Bogosian was reading in his conference room. His back was to the phone so he couldn't see the button lit on the open line. Marta paced away from the phone and back again. She kept her face down to the file. She paced to the phone, quickly punched a 5 on the keypad, spun on her heel, and walked away from the phone.
Across the hall, Bogosian had set down his magazine. He stood up and shook his jeans down over his cowboy boots.
Marta paced back to the phone and hit 1.
Bogosian stretched his muscles and yawned. His leather duster popped open to reveal the Magnum.
Marta paced away and struggled to stay calm. Only one more digit to go.
Bogosian left his conference room and was crossing the hall.
Marta's heart leapt into her throat. She walked toward the phone and hit the 4. The call should connect to the security office. Come on. Pick up.
Marta heard a jiggling at the glass door. Bogosian was trying the knob, but it was locked. Marta pretended she didn't hear him and was engrossed in her reading. Fear returned and her heart fluttered. Her head throbbed. The words melted before her eyes. Connect, goddamnit!
"Hey!" Bogosian shouted. He pounded on the door. In a split second he'd draw the gun, but a split second was all Marta needed. She heard the faint click of the phone call connecting and a guard answering, "Security."
Bingo! In one deft movement, Marta blocked Bogosian's view of the phone with her body and hung up the receiver. "Coming!" she said, appearing to notice him for the first time. She hurried to the door and opened it with a sweaty palm.
"What the fuck are you doin'?" Bogosian shouted, bursting through the door. He shoved Marta out of the way, and she staggered back against the table, clutching a swivel chair to break her fall. Pain knifed through her ribs.
"I'm working on the motion," Marta said. She willed herself to stay calm. The call had connected. Security would come up and check it out. There was at least one guard on duty, he'd been there when she signed them in. How long would he take to get here?
Bogosian pushed past her and scanned the room in suspicion. His bulk seemed to fill the space. His movements were swift and powerful. He smelled of cold leather and adrenaline. "You done that motion?"
"Not yet. Half an hour, that's all."
"You got five minutes, then we go back."
Marta had to stall him. "It'll take longer than that."
"Too fuckin' bad." Bogosian had taken enough of her shit and he had nothin' to do. He'd guessed all the dog breeds and he couldn't test himself again. Besides, he wanted this bitch back on the reservation. He had the feeling she was jerking him off. Her, and the other two. What the fuck were they doing, goin' to the bridge? Bogosian motioned to the folder. "What are you doin' with that?"
"Reading it. For the brief."
"Yeah, right." He yanked the folder out of the bitch's hand and looked at the top page. It was typed and there were case names underlined. Bogosian remembered the legal papers from his own case. Bullshit. More lawyer bullshit. All they did was make paper. He threw the folder on the table and it skidded into the papers, messing them up. He wanted to mess them all up. Turn the whole table upside down. But then he couldn't find out what she'd been up to. "You haven't been following my directions here."
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean."
"No, I was just researching." Marta watched with anxiety as Bogosian lumbered around the circular conference table, squinting slightly at the documents and photos. She realized he was nearsighted. He touched the papers scattered around the table's perimeter, moving deliberately as the minute hand of a clock. Where was security? Would they come? Bogosian flipped through the legal pad Marta had written on, and she was glad she hadn't left any notes.
"This what you were writin'?"
"Yes. You want to read it?"
"No, I don't want to read it," Bogosian said, mimicking her.
Marta's throat was a hard, dry knot. Where the fuck was security? They'd check even a false alarm, wouldn't they? If she got out of this alive she'd have them all fired. She lingered near the open doorway as Bogosian inched around the table. He was in the perfect position on the other side. Every muscle in her body wanted to run, but she told herself to wait for help. She remembered with a shiver how fast Bogosian covered ground.
"Why's the computer all black?" Bogosian asked, frowning over the laptop. "I don't like the looks of this."
"If you hit a key, it comes on again." Marta pulled out a chair near the laptop and grabbed her purse from it as if she were making room for him. No telling if she'd need it later. "Here, sit down," she said. "If you don't trust me, stay here while I work."
"Fuck you."
Suddenly Marta heard a noise behind her. The rattle of the elevators. The ding of the bell as the doors opened. Two security guards came off the elevator, laughing. One was the young man who had signed her in. This was it.
"HELP!" Marta screamed as she bolted from the conference room. "HE HAS A GUN!" She dashed past the shocked faces of the guards toward the exit stairway. Her heart raced. Her head pounded. Her ribs hurt so much it brought tears to her eyes. She flew down the hall and behind her heard the crack of gunfire. One, two, three shots. An anguished moan. Oh God. Marta hoped it wasn't the guards.
"HELP!" she screamed again as she pushed open the door to the stairway. She pitched down a set of concrete stairs, then another. Her pumps clattered on the steel edge of the steps. She panted from exertion and terror. No sound came from the top of the stair. There was no pursuit. Could Bogosian be dead? An alarm went off in the building and clamored in the concrete stairwell. Thank God. More guards would come. "HELP!"
Marta kept running. She hurtled down the stairs, leaping, nearly falling from landing to landing. A painted 10 on the wall told her there were ten floors to street level. She got dizzy as the tight stair twisted around. The alarm bell clanged in her ears. Her screams joined the cacophony. Six floors to the bottom. Go! Faster and faster, pitching forward. Flying down the stairs despite the pain and fear. Four floors left.
Bogosian wasn't chasing her. Maybe the guards killed him. Maybe she was free. Marta reached the bottom floor and threw herself against the exit door. It banged open into the lobby just as the elevator doors opened across the white marble floor.
It was a horrible sight. The elevator was an abattoir. Blood dripped from a huge splotch down its white walls. The two guards lay dead, crumpled in seeping heaps on the elevator floor. One had his face blown completely away. Between their bodies stood Bogosian.
Taking aim at Marta.
17
Marta ran, breathless, for her life. She streaked for the building's entrance, skidding on the slick marble floor, and burst through the glass double doors. She hit the street. Frigid air blasted her face and chest.
"HELP! PLEASE, SOMEBODY!" she screamed, though the snow-covered street was deserted. There were no cops around and no help. The security alarm was muffled outside the building. The guards were dead. The poor men. Bogosian was a killer.
"HELP!" Marta tore down the sidewalk in the deep snow, her purse flying from her shoulder. Icy flakes stung her face and lashed through her wool suit. She stumbled and her hand went elbow high into a snowdrift.
CRRACKK! Marta heard a gunshot behind her, echoing in the silence.
Oh God. Bogosian was going to shoot her down. Terror jolted her senses alive. She heard herself cry out as she half stumbled, half sprinted through the freezing snow. She dashed past darkened stores and swerved around the corner so he couldn't get a clear shot. Her legs were soaked and her feet numb, but she kept running. She couldn't hide because she'd leave footprints in the snow. Tears streamed down her face. "HELP!" she screamed futilely.
CRRAACCKK! Another gunshot.
Marta ducked, panic-stricken. Bogosian was going to kill her. His aim was off, but not for long. One of those bullets would find its target. Her spine. Her heart. Her head. She was going to die. She spotted the lights of Chestnut Street and raced across the street to them. There'd be people there.