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He tilted his head, listening through his earpiece. His expression went grim.
"Strike that," he said.
He hit the floor button beneath the one he'd selected. The team had set up earlier in an unoccupied suite over Jordan's office, where they could drill down for sight and sound. They'd left when Jordan had, then hurried back after the call.
When the elevator stopped, he said, "This is Jordan's floor. You folks go on up to 1104. Someone will meet you there."
I started getting off behind him. "We'll--"
Aaron stopped me. "Actually," he said, "I'm going to second the SWAT guy. If Jordan's staff is infected, I don't think someone's stuck them all with needles."
"Viral, you mean."
"Which is what this thing is supposed to be. Better let the SWAT guys and the vamps handle this. I'm not worried about getting a shot of werewolf DNA. I always thought they had more fun anyway."
"You would," Cassandra said.
They got off the elevator. I looked at Adam.
"They have a point but . . . Shit." He glanced at me. "They're right. Tough as it is to run for cover, I don't want you getting whatever Bryce has. Don't particularly want to get it myself either."
The elevator doors started to close. I reached out to stop them.
"I agree about the not-getting-infected part. But we can watch from here, right? Safe distance?"
"Except the elevator is going to sound an alarm if we keep holding that door." He prodded me off. "We stay here. Where's the nearest stairwell if we need a quick getaway?"
I pointed to the Exit sign over a door beside us.
"Good."
"God, we're getting responsible," I said.
He smiled. "Being careful just means we'll live long enough to have more adventures."
The team broke into Jordan's office. I strained to hear, but only picked up footfalls and hushed instructions from Estrada.
Then a low moan came from the other end of the hall. I glanced around for any of our team, but they'd all disappeared into the office. Adam and I crept toward the sound.
"Help," a voice rasped. "Please help."
A young woman was making her way along the hall, leaning against the wall as she came. She was covered in blood. I started forward. Adam grabbed me.
She saw us, and her head lolled as she struggled to make eye contact.
"Puh-please help me."
She kept shuffling along, leaving a smear of blood along the wall. Her arms and face were covered in deep gouges that oozed blood. Her legs were scratched up, too, her pantyhose in shreds.
Adam clamped a hand on my shoulder and backed me up. "We need to get help for her--"
The woman stopped and started scratching at her arm, her nails digging bloody furrows as she moaned, "It burns. It burns."
I remembered the laboratory. The patient swathed from head to foot, desperately trying to scratch.
"She wasn't attacked," I whispered. "She's infected. I'm getting help."
I raced down the hall to the open office door and burst through. There were two people on the reception floor. One was a man in a suit, his shirt in shreds, torso covered in scratches, the bottom half a sodden bloody mess. The other was a guy barely out of his teens.
