Читать книгу Into Thin Air - Mary Ellen Porter - Страница 13

FOUR

Laney’s nerves were on edge, her vision adjusting to the darkness as Agent DeMarco guided her toward the door. It flew open as they reached it, and Detective Jensen barged in. The door slammed shut behind him. “What do you make of this, DeMarco?” His voice was low and tense. His hand rested on his holstered revolver.

“Could be a power outage from the construction that’s going on or—” the agent glanced at Laney “—something less innocuous. It’s hard to say, but I don’t like it. We need to get Laney out of here.”

“You have a plan for doing that without attracting too much attention?”

“Laney and I will leave now, through the hospital service entrance on the ground floor. I’ll take care of getting her home. You call Chief Andrews and fill him in. We’re going to need a couple of guys down here to investigate—we need to know for sure what caused this outage.”

“Do you really think this power failure could be connected to the kidnapping?” Laney interjected. “It seems like that would be a lot of trouble to go through.”

“How much trouble is too much trouble if it’s going to keep a multimillion-dollar operation running?” Agent DeMarco asked.

It was a good question. One that Laney couldn’t answer. Agent DeMarco struck her as levelheaded and calculated, completely focused on the investigation. If he thought the hospital’s power failure could be staged by the kidnappers, she wouldn’t write off the idea.

“Are you sure you don’t need me for backup?” Detective Jensen asked, brows furrowed in concern.

“I’d rather you stand your post. Act like you’re still guarding the room. Make note of everyone that comes by—hospital employee, electrician, patient—everyone,” Agent DeMarco replied.

“Will do.” Detective Jensen pulled the door open, stepping out of the way, and Agent DeMarco pressed a warm hand to the small of Laney’s back.

“Stay close,” he said as he led her into the hall.

She didn’t need the reminder. She planned on staying glued to his side until they exited the building. The emergency generator must have turned on. The hallway wasn’t quite as dark as the room had been. A row of red lights illuminated the area, providing just enough light to see down the corridor to the dimly glowing exit sign.

A nurse made her way down the corridor, peeking into rooms as she went, calling reassurances to patients, inquiring about the occupants’ welfare. Other than that, the hallway was empty, the stillness of the hospital unsettling. Agent DeMarco took Laney’s elbow, urging her toward the stairwell.

“We’re going to have to take the stairs,” he said, wrapping his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to his side, the protective gesture somehow reassuring. “We’re on the eighth floor, do you think you’ll be able to make it?”

“Yes, I’ll be fine.” She didn’t have a choice.

“If you need to take a break, let me know. If you get dizzy or—”

“How about we just go?” she cut him off, because the longer they stood around talking, the more her head ached and the less energy her legs seemed to have. They were on the eighth floor, which meant navigating seven flights of stairs down to the ground floor. She was fit and healthy. She had to be to train dogs the way she did. On most days, she could sprint up ten flights of stairs and barely break a sweat. This wasn’t most days.

“Just remember,” he responded, opening the stairwell door and ushering her onto the landing, “you pass out and I’ll be carrying you out of here like a sack of potatoes, not worrying about maintaining your dignity.”

“If I pass out, dignity won’t be first on my priority list.”

But neither of them would have to worry about it, because there was no way she was passing out in the stairwell like some damsel in distress. That wasn’t her style. It was bad enough she was forced to make a covert escape from the hospital in tight, itchy leggings and a fuzzy poodle sweater. She wasn’t going to do it lying over Agent DeMarco’s shoulder.

Not if she could help it.

By the time they reached the fifth-floor landing, she wasn’t sure she could.

Her head throbbed with almost every jarring step. She was dizzy and nauseated. The only thing that kept her on her feet was the horrifying vision of herself slung over Agent DeMarco’s shoulder, her puffy sweater–clad torso slapping into his back as he jogged down the stairs.

Just five more flights of stairs. Four more. She counted them off in her head, forcing herself to take one step after another. She’d do everything she needed to do to buy the FBI and the MPD some time if that meant there was a chance of finding Olivia and the other children.

Her feet seemed leaden, every step more difficult than the one before, but she kept going, because she didn’t want the image of Olivia’s fear-filled eyes to be the last one she had of the girl. She wanted to see photos of her being reunited with her family, wanted to see her smiling and happy and playing the violin she’d been carrying when she was abducted. She wanted this time to be different. She needed a happy ending for Olivia. An ending she’d not been able to offer her teammates’ families...

She stumbled, her legs nearly giving out.

