I sprinted down the concrete stairs after him, my partner in close pursuit. I was doing my best to run in my work attire – a wrap dress and high heels – and not doing a bad job of it, although all thoughts of ladylike behavior had been cast off in favour of practicality. Shifting my weight to the balls of my feet worked best. I made a mental note to buy some work-friendly flats.

We reached the cars at the same time but I had to wait for Dane to get into the passenger’s side before taking off. The streets were close to empty for the event, save for the occasional taxi or town car.

We had reached the financial district, the short city blocks containing tall skyscrapers with dark windows and I was sitting on his rear left panel when he turned in his seat and tossed a dark cellphone-sized object at our car.

It slid along our bonnet before coming to a rest with a ‘click’ near the radio antenna. Immediately something felt wrong.

I looked at Dane. I couldn’t hear the engine, though I heard the other car speeding away. Glancing down at the dash I realised the device had drained our power.

It was too late. The car was rolling to a stop. I looked up one last time to get a glimpse of Interpol’s Most Wanted as he roared off into the flickering city lights.

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