"I can't do it. It's against Bureau policy to fire at anything but an armed suspect who presents an immediate threat. And it's also against my better judgment. The streets out there are just too crowded. The window would deflect the trajectory of the bullet, so it's hard to predict where it would end up. I can't take the chance of injuring someone else." She rapped on the glass. It made a heavy, hollow sound. "This glass is so thick anyway--I'm thinking the chances are good we'd only end up with a little round hole to show for putting other people at risk."
Going back on a floor had seemed like such a good idea, but now Nic could see it was worthless. "If only there was a way to get fresh air in here without hurting someone else." She spun around and looked at the desks behind her. Staplers, telephones, tape dispensers, computers. What she needed was something heavy and pointed. "Maybe we could use something else to break the window. If we started in a corner and compromised the integrity, we might be able to work out from there." She pressed her cheek against the cool glass. Could the resulting shards be fatal to a pedestrian or first responder below? From seven stories up, it seemed possible. A wave of despair swamped her. They couldn't get out, but staying in might be just as bad.
Mrs. Lofland's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Maybe you're looking at this the wrong way, dear."
"What do you mean?" Nic felt an irrational surge of hope. "Maybe what's needed is not to get the good air in but to keep the bad air out."
In a flash, she saw what the older woman meant. "We could try to find the thermostat, see if that would shut down the air, or at least slow it down. And put something over the vents."
Mrs. Lofland nodded. "The plastic bags in the wastebaskets. We could use them."
Nic looked around. Under every desk, a wastebasket. "Yes. See if you can find scissors and any tape heavier than Scotch tape. I'll look for the thermostat."
She found it around the corner. Ignoring the handwritten DON'T ToucH! note stuck underneath it, Nic thumbed it to OFF. Would turning off the heat also turn off the fresh air? She had no idea.
On the other side of the space was a small conference room. It was eerie to push open the door and see the papers in front of every seat, the plate of doughnuts, the abandoned cups of coffee, the half-eaten pastries sitting on napkins. Then she looked up. Just two vents. And both of them conveniently located directly above the table.
Nic thought of all the other people crowded into the stairwell. Was she letting them rush toward their deaths? Should she go back out there and try to persuade them to join her? But there was no guarantee that getting back in the building might save them. This scheme of hers was untried, unproven. And the room was too small to hold anyone else and still provide enough air for any length of time.
Nic hurried back and saw that Mrs. Lofland had found a roll of duct tape as well as a pair of scissors. Back in the conference room, Nic stood on the table and taped a double layer of wastebasket liners across each vent. Then she took off her jacket and stuffed it and some of the paper napkins in the crack under the door.
Mrs. Lofland was sitting with her eyes closed and her hand pressed against her chest. Her breathing sounded soft and fast.
"Are you all right?" Nic asked. "Should you put your feet up?" Mrs. Lofland's skin was pale, but when her eyes opened, they were as sharp as ever. "It will be okay, dear."
By the time she closed her eyes again, Nic realized this wasn't really an answer. And that she wasn't likely to get one.
Nic tried to slow her own breathing, her eyes lingering on the woman's serene face. Was it just a simpleminded refusal to face the facts, or was it a gift that Mrs. Lofland could be so calm in the midst of chaos? She surprised herself by asking, "Are you praying again?"
Mrs. Lofland's eyes opened. "A part of me is always praying. But yes. I'm praying for the people out there. And for you."
"But I think you and I are safe," Nic said.
"That doesn't mean you can't use a prayer?' Mrs. Lofland's smile held a hint of mischief. Then she closed her eyes again.
Twenty minutes later, Nic was just picking up a doughnut when Leif's blue eyes appeared in the window of the conference room door.
Calling his name, she jumped to her feet. He tried to open the door, but only managed an inch before it caught. Mrs. Lofland scooted her chair forward, leaned down, and pulled out Nic's rolled-up jacket.
"Is it safe?" Nic asked, feeling her heart beat in her throat. He wasn't wearing a mask.
For an answer, Leif pulled Nic into his strong arms.
Chapter 9
Northwest Portland
Forty blocks. That's how far it was to Good Samaritan Medical Center, yet it was still the closest hospital. But Allison would walk all day if she had to. She would walk until her feet fell off. Dear God, she prayed, protect these two precious innocents. And everyone else caught in this nightmare.