Day Two
July 22, 1952
Tuesday Afternoon
With the envelope clenched in her fist, Waverly got to the stairwell and bounded down three at a time with Bristol no more than a heartbeat behind. With every step she expected a fist to lock into her hair and snap her neck back so hard that her body yanked out.
Two seconds went by.
No fist came.
Then more seconds passed.
She made it to street level and ran with every molecule of strength she could summons.
Her lungs burned.
Her muscles cried.
The streets were crowded. She weaved through pedestrians as best she could.
A cup of coffee flew out of a hand.
An elderly lady tumbled to the ground.
Bristol didn’t let up.
He stayed behind her.
He didn’t care that people were staring.
He didn’t care a damn.
A half block went by.
Waverly swung onto the tail end of a moving trolley, dangled dangerously then got a foot planted. A look back showed Bristol sprinting at full strength but dropping back.
He slammed one fist into the other.
Then he bent over, braced his hands on knees and sucked air.
Waverly checked the envelope to be sure the photos hadn’t dropped out.
They hadn’t.
They were all there.
She already knew what she had to do.
She had to find out who they were.
She also had to find out if they were still alive or met a strange death like Kava Every.
She shoved the envelope in her purse.
Got you, Bristol.
Got you by the balls.