An elevator to his right dinged, opened, and spit out a handful of security guards, decked in military body armor.
There was no time to think.
‘‘Hold it!’’
Still wearing his jumpsuit and matching gloves, Grant dove into the empty elevator shaft after the woman, grasping desperately at the center bundle of cables that held the elevator. One look down found him fighting the urge to panic.
Two of the guards stood in the doorway above him. A third knelt and tried reaching down far enough to grab Grant with a powerful hand.
One of the standing guards pulled two items from a belt clip: one he barked into, the other he pointed like a pistol. But it didn’t quite look like a pistol.
He fired. Grant ducked. Two small darts grazed his left arm, still attached to the guard’s device by long wires.
Oh, of course. Taser.
Grant began making his way down the cable, hand-over-hand. Faster and faster he descended, as the guard above shot at him again.
He had started from the sixteenth floor, but he tried not to think about that, or anything else, except that next handful of cable.
Just take one more handhold. One more.
Come on.
One more.
Adrenaline was pumping hard through his veins when his feet finally touched solid ground. His arms were exhausted and he was covered in sweat, panting hard, but he’d made it.
Except he hadn’t. This wasn’t the bottom; it was only the top of the elevator car. Above him, he could see shadows still moving from the open door he’d come from. He counted the floors as best he could, estimated that he was around the fourth or fifth floor now.
There was a crack in the door in front of him, less than an inch wide.
She went through here.
If she could, so could he.
He squeezed his fingers through the crack, arms still shaky from the exhausting descent. But he managed to force the doors apart with little difficulty. He found himself a few feet below the floor level, so he had to climb up and roll over onto the marble floor. He lay there for a few moments, catching his breath.
When he looked up, a pristinely groomed woman in an immaculate pantsuit stood nearby, waiting for an elevator car.
She was looking down at him as if he were a leper.
His jumpsuit grimy and wet with sweat, Grant stood slowly, still struggling to breathe. Her bug eyes followed him as he strode by her, and he pointed back at the open elevator shaft.
‘‘Don’t ride that one,’’ he said.
Her face blanched as she nodded.
He spotted a men’s room nearby and ducked inside, locking the door behind him.
‘‘Don’t do this often, do ya, big boy?’’
He spun around and there she was—the blond woman from the office. She was leaning back against the sink, untying one of her shoelaces. Once done, she wrestled it out of her shoe. She shoved the string into her pants pocket.
‘‘Still . . . points for makin’ it this far,’’ she said, smiling. ‘‘You might just be worth savin’.’’
He leaned over on shaky arms, hands on his knees, and tried to catch his breath, while allowing himself a moment to take her in more fully. She had a rosy complexion and strong cheekbones. Her head was tilted to the side as she studied him with deep-set, unconcerned eyes.
‘‘So you do do this sort of thing a lot?’’ he asked between gasps.
‘‘Zip cord makes the trip down easier,’’ she said, holding out a wadded-up, black nylon rope, clipped to her belt on some kind of pulley.
‘‘That’s what I forgot when I left the house this morning,’’ he wheezed, still panting.
She acknowledged his sarcasm with a smile. Then she grew serious. ‘‘The guards know what floor we’re on by now. Time for Plan B.’’
She turned and stepped into one of the bathroom stalls. He staggered after her.
She stood atop the commode, and had her screwdriver out again, unscrewing the grate from a heating duct in the ceiling.
‘‘You’re kidding me, right?’’ he said, the thought of crawling up into the duct remarkably unappealing.
‘‘Y’reckon?’’ she said absently.
She loosened a second screw and the grate fell open on hinges. She turned to face Grant again. ‘‘Give me a boost,’’ she said.
He paused, uncertain. ‘‘Why should I trust you?’’
‘‘You shouldn’t . . .’’
The door handle to the bathroom suddenly jiggled from the other side. Then a knock. ‘‘Open up!’’ a deep voice barked.
‘‘. . . but it’s me or them,’’ she finished matter-of-factly.
