Clunk!
Kevin whirled around. The door had swung shut! The wind? Yes, the wind had—
Click. The lights went out.
Kevin started in the direction of the door, blinded by darkness. He took several quick steps, stuck out a hand, and groped for the door. His knuckles smashed into steel. He fumbled for the handle, found it, and twisted.
But it refused to turn. He gripped hard and jerked the handle first to the left and then to the right. Locked.
Okay, Kevin, stay calm. It’s one of those doors that stays locked.Except that it had opened for Sam. Because she was on the outside.
Wasn’t it normally the other way around?
He turned and yelled. “Sam?” His voice sounded muted.
“Sam!” This time the word echoed from beyond the stairs.
He’d seen a light panel by the stairs. Maybe they operated other lights? Kevin turned and walked toward the stairs, but his knees found the reception desk first. The crash sent a bolt of electricity through his nerves and he nearly dropped the gun. He stepped to the side and shuffled up to where he remembered the light switches.
“Samantha!”
He slapped the wall, found the switches, and palmed them on. No lights.
The floor above him creaked. “Sam?”
“Kevin!” Sam! Her voice sounded distant, from the back, as if she was still outside the building.
“Sam, I’m in here!”
His eyes had adjusted to the darkness. Light glowed from the upper level. Kevin glanced back toward the door, saw only darkness, and mounted the stairs. Light glowed faintly above him, a window maybe.
“Sam?”
She didn’t respond.
He had to get to some light! Another floorboard creaked and he whipped around, gun extended. Was the weapon cocked? He snugged his thumb over the hammer and pulled it back. Click. Easy, Kevin. You’ve never shot a gun in your life. You shoot at a shadow and it might be Sam. And what if the gun doesn’t even work?
He headed up the stairs on weak legs.
“Kevin!”
Sam’s voice came from his right and forward, definitely outside. He paused halfway up the steps, tried to still his breathing so that he could hear better, but finally gave up and hurried toward the light at the top.
The glow came from a doorway at the end of a barely visible hallway. His breathing came hushed and low now. Something thumped down the hall. He held his breath. There it was again, a step. Boots. Directly ahead and to his right. From one of the other rooms along the hall. Sam? No, Sam was still outside! Dear God, give me strength.He felt exposed standing in the hall. What was he thinking, waltzing up the stairs as if he were some kind of gunslinger?
Frantic, Kevin stepped to the faint outline of a doorway on his right. The floorboards protested under his feet. He cleared the doorway and slid back against the wall on his left.
Boots. There was definitely someone else on the upper floor with him. Could be Sam if the acoustics had misdirected her voice. Could it be her? Sure it could.
It is, Kevin. It’s Sam. She’s in the next room, and she’s found the bomb. No, her voice had been distant. And she didn’t walk like that. No way.
Her voice suddenly came again, faint. “Kevin!”
This time there was no mistake, Sam was yelling at him from below, out near the front door now. Her fist pounded on the steel door.
“Kevin, are you in there?”
He took one step back toward the doorway. The boot again. Thumping in the next room.
Someone was in there! Slater. He gripped the pistol tightly. Slater had lured him in. That’s why the riddle was so simple. A dread spread through his bones.
Sam was at the front door. The deadbolt wasn’t engaged—she should be able to either break it or pick it.
Another thought occurred to him. The bomb was probably set to go off—what if he was trapped in here when it did? What if the cops came and Slater detonated the bomb early? But Sam would never allow the cops anywhere near the warehouse now.
But what if she couldn’t get the door open?
Panicked, Kevin slid along the wall, met a corner, and felt his way along the back wall. He put his ear on the plaster.
Breathing. Slow and deep. Not his. Slow shuffling.
A low voice reached through the wall. “Kevinnnn . . .”
He froze.
“Forty-six minutesss . . . Kevinnnn.”
The difference between innocence and naiveté has never registered in Slater’s mind. The two are synonymous. In fact, there is no such animal as innocence. They are all as guilty as hell. But he can’t deny that some are more naive than others, and watching Kevin creep up the stairs like a mouse has reminded Slater of how utterly naive his nemesis really is.
He’d been sorely tempted to kick the man in the head then, while Kevin was still four steps from the top. Watching him tumble and break would have held its appeal. But place-kicking has always struck him as one of sport’s more boring moments.
Welcome to my house, Kevin.
The man has gone and gotten himself a gun. He holds it like he might hold a vial of the Ebola virus and probably hasn’t thought to cock it, but he’s at least gathered the resolve to arm himself. And he is undoubtedly packing without Samantha’s knowledge. She would never allow a civilian to stumble around with a loaded weapon. Kevin has found a sliver of manhood. How fun! The man may actually try to kill him, as if he’s become the stalker instead of the victim.
In ways not even Kevin can yet know, this isn’t such a new thing. Kevin has tried to kill him before. Their lives are inseparably intertwined, each bent on killing the other. To think that this man who’s crept up the stairs holding his big shiny pistol has the stomach to pull the trigger, much less kill, is absurd.
Now the fool has wedged himself in the next room down and is undoubtedly wetting himself. If he only knew what lay in store for him in the hours to come, he might be lying in a puddle of his own vomit.
Here, kitty, kitty.
“Forty-six minutesss . . . Kevinnnn . . .”
Kevin nearly pulled the trigger then. Not with calculated aim, but out of sheer terror.
“Sam?” His voice sounded like a wounded lamb’s bleating. He was briefly revolted by his weakness. If this was Slater, he was getting exactly what he wanted. A face to face. A chance to blow him away.
The doorway stood opposite him, its gaping hole darker than the black surrounding it. If he were to run now, he could bound down the stairs and reach the front door, right?
A new sound reached into the room—the sound of something sharp scraping along the wall outside. Down the hall toward his door.
Kevin gripped the pistol in both hands, pointed it at the doorway, and slid down to his seat. If Slater stepped through that space, he’d do it. He’d see the dark form and start pulling the trigger.
The scraping continued, closer, closer. Closer.
“Kevinnn,” a voice whispered.
God, help me!His mind started to go fuzzy.
Take him out, Kevin.Jennifer’s voice echoed through his mind. Blow the scumbag away!
He could hardly see the gun in front of him to aim it, but he could point. And whoever walked through that door wouldn’t be able to see him, right? Not in this darkness. Kevin would only see a shadow, but he had that advantage.
The scraping closed in on the door.
Sweat slipped into Kevin’s eyes. He held his breath.
Sam’s voice yelled distant. “Kevin, you stay put! You hear me?”
He couldn’t respond.
“Stay right there.”
She was going to get something to force the door. Pick the lock. A brick, a crowbar, a gun. A gun! She had a gun in her purse. Hurry!
The whisper came again. “Kevinnnn . . .”