that path. And he would be totally exposed, the hallways were absolutely
devoid of furnishings.
If he met whoever it was going that way, he wouldn’t have a chance.
A practical consideration struck him and he looked around the darkness
of his office. His gaze finally fell upon a heavy, granite paperweight,
one of the many knickknacks he bad received upon making partner. It
could do some real damage if wielded properly. And Jack was confident he
could do so. If he was going down he wouldn’t make it easy for them.
That fatalist approach helped to stiffen his resolve and he waited
another few seconds before venturing out into the hallway, closing the
door behind him. Whoever it was probably would have to make a
door-to-door search to find his office.
He crouched low as he came to a corner. Now he desperately wished the
office was in total darkness. He took a deep breath and peered around.
The way was clear, at least for now. He thought quickly. If there was
more than one intruder, they would probably split up, cut their search
time in half. Would they even know if he was in the building?
Maybe he had been followed here. That thought was especially troubling.
They might even at this moment be circling him, coming from both ways.
The sounds were closer now. Footsteps-he could make out at least one
pair. His hearing was now raised to its highest level of acuteness. He
could almost make out the person’s breathing, or at least he imagined he
could. He had to make a choice. And his eyes finally fell upon something
on the wall, something that gleamed back at him: the fire alarm.
As he was about to make a run for it, a leg came around the corner at
the other end of the hallway. Jack jerked back, not waiting for the rest
of the body to catch up with the limb. He walked as swiftly as he could
in the opposite direction. He turned the corner, made his way down the
hall, and came to a stairwell door. He jerked it open and a loud creak
hit him full in the face.
He heard the sounds of running feet.
“Shit! ” Jack slammed the door closed behind him and clattered down the
stairs.
A man hurtled around the corner. A black ski mask covered his face. A
pistol was in his right hand.
An office door opened and Sandy Lord, dressed in his undershirt, with
his pants halfway off, stumbled out and accidentally plowed into the
man. They went down hard. Lord’s flailing hands instinctively gripped
the mask, pulling it off.
Lord Tolled to his knees, sucking in blood from his battered nose.
“What the goddamn hell is going on? Who the hell are you?” Lord angrily
looked eye-to-eye with the man. Then Lord saw the gun and froze.
Tim Collin looked back at him, shaking his head half in disbelief, half
in disgust. There was no way around it now.
He raised his gun.
“Jesus Christ! Please no!” Lord wailed and fell back.
The gun fired and blood spurted from the very center of the undershirt.
Lord gasped once, his eyes glazed and his body landed back against the
door. It fell the rest of the way open to reveal the nearly naked figure
of the young legislative liaison, who stared in shock at the dead
lawyer. Collin swore under his breath. He looked at her. She knew what
was coming, he could see it in the terTor-filled eyes.
Wrong place, wrong time. Sorry lady.
His gun exploded a second time and the impact knocked her slender body
back into the room. Her legs splayed, her fingers clenched, she stared
blankly at the ceiling; her night of pleasure turned abruptly into her
last night on earth.
Bill Burton ran up to his kneeling partner and surveyed the carnage with
incredulity, which was quickly replaced with anger.
“Are you fucking crazy!” he exploded.
… They saw my face, what the hell was I supposed to do?
Make them promise not to tell? Fuck it!”
Both men’s nerves were at their breaking point. Collin gripped his gun