Grant made a foothold with his hands and lifted her up into the duct. She scrambled nimbly inside as Grant heard keys jangling outside the door.
‘‘You comin’ or what?’’ her voice called from above.
He looked up to see her hand extending down toward him.
He stepped up onto the toilet seat and took the hand as he heard a key slide into the door’s lock.
The bathroom door swung open just as he’d pulled the grate closed.
The blond woman pulled the shoestring out of her pocket and tied the grate closed from inside.
15
They crawled. The going was slow through the tight quarters. She was in front, Grant close behind.
The only thought he could manage right now was that this woman must be from one of the ‘‘groups of people’’ the barefoot girl had warned him about. And stunning or not, he needed to be wary around her.
Aside from that, he also found himself wondering if she might be insane.
He broke the silence first, whispering. ‘‘Are you a crazy person?’’
‘‘No, but you ain’t the first to ask.’’
‘‘Then what’s your story? Who are you? And why are you here? Are you helping me?’’
‘‘Just keep crawlin’, big boy,’’ she whispered back, a smile audible in her voice. ‘‘There’ll be time for questions after today’s object lesson.’’
‘‘Hey,’’ Julie broke in, ‘‘I hate to interrupt the rampant and inappropriate flirting but the situation outside has disintegrated.’’
‘‘Like what?’’ Grant stopped crawling. Through another ventilation grate, he saw and heard at least a dozen security guards march below in fast succession.
‘‘Bad time to quit movin’,’’ the blond woman paused and looked back. ‘‘Don’t make me regret helping you out.’’
‘‘Police cars, fire trucks, dozens of security vehicles . . .’’ Julie replied. ‘‘You name it. All blocking the front entrance.’’
That was no problem. He had no intention of going out the front entrance.
‘‘And they’ve barricaded the entire street,’’ Julie added. ‘‘The gas station is blocked—I can’t reach it.’’
‘‘Perfect.’’
‘‘You comin’ or what?’’ the blond woman asked in a bored tone of voice.
Grant began crawling again. Something else occurred to him as they moved.
‘‘How did you do that back in the office?’’ he whispered. ‘‘MacDugall wasn’t afraid you were going to scratch him to death. He really believed you were holding a gun. Didn’t he?’’
He heard her sigh. ‘‘You’d never understand how it works. People trust their eyes too much. It’s an easy weakness to exploit.’’
Grant tried to swallow that. Found that he couldn’t.
‘‘So . . . what? You’re some kind of—I don’t know—illusionist?’’
‘‘Sure,’’ she replied, unconvincingly. ‘‘Somethin’ like that.’’
They crawled on.
‘‘She is so full of it,’’ Julie said.
Something else occurred to Grant.
‘‘Hey, why not use your mojo on the security guards, so we could just walk out of here?’’ he said.
‘‘If it were that simple, d’you think we’d be havin’ this conversation?’’
she replied. ‘‘Look, you’re way out of your depth here, sugar. eave the escape planning to the professionals.’’
Fifteen minutes later, they dropped through another grate into a tiny office. It was the first one they’d run across that was empty, and it was a long way from the bathroom. They’d watched from above as guards continued to march vigorously throughout the floor, searching everywhere for the intruders. As soon as they disappeared into another area, a new set of guards emerged and searched the same area all over again.
What are they so eager to keep anyone from finding?
As he dropped down into the office behind her, he caught a glimpse of the woman’s eyes scanning the entire room. She turned away, trying not to show it, but he could see her inspecting every inch of the office.
Grant stood in place, watching her. She was nearing the door when he whispered again.
‘‘You’re a cat burglar!’’ he said, the same moment he pieced it together.
‘‘A what?’’ Julie cried in his earpiece, so loud the blond woman could hear it.
She turned to face him, raised an eyebrow. ‘‘Me. Ow.’’
His shoulders dropped and he looked down. ‘‘I was trying to convince myself you were some kind of government agent . . .’’
