The heels, she knew, would have to go.
She kicked them off.
Her fingers wrapped around the railing, squeezing it tightly.
Every muscle in her body was on edge.
She went to push off with her right foot, to give her all the momentum she would need to catapult herself up the stairs, when behind her Jeff’s corpse reached out and grabbed her arm.
nineteen
The Aztec and Mayan book only causes a temporary distraction. It hits the man right before he’s about to pull the trigger, causing his aim to go wide and shatter one of the windows. But he bounces back almost immediately, squeezing the trigger again. This time the bullet doesn’t shatter more glass. This time the bullet strikes the man just outside the door in the back of the head.
Outside, a woman screams.
I’m faintly aware that it’s the woman-Ashley Walker-from a few minutes ago, and that the man who’s just been killed was her partner, the black dude that didn’t say much. I’m able to deduce that in only a second, and by that time the man has swiveled so his gun’s now pointed back at me.
I hit the ground. Spread myself on the floor as flat as I can, while above bullets tear into the counter, into the wall, raining down chunks of plaster and glass.
More gunfire starts up, only this isn’t from the same gun. This sounds like it’s coming from the front of the store. The bullets that were meant for me now stop. The pause is long enough for me to glance up and watch a large bald man advancing through the store, a submachine gun in his hands.
I see the faux-businessman crouched behind one of the tables, covering his head, shouting something. It doesn’t make sense to me until I remember his tiny earpiece. He knew the two reporters were coming before they even started down the steps. Which means someone else-this guy’s partner-must be somewhere up on the street.
The gunfire pauses for only a brief moment, and in that moment I hear screaming.
It’s Ashley Walker, outside, about ready to head up the steps.
A moment of indecision passes before I spring to my feet and start running toward the front door. I’m taking a wild chance, but I’m certain the new gunman isn’t here for me. This is confirmed only a second later when my movement catches his attention and he swings the barrel toward me, pauses, then swings it back toward the table behind which the other gunman has taken cover. He hurries deeper into the store, which is now thick with smoke, the fire growing more intense. He lets off a couple more rounds, trying to spook the other gunman.
I dash for the door, jump over the dead body, and grab Ashley’s arm before she’s able to start her sprint up the steps.
She screams. This is what I expected. What I didn’t expect is for her to spin around and rake my face with her nails.
I shout something indistinguishable.
She pauses, looks at me, looks down at her murdered friend, looks back at me.
She screams, “What are you doing?”
“You can’t go up that way.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not safe.”
As if my words summon him, a man appears at the top of the steps. He, too, is dressed like a businessman. He, too, is carrying a gun, held close to his side as if to conceal it from those passing by up on the street.
He pauses at the top, sees us, sees the dead body and the blood, and immediately starts to raise the gun.
I grab Ashley’s arm and pull her back into the store.
The fire in here has gotten worse. The smoke is almost too thick. The bald gunman is standing over my syringe-wielding buddy from earlier. He raises the submachine gun at us but pauses again when he sees who it is.
“Another one’s coming!” I shout.
“Shit.” The bald gunman drops the magazine from the submachine gun, smacks another one in place. He looks around the store, then asks me, “There another exit?”
“Back room. Leads up into the alley.”
He glances back toward the fire, then gives me a weary look as he pulls a small radio from his pocket. “Go.”
We hurry past him, stepping over the dead man. I pause only briefly when I see the syringe still on the counter. Without exactly knowing why, I scoop it up with my free hand and then keep pulling Ashley toward the fire.
She shouts at me to stop, to hold on, that she doesn’t want to die.
I shout at her that this is the only way out.
The fire is intense, the smoke thick, but fortunately the flames haven’t reached the door leading into the back room just yet.
More gunfire erupts behind us, two sets.
I don’t bother using the doorknob. I kick in the door. The hinges are old and snap off, the door swinging inward.
I pull Ashley inside.
“Keep going to the far back. There are steps leading up to a door. It will take you into the alley.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Just go!”
She hurries away.
I peek back out through the bookstore. The burst of gunfire has stopped. All I can see is smoke, and through the smoke flames.
Then a figure appears.
My hand squeezes the syringe tightly, though I’m not sure just how effective it will be against a gun.
But it doesn’t matter-it’s the bald guy with the submachine gun.
He bolts into the back room, slams the door shut.
“Grab that!” he shouts, pointing at the closest bookshelf.
We each take an end and walk the shelf over and tip it against the door. It’s not a perfect barrier, but it will have to do.
We hurry through the back room and up the stone steps to the door that’s already hanging open. Ashley’s waiting outside against the wall. She’s looking nervously up and down the alleyway, and when she sees the bald gunman, she releases a sudden cry.
“It’s okay, he’s a friend.” I glance at him warily. “You are a friend, right?”
He nods. “Something like that.”
Before I can ask him what that means, the sound of screeching tires fills the alley.
A black SUV swerves around the corner, headed this way.
Ashley starts to turn to make a break for it.
The bald guy says, “It’s okay, that’s for us.”
She pauses, turns back to me.
I stare into her eyes for a moment. I’m not sure what to tell her. Her partner was just gunned down. She has some of his blood on her clothes. Her legs are bloody from where she fell on the steps out front.
Her body trembling, her breathing fast, she asks, “What’s happening?”
Before I can tell her-though truthfully I have no idea-the SUV screeches to a halt. The bald gunman climbs into the passenger side. He shouts at us to get in the back.
Rule of thumb is that you don’t get into vehicles with strangers. Especially strangers carrying machine guns. Then again, I think the rule becomes muddied when the stranger with the machine gun has just helped you escape two other men with guns, bent on killing you.
I open the back door, motion for Ashley to get inside.
She hesitates, but it’s only for a moment, and then she climbs inside.
I climb in after her, slam the door shut.
The SUV jerks forward, its engine roaring.
For a moment there’s silence, and then I shout, “What the fuck is going on here?”
Neither the driver nor the bald gunman answer, but a voice does respond. It comes from my left, on the other side of Ashley. Apparently we’re sharing this seat with someone else.
“You’re safe now, John.”
It’s only four words, and it’s been years since I last heard it, but I recognize the voice immediately.
I turn in my seat, slightly, my entire body going tense. “What the hell?”
Ashley looks from me to the man sitting beside her. Her eyes are wide, her breathing still fast.
“What?” she asks, once again verging on franticness. “Do you know him?”