Natalie sucked in a breath as she edged her way across the ledge. Below her was the bustling night life of Chicago, unaware that an ex-CIA operative could fall to her death any second. Just a simple loss of balance could send her plummeting for the ground that was seven stories below. There was a reason she had requested a room on the first floor--only to discover that all of the rooms below her were booked for the night. It seemed that whoever was up in the clouds wanted to make things really difficult that night. The wind was picking up, tossing her body to and fro as she desperately tried not to slip. The fire escape was only a few feet away, but she was only moving inches at a time. Just don't look down. She had never been afraid of heights, but the idea that only 3/4 of her feet were actually placed on the slanted ledge was not comforting. As she continued to move towards the fire escape, her mind wandered only slightly to the hell she'd been through in the last few days. When she'd caught wind she was being targeted by an assassin, she tried contacting her most trusted ally. Smith was his name. He told her to meet him here at this very hotel. When he came to her room, she would never have seen it coming were it not for the unfamiliar look in his eye. Now, he was laying dead on the floor. With Smith turning out to be a traitor, Natalie didn't know who she could trust. All she knew was that the assassin was in the hotel, and she had to get as far away as possible. But at this rate and with the stupid wind, she might just end up making the assassin's job a whole lot easier.