Agent Moreen Lee rushed up the stairwell after Dave, her breaths short and quick. She didn’t like trailing behind him, but there was something to be said for having a bulletproof human shield in front of you.
“This place must have ten floors.” Dave’s voice echoed off the tall, blank walls. “They could be anywhere.”
“The Black Valentine mentioned a helicopter. Head for the roof,” Moreen said.
Which meant they had to climb every single stair in the whole damn building. When they reached the tenth floor, Dave yanked open the door so hard that it came off its hinges. He tossed it aside, and they found themselves in the corner of a nondescript gray hallway.
“See any way to the roof?” Dave asked.
“You go right, I’ll go left. Shout if you find more stairs.”
Dave turned to her, his eyes full of annoying concern. “If you run into Jeffries—”
“I’ll shout. You’ll be able to tell I found Jeffries and not the stairs because I’ll be shouting profanity.”
“I think I’ll shout a polite request for help if it’s me.”
“Great. Get going.”
Moreen walked swiftly down the hall, Glock held out in front of her but pointed at the floor. The walls were lined with wooden doors that opened to small offices. Plaques displayed room numbers, and she kept her eyes open for one that said “Roof Access.” The whole floor was ominously quiet. If Jeffries had already left in his stupid helicopter, she was going to be pissed. Then again, maybe the Falconer or whatever his name was could ask his birds to track the machine to where it landed.
A bump came from the room to her right. Either something had fallen off a shelf, or someone was in there. Moreen’s arm muscles tightened, but she kept her gun pointed at the floor. The door was cracked open. Moreen approached it slowly, alert for any sign of movement. This could be a trap, someone waiting in there to shoot her. She shouldered the door open, and of course the hinges creaked. Continue reading