Agent DeMarco’s grip tightened on her waist. “Do you need to sit for a minute?” His voice rumbled close to her ear, his breath ruffling the fine hairs near her temple.

“No. I’m fine,” she lied, and kept walking.

* * *

Laney was lying, and Grayson knew it.

He wouldn’t insist she sit down, though. He wanted her out of the hospital, and this stairwell, as quickly as possible. If that meant carrying her out, so be it.

Voices drifted into the stairwell as they neared the third-floor landing. Grayson tensed, wary of who might be approaching. He didn’t believe in coincidences, and a power outage at the hospital while the key witness to a kidnapping was in it would be a big one. It was possible the construction crew had knocked out the power, but he wasn’t counting on it. If the kidnappers were responsible for the power outage, they might be on a fact-finding mission, hoping to discover who Laney was and whether or not she was actually deceased.

If they already knew she was alive, Grayson had a new problem. Namely that someone who knew Laney had survived had leaked the information to the kidnappers. Though he hoped it wasn’t the case, a leak could explain why the kidnappers always seemed one step ahead.

Laney stumbled again. He pulled her closer, steadying her.

“We’re almost there,” he murmured, leading her down the stairs as quietly as possible. By the time they reached the second floor, she was visibly weak, her hand clutching the railing as she took the final step onto the landing.

Even in the dim red light, he could see the paleness of her skin, the hollows beneath her cheeks. Her eyes were glassy, her skin dewy from perspiration. She might have the will to make it out of the stairwell, but he wasn’t sure she had the strength.

He pulled the hood from her head and pressed a palm to her forehead. Her skin was cool and clammy, her breathing shallow and quick. “Maybe you’d better sit for a minute.”

She backed away from his touch, squaring her shoulders and yanking the hood back up over her hair. “I appreciate your concern, but if we stop every time I feel light-headed or dizzy, we might not make it out until morning.”

Her matter-of-fact tone left no room to argue, so he stayed silent. Now was not the time for a struggle of wills.

“Three more flights to go,” he pointed out, and he thought he heard her sigh quietly in response.

It was taking forever to reach ground level, but then, Grayson wasn’t the kind of guy who liked to do things slowly. He liked to have a plan in place and execute it with efficiency and as much speed as was prudent.

In this case, that meant going at a snail’s pace.

It would have been quicker and easier to carry Laney the rest of the way down, but she wouldn’t have appreciated it, and he needed her cooperation.

Somewhere above them, a door opened and shut with a bang.

How many floors above? he wondered. Four? Three?

Grayson stilled, listening. A quick shuffling of feet, then nothing.

Ten seconds passed.

Twenty.

The stairwell remained eerily silent. He didn’t like it. Someone was up there, still and listening, and he had a hunch it wasn’t a hospital employee. If he was right, his witness’s identity had been compromised. Peering over the railing, he scanned the stairwell below, its dark corners untouched by the dim emergency lights. There were now only two flights between them and escape. Multiple doors that the enemy could enter. He and Laney were vulnerable here, sandwiched between whoever had entered above and anyone who might be waiting below.

If there had been any other way out of the hospital, he would have selected it over the stairwell. Experience had taught him stairwells were prime locations for an ambush. A gunman above, a gunman below, and a person could be taken out in an instant.

Caught between floors, they had no choice but to continue down. He doubted Laney would make it up even one flight of stairs. Meeting her eyes, he held a finger to his lips, then guided her quickly down.

On the ground floor below, another door opened. He could hear heavy footsteps coming their way.

Not good.

Grayson had no intention of being caught in the middle of an ambush. Better to go on the offensive—meet trouble one-on-one. Grayson urged Laney down to the first floor landing, gently pushing her into the shadows. Drawing his gun, he peered over the rail.

A shadowy figure ascended the steps quickly, the barrel of a gun glinting in the dim emergency lights. From above, footsteps echoed loudly as the second person rushed down the stairs.

Grayson needed to act now. And it wouldn’t be by the book.

If he announced himself, he’d lose the element of surprise. If he took a bullet, Laney would be easy pickings.

There’s no way that was happening.

He had to time it perfectly. The gunman slowed as he neared the landing, cautiously stepping around the corner, gun first. In one quick motion, Grayson cracked the butt of his service weapon on the guy’s wrist, eliciting a startled howl of pain and sending the gun clattering down the stairs.

The guy turned back—whether to flee or retrieve his gun, Grayson couldn’t be sure. Reaching out, Grayson grasped a handful of the guy’s sweatshirt and brought his gun forcefully down on the man’s temple. The blow sent the man crumpling to the ground in a motionless heap.

