32
A ziptrip to his virtual ladder at Macy’s found Razor still on the real one fussing with fall banners. In the salon area, Willner continued playing the waiting husband.
“How’s our time?” Cole asked.
“Almost there.” Excitement ran under the quiet words. Cole heard Razor’s heart speeding up. “What happened in Colma?”
“Tankersley’s going to lead them to my body.” Urgency beat at him. Lead Hamada, but not too quickly. Please let them capture Irah first.
Please let her show up.
He looked down, checking out all females near the salon, hoping he recognized her. She was bound to have changed her appearance again. He just hoped those model’s bones gave her away.
His gaze started to slid past a stocky, butch woman carrying shopping bags and a suit bag, then jerked back, feeling a prickle. Not stocky. Her baggy cargo pants and heavy knit turtleneck, with sleeves coming down her hands to her fingers, just made her look that way. So did her square jaw. But the ears revealed by hair slicked back and darkened by gel had no lobes.
Relief matched a chill at how easily she might have gone unrecognized. He had guessed right. She really was arrogant enough to keep her appointment.
“She’s here!” he whispered, and scrambled to the floor.
Above him, Razor murmured into his radio. Willner peered over the top of his magazine, catching the eye of the policewoman at the reception desk.
She gave Irah a radiant smile. “Welcome. Are you Miss Benet?”
“Yes.” Irah eyed her. “What happened to Tiffany?” Her voice sounded different, as if she were talking through clenched teeth.
Cole’s antenna vibrated, seeing tension in her body. “Watch it,” he called to Razor, backing down the ladder. “I think she smells the trap.”
“Tiff had a doctor’s appointment,” the policewoman said easily. “I’m Lexie. You’re having a cut and color, right? Michael will be taking care of you. This way.”
“Will you take these, please?” Irah held her bags out toward Lexie.
At Lexie’s momentary hesitation, of course reluctant to tie up both hands, Irah threw the bags in her face and spun away. Lexie fought free of the suit bag, clawing for the gun tucked in the small of her back under her suit jacket. Willner leaped to his feet and in front of Irah. Galentree and Razor closed on her from the sides…all with guns drawn. In the salon, customers in a position to see the scene gasped.
Irah stopped short, glanced around at them, then laughed. “Get real. You’re not going to shoot in here, with a store full of civilians and all of you in each other’s crossfire.” Reaching into her mouth, she pulled a roll of gauze from between each lower gum and cheek. Her jaw shape returned to normal. She worked her lips. “I’m glad to get rid of those.”
There was the deceptive passivity again. “Watch her, Razor!”
“Get down on your knees,” Galentree said.
She went down, but not on her knees. Abruptly, she dived down and forward, arrowing between Galentree and Willner. They dropped to tackle her. Only to find her no longer stretched out but curled in a tight ball, somersaulting forward and onto her feet again. She sprinted for the doors.
Cole hurled himself through Willner and after her. He might not be able to stop her, but if she eluded the store security officers outside the doors and managed to pull off another escape, he would be with her every step. Once she went to ground somewhere, he could report her location.
Behind, Razor yelled into his radio. Through the glass ahead Cole saw the two window washers drop their squeegees and move in front of the doors.
Irah swerved to a door in the set where a middle-aged woman had just entered. She grabbed the woman’s arms, spun her around, and as the startled woman yelped in protest, slammed her forward…back out the door.
Alarm shot through Cole. Was she taking a hostage?
No…a weapon. Irah shoved the woman at the nearest security officer. While he scrambled to catch the woman, Irah dodged past. The other officer lunged for her. His fingers closed on the shoulder of her sweater. She instantly spun and rammed a foot into his knee. He reeled backward, yelling in pain.
The moment his hold released, Irah whirled again. She charged across the sidewalk and off the curb into the traffic of Geary Street.
Where she spun once more, this time to face them and raise both hands in one-finger salutes, smirking triumphantly.
The world froze.
Twice Cole had experienced the sensation of things happening in slow motion. The time a drug dealer shot at him, he swore he saw the bullet emerge from the muzzle flash and float toward him, moving so leisurely he could count its rotations. But never before had motion stopped altogether.
He was the only moving object in a world of statues…pedestrians petrified between one step and the next, birds immobile in midair. One security officer had congealed in mid-collapse of his leg. The other officer had his arms under those of the woman shoved at him, keeping her on her feet. Inside the store, Razor reached for the doors, Willner and Galentree just behind him. Irah stood planted in the street flipping them off. And fifteen feet away, a delivery truck sat in the same lane, its driver’s face just starting to contort in horror. His foot, Cole knew, would be headed toward the brake.
Then he saw the driver’s eyes widen a fraction more, and the truck shift forward slightly. Turning, he found Razor closer to the door. The officer with the woman had begun swinging his head Irah’s direction. The world continued to move…just at a glacial crawl, in eerie silence.
Cole grabbed for Irah. “No! I won’t let you get away this easy!”
He might as well be catching fog. His hands passed right though her. He could only watch…furious, despairing, impotent…while the truck inched toward her.
In real time the brakes must be screaming, but the truck had no chance to stop. On both sides of the street, pedestrians oozed around in the direction of the sound. Horror spread across the faces of the security officers.
The engine passed through Cole in machine gun heat bursts. Then the truck hit Irah. Her body leisurely contorted, the near side of it moving forward under the impact with the grille and compressing against the far side. Her head tilted back toward the truck. She floated into the air and arced toward the sidewalk…where she landed like a rag doll, limbs sprawled unnatural directions.
Abruptly, time came unstuck. Normal motion exploded around him. Razor burst through the store doors. Cole scrambled clear of the truck, which skidded to a halt in a screech of brakes and tires. Around him everything seemed to be screeching — the woman Irah had used as a battering ram, pedestrians, the brakes of other vehicles. Metal screeched, too…shrieking and crumpling as another vehicle piled into the back of the delivery truck, and a third vehicle into that one.
One of the screams, Cole realized, was his own…a howl of pure rage. Irah had eluded them yet
Razor dropped to his knees by the motionless form and felt her neck for a pulse. Looking up at Cole, he shook his head.
Cole cursed vehemently.
Then Razor’s eyes widened. “Wait!” He looked over his shoulder at Willner and Galentree. “Call an ambulance! She’s still alive.”
33