She walked closer to him, icy cool gaze and platinum smile still intact. ‘‘Government jobs are for bland people who look good in a tie. Real fieldwork needs imagination, instinct, cunning. And hey, it pays the bills.’’
‘‘Right. Because who wouldn’t rather steal to get ahead.’’
She offered a fake hurt look. ‘‘Hey, I don’t take nothin’ from nobody who can’t afford to lose it. Rare art, antiques, fine jewelry, that sort of stuff. And nobody gets hurt. As long as they leave me alone, I leave them alone.’’
Grant was unconvinced. ‘‘So . . . you’re a criminal with a heart of gold. Like Robin Hood—stealing from the rich.’’
‘‘Mm-hmm,’’ she nodded, then flashed another smile. ‘‘Just without that pesky ‘giving to the poor’ fixation.’’
Grant rolled his eyes.
‘‘This woman is the Devil,’’ Julie said. ‘‘Why are you helping her?’’
‘‘I’m not!’’ Grant whispered into his earpiece. ‘‘She’s helping me! I mean, I think she is. It’s complicated.’’
‘‘Remind your friend,’’ the blond woman said, ‘‘that if it wasn’t for me, you’d’ve never gotten anything out of ol’ MacDugall.’’
‘‘How did you know I would show up in MacDugall’s office?’’ he asked quietly.
‘‘First we make with the escaping,’’ she said. ‘‘Answers come later.’’
Something else clicked in Grant’s mind. ‘‘Are you the reason the conference room door was unlocked?’’
‘‘Yes,’’ she exhaled, annoyed. ‘‘Now will you come on!’’
They made it to the main stairwell without incident and ran down to the first floor. She cracked open the door, and Grant could see through the slit that the gargantuan room was buzzing with activity, even more than before. Dozens of security guards were in the mix now.
He reached over her head and pushed the door shut.
‘‘I know an easier way,’’ he said.
‘‘Oh, really?’’
‘‘Oh, really!’’
She was dubious, one eyebrow cocked upward. But she had to know the front door was suicide.
‘‘Then impress me, big boy,’’ she said, hands on her hips.
He led the way down the stairs to the basement, along the narrow hall, and into the warehouse-sized room. The main lights were out overhead, but emergency floodlights had been triggered by the alarm. They made their way through crates and boxes until they reached the furthest wall. Grant had to feel around for a few minutes under her wilting gaze before he finally found the hidden doorway. A small pedal on the floor, hidden under a nearby shelf, triggered it open.
Grant walked in and she followed, gazing around the narrow corridor that led back to the gas station. She pushed the door shut behind them.
They walked in silence.
Suddenly Grant jumped and shouted.
She did the same. ‘‘What’s wrong?’’
‘‘My cell phone vibrated. Hasn’t happened in a long while.’’
She turned and walked on.
He pulled the phone open and kept walking, pressing it to his face.
‘‘Yeah?’’
‘‘Hello. I’m trying to find information about a man named Collin Boyd,’’ a voice on the other end said. A male voice.
Grant’s mind froze; that was the last thing he’d expected to hear. Still, this was his old cell phone; he’d pulled it off Collin’s body in the burning hallway.
He swallowed and rubbed his thumb against the ring again. It was a nervous habit he’d fast developed.
‘‘Collin is dead,’’ he said softly, where the woman couldn’t hear.
‘‘Yes, I know,’’ the voice said. ‘‘But this phone is registered in his name, is it not?’’
‘‘Yes, this is Collin’s phone, but—’’
‘‘Well, there we are then,’’ the man said, sounding pleased with himself. ‘‘There are no coincidences.’’
‘‘Look, this isn’t a good time—’’
‘‘Have you, by any chance, seen inanimate objects moving by themselves lately?’’
Grant stopped cold. The blonde up ahead of him noticed and turned around to see what he was doing.
‘‘Could you say that again?’’ Grant said.
‘‘You’ve seen some strange things happen lately, haven’t you?
Things you can’t explain. Like a hunting knife burying itself deep inside a column made of solid concrete.’’
Grant was too stunned to answer.
