get rid of Bogosian, fast. By the time she'd filled a page with legal buzzwords, she had a plan. There was only one way to do it. Her heart beat faster. She checked her watch. 8:40. There was no time to lose. She'd have to execute it right under Bogosian's nose. Marta steeled herself. It was her only chance.
Now.
She got up, walked casually to one of the Steere files, and pulled out a manila folder at random. It flopped open, and as Marta paced with it she pretended to read. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Bogosian reading and occasionally looking up, apparently satisfied she was hard at work. Each time Marta paced, she walked closer and closer to the telephone on the credenza, watching Bogosian and waiting for the right moment. She wouldn't get a second chance. He could shoot her through the glass if he wanted. In the next instant, Bogosian lowered his head and squinted at the magazine. It was Marta's moment and she seized it.
She plucked the telephone receiver off the hook and set it on the credenza beside the phone, then turned on her heel without breaking stride. If Marta could dial three digits— 514— she'd have building security on the line. She couldn't risk calling 911 because the cops would want to take her in. There'd be questions asked and time wasted. Just three digits.
Bogosian was reading in his conference room. His back was to the phone so he couldn't see the button lit on the open line. Marta paced away from the phone and back again. She kept her face down to the file. She paced to the phone, quickly punched a 5 on the keypad, spun on her heel, and walked away from the phone.
Across the hall, Bogosian had set down his magazine. He stood up and shook his jeans down over his cowboy boots.
Marta paced back to the phone and hit 1.
Bogosian stretched his muscles and yawned. His leather duster popped open to reveal the Magnum.
Marta paced away and struggled to stay calm. Only one more digit to go.
Bogosian left his conference room and was crossing the hall.
Marta's heart leapt into her throat. She walked toward the phone and hit the 4. The call should connect to the security office. Come
Marta heard a jiggling at the glass door. Bogosian was trying the knob, but it was locked. Marta pretended she didn't hear him and was engrossed in her reading. Fear returned and her heart fluttered. Her head throbbed. The words melted before her eyes.
'Hey!' Bogosian shouted. He pounded on the door. In a split second he'd draw the gun, but a split second was all Marta needed. She heard the faint click of the phone call connecting and a guard answering, 'Security.'
Bingo! In one deft movement, Marta blocked Bogosian's view of the phone with her body and hung up the receiver. 'Coming!' she said, appearing to notice him for the first time. She hurried to the door and opened it with a sweaty palm.
'What the fuck are you doin'?' Bogosian shouted, bursting through the door. He shoved Marta out of the way, and she staggered back against the table, clutching a swivel chair to break her fall. Pain knifed through her ribs.
'I'm working on the motion,' Marta said. She willed herself to stay calm. The call had connected. Security would come up and check it out. There was at least one guard on duty, he'd been there when she signed them in. How long would he take to get here?
Bogosian pushed past her and scanned the room in suspicion. His bulk seemed to fill the space. His movements were swift and powerful. He smelled of cold leather and adrenaline. 'You done that motion?'
'Not yet. Half an hour, that's all.'
'You got five minutes, then we go back.'
Marta had to stall him. 'It'll take longer than that.'
'Too fuckin' bad.' Bogosian had taken enough of her shit and he had nothin' to do. He'd guessed all the dog breeds and he couldn't test himself again. Besides, he wanted this bitch back on the reservation. He had the feeling she was jerking him off. Her, and the other two. What the fuck were they doing, goin' to the bridge? Bogosian motioned to the folder. 'What are you doin' with that?'
'Reading it. For the brief.'
'Yeah, right.' He yanked the folder out of the bitch's hand and looked at the top page. It was typed and there were case names underlined. Bogosian remembered the legal papers from his own case. Bullshit. More lawyer bullshit. All they did was make paper. He threw the folder on the table and it skidded into the papers, messing them up. He wanted to mess them all up. Turn the whole table upside down. But then he couldn't find out what she'd been up to. 'You haven't been following my directions here.'
'What do you mean?'
'You know what I mean.'
'No, I was just researching.' Marta watched with anxiety as Bogosian lumbered around the circular conference table, squinting slightly at the documents and photos. She realized he was nearsighted. He touched the papers scattered around the table's perimeter, moving deliberately as the minute hand of a clock. Where was security? Would they come? Bogosian flipped through the legal pad Marta had written on, and she was glad she hadn't left any notes.
'This what you were writin'?'
'Yes. You want to read it?'
'No, I don't want to read it,' Bogosian said, mimicking her.
Marta's throat was a hard, dry knot. Where the fuck was security? They'd check even a false alarm, wouldn't they? If she got out of this alive she'd have them all fired. She lingered near the open doorway as Bogosian inched around the table. He was in the perfect position on the other side. Every muscle in her body wanted to run, but she told herself to wait for help. She remembered with a shiver how fast Bogosian covered ground.
'Why's the computer all black?' Bogosian asked, frowning over the laptop. 'I don't like the looks of this.'
