Zero Game - Brad Meltzer [59]
“Just the regular,” a woman with the sweetest hometown twang replies. “No jelly on the toast.”
Behind me, someone pounds shave-and-a-haircut against the door. “It’s me,” Viv calls out. I stretch the phone cord and undo the lock.
Viv steps inside, but the tap dance in her step is gone.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Did you get the—”
She pulls my electronic organizer from the waist of her pants and tosses it straight at me. “There—you happy?” she asks.
“What happened? Was it not where I said it was?”
“I saw an FBI agent in your office,” she blurts.
“What?”
“He was there—talking to your assistant.”
I slam down the phone on the mayor. “What’d he look like?”
“I don’t know . . .”
“No—forget I don’t know. What’d he look like?” I insist.
She reads my panic easily but, unlike last time, doesn’t brush it off. “I didn’t see him that long . . . buzzed salt-and-pepper hair . . . I guess a creepy smile . . . and eyes that kinda, well . . . kinda look like a hound dog if that makes any sense . . .”
My throat locks up, and my eyes flash over to the door. More specifically, the doorknob. It’s unlocked.
I dart full speed at the door, ready to twist the lock shut. But just as I’m about to grab it, the door bursts toward me, slamming into my shoulder. Viv screams, and a thick hand slides through the crack.
27
THE DOOR’S BARELY open an inch, but Janos already has his hand inside. Viv’s still screaming, and I’m still moving. Lucky for me, momentum’s on my side.
My full weight collides with the door, pinching Janos’s fingers in the doorjamb. I expect him to yell as he yanks his hand free. He barely grunts. Viv also goes dead silent, and I look over to make sure she’s okay. She’s standing there, eyes closed and hands clasped around her ID. Praying.
As the door slams shut, I dive for the lock and click it into place. The door thunders as Janos rams himself against it. The hinges shudder. We’re not gonna last long.
“Window!” I say, turning back toward Viv, who finally looks up. She’s frozen in shock. Her eyes look like they’re about to explode. I grab her hand and twirl her toward the small window that’s high up on the wall. It’s got two panes that swing outward like shutters.
There’s another thunderclap against the door.
Viv turns and panics. “He’s—”
“Just go!” I shout, pulling one of the spare chairs toward the windowsill.
Hopping up on the chair, Viv can’t stop her hands from shaking as she tries to unhook the window latch.
“Hurry!” I beg as the door once again rumbles.
She pounds the windows, but they don’t move.
“Harder!” I tell her.
She hits them again. She’s not a small girl—the impact’s tremendous.
“I think they’re painted shut!”
“Here, let me—”
With the base of her palm, Viv gives it one final shove, and the left window pops open, swinging out toward the rooftop. Her hands lock on the windowsill, and I give her a boost up. There’s a loud bang against the front door. The lock buckles. Two screws look like they’re about to come loose.
Viv turns toward the sound.
“Don’t look!” I tell her.
She’s already halfway out the window. I grab her ankles and give her one final push.
Another screw flies from the lock and clinks against the floor. We’re out of time. I hop on the chair just as Viv crashes against the balcony outside. Behind me, I spot Matthew’s notebooks sitting on the nearby table. Janos is one good kick away. I’ll never make it . . .
I don’t care. I need that info. Leaping off the chair, I scramble back toward the desk, grab the Grayson section, and tear the pages from the three-ring binder.
The door flies open and crashes to the ground. I don’t even bother to look back. In one mad dash, I leap on the chair and dive toward the open window. My pelvis crashes against the windowsill, but it’s enough to get me through. Teetering forward, I tumble outside, blinded by the sun as I hit the floor of the balcony.
“Which way?” Viv asks, slamming the window shut as I climb to my feet.
Rolling up the stack