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Had it fallen to the floor?
Surely she would have heard that, but the radio was making it hard to hear anything else. She dropped to her knees and felt the tile floor.
No purse.
What the hell?
Sheknewshe had brought it in with her.
Had Agent Pembrook picked it up?
No, he’d never taken it upon himself to carry her things for her. Like almost all other FBI agents, especially those in protective mode, he liked to keep his hands free.
That left only Shrum. But why in the hell would he—?
“Olivia…!”
The yell came from down the hallway, around the corner.
It was Pembrook!
She ran for the door. Even with the blaring radio, she could hear there was a scuffle under way.
Quick steps.
Dragging heels.
Pained grunts.
Her first instinct was to help, but that’s not why Pembrook had cried out. He’d beenwarningher.
The best way to help him was to get the hell out of there. She ran down the hallway, away from the sounds.
Behind her, she could hear choking and gurgling.
She ran with her hands outstretched, retracing the path she’d taken inside. A right turn, another right, a quick left…
She ran smack into a closed door.
No…!
She pulled and pushed on the door handle. Locked. She still had at least one corridor to go until she would reach the sidewalk.
She froze. Behind her, the sounds of the struggle had ended.
There was only the sound of footsteps, and they were coming toward her. Hard leather soles clicked on the tile floor.
Click-click.
Click-click.
She cocked her head. The footsteps weren’t Pembrook, who slightly favored his right leg.
They belonged to Shrum. If that was even really his name.
Of course it wasn’t his name.
It was Milo.
