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Chapter Fifty-Seven
Shee ran into the lobby, grabbed the doorknob to the stairwell and rattled it.
Locked.
Dammit, I—
A blast exploded that sent Shee rolling sideways. Splinters of wood peppered the side of her face as she ducked away.
She glanced back to see a hole as large as her head blasted through the stairwell door. Cough’s head appeared in it, his eyes bugged.
“Jeezus, Cough!”
“I’m so sorry!”
“Get away from the door—go up, go somewhere, he’s on my heels!”
Cough ran up the stairs.
“Wait—”
Too late.
She realized the stair door remained locked, the hole too high for her to use it to reach through and open the door from the inside.
“Sunuva—”
She glanced back down the hall. No Scotty yet but he’d burst through the swinging door any second. Hitting the elevator call button would do her no good. She’d be dead by the time it arrived.
She looked at the useless weapon in her hand.
How had she emptied an entire clip into the freezer?
I need another—
The elevator door slid open to reveal a portly, dark-haired man in pajama bottoms and a polo shirt.
“Are you people shooting fireworks?” he asked before his gaze dropped to the gun in her hand.
Before he could step out, Shee shoved him back and hit the highest floor button she could use without the key.
“What are you doing?” The man stumbled against the back of the car. He pushed her back and slapped the lobby button. The doors slid open again.
“Why would you do that?” Shee glanced down the hall as the door pushed open and Scotty peered out.
Shit.
Shee shoved the man again and slapped the door shut button. She raised the gun in her other hand for the man to see.
“Touch another button and I’ll kill you.”
The man’s eyes grew wide and Shee turned to point the gun out of the elevator as the doors closed. She heard Scotty slapping outside as the door sealed. The elevator lurched upward.
Shee remembered to breathe again. She lowered the gun. With her eyes closed, chin against her chest, she felt movement behind her. She looked up in time to see her unwanted elevator-mate hit the three button.
She glared, gun rising again. “Is there something wrong with your brain?”
“It’s my floor,” he said. He looked as though his brain had flipped on autopilot.
The doors opened and the man pushed past her.
“Get to your room. Don’t come out,” she called at him as he jogged down the hall.
He held up his middle finger.
Shee sighed.
Fair enough.
Another gun blast exploded to her left. The stairwell door swung open as if it had been kicked, slamming into the wall behind it.
Scotty.
Shee slapped the elevator door-close button. The doors slid shut at their own leisurely pace, her heart threatening to pound out of her chest.
She had to find a way to the penthouse before Scotty took the stairs. Maybe the tourist had done her a favor detouring on the third floor.
The elevator opened on the floor below the penthouse and Shee ran out, only to stop dead, her hands outstretched on either side of her as if she were guarding a soccer net at the end of the hall.
What am I doing?
Even if the door to the stairwell was open, the door to the penthouse floor would be locked.
She was out of bullets. Scotty was headed up the stairs.
She straightened.
Cough.
He had to be in the stairwell.
She bolted to the door and flung it open.
Cough stood there, shotgun pointed down the stairs.
“Oh thank God,” he said. “I think someone’s—”
“Give me your phone. Do you have a phone?”
“Yes—”
“Give it to me.”
He fumbled his cell from his pocket and Shee dialed Angelina as she dragged him toward the stairs leading to the penthouse.
“Shee! Where are you?” said Angelina on the line.
“I’m one floor down. Scotty’s on his way up. I’m out of bullets. I’m with Cough—he might have one shell left. We’re coming up. Open the door!”
“We’re coming!”
Shee shoved Cough in front of her and peered over the railing down the stairwell. She heard Scotty below, taking two steps at a time.
It would be tight.
She joined Cough behind the locked door to the penthouse level.
“Come on, come on...” Shee looked from the door to the stairs and back again. She heard keys and the door opened.
Croix stood in front of her, gun in hand.
“I’ve never been so happy to see you,” said Shee.
“I wish I could say the same.” Croix pushed past her and shot twice down the stairwell.
Cough followed suit, leaning and blasting his shotgun over the railing.
Croix reeled back, her free hand on her ear. “You can’t do that!”
Shee grimaced, pleased she’d taken a step into the hall before Cough made her ears bleed, but disappointed to see him empty his last shot. “Do you have more shells?” she asked.
Cough shook his head. “They’re in a bag on the reception desk.”
Shee looked at Croix. The girl rolled her eyes.
“I’ll hold him back. Go get loaded.”
Shee looked down the hall to see Angelina’s head sticking out of her father’s apartment. She ran toward it. She needed a working weapon. Then she and Croix could work their way down to Scotty and end things.
“Get in, get in,” said Angelina, motioning to her.
She slipped inside.
“I need a gun.” She waved her weapon. “Or bullets for this one.”
“Take mine,” said Angelina, thrusting an enormous Magnum .45 into her hand.
Shee gawked at it. “This is your gun?”
“I picked the big one. I like to know I can stop someone.”
“You could stop Godzilla with