Grabbing Laney’s arm, Grayson pulled her forward, ushering her around the fallen assailant. The unmistakable pop of a silenced pistol echoed in the stairwell, a bullet slamming into the concrete wall a foot from Grayson’s head. He shoved Laney forward, placing himself between her and the gunman as they raced down the last few steps to ground level.

He shoved the door open, scanning the hallway and the open door of the room beyond. Backup lights illuminated the hospital’s laundry room, the huge cavernous area the perfect cover for anyone who might be lying in wait. Footsteps pounded on the stairs above, the second gunman moving in quickly.

Grayson dragged Laney into the hallway, shielding her from any threat that might be waiting.

“This way.” He motioned toward a glowing neon exit sign pointing them to their escape route. They ran toward the far wall, turning the corner as the stairwell door slammed open once more.

Grabbing Laney’s hand, he sprinted toward the exit. He knew she was struggling to match his pace, but slowing down wasn’t an option.

Right now he couldn’t worry about anything but getting her to safety—as safe as any place could be for the only witness against a very large, very lucrative crime ring.

They barreled through the exit door into the employee parking lot.

“Come on,” he encouraged her. “I parked my car out here.”

* * *

Agent DeMarco didn’t let go of Laney’s hand as they ran through a near-empty parking lot. Silver streaks of moonlight managed to break through the intermittent cloud cover, providing some visibility beyond the shadows of the building. Too much visibility if their pursuer ran out of the building behind them. Laney shuddered at the thought.

She didn’t want to be within sight of that door if it opened and the gunman appeared.

Her body was wearing down, though. No matter how much she wanted to keep sprinting along beside Agent DeMarco, she wasn’t sure how much farther she could go. Her legs shook, every pounding step across the pavement making her head throb.

She stumbled, and his grip on her hand tightened.

“You can do this,” he urged her.

Maybe she could.

If wherever they were heading was closer than a few steps.

They rounded the corner of the building, putting brick and mortar between themselves and the door. She wanted to feel safer because of it, but fear pulsed through her veins, churned in her stomach. They had no idea how many men were after them—or where their attackers might be lying in wait.

A sudden clatter from around the building, like a can kicked across pavement, had Agent DeMarco snagging the arm of the jacket she wore, yanking her behind a large metal Dumpster.

“Stay hidden. I’ll be right back,” he ordered before easing around the Dumpster and moving soundlessly into the night. She stood still, keeping as quiet as possible. Listening. She could hear nothing but the deafening rush of her own blood in her ears. Without Agent DeMarco, she felt exposed and vulnerable. Releasing the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, she tried to shake off that feeling.

She’d worked under stressful, even dangerous, circumstances in the past, and she’d never had to rely on anyone to get her through them. She couldn’t allow herself to rely on Agent DeMarco, either. Playing the part of the victim just wasn’t her style. After all, if something happened to him, she would have to take care of herself.

And she would. She’d been doing it her whole life.

She’d realized at age eight that her mom was powerless to protect either of them from her father’s violent outbursts. Laney had been forced to take on that role. She’d learned to protect them both. This was no different. She needed to be ready. She needed to assess the situation herself. Plan her escape route should anything go wrong.

She eased out from behind the Dumpster, peering into the darkness. Nothing. The night seemed too still, the parking lot too dark. Dozens of cars were there, the streetlights off, the moon temporarily hidden by clouds.

A shadow moved at the edge of the lot, a deeper darkness in the gloom.

She jerked back, heart pounding wildly.

“Good choice,” someone whispered, and she jumped, spinning toward the voice.

Big mistake. Blood rushed from her head, and she swayed.

Firm hands cupped her waist, held her steady as she caught her balance.

She looked into Agent DeMarco’s face. “Where did you come from?” she whispered.

“I was circling around to get a location on him. I also told you to stay out of sight.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t.” His hands dropped away. “I had you in a position of cover. You walked out where anyone could see you.”

“It’s dark.”

“Ever heard of night-vision goggles?” he asked. “Because someone who has money enough to run a kidnapping ring the size of the one we’re dealing with has money for all kinds of things the average Joe might not have at his disposal.”

She hadn’t thought about that, but she wasn’t going to admit it.

“Did you see him?” she asked.

“He’s headed in the other direction—toward the visitor’s parking lot, but it won’t take him long to figure out we’re not there and double back.” He grabbed her arm, leading her toward the parking lot. “Come on. Let’s not lose our head start.”