moving train to escape after a hit because the body was found too soon. Even killing Jeremy Quay had been easier than this, and Quay was a professional.
But still. It would all be over soon. Heâd be drinking coffee across the street before he knew it.
Keighley wasnât at the front desk. That was good â Peachey wasnât sure if his cover story that heâd left his coat in Bucklandâs office would be enough to get past him, and he couldnât kill Keighley in front of the girl without killing her too, and then heâd have to dispose of two bodies before Buckland returned.
The girl didnât turn off at the bathroom, or the fire stairs, or any of the conference rooms. She kept heading towards Bucklandâs office. Peachey had a horrifying thought â what if she had left something behind after her interview with Buckland, and she was going back to get it? Like her handbag, or phone. No, she still had her handbag. But anyway, sheâd want to wait outside the office until someone came to unlock it.
Peachey didnât think he could come up with a convincing enough lie to get past her without arousing her suspicion. Heâd have to deal with her before he could go in. But where could he hide the body? Should he drag her into Bucklandâs office and throw her out the window, hoping sheâd land in the same dumpster heâd used before? Someone might see her fall â better to drown her in the spa and weigh her down with somethingâ¦
Keighley wasnât at the other desk, either. The security guards were missing, too. In fact, besides the student, Peachey hadnât seen a single person on floor 25. Excellent for privacy, but suspicious. Where is everybody? he thought. Is Buckland so confident that Iâm either dead or about to walk into his next trap that heâs called off all security?
That couldnât be right. Hammond Buckland was a cautious man. Maybe that was it â maybe his security force was tailing him instead of guarding specific parts of the building. Lucky for Peachey. Unlucky for Buckland.
He was nearly at Bucklandâs door. The girl was still in front of him, still walking slightly slower than he wanted to. Her iPod headphones were still jammed in her ears; she probably didnât even know he was behind her.
The girl reached Bucklandâs door.
She kept walking.
Peachey exhaled. Apparently her destination was further down the corridor. He was free to enter the office unseen.
Peachey turned the handle as the student disappeared down the corridor. Click â the door was locked. Peachey turned to Keighleyâs desk and touched the mouse. The screensaver vanished and a game of Minesweeper appeared on the screen. Peachey typed the combination heâd seen Keighley use, and the door clicked again.
He slipped on his gloves and twisted the handle again. The door swung slowly open. He peered inside. Everything was exactly as heâd left it; shattered window, handcuffs on the desk, bullet holes in the walls. He stepped through the doorway and started scanning the floor for his Glock.
Where is it? he wondered. I could have sworn I dropped it right aboutâ
Thunk! Pain exploded in the back of Peacheyâs head and he staggered forward. His legs wobbled under him. What theâ
Thunk! A second impact, and Peachey toppled over, the carpet fading to black as it rushed up to meet him.
Ash lowered the bolt cutters as she stared down at Fordâs body. Sheâd hit him with the handle-end, which had a thin skin of rubber covering the metal, but she still hadnât expected to need two strikes to knock him out.
Her hands were still shaking. Sheâd had self-defence and martial arts training, sheâd risked her life a dozen times, and sheâd broken the law more times than she could count. But sheâd never bludgeoned someone unconscious before.
Fordâs eyes were only half-closed. His tongue lolled out against
But still. It would all be over soon. Heâd be drinking coffee across the street before he knew it.
Keighley wasnât at the front desk. That was good â Peachey wasnât sure if his cover story that heâd left his coat in Bucklandâs office would be enough to get past him, and he couldnât kill Keighley in front of the girl without killing her too, and then heâd have to dispose of two bodies before Buckland returned.
The girl didnât turn off at the bathroom, or the fire stairs, or any of the conference rooms. She kept heading towards Bucklandâs office. Peachey had a horrifying thought â what if she had left something behind after her interview with Buckland, and she was going back to get it? Like her handbag, or phone. No, she still had her handbag. But anyway, sheâd want to wait outside the office until someone came to unlock it.
Peachey didnât think he could come up with a convincing enough lie to get past her without arousing her suspicion. Heâd have to deal with her before he could go in. But where could he hide the body? Should he drag her into Bucklandâs office and throw her out the window, hoping sheâd land in the same dumpster heâd used before? Someone might see her fall â better to drown her in the spa and weigh her down with somethingâ¦
Keighley wasnât at the other desk, either. The security guards were missing, too. In fact, besides the student, Peachey hadnât seen a single person on floor 25. Excellent for privacy, but suspicious. Where is everybody? he thought. Is Buckland so confident that Iâm either dead or about to walk into his next trap that heâs called off all security?
That couldnât be right. Hammond Buckland was a cautious man. Maybe that was it â maybe his security force was tailing him instead of guarding specific parts of the building. Lucky for Peachey. Unlucky for Buckland.
He was nearly at Bucklandâs door. The girl was still in front of him, still walking slightly slower than he wanted to. Her iPod headphones were still jammed in her ears; she probably didnât even know he was behind her.
The girl reached Bucklandâs door.
She kept walking.
Peachey exhaled. Apparently her destination was further down the corridor. He was free to enter the office unseen.
Peachey turned the handle as the student disappeared down the corridor. Click â the door was locked. Peachey turned to Keighleyâs desk and touched the mouse. The screensaver vanished and a game of Minesweeper appeared on the screen. Peachey typed the combination heâd seen Keighley use, and the door clicked again.
He slipped on his gloves and twisted the handle again. The door swung slowly open. He peered inside. Everything was exactly as heâd left it; shattered window, handcuffs on the desk, bullet holes in the walls. He stepped through the doorway and started scanning the floor for his Glock.
Where is it? he wondered. I could have sworn I dropped it right aboutâ
Thunk! Pain exploded in the back of Peacheyâs head and he staggered forward. His legs wobbled under him. What theâ
Thunk! A second impact, and Peachey toppled over, the carpet fading to black as it rushed up to meet him.
Ash lowered the bolt cutters as she stared down at Fordâs body. Sheâd hit him with the handle-end, which had a thin skin of rubber covering the metal, but she still hadnât expected to need two strikes to knock him out.
Her hands were still shaking. Sheâd had self-defence and martial arts training, sheâd risked her life a dozen times, and sheâd broken the law more times than she could count. But sheâd never bludgeoned someone unconscious before.
Fordâs eyes were only half-closed. His tongue lolled out against
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