Indelible Read Free Page B

hallway, practically running to keep up. “If I break my ankle in these heels . . .”
    He glanced down at her shoes. “Did you think you could just waltz in here whoring yourself out and I’d beg you to come back?”
    Embarrassment ignited her temper. “Why is it you call it whoring myself out when I want to do it, but when I don’t want to and I do anyway, all of a sudden it’s sexy?”
    He stopped at the fire door, resting his hand on the long handle. “That’s not fair.”
    â€œYou think so, too, Dr. Freud?”
    â€œI’m not playing around here, Sara.”
    â€œDo you think I am?”
    â€œI don’t know what you’re doing,” he said, and there was a hardness around his eyes that sent a cold chill through her. “I can’t keep living like this.”
    She put her hand on his arm, saying, “Wait.” When he stopped, she forced herself to say, “I love you.”
    He gave her a flippant “Thanks.”
    â€œPlease,” she whispered. “We don’t need a piece of paper to tell us how we feel.”
    â€œThe thing you keep missing,” he told her, yanking open the door, “is that I do.”
    She started to follow him into the squad room, but pride kept her feet rooted to the floor. A handful of patrolmen and detectives were starting their shifts, sitting at their desks as they wrote up reports or made calls. She could see Brad and his group of kids congregating around the coffeemaker, where he was probably regaling them with the brand of filter they used or the number of scoops it took to make a pot.
    There were two young men in the lobby, one of them leaning against the back wall, the other standing in front of Marla. Sara took the standing one to be Jeffrey’s visitor. Smith was young, probably Brad’s age, and dressed in a quilted black jacket that was zipped closed despite the late August heat. His head was shaved and from what she could make of his body under the heavy coat, he was fit and well muscled. He kept scanning the room, his eyes furiously darting around, never resting his gaze on oneperson for long. He added the front door to his rotation every second time, checking the street. There was definitely something military in his bearing, and for some reason, his general demeanor put Sara on edge.
    She looked around the room, taking in what Smith was seeing. Jeffrey had stopped at one of the desks to help a patrolman. He slid his paddle holster to his back as he sat on the edge of the desk and typed something into the computer. Brad was still talking over by the coffeemaker, his hand resting on the top of the mace spray in his belt. She counted five more cops, all of them busy writing reports or entering information into their computers. A sense of danger coursed through Sara’s body like a bolt of lightning. Everything in her line of vision became too sharply focused.
    The front door made a sucking sound as it opened and Matt Hogan walked in. Marla said, “There you are. We’ve been waiting for you.”
    The young man put his hand inside his coat, and Sara screamed, “Jeffrey!”
    They all turned to look at her, but Sara was watching Smith. In one fluid motion he pulled out a sawed-off shotgun, pointed it at Matt’s face, and squeezed both triggers.
    Blood and brain sprayed onto the front door as if from a high-pressure hose. Matt fell back against the glass, the pane cracking straight up the center but not breaking, his face completely blown away. Children started to scream and Brad fell on them en masse, pushing them down to the ground. Gunfire went wild and one of the patrolmen collapsed in frontof Sara, a large hole in his chest. His gun discharged on impact, skidding across the floor. Around her, glass flew as family photographs and personal items shot off desks. Computers popped, sending up the acrid smell of burning plastic. Papers floated through the air in a