Blink of an Eye (23 page)

His world exploded in a flash of new futures.

Miriam's futures.

Miriam dreamed that the roof had collapsed on her, but she knew it wasn't a dream. She grunted and tried to sit up, but a heavy mass pressed her into the mattress.

A
moving
mass. Breathing hard.

An animal!

She shrieked and tried to get away. The animal flailed, startled by her sudden movement. Miriam swung her elbows and the covers flew. The animal hadn't managed to bite her yet, but it was still there, on her calves, waiting to pounce. She twisted to her back, jerked her legs from under the beast, and kicked furiously, groaning in horror.

It tumbled off the end of the bed, hissing. She snatched her pillow and hurled it at the mass.
The door! I have to get to the door!

It bounded to its feet, tall like a ghost, draped in the blanket.

“Stop it! It's me!”

She froze. The thing was speaking!

The figure tore the blanket from its head. It stood there in the dim light, a bare-chested man with disheveled hair, panting.

Seth!

What was he doing in her bedroom? She wore only an oversized T-shirt she'd purchased at the truck stop. A black cotton shirt with an eagle soaring over a shimmering ocean.

“Are you mad?” she demanded.

He threw his index finger to his lips, shoved a hand out to silence her, then gestured toward the drawn curtains.

“What?” Half of her mind was on his inexplicable entry, the other half on her exposure. He was gesticulating and whispering urgently, but she couldn't understand a word of it.

“I can't understand a word—”

“They're outside!” he said, aloud this time.

“Outside . . .” Suddenly she understood it all.

Seth jumped up on the bed. “Hurry! We have to get back up into the vent.”

“I'm nearly naked!” she said.

He towered over her on the end of the bed. “Where are your pants?”

If the authorities were outside, they had very little time. She glanced at the chair where her jeans were draped. A bag on the floor held the rest of the clothes she'd purchased.

Before she could move for them, Seth bounded off the bed, grabbed the jeans from the chair, and ran back. He didn't see the tennis shoes in the middle of the floor and tripped on them. He crashed into the bed, face planting into the mattress beside her leg, holding the jeans outstretched to her like a warrior who'd just barely managed to return with the magic elixir.

Miriam snatched up her pants and quickly pulled them on.

“These too,” he whispered, shoving the shoes toward her.

She yanked them on without bothering to tie them. “My bag.”

“Too slow. Where's the money?”

“In my pocket.” She grabbed at her jeans and felt the lump. Seth jumped back up next to her, panting from his efforts. He looked up and she followed his gaze. The vent opening looked like a black hole.

“I'll shove you up first,” he said.

“Are you crazy? We can't go through that!”

“I just did. Trust me! I know what happens here.” He put his hands on her waist and she smacked them away.

“Stop it! I can't fit—”

“We don't have time for this!” he snapped.

“I don't care—”

His lips were on hers, smothering her words.

Seth pulled back, leaving her in shock.

“Sorry, I had to. I'll explain later.”

He grabbed her waist and shoved her up before she knew he was doing it. Limited on options and horrified by his kiss, she grabbed the duct's lip and pulled herself in. Utter blackness paralyzed her, legs still dangling out of the duct. Below he was pushing at her legs, whispering urgently. She scrambled forward.

Behind her, the tin crashed with the sound of his hands, slapping for purchase. He slipped and fell out, and then tried again. He'd never get up! She'd come to America to climb through air vents in the dead of night, pushed by a maniac who had kissed her and . . .

“Miriam. Back up! I need your legs!”

She scooted back so that her feet touched the lip. His hands grabbed her ankles and he hauled himself up. Smart man.

Her right tennis shoe came off in his hand. With a mighty crash that she could only guess was his head on the tin, he fell back to the bed.

Miriam was left with the echoes of her breathing.

Thud, bang.
Here he came again. This time he made it by grabbing her jeans, although he nearly pulled them off in the process.

“Go, go!”

She went. Scrambling into the darkness. She stopped.

“Where?”

“To the end! Hurry!”

Omar crouched on the hotel roof, eyeing the police through the rifle's scope. They had reached the hotel at breakneck speed, but not before the others took up their positions in front of the Super 8. Cursing under his breath, he left Sa'id and Assir in the rental car behind a grove of trees, withdrew the AK-47 from the trunk, and quickly scouted the perimeter. With so many police, his chances of taking Miriam here were minimal.

The authorities had abandoned the rear of the motel for the exits in the front. In doing so, they left the roof access unguarded. He climbed the two stories and eased into position here, behind a large air-conditioning unit near the crown of the roof.

Omar had never killed in the United States. Tonight that would change. If he did this right, they would conclude that Seth was the shooter.

