The dim lights in the stairwell cast more shadows than light. Maggie stayed pressed against the cinder-block wall as she slipped down one step then another. She kept her Smith and Wesson nose-down, both hands steadying her grip, trigger finger ready. She had no idea if the man in Dawson’s room had a weapon. Just because he chose a pillow to smother Dawson didn’t mean he wasn’t carrying something more lethal.
She couldn’t see beyond the next landing and she didn’t dare hang over the railing to get a good look. No better way to get your head blown off. She slithered all the way down to the next set of stairs and peeked at the landing below.
Nothing. And still no sound.
Maybe he had already made it down to the ground floor. He could have exited and kept the door from slamming on his way out. As quietly as possible, she slipped out of her leather jacket, keeping crinkles and wisps to a minimum. She loved this jacket, worn and comfortable, the two of them had been through a lot together. She rolled it up, lining on the outside, just like her mother had taught her. Without leaning forward she tossed it.
There was a shuffle of shoes on concrete then a whoosh. Maggie looked down in time to see the man withdrawing his hand and the gleam of a knife blade from his jacket.
“Stop. FBI.”
He turned and was gone, banging his way down the steps.
She followed. Her heart thumped in her ears now. Sweat trickled down her back. It sounded like he was taking the steps two at a time. She tried quickening her pace. Only one more flight and he’d reach the exit.
She caught a glimpse of a black jacket. Maybe a stocking cap? It sounded like work boots, something heavy, but no clicking heel.
A door slammed. He was out.
Maggie raced down to the exit and almost elbowed it open, not wanting to give him another step ahead. But she stopped herself again. If he had waited for her on the landing what would stop him from waiting for a second shot at her on the other side of this door.
Damn!
She tried to settle her breathing, slow down her heartbeat. Neither cooperated. She could smell wet dirt or some kind of sludge. What was it that Dawson had said? The man smelled of river mud. She looked down at the concrete. He’d left dirt crumbles and footprints.
Yes, he’d screwed up.
Footprints were almost as good as leaving his fingerprints. But no time to celebrate. She blew her hair out of her eyes. Not relinquishing, she kept her two-handed grip on her weapon.
The door latch was a typical bar across the middle. Pushing anywhere on it unlatched the door. He had a knife. He now knew that she had a gun. He’d have to jump at her, which meant he’d have to hide behind the door when it opened.
She backed up a few steps. Steadied her grip on the gun. Sucked in a long breath. Then she kicked the bar as hard as she could, sending the door flying so that it slammed on the outside wall. Anyone hiding there would now have a broken nose or broken wrist if he was holding out a knife. But the door hit the outside wall. No one in between.
Maggie stepped outside into the dark. None of the lights from the parking lot’s pole lamps hit this corner. She scanned the side of the building in case the man was pressed up against it, hiding in the shadows. There was no movement. A car drove by on the street but the engine wasn’t revved, the tires weren’t peeling out.
She got down on her hands and knees where she could see underneath the rows of vehicles. No feet. There was no Dumpster to hide behind. No air-conditioning system.
Where the hell did he go?
Then it occurred to her. Had he gotten into one of the vehicles? Of course, he’d have one waiting. Somewhere in this dark parking lot was he sitting in his vehicle, slouched down into the shadows and watching her?
She stayed alongside the building, her weapon was still clutched in her hand down by her side as she walked around to the front entrance of the hospital.
She heard a train in the distance. No sirens yet. She pulled out her cell phone. Thumbed her way through Contacts until she found Donny’s number. She might not be able to search every vehicle in the parking lot, but she could find out whether or not that footprint matched the one taken from the forest.
It could be a break for them, but at the same time she realized any hope she’d had of Dawson Hayes helping was probably gone now.