to get out of the main corridor, out of sight of the elevator and the stairway. We ducked into a side passageway and waited. Molly began a question, but I cut her off, pressing a finger to my lips, reminding her to be quiet. I listened, peering into the hall behind me. Seeing nobody.

“Are we hiding from the lady?” Molly whispered. When I nodded, her eyes widened, and her grip tightened on my hand.

Somewhere behind us, a door closed. Footsteps clacked along the floor. We hurried away from the sound, turning into a dead end. I tried a doorknob. Locked. Of course it was locked. We turned back, and I peeked around the corner. The footsteps continued, softly, steadily. I led Molly around the corner, down the hall, and turned again to keep out of sight.

“Mommy, I’m scared.” Molly’s whisper was hushed, frightened.

I stopped and leaned down. Her eyes were wide, doelike. How had I gotten us into this mess?

“Don’t be scared, Mollybear. Help me find room number thirty-seven. We might get help there.”

Her chin wobbled, but she nodded, looking at doors. Backed against the wall, I stood still and listened. The footsteps persisted, muffled and distant. The office across from me was number 49. Damn. We had to go back. Toward the footsteps.

I told myself to be calm. Breathing deeply, I recalled Rupert’s back bathed in blood. Oh God. Where was Nick? Had Woods found him with Beverly? Who was coming down the hall?

A lone lightbulb glowed dully in the ceiling as we cowered and crept through the dingy basement. Shadows flickered in the dim light; footsteps echoed from all directions, or maybe from none at all.

I thought of what would happen to Molly if Woods caught up with us, and told myself to stay focused. Molly reminded me that 53 was higher than 51. That we should turn around, go the other way. Yes—49, 47. Fabulous. Another division, a fork in the hall. Which way to go, left or right? Somewhere behind or off to the left of us, footsteps paused. Was Woods listening? Deciding which way to go? We went left. And, bingo! 37. The door announced, with boldface block letters, DR. BEVERLY GARDENER. We’d made it. I looked across the hall, checking the waiting area. Woods wasn’t there. He wasn’t in the alcove, waiting. Not this time. No. But oh my God. This time, Nick was.

SIXTY

THE WAIL WAS UNEXPECTED. DEEP, WRENCHING, IT ERUPTED from my belly. I stood frozen, staring at Nick’s unmoving form. Eventually I managed to take a breath, then another. But I still couldn’t move. Maybe it was Nick’s stillness, his unnatural position. Or maybe the crimson liquid clotting on his head.

Then I remembered—Molly—Molly was there with me, her small hand still in mine. I looked at her, saw the mirror of my own scream frozen on her face.

“Molly,” I heard my voice urge. Other than her name, I couldn’t manage to make words. She was trembling, swallowing air.

I stroked Molly’s face, telling her to breathe. Nick’s face was in my hands, a bad shade of gray, lips apart, head slumped and bloody. So very bloody. Then my hand was under Nick’s jacket, where he was still warm, still familiar. My fingers, lingering, trying to smooth and caress death away. But Nick didn’t stir.

The office, a voice in my head said, go into the office. But my legs were numb and useless. I knelt beside him, holding my breath, listening to his chest for a heartbeat, but hearing only the whisper of passing time. Molly’s face was covered with tears, and I wiped them away, smearing blood across her cheeks. Blood? Oh God. Nick’s blood, from my fingers. What was I doing? I had to take Molly away, not let her see this.

“Get up, Nick,” I heard myself say, and Molly echoed, “Get up, Nick.” I grabbed him under the arms, reached around him, and pulled. Molly helped, tugging at him. His torso came up, but his head flopped backward. We couldn’t move him. He was dead weight. Suddenly, from somewhere, leather soles clacked on linoleum. Someone walking. A guard? Or Woods? How long had we been there, tugging on Nick?

Molly looked at me, alarmed. I took her hand, reassuring her.

“Mommy, let’s go.” Molly pulled at me, whimpering.

The footsteps were coming our way. I let go of Nick’s hand and hurried Molly across the hall. We’d get into Beverly’s office and call for help. The police. An ambulance.

The door should have been locked,