on three stories ending in a small parade of

Still nothing.

my breathing tightens again as I look for whatever the next contact

Doorways…

Store windows…

A mailbox…

Nothing…

they make

me. My watch tells me I’m two minutes

be

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