by Marta Perry
He stepped aside, letting her come in while he held the door open, ready for his escape.
“Fine.” She didn’t look at him as she crossed to her desk and put her bag down. She wore that impassive expression she did so well, but he’d seen the flash of emotion, of vulnerability, in her eyes. “She’s eager to be back in action. We’ve started taking her outside for some gentle exercise.”
“You’re still at your grandparents’ house, aren’t you?”
She nodded. “We’ll probably go home soon, though. I don’t like leaving my place empty.”
“Juli—” He didn’t have the right to say it, but he was going to, anyway. “Don’t be in a rush, okay? You’re safer with your grandparents until the police get a handle on this situation.”
“I’m not going to hide because of a stupid coward like Crale.”
“A stupid, dangerous coward,” he said.
“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.” There was finality to the words. What she was really saying was you don’t have the right to give me advice.
And she was right. He didn’t.
“I’ll be down at the hospital site if you need me for anything.”
He stepped outside, closing the door. If Juli needed anything, he was the last person she’d call. That was for the best, but it sure didn’t feel good.
That had certainly been a wasted trip. Juli crossed from the cabinetry department back to the office, fuming a little. She’d been ready to leave for the day when Dahlia Sainsbury had called from the museum. She’d been convinced that something was wrong about the design and had insisted that Julianna go and check it out. A phone call wouldn’t do—she’d only trust a visual inspection.
Since Quinn was busy elsewhere, Juli had gone, and there hadn’t been a thing wrong with the design. She suspected that her voice had been a bit tart when she’d called the woman back to tell her that.
Well, forget Dahlia. That was easy. Forget Ken—that was considerably more difficult.
He’d made his feelings crystal clear when he’d apologized for kissing her. Anything between them was a mistake. Fine. That was just what she’d been telling herself.
Now, if she could just convince her foolish heart of that. Oh, she’d get over her feelings for him eventually. But she couldn’t help grieving for what might have been.
She hurried back into her office. She would shut down the computer, lock up and head home. With a bit of luck when it came to the traffic, she’d be back at her grandparents’ in time to take Angel out for some exercise before dark. That would do them both some good.
A scribbled note lay in the center of her desk. It read: Ken Vance called. Meet him at the hospital site as soon as possible.
She frowned, stared at it and then picked up the receiver and dialed Ken’s cell phone. If she had to fight traffic clear down to Vance Memorial, she’d never get home before dark. Maybe Ken’s problem was something she could deal with from here.
But the call went straight to his voice mail. She left a brief message, knowing that was no help. Frowning, she crossed the hall to check with the two women who worked in sales. If she could find out who’d taken the message, maybe she’d know what it was about.
But the office was empty—even Quinn was gone. It looked as if she’d be running down to the hospital site, like it or not.
Traffic was just as bad as she’d expected, and by the time she reached the site, dusk already drew in, casting shadows on the stark structure. She hadn’t been to the site in over a week, and she was amazed at how much had been completed.
She parked at the curb and picked her way across a muddy patch to a wooden walkway into the building. No sidewalks yet, but probably those were among the last things to be finished.
The place looked deserted. Obviously the workers had gotten away from their job faster than she had hers. She stepped inside and found herself in the rotunda, where a wide center staircase led to the upper floors. She remembered enough of the plans to know that the reception area and lobby would be here, looking as welcoming as any hotel lobby.
“Hello?” She called out, expecting to hear Ken’s answering hail. All she heard was the echo of her own voice, floating down from above like the dust motes that drifted in the last rays of sunlight.
She walked across the rotunda floor, her flat heels clicking on the marble floor. It was still covered with dust, but its beauty showed through. She stopped at the bottom of the steps, looking up the stairwell.
She’d seen sketches of the design, of course, but they hadn’t done justice to the grace and strength of the design. This would be a triumph for Montgomery Construction, if they could just get it finished in time.
“Ken!” she called, louder now. There was nobody to disturb, and she needed to find Ken and finish up before it was too dark to see anything in the building. “Ken, where are you? It’s Juli.”
A sound echoed down the stairwell from high above. Ken, presumably, calling her name. She started up the stairs. Apparently the problem he’d discovered, whatever it was, was on the top floor.
The issue that brought her here must be important. Ken had made it obvious that he was no more eager to see her than she was to see him. Kissing her had been a mistake, and it embarrassed him to be around her now.
The way he’d been embarrassed to be around her in high school? He’d tried to be kind to her then, but she’d known the truth about how he felt. And now history was repeating itself, as if the wheel of time, turning, had brought both of them back to where they’d started.
She reached the top floor finally and took a few cautious steps away from the stairwell. This area was unfinished, littered with stacks of lumber, strewn with the debris of all the projects under way, turned into a maze by hanging sheets of plastic that swayed in the currents of air from the holes where windows would go.
Naturally she didn’t have a flashlight—she hadn’t thought to bring one from the car. Walking through this mess would be like picking her way through a debris field, and she didn’t have on the shoes for it.
