Miles knew the same lawyer’s tricks David did. Watch the eyes. If he looks up, he’s scrolling through memories. If he looks left, he’s lying. Miles kept his eyes focused on David, but he couldn’t control what happened involuntarily. Color had flooded his cheeks—in frustration, in shame, and finally in anger.
With athletic grace Miles leapt to his feet. “I didn’t kill Keith!” He looked around the room, searching for someone to believe him. “The rest—”
“The rest could only happen if you became secret partners with—”
“Aw, hell.” These words were spoken quietly by Doug Knight, but he’d been underestimated for so long, even by those in the room who knew the truth about him, that no one glanced in his direction. That is, except for Miles Stout, who thought he’d heard in that voice a modicum of sympathy. Miles looked at the man attached to the voice. Then his eyes widened, and his hands instinctively flew up in an attempt to protect himself, but mere bones and flesh could not stop the bullet that shot out of Doug’s gun, entered Miles’s skull just above his left eye, and took off the back of his head. Miles’s body slammed against the boardroom wall and dropped to the ground.
In that split second before anyone moved, Doug stood, reached out, grabbed Hulan’s hand, and yanked her out of her chair. She shrieked, high, loud, and very briefly. Then they watched as her eyes rolled up, her face tilted back, her body lost its structure, and she collapsed to the floor. Doug stared down at her, then at his own hand as if trying to ascertain how his grip could have caused such a result. David understood that Hulan had hoped to con Doug into that moment of confusion. After a quick glance at Lo, who was reaching for his weapon, David lunged toward Doug, but he was brought up cold by the sickening metallic sound of a revolver being cocked and the chamber moving into place. Then he felt the muzzle of a gun press just below his left ear and Amy Gao say in her melodious voice, “Step back slowly.”
“You’d better obey her, Stark,” Doug said to David, then turned to Lo. “And you’d better drop your weapon.”
Both men did as they were told.
Hulan’s attempt to divert their attention hadn’t worked, but she still lay in a rag-doll heap on the floor.
“Get up, Inspector!” Amy Gao’s voice reeked with contempt.
Hulan still didn’t move.
“I think there’s something wrong with her.” Five pairs of eyes turned to Doug, who held out the hand he’d grabbed Hulan with. It was streaked with blood.
David took a step forward. Doug’s gun swiveled in his direction. “Wait!” David held his position as Doug nudged Hulan with his foot. When she didn’t move, he reached down, pulled out her gun, and tossed it across the room. Then Doug motioned to David.
David knelt by Hulan’s side.
“Hulan,” he said tenderly. When he got no response, he repeated her name louder. Still no response. He put his hand on her face. Her skin was hot and dry and dead white. Her breathing was shallow and ragged. He checked her body and saw nothing wrong except for her bandaged hand. He picked it up. It lay limp in his palm. The bandage was soaked through. He unwrapped the sodden gauze. Thick green pus and blood coated her hand. The wound itself was open and oozing. The swollen skin around it was a rupture of deep purple with dark streaks emanating from the center like some strange sea creature. Slowly, carefully David pushed her sleeve up from her wrist to her elbow. The horrid streaks made crimson rivers along the skin up her arm. He felt higher to her armpit. The glands were swollen and hard. Blood poisoning. He had to get her out of here.
Doug Knight and Amy Gao, with their weapons aimed at him, were not prepared either for the swiftness or ferocity with which David acted. He lunged into Doug’s gut, sending the raw-boned man flying across the room. Lo followed up with a flying kick to Doug’s back, while Henry threw his right elbow into Amy’s face. David heard a report from a gun—whether Amy’s or Doug’s he wasn’t sure—because he’d swept up Hulan in his arms and was running down the hall back through the heart, where a hundred women in business attire were trying to figure out what was happening.
He made it to the courtyard. Lo’s rental car was at the bottom steps. Of course, the keys weren’t there. David tried the Mercedes and Lexus; both were locked.
“David! Hurry! Come with me!” It was Henry, taking the Administration Building’s steps three at a time.
David adjusted Hulan’s inert form in his arms and took off after the older man. They raced across the courtyard, passing the cafeteria and the dormitory. More shots rang out, tufting up the dirt ahead of David and Henry.
They ducked into the Assembly Building. Jimmy, the Australian guard, wasn’t at his post, so Henry was able to reach under the desk and hit the release button for the door.
“Grab it!” he ordered.
David struggled to get the door open; Hulan moaned and twisted in his arms. As soon as Henry saw the door ajar, he ripped the wires for the release mechanism out of the desk. Then he hurried to David, and together they entered the hallway. The door closed behind them and locked into place.
David leaned against the wall, gulping for air, sweat streaming down his face. Henry bent over, placed his hands on his knees, and tried to catch his breath. Looking down at the older man, David registered the oddest detail: he could see the blood pounding through the veins in Henry’s neck.
“Lo?” David asking, gasping.
Henry shook his head. “Shot. I don’t know.”
“We can’t stay here.”
“There’s a phone. Remember?” Henry straightened, still panting. “Aaron Rodgers has a phone in his office.”
With the soundproofing in the building, the corridor seemed fearfully quiet. Although they couldn’t hear any activity from the factory floor, they could feel the reverberations from the pounding of the heavy machinery. Then they heard noise on the other side of the door.
“Let’s go,” David said and propelled himself off the wall and down the corridor. He made the first turn and pulled up short. Henry peered around him and saw blood and brain matter splattered on the walls. Sandy Newheart lay dead, with at least one bullet to his head and several others to his body. They had no choice but to walk right through the crime scene, destroying evidence in the process. David’s shoes slipped in the blood, and his shoulder crashed into the wall. That blood belonged to someone he knew—a young man who’d spoken just the day before yesterday about going home.
Once on the other side of the body, they picked up their pace, hurrying first down one corridor, then another. “Do you know where we’re going?” David asked. Henry didn’t answer. He didn’t know the way through this maze any better than David. Behind them they heard more gunshots and the door splintering. Again and again Henry tried opening different doors, but they were locked. Behind them in the corridor they heard shoes tramping on the linoleum, getting closer.
Henry tried another door. As it opened, the sound of the running footsteps was completely lost in the din of the machinery in the main assembly room. Henry ducked inside, with David carrying Hulan right behind him. They darted across the floor, dipped behind one of the machines, and hunkered down. All this happened so fast that most of the women hadn’t even noticed. David laid Hulan on the ground. She opened her eyes. He put his face down close to hers.