Dying for Rain (The Rain Trilog - BB Easton Page 0,50

been in here for, like, two hours. The guards are probably already lookin’ for us.”

Lamar sits up with a yawn. “Did you do it?”

“I think so. Come on!”

The boys grumble but slowly pull themselves to their feet.

I grab my duffel bag off the floor and toss it over my shoulder before pressing my ear to the door. When I don’t hear anything, I open it just a crack.

“You get what you need, Ms. Ling?” The voice of the male security guard echoes through the rotunda.

“Yes, thank you. There was no way we could have made it to the station to upload our footage in time with the roads being the way they are,” Michelle replies with her patented, matter-of-fact reporter voice.

“Happy to help.”

“That was a great interview, by the way,” the female guard adds.

“Thank you. My stand-in, Ms. McCartney, will be along shortly. She just had to … use the restroom.”

“I think we’re good,” I whisper to Quint and Lamar as I open the second-story door and tiptoe out into the wide hallway.

There’s significantly less light coming in from the windows in the main entryway than when we got here, increasing my sense of urgency.

I’ve seen this place at night. If we want to live to see morning, we need to find a place to hide before dark.

We should be talking, I think as we near the end of the hall. We’re being too quiet. They’re gonna know something’s up.

I turn to say something to Quint, anything, but the words shrivel up and die in my mouth when I notice that his brother is no longer following us.

I swing my head in all directions and find him just before he disappears through a door.

A massive wooden door with the words Office of the Governor painted on the frosted-glass window in white and gold letters.

“Lamar!” I whisper.

“Shit!” Quint hisses.

We follow him as quietly as possible but freeze when voices ring out from the atrium behind us.

“Governor! We didn’t expect you back until tomorrow morning. How was your outing?”

“Pretty damn good, Officuh. Pretty damn good. I suspect those old bastards let me win, but a win’s a win in my book.”

“Spoken like a true politician,” a third voice that I don’t recognize jokes, causing everyone to laugh.

Quint and I glance at each other in horror and dash inside the governor’s office to grab Lamar. The lights are on inside, illuminating what looks like a time capsule from the 1900s. The front room must be a lobby. It’s filled with heavy wooden furniture upholstered in navy blues and deep reds, regal-looking carpet, brass light fixtures, and oil paintings of ducks and dogs and old white men.

Through the open door across from the entrance is Governor Steele’s office. His land yacht of a wooden desk is parked in the back, in front of a navy-blue curtain with the golden seal of Georgia in the center. But I’m more interested in the person standing in front of his desk, relieving himself all over Governor Steele’s rug.

“Lamar! What the hell you doin’?” Quint snaps as I shield my eyes. “We gotta go! Now!”

“I just needed to stop by the little boy’s room on the way,” Lamar says with a chuckle.

“Well, put your pecker away, and let’s go! Are you fuckin’ crazy?”

I hear the zip of Lamar’s fly and lower my hand.

“Calm down. I was just leavin’ a little surprise for this asshole to find when he gets back from his—”

Lamar’s eyes go wide as we hear the creak of the main door. He bolts, diving behind the governor’s desk, as Quint and I duck behind a pair of leather wing chairs.

“Tell the SWAT team I’m gonna hafta move the execution to tomorrow mornin’. I’ve got a meetin’ with Tim Hollis in the aftuhnoon to discuss some sponsuhship opportunities,” a familiar old-South accent announces as he walks into the lobby.

“The CEO of Burger Palace?” the other male voice I heard in the atrium asks.

“The one and only. Good man. Shit golfuh.” The governor chuckles as they walk through the door into the main office. “I convinced that son-of-a-bitch to pay five billion dolluhs to be the official sponsuh of the Green Mile execution event!”

“No fucking way.”

“Yes, suh! That’s why I need that hundred-year-old bottle of scotch. You and I gon’ celebrate tonight! We’re gonna rename Plaza Park Burger Palace Park and use drones to film the executions from all angles. We’ll have aerial shots of the bodies fallin’ in the holes. It’s gonna be glorious.”

My stomach turns,