“Ken, where are you? It’s getting dark.”
“Back here.”
The shouted words gave her a direction at least. She started toward the sound, stumbling on a board left in a pile of sawdust. “Do you have a light?”
No answer. She frowned. Had he moved out of earshot? Surely he’d realize that it was difficult to find him in this jungle. She pushed aside a hanging sheet of plastic, only to be confronted by several more.
This was like being in a fun house. And she didn’t like fun houses.
“Ken?” she called again.
Like an answer came a metallic sound from beyond a plywood partition. Nerves dancing, she forced herself to take the few steps necessary to look around it.
And had to laugh at herself. It was nothing very mysterious—just a metal bucket tipped on its side, rolling over the dusty floor.
She walked down, realizing uneasily how dark it had gotten in just a few minutes. A row of the windows that would soon be put into place gleamed palely in what little light filtered in. If she didn’t find Ken soon, she’d have to go back down to the car for her flashlight.
She should try him on the cell phone again. He might pick up this time, and he could guide her to his location. Why hadn’t she thought of that before?
She fumbled in her shoulder bag for her phone and then stopped, freezing where she stood. She knew what the sound was now—the bucket rolling again. It shouldn’t freeze to the bone. But it did.
The bucket wouldn’t roll by itself; something had to make it roll. What?
Still, so still she could hear the sound of her own breath. And feel…feel the vibration in the floor. Something—
She looked up, trying to locate the source. And saw the whole row of metal-framed windows toppling toward her.
Chaos—the noise battered her, deafened her; the dust blinded her. Coughing, choking, she stumbled to her feet, staggered away from the wreckage.
&nb
sp; She couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, but knew instinctively that someone was there. Someone had pushed the windows, trying to do to her what they’d tried to do to Ken with the pallet of lumber.
She gasped in a shaky breath, trying to be silent. Did he know she’d survived the attempt? Or did he think she lay, broken and dying, under the windows?
She took a soft step away from the wreckage, then another. Her head was starting to clear. The dust was starting to settle. No advantage to either of them—she could see him if he came after her, but he could see her, too.
She had to move. She couldn’t just stand here and wait for him to come after her. She tried to think. The only way out she knew was the way she’d come. She moved that way a few more feet, but a sound from somewhere ahead and to her right alerted her.
He was there, between her and the stairwell. Hiding. Waiting for her to come that way—to walk into his trap.
A shiver went through her. No, he wasn’t waiting. She could hear him moving stealthily toward her. She couldn’t see him, but she could hear him.
Think. You can’t panic. You have to think. If you run mindlessly, he’ll be after you in a moment.
Please, Father, be with me now. Guide me, please. Show me the way to go.
Off to her left was a row of partitions, probably eventually intended to be exam or treatment rooms. She slipped noiselessly behind them. Darker here, but it felt safer to hide in the shadows.
Think. A plan of the hospital addition hung on the wall of Quinn’s office. She must have looked at it a hundred times or more. Why didn’t she remember?
She closed her eyes, trying to visualize the plan. Please, Lord.
Slowly the image began to come clear in her mind. The ground floor first, because it had been largest and easiest to understand. Then the projections of the upper floors. The main stairwell in the center—it couldn’t be the only one.
No! Along the west wall, in the center where the elevators would go, a set of fire stairs went down to ground level.
Which way? She knew—of course she did. She knew which way the setting sun had slanted through the windows before it slipped behind the mountain.
She moved silently along the row of partitions. He was coming. She could hear his footsteps. Soft and slow, but relentless.
She moved more quickly, trying not to make a sound. Stay behind the partition, head toward the west wall. That was her best chance.
Her mind flickered back to the cell phone in her bag. It would only take moments to key in 911, but how long would it take her to explain what was happening, where she was, why she needed help?
Too long. He’d be on her long before she got all that out. Ken—she wouldn’t have to explain to him, but how could she expect him to get here in time to help her? She didn’t even know where he was.
No, her best bet was to keep trying to get to the fire stairs. There was certainly every chance that she knew the building better than he did. He might not even be aware of the existence of the stairs—might think he had her trapped as long as he stayed between her and the main stairwell.
Darker now, it was harder to maintain her balance, keep from stumbling, making some noise that would alert him to where she was.
Moving slower, more cautiously, she reached what would eventually be a doorway. She paused, taking the risk of peering around it.
Her breath caught. There he was—a dark figure against a dark background. Her stomach twisted. He wasn’t taking the chance that she could identify him. He wore a dark ski mask, completely covering face and hair.
She took a step back, and her luck ran out. Her foot hit a piece of pipe and sent it rattling along the floor. He spun instantly toward the sound, and a faint sliver of light struck what he had in his hand. The blade of a knife gleamed.
He started toward her. He knew where she was. No use trying to hide now—running was her only option. She bolted down the hallway she could only pray led to the stairs.
His footsteps pounded behind her. Her breath rasped in her throat. Running, running, weaving around stacks of lumber, flooring material, sawhorses—everything seemed to be stored up here, and she couldn’t afford to stumble.
