Page 5 of Come For Me
“Stan?” Olivia called. “Rosie?”
Anyone?
Walking farther into the room, she found desk after desk unoccupied, all looking like they’d been left in a rush. A big rush. On Stan’s desk, the phone lay half-on, half-off the cradle, and…was that blood?
She leaned closer, holding her breath. A bright red streak trailed from the white surface of the phone to the pad of paper on Stan’s desk. Blood, definitely blood.
Olivia jerked up. Her height enabled her to just barely see over the cubicle walls. The three conference rooms to the right, all with floor-to-ceiling glass separating them from the main room, were empty. The back contained individual offices, including hers, but the blinds were drawn in each one. Uncertain what to do, she shoved a hand down into her purse, searching frantically for her cell phone as she moved cautiously toward her office.
She made it to the final cubicle before jerking to a stop.
She’d found Stan.
Olivia shrank back behind the cubicle wall closest to her, the sight seared on the backs of her eyelids as she clamped them tight. Shaking sobs piled up behind her closed lips. He was dead. Stan was dead. If she’d had any doubt, the wide-open, glassy eyes would’ve erased them. A large red stain had spread across the left side of his chest, the pocket protector they teased him about so often a mangled mess in his pocket. His body lay, limp, crumpled against the back wall of the room, blocking the path to the hallway leading to the utility and break areas of their company suite. What carpet his body didn’t cover, the blood did.
God, so much blood.
Her mouth flooded with saliva.Not now, baby. Let’s keep it down, okay?
She glanced around the wall one more time, hoping, praying. But no, Stan was definitely dead. Who would do such a thing? And where was everyone else?
You can’t wait around to find out, wife.
Dain’s voice in her head calmed her shaking and the gasping breaths she hadn’t quite been able to get ahold of. Pivoting toward the glass doors she’d entered so innocently mere moments ago, she forced one foot in front of the other, trying desperately to think, to reason, to answer the million questions screaming through her brain, but…nothing. All she could do was rush for the door.
She’d reached the first cubicle, the one belonging to their new intern, John David, when the sound of a door slamming jerked her to a halt.
“Just shut the fuck up!”
Instinct had Olivia dropping to a crouch in the small space next to John David’s chair. The zipper of her purse resisted her efforts to jerk it open, get to her phone. Tears stung the backs of her eyes.
Down the hall that led to the CEO’s office, she swore she heard the sounds of a fight. Punches—there was no mistaking the impact of something hard on someone’s bone, or the agonizing groan of true pain. One foot slid backward, then the other, retreating from the threat, pulling Olivia toward the back of the room silently, without thought.
And then that same angry voice. A man’s voice. “I don’t give a shit what you want! You got us into this mess. Tie them up now, or I’ll make sure you join your friend out there. You won’t go as quick as he did though, Cecil; I promise you that.”
Cecil? Georgia Financial’s CEO, Cecil Derrick? What did he have to do with all this?
“But…please wait. Please! I—”
The distinct sound of a gun cocking echoed down the hall. Everything inside Olivia went tight at that quiet click. She knew it so well; Dain had made sure she trained regularly with a gun despite the fact that she didn’t carry. What would an accountant need with a handgun, right?
Apparently a lot, Olivia, at least today.
Cecil’s response was lost in the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears. A cubicle edge digging into her spine urged her to turn, to watch where she was going, to hurry. Run.
Run.
How much time did she have? The men’s arguing filtered from the hall. Were they coming closer? Her office was in the far corner of the main room, the door locked, keys in her purse. Eyeing the distance to her office door, she tried to gauge how much time it would take to cross the open yards of floor, unlock her door, and get inside before anyone saw her.
Too much time. Next to her office was the sales manager’s, René, and next to his, their public relations officer, Carla. Both closed tight.
Think, Livie. Think hard.
She needed a weapon. A place to hide.
The stubborn zipper of her purse finally yielded to a hard jerk. Thank God. Searching fingers found her cell phone in the side pocket. Clutching the slender case like the lifeline it was, she eased around the wall hiding her and crept the few feet to Stan’s body, struggling to hold back the whimper that rose to her lips.
It seemed to take forever to step over him. She couldn’t avoid the blood, but she wiped her shoes on the carpet just past the body—how could her friend be the body?—hoping a trail wouldn’t lead the man with the gun right to her. She could think of that, think of where she needed to go, but she couldn’t think as she lifted her phone and started to dial. She pulled up Dain’s cell phone automatically, knowing that wasn’t the number she should call, knowing he wouldn’t answer his cell while he was at work, but the message didn’t seem to communicate to her fingers. Finally she gave up, hit Call, and brought the phone to her ear. Ringing blasted her, loud in the silence, as she crept down the hall that somehow seemed far more sinister for all the bright fluorescent lights illuminating the way.
