Read Online The Last Time I Saw Her by Karen Robards - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Karen Robards
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had been selected to talk to the kids.
Stepping off the last step into the short hallway that led out the door into the parking lot, Charlie saw smoke for the first time. A thin gray plume snaked over her head, probably drawn by the cool draft created by the open door in front of her. Beyond that door, rain fell in a silvery mist. The burning smell in the hallway intensified: it was now impossible to miss. Behind her, the surge toward the door increased along with the noise as those in the stairwell became aware of the smoke and pushed and shoved in an effort to get away from it. Outside, a pair of fire trucks with their strobe lights gyrating madly flashed into view. She watched them race toward the building, then split up to head in different directions, which was the first inkling she got that the administration building might not be the only one involved in the fire. Their wailing sirens added to the general confusion.
As she was propelled forward by the momentum of the crowd, someone—Charlie thought it was Hughes—grabbed her arm from behind. Then they were expelled forcefully through the door. Her toe caught on the threshold, and she stumbled out into the parking lot. The light rain that was falling spilled down on top of her.
Narrowing her eyes against the rain, Charlie tried unsuccessfully to pull her arm free—she hated having Hughes holding her arm—as she looked across the rows of parked vehicles toward where she had left her car. Since, once again, concrete and steel buildings were pretty much fireproof, she was counting on the damage in the administrative building being largely confined to the library. Her office, and the coffee cup with Hughes’s DNA on it, should be safe enough until she could get back to them, which she hoped to be able to do before too long. In the meantime, she would wait in her car.
“I’m afraid our meeting is—”
Over
was what she had been going to say to Hughes, but as she turned her head to dismiss him she broke off when her gaze collided with Gary Fleenor’s feral eyes.
They were approximately where she was expecting Hughes’s to be. In other words, right behind her.
It took no more than a single shocked instant for her to figure out that, instead of Hughes, it was Fleenor who had been following her so closely through the press of people leaving the building that she could feel him brushing against her back,
Fleenor who had been gripping her arm.
Which was impossible. Or which would have been impossible if he was properly guarded and shackled.
Why isn’t he guarded and shackled?
Fleenor leaned close to murmur in her ear, “Keep moving, Dr. Stone.” Charlie would have done no such thing, would have pulled away and screamed bloody murder and called on the combined power of every guard in the vicinity to make sure this most vicious of serial killers was secured, except that Fleenor lifted the hand that wasn’t holding on to her arm long enough to let her see that he held a gun.
Then he jammed that gun hard into her side.
CHAPTER SIX
The beginning of panic quickened Charlie’s breathing and her pulse.
Okay, a ruthless murderer was holding a gun on her, but he was a known commodity: she had dealt with Fleenor before. Plus, he was still in a relatively controlled environment, which should make persuading him to let her go and give up doable. Glancing around through the veil of rain with mounting desperation, she searched for possible help. Her gaze skimmed dozens of people—guards and prisoners and staff and visitors who were streaming into the parking lot and then rushing off to do whatever it was they needed to do, get out of the rain, go wherever—and connected with no one. No one was paying attention. All were oblivious to her plight. So it looked like there wasn’t going to be any immediate help.
Her breathing picked up.
You’re on your own.
More panic threatened to disrupt her nervous system. She fought to get a handle on her emotions and the
Stepping off the last step into the short hallway that led out the door into the parking lot, Charlie saw smoke for the first time. A thin gray plume snaked over her head, probably drawn by the cool draft created by the open door in front of her. Beyond that door, rain fell in a silvery mist. The burning smell in the hallway intensified: it was now impossible to miss. Behind her, the surge toward the door increased along with the noise as those in the stairwell became aware of the smoke and pushed and shoved in an effort to get away from it. Outside, a pair of fire trucks with their strobe lights gyrating madly flashed into view. She watched them race toward the building, then split up to head in different directions, which was the first inkling she got that the administration building might not be the only one involved in the fire. Their wailing sirens added to the general confusion.
As she was propelled forward by the momentum of the crowd, someone—Charlie thought it was Hughes—grabbed her arm from behind. Then they were expelled forcefully through the door. Her toe caught on the threshold, and she stumbled out into the parking lot. The light rain that was falling spilled down on top of her.
Narrowing her eyes against the rain, Charlie tried unsuccessfully to pull her arm free—she hated having Hughes holding her arm—as she looked across the rows of parked vehicles toward where she had left her car. Since, once again, concrete and steel buildings were pretty much fireproof, she was counting on the damage in the administrative building being largely confined to the library. Her office, and the coffee cup with Hughes’s DNA on it, should be safe enough until she could get back to them, which she hoped to be able to do before too long. In the meantime, she would wait in her car.
“I’m afraid our meeting is—”
Over
was what she had been going to say to Hughes, but as she turned her head to dismiss him she broke off when her gaze collided with Gary Fleenor’s feral eyes.
They were approximately where she was expecting Hughes’s to be. In other words, right behind her.
It took no more than a single shocked instant for her to figure out that, instead of Hughes, it was Fleenor who had been following her so closely through the press of people leaving the building that she could feel him brushing against her back,
Fleenor who had been gripping her arm.
Which was impossible. Or which would have been impossible if he was properly guarded and shackled.
Why isn’t he guarded and shackled?
Fleenor leaned close to murmur in her ear, “Keep moving, Dr. Stone.” Charlie would have done no such thing, would have pulled away and screamed bloody murder and called on the combined power of every guard in the vicinity to make sure this most vicious of serial killers was secured, except that Fleenor lifted the hand that wasn’t holding on to her arm long enough to let her see that he held a gun.
Then he jammed that gun hard into her side.
CHAPTER SIX
The beginning of panic quickened Charlie’s breathing and her pulse.
Okay, a ruthless murderer was holding a gun on her, but he was a known commodity: she had dealt with Fleenor before. Plus, he was still in a relatively controlled environment, which should make persuading him to let her go and give up doable. Glancing around through the veil of rain with mounting desperation, she searched for possible help. Her gaze skimmed dozens of people—guards and prisoners and staff and visitors who were streaming into the parking lot and then rushing off to do whatever it was they needed to do, get out of the rain, go wherever—and connected with no one. No one was paying attention. All were oblivious to her plight. So it looked like there wasn’t going to be any immediate help.
Her breathing picked up.
You’re on your own.
More panic threatened to disrupt her nervous system. She fought to get a handle on her emotions and the
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