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“Okay,” she said. “I guess you’re okay. Just don’t come near me. And if you try for the gun, I’ll put you down.”
Cooper’s heart thudded fast and loud, each pump-pump raging through his ears and temples. He opened his eyes.
“Sure,” he said. “We need to get out of this hallway, find a place to hide.”
She nodded. Her gunfighter’s stance had sagged. Her eyes fluttered. She took a step back, then stumbled.
He rushed forward without thinking, his right arm sliding around the small of her back, supporting her.
“I got you,” he said. “I got you.”
For a moment, her strength gave out completely; he was the only thing holding her up. Then she stood, pushed him away. She didn’t point the gun at him, but it was close enough.
“I told you to stay away.”
His hands returned to the palms-up position. “Sorry. You were going to fall.”
She started to say something, but somewhere in the bas.e.m.e.nt a door opened, slammed open — the sound echoed through the hall. He couldn’t wait for her anymore.
“Lady, I’m finding a place to hide. Come with me if you want.”
He walked away from the noises, down the concrete hallway. They were still in a service area — laundry, storage, linens, maybe a kitchen. At the end of the hall he saw double doors, a rectangular window in each.
Cooper walked to the doors, looked through the gla.s.s … a carpeted hallway. He didn’t see any movement.
The noises from behind grew louder.
He pressed the metal latch that ran horizontally along the door — unlocked. He pushed the door open and stepped through.
His feet fell silently on the carpet. Little bra.s.s plaques hung to the right of the closed, wooden doors lining both sides of the wide hall.
He turned to call for her and almost knocked her over.
“Hey, chick with the gun, mind not sneaking up on me, for f.u.c.k’s sake?”
“Sorry,” she said. Then her hand was on his back, half urging him forward, half leaning against him for support. “Hurry, someone is coming.”
Cooper walked to the first door on his left. He pushed it open — inside, darkness, save for the light from the hall flooding in, illuminating a dozen tables covered with white tablecloths and surrounded by folding chairs.
He forced himself to enter.
Three steps in, he heard a soft click and the room lights suddenly flickered on. His eyes adjusted instantly, ready and expecting to see something coming for him, but nothing moved. A carpeted wall on the left, one of those sliding dividers on the right. The room was about twenty feet wide and forty feet deep.
Some of the tables had open laptops on them, along with pens and pads of paper embossed with the Trump Tower logo. Open bottles of water, half-full cups of coffee …
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