The woman approached him in the corridor. ‘‘Come on,’’ she whispered. ‘‘I can see the exit. We’re nearly there!’’
Grant ignored her, listening to the phone.
‘‘Fine. Get caught.’’ She turned and walked off without him.
‘‘Whoever you are,’’ the voice on the phone said, ‘‘we need to talk. My name is Daniel Cossick. I’m a scientist, and I think I can help you. But know this: you’re not just witnessing these strange events—I believe you’re causing them. Call me back at this number when you’re ready to talk.’’
Grant pulled the phone away from his face and beeped it off, too stunned to think or move.
‘‘Who was that, Collin?’’ Julie asked.
He heard a door open in the distance and looked up. The woman was already at the gas station cellar, going in.
He walked after her.
Grant soon reached the cellar, passed through the broom closet, grabbed his bag under the stairs, and ran up and out. Night had fallen, and it was growing cold out.
He had just reached the top of the steps when he saw her lying facedown on the ground, near the corner edge of the building.
He ran to her, kneeling down and feeling her pulse. She was alive.
‘‘She’s all right, just had a bit of a shock,’’ said a voice above him.
Grant looked up, but it was too late. Torrents of electricity flowed through him and he felt his entire body clench, folding itself into a fetal position until all he knew was darkness.
16
Grant awoke to the sound of screaming.
He noticed he couldn’t move before his droopy eyes opened. He was handcuffed to a chair, his ankles shackled around the chair’s legs. His chair was near the corner of a vast, dark room with no windows. Two dozen security guards stood around him in a semicircle. Beyond them, he could see security monitors, desks, and gear of all kinds. Enormous digital screens were on every wall, showing scenes from all around the Inveo campus.
This was no security office. It was a full-fledged operations center. They could coordinate a war from in here if they wanted to, Grant thought. What is a new technologies developer doing with this kind of firepower?
&nb
sp; He glanced up at the guards. They were watching him. No, they were watching the blond woman, who was five feet away to his right, also cuffed to a chair. Most of the guards were expressionless, others appeared to be enjoying this.
Her entire body convulsed.
One of the guards had pulled a chair up right in front of her and was using a Taser gun to shock her. It must be on a lower setting. She’s still conscious.
The two darts from the gun were attached to her stomach and the guard was zapping her over and over. She braced herself, trying not to react, but she couldn’t help it. The electricity surged through her, and she shook violently. But she refused to make a sound.
‘‘Aw, come on, I want to hear that girly scream again,’’ the guard with the Taser said, grinning, holding down the switch.
She bit down on her lip, hot tears burning her cheeks, refusing to give in. But he didn’t stop until she screamed.
‘‘That wasn’t so hard, was it?’’
‘‘Hey,’’ Grant said with a slur, ‘‘I’m awake . . . My turn now.’’
The guard barely glanced over. ‘‘Sorry,’’ the man grunted. ‘‘We’re under orders not to harm you.’’
‘‘What? Why?’’
The guard looked back at the woman. ‘‘You know, honey,’’ he said, inching closer to her, ‘‘you’d probably think this is a high-stress job. It’s really not. Sure, big place like this, people are always doing things they shouldn’t. Activating emergency exits by going out the wrong door—’’ he tapped the Taser for a second and she jumped—‘‘lighting one up in the bathroom and setting off the sprinklers—’’ another jolt—‘‘parking in the boss’s spot—’’ again—‘‘and guess who has to deal with it all?’’ He glanced around at the other guards in the room. ‘‘We do.’’
He sighed. ‘‘Now, big, strapping fellas that we are, we signed on to run with a high-risk security task force. But look at this place. So much technology, what do they need us for? Instead of keeping this place secure, we end up helping old Mrs. Greenburg to the ladies’ room. Do we look like Boy Scouts to you?’’
She opened her eyes, panting; sweat was dripping off of her, and her hair was soaked. Grant knew she must’ve been dying to tell these ‘‘boy scouts’’ exactly what they looked like but, to her credit, she was holding her tongue.
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