He stumbled. Behind her she heard a clatter as he hit something, maybe one of the sawhorses. A muttered cry, and the thud of a body hitting the floor.
It was her chance, and she took it. She ran, full tilt. Suddenly the corridor came to a dead end. She stopped, panting for breath. Which way, which way, please, Lord—
From the right, so faint she might be imagining it, came a slight red glow. A streak of red sky, reflected in a pane of glass? She had to risk it.
She ran to the right and there, ahead of her, she saw it. A doorway. Stairs.
She grabbed the handle, yanked it toward her, bolted through—
A cry ripped from her throat. Only her grip on the door handle saved her. Inside only a tiny landing, a concrete block wall, and a sheer drop four stories down.
She clung to the handle, heart pounding, shaking, her gaze fixed on the wall opposite her. On it, painted in stark, mocking black, was the lightning symbol.
Slowly, slowly, one shaky breath at a time, she drew back. Hardly able to dare, she turned. She didn’t have the energy left to run any longer. She’d have to fight.
She stared down the dim hallway, waiting for him to appear. Nothing. Nothing but the scream of a siren and the sound of Ken’s voice, calling her name.
THIRTEEN
Ken had reached the bottom of the stairwell when he heard the cry. Juli—he knew it was Juli. He raced up the stairs, heart pounding as if it would leap from his chest.
Juli—He’d known something was wrong when he picked up his messages and heard her voice, asking why he wanted to meet her here.
“Juli!” He shouted her name again, willing his feet to move faster. The cry had sounded as if it came from the top, but sounds were deceiving in an empty building. “Juli! Where are you?”
Answer me, please answer me. Lord, show me where she is. Let me be in time.
“Juli!” Frantic, despairing, he cried her name.
“Here.” It was the thread of a call coming, as he’d thought, from the top floor.
Alive. She was alive. He didn’t realize, until he heard her voice, that he’d been sure he was too late.
Thank You, Lord. Thank You.
He’d almost reached the top when she appeared, stumbling onto the first step and then falling into his arms. He held her close, heart overflowing with thanksgiving. If he’d been too late, he’d never have forgiven himself.
“Hold it right there.” The commanding voice came from below. He turned to see a uniformed officer, gun trained on him. “Step away from her.”
“He’s not—” Juli began, but he raised his hands and stepped back slowly.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I called Sam. He’s on his way, but he said the uniformed officers would get here first.”
“Are you all right, miss?” The patrolman had reached them now.
“I’m fine. This is Kenneth Vance. He’s not the man who was chasing me.” A shudder went through her, and it was all Ken could do to keep from putting his arms around her again.
The man’s partner had joined them by that time—a little older, a little paunchier than his eager young colleague. “You have some ID, Mr. Vance?”
Ken nodded, pulling his wallet from his back pocket and handing it over. The older cop looked through it, comparing the military ID with Ken’s face. Then he turned to his partner.
“You heard the lady. Start searching at the top. I’ll take the civilians down to the street and get some help to you as soon as another black-and-white gets here.”
Ken put his arm around Juli’s waist as they started down. She seemed okay, but he felt a tremor run through her now and then. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Just scared.” She leaned against him. “He had a knife.”
“Did you get a look at his face?” the cop asked.
> She shook her head. “He had on a ski mask.”
The cop shot her a skeptical look. “Seems like too much precaution for a prowler.”
Juli shrugged. That was just as well. She probably realized, as he did, that there was no point in going over the whole thing until Sam got here.
“Sam will be here soon. I called him as soon as I got your message and realized something was wrong.”
“Obviously you didn’t leave a message at the office for me.”
Her voice sounded stronger, and he murmured a silent thanksgiving. Juli was springing back, as she always seemed able to do.
“No. I didn’t.”
They reached the outside door just as another police car pulled up. At the officer’s gesture, he led her to the car, sliding into the backseat while the police headed into the building.
“They won’t find anything,” Juli murmured.
“How do you know?”
She took a shuddering breath. “When I cried out, I thought it was all over. He’d find me. But then I heard you calling my name.” Her fingers clutched his. “He must have heard, too. He got out right away.”
“He didn’t come down the main stairs. That’s where I was. I’d have seen him.”
“He’ll have gone down the east stairs, if they’re finished. He had to have an escape route planned.”
“The west stairs—”
“That’s where I was. That’s where he chased me.” Her voice choked a bit. “I went through the doorway—I thought it was my way out. But the stairs weren’t finished. If I hadn’t caught myself I’d have fallen all the way down.”
He covered her hands with both of his. He’d like to do more, to put his arms around her and pull her close.
But he couldn’t. Already a curious crowd had gathered. The police kept them a reasonable distance from the car, but they could see. A reporter and photographer had arrived from the paper, too. Anything to do with a Vance was probably considered news.
If he gave in to the urge to hold Juli, it could end up hurting her. He’d be leaving soon—he had to keep reminding himself of that. He didn’t want to leave pain in his wake.
