Fatal Memories. Tanya Stowe

inside!”

      The frightened father pulled the children to him and pushed his wife inside. The mother frantically jabbed at the elevator buttons. Dylan turned to see the stairway door slowly closing.

      Groaning his frustration, he ran toward it. Carefully he pulled it open and waited for gunfire. Nothing happened, so he peeked out. The man was gone. Stepping inside the echoing stairwell, he could hear footsteps—so many, it was hard to distinguish where they were coming from. He paused, listening, and heard the low instructions of the police as they systematically moved up the stairwell together.

      Then he heard steps above him. He shouted, “This is Agent Murphy. He’s headed to the sixth floor.”

      No men were stationed on the sixth floor. Three officers were stationed below him, plus the guard at Joss’s door. Dylan was ahead of everyone. If the intruder were to be caught, he’d have to do it himself.

      He took the steps two at a time, reaching the sixth floor just as the door shut. He flung it open and waited. No shots were fired. He moved into the hall in time to see another set of elevator doors close and the lights above flash on. This was the surgery level and, the elevator was strictly for service. It didn’t open onto the other floors, but went straight to the basement.

      Spinning, Dylan took the stairs two at a time, shouting again. “He’s on the service elevator, headed for the basement. I don’t have a radio. Call security and have them send someone there.” He met the three policemen coming up and they all headed down.

      One of the policemen’s radios crackled, but no one responded. “I’m not getting any reception in the stairwell.”

      Dylan stifled his frustration and they descended to the bottom, coming out in the brightly lit, wide-open basement. The entrance to the laundry room on the right. On the left, a massive generator. Other doors led to other rooms. Too many rooms. Too many nooks and crannies in which to hide.

      One of the policemen gestured across the room. “Look.”

      Yet another door at the far end was closing. A bright shaft of sunlight slashed across metal steps before it closed. Dylan raced across the room, with the other men close behind. They lunged out the door in time to see a gray Toyota truck screech away through the alley.

      The guard had seen the same truck speeding away the first time the gang had tried to reach Joss. This time Dylan was close enough to see the license plate, but a coating of strategically placed mud made it indecipherable.

      Clever. No traffic cop would stop them for a blob of mud, but at the same time, no one could track them. The Serpientes were cunning, deceptive and incredibly bold to attack Joss twice while she was under protection.

      What did they want from her? What did Joss know that they were so desperate to silence?