"We were with another woman," I said as I reached them. "A friend. We've lost her. Did anyone come back this way?"
"No one's been by since you, hon," said the oldest. "It's dead in here today."
As I thanked them and turned to go, the one with the baby grabbed the sweater set pattern and thrust it out.
"Here, take this. I have a copy."
Clay glanced down.
"Isn't it sweet?" she said. "I'm making one for Natalie." She looked at me. "You'll love knitting. It's so relaxing...and you're going to need all the relaxation you can get soon."
As the women chuckled, Clay grabbed the pattern.
"Knitting?" He looked at me. "Yeah, I can see that."
He thanked the woman and stuffed it into his pocket.
As we strode away, I muttered, "When that page leaves your pocket, it better be headed straight for a trash can."
"You heard the lady. You'll need relaxation. Knitting would be--" His lips twitched. "--fun."
"You ever buy me knitting needles, and I'll show you a whole new use for them."
"I'll remember that." His grin vanished. "Now where the hell did--"
He stopped as our eyes traveled in the same direction...and reached the same destination. An exit door, concealed in the back wall.
"Shit."
Clay jerked his chin at me. Not much of an instruction, but I understood it. Stay and watch while he opened the door.
I did, he did, and we slipped through the doorway and into a narrow service hall. There was no one in sight, so I dropped into an ungainly crouch and took a deep breath.
When I caught the scent, we set out, jogging quietly along the back hall. Patrons weren't the only ones avoiding the museum that day. Only once did we hear footsteps echoing through the maze of corridors, and they turned off before getting anywhere near us.
At each doorway or branching hall, I stopped, dropped and sniffed. The trail stuck to the main passage. Did Rose know she was being followed? Or had her near-death upstairs spooked her into picking a back exit?
When we hit a flight of service stairs, the trail went down. She hadn't stopped at the first floor, but had kept going, into the basement. All the better. I pulled out my cell phone and turned it on. Despite its tumble, it still worked. I called Nick and told him to meet us downstairs. As I hung up, I almost missed a step. Clay caught my arm. As he moved, I caught the scent of blood. I grabbed his wrist. He looked down at the dripping "scratch" and snorted, as if it was a cause for annoyance not concern.
"It's deeper than I thought," I said.
He shook his head. "Probably nicked a vein or something. No big deal. Jeremy will take care of it--later."
"Maybe I should check--"
"Keep walking. I'll fix it."
He stripped off his T-shirt and tore a few inches from the bottom. I tried to get a better look at the scratch, but then we hit the bottom step and he swung around me to take the lead.
Hull
THE TRAIL ENDED AT A DOOR LEADING BACK INTO A SEMI-DARK construction zone. It was an obstacle course of construction materials--piles of drywall and lumber, sawhorses, tarps and rubbish. A room full of places to hide.
Clay cocked his head, nostrils flaring--listening, looking and sniffing.
I squinted to let my eyes adjust, and c
ounted the exits. The farthest, an open doorway, led to what looked like another hall.