Omar steadied the scope on an officer bent over the hood of his squad car, pistol trained on the front of the hotel. “In my country you do not interfere in another man's business, my friend. She is mine.”

He squeezed the trigger.

The night exploded. Omar shifted the rifle before the man hit the ground. He took down two more officers standing to the rear of the cars before they could find cover, one through the head, the other in the shoulder, judging by the way he spun.

Omar pulled back and slid down the roof to the ladder.

“Shots on the roof!” a voice yelled from the front. “He's on the roof!”

Omar shouldered the weapon and scrambled down the ladder. He ran for the grove of trees behind the hotel. The car door opened for him and he slid in, weapon first.

Assir fired the engine.

“Shut it off!” Omar said.

The car died.

“Are you begging for their attention?” He turned to see the motel through the trees.

“We're sitting—”

“Shut up. We don't move until I say we move.”

Miriam and Seth had just dropped into what appeared to be a closet when the muffled explosions sounded.

“What was that?”

“Shots,” Seth said. “An Arab is shooting from the roof.”

She faced him, two inches from his face in the cramped quarters. “Shooting at whom?”

“The police.” His voice sounded strained. “I think one of them is dead.”

She was too stunned to respond.

“I . . . I didn't see any way to stop it.” He turned from her and gripped his skull. “They think we did it. I. They think I did it.”

It had to be Hilal. Who else could possibly be shooting at the police? But why would Hilal . . .

Miriam gasped.

Seth spun back. “What?”

“Who is the Arab?”

“I don't know, but not your bathroom friends. I see events, and that includes faces sometimes, but not names, and it's hard to tell—”

“Omar!” she said.

He said nothing.

“Or Omar's people. At the very least someone who doesn't want the Americans to turn me over to Hilal.”

“Your father?” Seth asked.

“No. No, he would never send this kind of man!”

Seth turned from her and leaned his forehead against the wall. Voices yelled outside. Boots thumped on the cement walkway. Wood splintered and doors crashed. Miriam swallowed at a dry throat.

A man's muffled voice reached them from the walkway, only feet away. “Rooms are empty. They're gone, sir. A vent cover is torn loose; looks like they escaped to the roof.”

“Copy that,” a walkie-talkie rasped. “Clear the vent.”

The officer's muffled voice carried from the room. “Okay, clear the vent, Danny. And watch for fire. This guy's armed.”

“What now?” Miriam whispered.

“Now we wait. We have a window in a minute. Then we run to the side alley and down the back stairs. We can't take the Sable.”

“So you're still seeing all this. This is madness. Why did you . . . kiss me?”

“Because. I'm sorry about that. Look, a police officer was just killed out there and you're worried about a kiss? It was the only future I saw in which you moved quickly, and we needed to move quickly.”

The vents creaked above them.

“I'm saving your life,” Seth said. “Time to go. Follow me. Ready?”

“I suppose.”

He gripped the knob.

“They won't see us?” she asked.

“Trust me. Three, two, one.”

He opened the door and ran to his left. She followed him, glancing at the open courtyard to their right. An ambulance had arrived, lights flashing. Several men were scurrying around the cars. She and Seth ran unnoticed.

They flew down a flight of concrete steps and spilled into an alley separating the hotel from an abandoned garage. Seth led her across the alley around the rear corner of the garage, glancing each way for danger, although she suspected he knew the route was safe.

“Wait here,” he said, turning. “Don't move until I tell you to.”

“You're leaving me here?”

“I won't be out of sight. But I've got to do this. Trust me.”

To her surprise, she trusted him implicitly. She wrapped her arms around herself and backed into the dark shadow.

Seth walked into the alley and gazed out at the street, thirty meters off. A siren burped from the far side of the hotel. Several more sounded from far away. More police. Shouts carried on the air. Surely Seth realized that the place would be crawling with . . .

A figure stepped into the alley, at the far end, backlit by the glow of streetlights. Miriam caught her breath and pulled back.

Seth spread his arms. “Good evening, Officer.”

The man stopped.

“Hello, Clive. As you can see, I'm unarmed.”

The man lifted a gun with both hands. He scanned the alley. “What did you do with the gun, Seth?” the man said coolly.

“I never had a gun. But I think you know that, don't you?”

The man approached Seth, ten meters off. A shaft of soft light fell across his pale face. The redhead looked more amused than concerned.

“Where's Miriam?”

“Safe,” Seth said. “I have to be leaving in just a second, but I knew you would be coming and I wanted to tell you something.”

“Just like that, huh? You just happened to know it would be me? And you knew I would check this alley? I don't think so. I think I caught you with your shorts down. Or should I say with your shirt off? This is no way to win the Nobel, Seth.”