33. Rowan #2
She turns.
I've already started sawing the thin edge of the wheel lock against the left strap. Her expression changes, but I cut harder. The restraint gives halfway through before she reaches me.
I jerk my wrist upward, tearing the rest, and swing the metal piece into the side of her head. Evelyn stumbles into the rolling tray, and the syringe hits the floor.
I rip my right wrist toward the edge of the table. That restraint doesn't break. Evelyn grabs for my left arm, but I hit her again, lower this time, catching her shoulder hard enough to turn her away. She falls against the cabinet while I reach across myself and cut at the second strap.
Footsteps start outside.
I saw through the material while Evelyn pushes herself upright. The door handle moves just before the restraint parts, and I get off the table before Rahil enters.
He comes through the doorway fast enough to hit the rolling tray with his thigh. I shove it into him, forcing him sideways, then run into the corridor. My legs nearly fail on the first step, but I keep moving.
The hallway runs maybe thirty feet in each direction. A red EXIT sign marks a stairwell to my right. Another corridor branches left toward glass double doors and a section labeled SURGICAL.
I take the stairs.
Rahil catches the back of my shirt before I make ten feet. I turn instead of fighting the pull. The wheel lock is still in my hand, and I drive the metal edge across his face.
He jerks away with a curse. I hit the same cut I opened at the conference center and reopened at the ranger station. Blood spreads beneath the fresh dressing before he tears it off.
"You really should stop putting your face near me."
Rahil comes at me again. I shove the supply cart from the wall into his path, then run.
The stairwell is eight feet away. I make four before the door opens and Orell Zaitsev steps through with a pistol in his right hand.
I stop because running into a loaded weapon would ruin an otherwise respectable escape attempt.
He looks almost exactly the way he did at the gala. Expensive dark trousers, open collar, controlled expression. The only difference is that he's holding the gun himself instead of letting respectable people handle the ugly work.
"Rowan." He looks past me toward Rahil's bleeding face. "You've been inconvenient."
I keep the wheel lock at my side. "Your staffing remains a problem."
Rahil reaches me from behind, but Orell lifts the pistol slightly. "Don't touch her."
Rahil stops.
That gets my attention.
Orell looks at me again. "Walk."
I stay where I am.
His voice remains conversational. "You understand how this works."
"I understand you need me alive."
"For the moment."
That's different.
I look toward the stairwell door behind him. Four feet. Maybe less. Orell sees me calculate it and steps sideways, blocking the opening completely.
"Walk back to the room, Rowan."
I tighten my grip on the metal. "You first."
His expression almost turns amused. "Erik has had an unfortunate effect on your manners."
"He likes them."
The first gunshot comes from somewhere below us, and everyone in the corridor reacts. Orell turns his head toward the stairwell while Rahil reaches beneath his jacket. A second shot follows, then several more in quick succession.
Not from the dock.
Inside the building.
Erik.
I know before I can prove it.
Orell looks at Rahil. "Lower level."
Rahil starts toward the stairwell, but another man comes through the glass doors from the surgical wing and points toward the opposite corridor. "They're inside."
Orell's attention returns to me, and I smile despite the gun pointed in my direction. "You left him a trail."
His expression changes. Only slightly, but it's enough.
The gunfire moves. The first shots came from below and to my right. The next exchange sounds farther beneath the center of the building. Soon after, another burst comes from somewhere almost directly under us.
They're moving through the lower floor. Upward.
Rahil reaches the stairwell door. Orell stops him with one sharp gesture. "Use the east stairs."
Rahil changes direction and runs past me toward the far corridor.
I move too, not toward Orell but toward the supply cart I shoved earlier.
I grab it and drag it across the corridor between myself and the stairwell.
The wheels squeal against the floor, and Orell looks at me as if he can't decide whether to shoot me or admire the inconvenience.
"Stop moving."
"No." I push the cart another foot until it blocks most of the hallway.
A shot cracks below, and Orell closes the distance between us.
I back toward the surgical doors while keeping the cart between me and the stairwell.
If Erik's people come up that route, they need something between themselves and Orell's line of fire.
If Rahil comes back from the east stairs, I need the same thing.
The elevator at the far end lights.
Orell reaches me before the doors open. He grabs my upper arm and pulls me backward through the glass doors.
I swing the wheel lock at him, but he catches my wrist and twists until I drop it. "You've become exhausting."
"I've had an unusually bad week."
He drags me farther into the surgical wing.
The hallway is brighter here, with glass-fronted treatment rooms on both sides and a nurses' station near the center.
Stainless-steel carts sit against the walls.
One room contains a surgical table beneath ceiling lights, while another has imaging equipment and monitors powered up.
The gunfire below stops.
That frightens me more than hearing it.
Orell pulls me against him and presses the pistol into my side just below my ribs. My body locks, not because of me but because of what's underneath the weapon.
He knows.
I turn my head toward him. "If you fire there, you lose your leverage."
His grip changes around my arm.
"That was your rule, wasn't it?" I push the words out before fear can make them harder. "The leverage arrives intact."
Orell looks toward the glass doors. "Rules exist while they remain useful."
The man who built systems so other people committed his crimes is holding a gun against a pregnant woman because his system is collapsing downstairs.
Another sound comes from beyond the doors. A door hits a wall, followed by footsteps.
Orell backs us into the nearest surgical room, keeping me in front of him. I resist enough to slow him, forcing him to pull rather than letting him reposition me easily. The pistol presses harder against my side.
"Careful."
"You first."
He almost laughs.
The glass doors at the end of the corridor open, and Erik comes through.
He's wearing black instead of a suit, with a weapon raised in both hands. Blood darkens one sleeve, though I can't tell whether it belongs to him. He sees Orell first, then me.
His attention drops to where the gun presses against my side.
He stops.
Orell's grip around my arm becomes almost comfortable. "Dean Danilov."
Erik doesn't answer. He looks at me once, and I've never seen his face like this. Not at the gala after he was shot. Not when Callie disappeared. Not when Peter went missing. Not during the fight when I told him I didn't know whether his life could ever be safe enough for a family.
He knows I'm pregnant now. He knows there are three babies, and he knows exactly where Orell has placed the gun.
Orell sees the recognition. "You found her ultrasound."
Erik keeps his weapon raised.
I watch his shoulders, his stance, and the position of his hands. He's too controlled, which means every part of him is working to stay that way.
Orell presses the barrel more firmly into my side. "One would have complicated things."
Erik doesn't move.
Orell smiles. "Three changes the calculation."
Erik lowers his weapon.