Deciding to take the stairs to help wake up, Sam felt her legs more acutely than she had in a long time. She felt almost as if they were letting her know they were about to abandon her, and she could no longer rely on them. She placed her hand on the banister for balance.
As she headed downstairs, she heard the swoosh of papers flying onto the floor and then the thump of something heavy hitting the linoleum. Down the corridor, a man in a pinstripe suit stood over the body of a hospital security guard. Behind the desk, a nurse was leaning far back in a chair, a single hole in her forehead; blood oozed out and down her temples.
The shooter kicked the officer to make sure the man was dead, and then his head came up, and her eyes met his.
She didn’t know how she knew, but she did. He was there for her.
As she darted up the stairs, two slugs embedded into the wall where she had been standing, spitting drywall and dust into her face. She pushed her legs as hard as they would go, but she felt as though she were running through sand. Another shot rang in her ears as the round bounced off the metal railing and ricocheted somewhere below.
She opened the first door she came across and ran down a corridor with patient rooms on either side. She sprinted past a nurse’s station, where a single nurse was sitting behind a computer. The nurse yelled something to her, but Sam couldn’t hear.
Sam turned to her, still running, and shouted, “There’s a man with a gun!” She couldn’t think of anything else to say that would convey the urgency of the moment. But she ran a bit, and when she glanced back, the nurse hadn’t moved. The door at the end of the corridor opened, and the shooter stepped through.
Sam ran to the elevators and pushed all the buttons. Out of breath, with panic slowly closing in around her, she wasn’t there. She was back in her house with a man named Greyjoy standing above her, telling her she was about to die. Samantha felt as though she were breathing through a towel.
One shot, nothing more than a spit, sounded like a plastic cup falling onto linoleum. It zipped past her, close enough that she sensed the wind from the shot. The round exploded the window behind her as one of the elevators opened, and she jumped on. The shooter chased her at a full sprint.
She pounded the button for the top floor, her injured arm aching beneath the cast, and the doors slowly closed as the man leapt to get his hand in between them. The pull of gravity made her stomach roil as the elevator lifted her higher into the building.
44
With no streetlights and a moon that seemed to be hiding from them, Howie had no means to see anything other than the headlights on the jeep. He felt surrounded by a great black nothingness, but the headlights made it appear as though they were barreling through a light tunnel. Jessica was asleep, and he reached over and moved a strand of hair out of her face that was whipping her skin.
“She told me about you,” Mike said, leaning behind his ear from the backseat.
“What’d she say?”
“She said you cheated on her mom and got divorced after.”
Howie glanced into the rearview mirror. “It was… I don’t know. I don’t even know. I put myself in a spot I shouldn’t have, and I couldn’t resist. The only way to avoid it is to not even be in a place where you can fumble.”
“We’re weak when it comes to that stuff,” Mike said. “You still with the woman you cheated with?”
“No. It was a one-time thing. My wife only found out about it because she saw a package of condoms in my car. I tried to cover for it, but she could tell I was lying.” He paused. “She sat in her room from sunup to sundown and cried. Didn’t eat, didn’t drink. She cried the entire day.”
“That’s fucked up.”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe it was for the best?”
“No, it wasn’t. I screwed up the best thing in my life real good. And you don’t even realize it until later. I saw it tonight when she hugged my leg. I felt a glimpse of what I was missing out on. No amount of pussy is worth that.”
The state line wasn’t far. Excitement tingled Howie’s belly, and the stars were even beginning to sparkle above them, providing a dim light. A tinge of morning was in the warm air, which wasn’t as warm as it had been a couple of hours before.
“Daddy?”
“What is it, sweetheart?”
“Your nose is bleeding.”
He checked his nose in the mirror. Sweat glistened on his face, and underneath his nostrils a thread of blood was pooling at his upper lip. He wiped it with the back of his sleeve.
“It’s nothing, sweetheart. Just the dry air.”
She didn’t move for a time, though he could tell she wanted to hug him. But her anger wouldn’t let her. She had so much of it that she was blinded to everything else. He put his hand over her shoulders, careful to touch only her clothing. But that made him uncomfortable, and he withdrew his hand and put them both on the steering wheel.
“Go back to sleep, Jess. We’ll be in Las Vegas soon, and we’ll get a hotel room there and a big breakfast.”
“Can I have coffee and a waffle?”
“Whatever you want.”
He glanced over at her, and she smiled as an explosion rang in his ears and the jeep spun nearly upside down, gliding through the air like a monstrous bird.
Howie put his arm against Jessica to prevent her from flying out, but her seat belt held her in place. Mike wasn’t wearing one. He flew out of the jeep and rolled on the ground, narrowly missing the ton of steel that came crashing into the earth.
The jeep rolled once, groaning to an upright position. The motion jarred Howie’s neck, and a wave of pain shot into his head.
When it had straightened out, he turned to Jessica, who was crying. He put his arms around her and told her that it was all right, that they must have hit a batch of rocks. A trail of blood dribbled onto his sleeve and into her hair. He frantically wiped it out of her hair with his hands and then the sleeves of his shirt.
“What’re you doing, Dad?”
He didn’t respond. Terror gripped him, and he wiped at her face and hands until she pushed him away.
“Stop it. Stop!”
He sat back, breathing heavily. His acute anxiety was causing his chest to tighten like a walnut about to be cracked. They sat staring at each other for a moment before he realized that an acrid smell was filling the air. He glanced at the engine and saw flames.
Howie tugged at Jessica’s seat belt, but it wouldn’t loosen. He reached down and tried to unclip it, but the metal clip was jammed and the button wouldn’t depress. He felt the hilt of the knife he’d stolen earlier pushing into his abdomen. He pulled it out and cut through the belt. But before he could pull her out, a noise startled him.
The flames blew the hood off the jeep and reached into the front seats.
45
Samantha leapt out of the elevator, unsure of what floor she was on. A flood of memories of the past month overtook her senses so profoundly that she thought she might faint. But she kept running. Not until she was standing at the windows, staring down at the parking lot, did she know she had arrived at the top floor.
She ran into one of the rooms and shut the door behind her. Then she ran to the bathroom and shut that door. Samantha stared at it as though it would explode off its hinges at any moment. She backed away and sat on the toilet, nearly falling off. Putting her hands to her face, she sobbed.
After a few moments, the emotions passed. She took a deep breath and thought about what to do next.
Duncan and Jane were downstairs, and Samantha couldn’t be certain that man didn’t know about them. She didn’t know how to help either of them. Robert Greyjoy had known everything about her before they had even met.
She stood up and walked to the door. The shooter had come for her. She didn’t understand why she knew that, but she could read the unspoken understanding between them, like a crackling energy. He was the hunter, and she was the hunted. Maybe if he killed her, he would leave Jane and Duncan alone.