Page 46 of A Friend in the Glass

When they emerged into the small lobby at the front of the suite, the soft trickle of a desktop water feature sounded impossibly loud; Sam couldn’t believe he hadn’t heard it—hadn’t paid attention to it—when they’d come this way before. He looked at the desk. There would be scissors, maybe even a letter opener. Hell, in a pinch, he could club this son of a bitch with a tape dispenser. But it was at least ten feet from the hallway to the desk, and before he had time to rummage through the drawers, Chad would shoot him in the back.

Then they were leaving the Civic Catalyst offices, moving into the corridor that led to the elevator. Nothing here except polished wood and the yellow film of fluorescent light—even less, if possible, than the last hallway. Not even a closed door. The buzz of the ballast probably wouldn’t have bothered anyone else. Sam could feel it in his jaw.

In the polished metal of the elevator doors, his reflection was a greasy smear.

“Down,” Chad said.

Sam pressed the button, and a moment later, the doors opened with a soft ding.

“This is where things get tricky,” Chad said. “Nose in the corner. On your knees. Keep your hands where they are.”

So, Sam knelt in the corner of the elevator. The metallic odor of the chrome rail and whatever polish they used made his eyes water. He was sweating more now, his shirt wet under his arms, his sides slick with it. He could smell that too. The car shifted slightly when Chad came aboard. And then again when Shane moved Rufus inside. Sam thought that, if he closed his eyes, he would recognize Rufus’s breathing.

No one spoke, but the soft click of a button being depressed came through the silence. The car rocked slightly and then started down.

Think, Sam told himself.

They wouldn’t stop at ground level; they had a guy on his knees, they had another guy with a gun to his head. They were going to the parking garage. And if it were Sam making the call, he’d shoot them there. In the garage. It would be empty. It would be dark. It would hold the sound of the shots. And when it was over, Chad and Shane would load them into a car and get rid of their bodies.

If they were going to do something, it had to be soon. In the elevator would be ideal. The tight space would actually make it easier, in some ways—easier to grapple, easier to control the field, easier to neutralize the advantage of the guns.

Except that as soon as Sam made a move, he and Rufus would get bullets in the head.

He wished he could see Rufus’s face.

He wished he could say sorry. For getting him into this. For his—his mood, for lack of a better word, over the last few days. For all that shit about the city, for letting it fuck around inside the good thing they had. Sorry for answering Shareed’s phone call, for getting fixated on Lew, for insisting they keep going even when bodies kept dropping—it wasn’t rational. It was a memory, and his subconscious connecting dots.

“You’re making a big mistake,” Sam said.

Chad didn’t say anything.

A flicker of doubt. Maybe this wasn’t the cokehead amateur hour after all.

But Sam tried again anyway. “How much do you think she’d pay for those emails?”

Still nothing.

“You can have them if you let us go.” His lips were so dry he thought they were cracking. “If you kill us, though, you get jack shit.”

The elevator whined on its cable as it descended.

And then Sam heard it: the slight shift of weight. Eagerness and uncertainty and greed, all communicated through the tiniest movement of a body.

“She said to find out,” Shane muttered, like Sam and Rufus might not hear him.

Chad’s silence lasted longer.

But, it turned out, itwascokehead amateur hour.

“What emails?” he asked.

“Your boss rolled in the shit. And we’ve got the emails to prove it. We’re the only ones who know where they are, aren’t we, Rufus?”

“We—uh, yeah. We know where they are. Sucks for you guys, huh?” Rufus said, his voice mostly steady.

“Bullshit,” Chad said.

“It’s true,” Sam said. He wanted to close his eyes now. Wanted to know, somehow, if Rufus knew. If what he’d heard in his voice, that catch, was confusion or understanding. “You heard her when we were up there.”

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