Unforgettable - eARC Read Free Page A

the desk and headed for the door, someone grabbed my right arm. I twisted out of his grip and lunged for the door. By the time I got to the stairwell, despite the fire alarm’s shriek I could hear his footsteps close behind, punctuated by coughs as he tried to clear his lungs of smoke. For the second time that day, I ran down the steps.
    As the stairs turned at the thirteenth floor, I looked up and saw my pursuer. He looked around fifty, with a fit, muscular build and a full head of black hair graying at the temples. He wore a white shirt, no tie. There hadn’t been anyone like him in the personnel files.
    I lost sight of him as I looped down the stairs. But his footsteps didn’t slow. Just before reaching the tenth floor landing, I remembered that it was probably still wet from my water bottle. I slowed to a walk, stepping carefully, and took advantage of the moment to pull off my backpack. Since the smoke hadn’t spread down here, I took off my gas mask, shoved it into the pack, and pulled out two spray bottles.
    Breathing easier as I continued down toward the ninth floor, I shouted, “Watch out for the—”
    A yell and a thud told me my warning had been too late.
    “—water!” I finished.
    I had to slow him down even more if I wanted to put a minute’s distance between us. I unscrewed the top of one spray bottle and poured oil over the ninth floor landing. “It’s slippery down here,” I shouted. “Slow down!”
    His footsteps didn’t resume immediately, so my pace was more leisurely. As I reached the seventh floor, I decided there was no need to detour to the janitorial closet.
    When I reached the fifth floor, I could faintly hear his footsteps again, but I estimated he was still about three floors behind me.
    As I turned toward the third floor landing, the footsteps were louder, but I thought they were still far off.
    Then I saw him less than a half-flight of stairs behind me. He had taken off his shoes, and in his socks he made so much less noise I had misjudged the distance.
    With a burst of speed, I raced toward the ground floor. The man was in fantastic shape, especially for someone about thirty years older than me, and he continued to gain.
    My second spray bottle—filled with concentrated capsaicin—was still in my hand. Pepper spray was always my last resort, because I hated to leave people temporarily blinded without any idea of what had happened to cause it once they forgot about me. But this guy wasn’t giving me much choice.
    I turned suddenly, aimed the nozzle at his face, then squirted.
    He dodged to the left and mostly avoided the spray, but he stumbled and had to catch himself on the railing to keep from sprawling onto the landing.
    I ran. If I could make it to my van parked right outside, I was sure I could get a minute head start before he could get a vehicle to follow me.
    Bursting into the lobby, I headed straight for the glass doors.
    As he exited the stairwell only about ten seconds behind, he yelled, “Guards! Get him!”
    There weren’t any guards between me and the doors. There was no one in the lobby. The fire alarm was still sounding, so people must have evacuated.
    But my van was gone—they must have towed it.
    A moment of panic subsided when I spotted my messenger bicycle still chained to the lamppost. I dug into my left pocket for my keys while using my right hand to spray capsaicin randomly behind me, hoping that would slow him long enough to get my bike lock open.
    Fortunately, the automatic doors were stuck open, maybe because of the evacuation. As I passed through, I dropped the spray bottle, switched my key to my right hand, and ran to my bike.
    It took me only a couple of seconds to unlock the chain. Pushing the handlebars, I sprinted alongside the bike before hopping on and beginning to pedal.
    I chanced a look over my shoulder. The man was still running after me, but he was falling behind. I wove through pedestrians on the sidewalk until I got into the street, then