Inside Out

77

At five minutes before eight, Sean placed the pistol in her backpack. She had made the choice between taking the train and keeping the gun, or dropping the pistol into a garbage can before she got near the metal detectors at the airport. She had decided that getting as far away, as fast as she could, was better than having the security of the gun. She put on her coat, grabbed her backpack and duffel, and looked around the room one last time to make sure she wasn't leaving anything behind. In a few hours she would be in Seattle. She credited Sam Manelli's image on television for her heightened anxiety level, and she couldn't rationalize her fear by telling herself that he couldn't possibly have a line on her.

The phone rang and she jumped, almost dropping the backpack.

“Ms. McSorley, your driver has arrived,” Max announced.

“Thank you. I'll be right down.”

She left the room, made her way to the elevator door, and pressed the call button. Four floors below, the gate closed and there was a rumble as the motor engaged. When the cage opened she stepped into the elevator and took a deep breath to calm her racing heart.

“We're due for rain,” the operator remarked as they descended. “We can sure use it.”

“Rain would be nice,” Sean agreed. She wondered how rain could affect the life of a man who lived in the hotel and spent his days going up and down in place like a piston.

At the lobby level, he opened the gate for her and, even though it was night, he said, “Have a nice day.”

Wire Dog, waiting outside the elevator like an impatient date, took Sean's duffel from her.

The two women Sean had seen earlier were still sitting together on the leather couch in the center of the lobby.

As she and Wire Dog passed by, Sean exchanged smiles with the women. The women stood, and the younger one's dark ponytail fell halfway down her back. She was well tanned and looked as if she made an effort to stay in shape. She had changed clothes since Sean had seen her that afternoon. Now she wore khakis, running shoes, and a jacket. The leather purse under her right shoulder was almost as large as Sean's backpack. The older woman, wearing a loose-fitting dress, had wet dark hair combed straight back.

Sean handed Max her room key and said good-bye.

As Sean walked toward the glass doors, a man wearing a black trench coat started inside, straight-arming the door open. He had a wallet in his left hand, which he held up as he entered. Through his open coat Sean saw a gun and a bulletproof vest covering his shirt. He glanced into the lobby, to his right, then immediately drew his gun.

Looking for an escape, Sean turned and saw the young woman from the couch striding toward the man. The large silenced pistol in her rising hand rocked gently as she fired it at the man in the trench coat. He fell backward from the impact of the shots. Sean saw that the object, now open as it fell from the man's left hand, was a badge case. She decided her only chance was to get behind the counter.

After firing steadily, the young woman ejected the empty magazine, which clattered to the stone floor, and took another from her purse.

Wire Dog dropped Sean's duffel and ran behind her toward the counter.

The older woman, walking toward the counter, raised a silenced pistol and began firing just as Sean and Wire Dog sprang over the counter.

Max stepped back, straightened, and stumbled backward as a bullet passed through his throat and slammed him against the antique room-key board, skewing it so violently that dozens of keys rained to the floor.

Sean jerked her pack around and pulled out her gun. She aimed the Smith over the counter at the advancing younger woman and squeezed the trigger. The compact gun roared, bucking in her hand. Before Sean fired a second time at the running figure, the woman had scampered into the lobby, taking a dive behind the heavy couch.

A plastic donations box on the counter near Sean exploded, scattering coins on the carpeted floor. Without looking, Sean reached the gun over the counter and fired in the older woman's direction. Sean had only three shots left.

Wire Dog seemed perplexed as he stared down at the blood covering his fingers. As the red stain on the side of his T-shirt blossomed, he shuddered and his soiled hand fell to the floor.

Sean heard the elevator door clanging shut and the car slowly rising.

When the front door burst open, Sean chanced a quick peek over the counter. Another man, also in a trench coat and carrying a shotgun, had come into the lobby. As he ducked behind the wide marble column on his left, three shots from the older woman's gun chipped plaster from its face. The man behind the column fired back. Sean assumed that if the woman was firing at him, he might be on her side.

When the man brought the shotgun around the column and fired, the older woman yelled out and went down hard.

“United States marshal!” the man yelled. “Sean Devlin?”

“There's another one. I think she's behind the couch,” Sean called out from her hiding place.

Wire Dog's key fob hung from his pocket. Instinctively, Sean pulled at the chain and palmed the keys. Gripping the. 38 in her left hand, Sean shifted her weight, swung up over the counter, and ran for the door on a course that would take her between the man and the young woman in the lobby. She understood that if he wasn't really a marshal, he might be working for Sam, and he'd kill her. For all she knew the two groups were competitive mercenaries-winner take all.

Sean extended the pistol out and fired the remaining three shots as she ran for the door, where she would be sheltered from the woman killer by the column between them.

Her backpack swung violently to the side as the young woman fired at her. After Sean was past his column, the man fired out into the lobby-thankfully not at her. He dropped the empty shotgun to the floor, pulled out a dark automatic, and began firing again.

Since Sean's gun was empty, she pocketed it, picked up the dead marshal's Glock beside her boot, and crouched behind the column, her back to the man behind the other column ten feet away.

“Go now,” he ordered. “Taurus is across the street-key's in the ignition. Get in it and drive away fast. Call Shapiro from the cell phone in the console. It's secure. Only that phone. Got it?”

Sean nodded. Her hand holding the dead man's Glock trembled. As the marshal peered out and aimed at the lobby, the young woman fired and he fell. His violated skull smacked against the marble, making a sickening wet sound.

Sean ran through the door. She saw the Taurus parked across the wide street and Wire Dog's taxicab at the curb. Figuring she'd get shot if she crossed the street, she went for the taxi.

Sean opened the driver's door and got in. She pushed Wire Dog's key into the ignition and the engine sprang to life.

The killer broke from the building, her ponytail flying behind her. She had her gun in a two-handed combat grip, aiming across the street. Before the killer spotted her, Sean pointed the Glock out through the windshield and emptied it at her through the glass.

The killer dived for cover behind a planter.

As Sean jerked the shift lever and floored it, the woman fired, hitting the old, big-bodied Chevrolet's windshield and grill as Sean roared up the street in reverse.

The killer ejected her spent magazine as she ran after the taxi, then shoved in a new one and resumed firing.

Her ears ringing, Sean tossed the empty Glock onto the floor as the car flew away still in reverse. Once she had enough speed, she stomped the brakes, and jerked the wheel to the side forcefully, spinning the car 180 degrees. While the Chevrolet was swapping ends, Sean pulled the shift lever down into drive and, when the car was aimed up the street, she floored the accelerator. Sean had learned the maneuver from a “special” driving instructor she had had in her fifteenth summer. Until that moment she had never had occasion to use the maneuver, but she performed it perfectly.

The wind coming in through the ruined windshield buffeted her stiff hair. She wasn't safe, but she was free.

She took a few turns at random in case the assailant had come after her. Steam poured from under the hood. Dash warning lights blazed. Less than two miles from the hotel, the wounded radiator finished bleeding out through the. 45-caliber holes and the motor seized. Sean put the car in neutral and coasted to a stop at a curb.

As sirens wailed in the distance, Sean grabbed her backpack and ran for her life.