Nowhere to Run (35 page)

She tried to push thoughts of Thomas away and concentrate on the task at hand. If Joe, with his law enforcement background, wasn’t going to share any information, perhaps Yelena, with her journalistic bent, would be more forthcoming. Yelena would understand that Annabelle needed to know the facts in order to report the story of what was happening in the Broadcast Center this morning.

Yelena saw her right away.

“They found some things in a storage closet downstairs that look suspicious. A chemistry set and a box of gloves,” the president explained. “Joe had a camera trained on the closet. It caught someone running away. The dog is trying to pick up the scent from a jacket they found thrown aside near the closet. If you want,” Yelena offered, “I’ll take you down and show you the closet.”

“Great, let me call my cameraman,” said Annabelle.

Yelena glanced at the watch on her wrist. “I’m running behind and don’t have the time to wait. Let me take you down there quickly and just show you where it is. You can call the cameraman from there and direct him down to meet you.”

“Sounds like a plan, Yelena. Thank you for being so forthcoming,” said Annabelle. “I really appreciate it.”

“Just as long as I don’t run into that police dog.”

Annabelle looked at her quizzically.

“I’m allergic to dogs.”

As they reached the top of the basement ramp, Annabelle felt the vibration and pulled the cell phone from her pocket.

“Excuse me, Yelena, but I have to answer this. It might be my husband.” She paused as she opened the phone. “Mike?”

“No. It’s me, Colleen, the au pair from Maplewood. I talked to you yesterday?”

“Oh yes. I’m sorry, but I’m very busy right now. Can you give me your phone number and I’ll call you back?” Annabelle felt for her pen.

The younger woman hesitated. “No, I don’t think that would be a good idea. But you told me to call if I remembered anything else.”

“Okay, go ahead.” Annabelle tried to be patient.

“It may be nothing, but I remembered that the person sneezed a few times after coming near the dog. Does that help?”

Yelena waited as Annabelle took her phone call and considered the situation.

The bag with the chemistry set and gloves had gone the way of the knife that had killed Edgar Rivers, tossed deep into a garbage container several blocks away. The chances were next to nil that it would be found amid the tons of garbage discarded and hauled away in New York City each day. Both copies of Jerome’s manuscript had been deposited in the apartment incinerator.

With no other evidence to speak of, this case could turn into a dead end for the police and FBI. Just as the post– September 11 anthrax cases had at the other networks.

All that remained was making sure Jerome Henning’s vile portrayal of KEY News never saw the light of day, in any form. The manuscript was the reason this whole nightmare had been necessary.

Thank God she had been in the practice of monitoring e-mails or she might not have known about the manuscript until it was too late. Jerome would have published his book, and KEY News would have become a byword for scandal, a laughingstock.

That couldn’t happen. She had worked too hard, had too much invested. Her legacy would not be destroyed. Yelena would do anything to protect her “baby.” KEY News was all she had.

Annabelle presented the final worry. Though the FBI had Annabelle’s notes on the manuscript, Yelena wasn’t that concerned, especially since she wasn’t listed in them and thus wasn’t implicated as a suspect. Those agents weren’t going to be writing any books. But Annabelle could get the bright idea to re-create Jerome’s book herself. That was a chance that just couldn’t be taken.

Annabelle had to be taken care of—before they reached the closet with its security camera. She could take Annabelle on with all the strength of a lioness protecting her cub. She didn’t need a weapon other than her bare hands and the uncanny strength that came with desperation.

Annabelle’s mind fired rapidly as she made the terrifying connections.

Yelena was allergic to dogs. Yelena had taken sugar from the cafeteria, where poor Edgar might have seen her. Yelena was monitoring e-mails, and Jerome had e-mailed Annabelle many times about his manuscript.

Was Yelena the one who had killed Jerome and Edgar and that other poor woman in New Jersey? Was Yelena responsible for the fact that Annabelle’s precious little boy was lying in a bed downtown at St. Vincent’s with cutaneous anthrax?

Her fear turning into anger, Annabelle spun to face her enemy just as she felt Yelena’s strong hands wrap around her neck.

With only half an hour left in the show, Linus was pacing in the control room.

“Are we going to have something on the lockdown or not?” the executive producer demanded. “Why the hell hasn’t Annabelle let us know where we stand?”

“I’ll try to find her, Linus,” offered Beth, picking up the phone.

The cell phone flew through the air as she felt Yelena propel her against the industrial-size sink in the maintenance alcove at the top of the basement ramp. As Yelena’s grasp tightened around her neck, Annabelle flailed, struggling amid the brooms and mops. Yelena outweighed her by a good forty pounds. Annabelle wasn’t going to be able to beat her with the sheer force of her strength.

She had nothing to fight with except the pen she grasped in her fist. As she choked, Annabelle thought of Thomas and found the strength to jam the pen upward, hitting Yelena in the side of the neck.

In the studio, the restaurant chef was demonstrating how to carve a turkey for the viewers at home.

Harry popped a slice into his mouth. “It’s delicious,” he proclaimed, “but my knife never cuts so thin.”

“God damn it,” exclaimed Linus as he watched the monitor in the control room. “To hell with the turkey, I want the sniffing dog. Where the hell is Annabelle?”

As the pen hit her neck, Yelena’s grip loosened and she fell backward. Annabelle pulled away, trying to scramble out of the alcove. When she reached the ramp, she looked out. The area was empty, but she called for help anyway.

“Nobody’s going to hear you, Annabelle,” Yelena hissed as she struggled to regain her footing and lunged forward.

“I don’t know where she is, Beth,” said B.J. into the phone. “The last I saw her was in the lobby about half an hour ago. But I have the video of the canine unit if you want it.”

As she felt Yelena pulling her back into the alcove, Annabelle remembered the security camera. If she could just get the dozen yards or so to the closet, the security camera would see her. She could signal for help.

“You aren’t going to get away with this,” she whispered hoarsely, trying to distract Yelena.

“I think I will. They’ll find you dead later, just like they did Edgar Rivers. And this sink here will work out just fine. I can wash the fingerprints from your neck after I kill you with my bare hands.”

“Over an unpublished manuscript? What’s the matter with you? It’s just a job, Yelena.”

“Wrong, Annabelle. It’s my whole life.”

Joe went back to his office, feeling defeated. He had missed his chance. The “hammer team” would be coming in a little while to check out the storage closet, but Joe was sure that the evidence was gone now.

With resignation, he ordered the exits reopened, sent out a companywide e-mail announcing that Broadcast Center employees could once again come and go as they pleased, and then sat, staring morosely at the monitor that displayed the closet door.

Thomas. Thomas.
She had to get to Thomas. She had to get to her little boy.

“You twisted psychopath. My son is in the hospital because of you.” Annabelle spat in her face. Yelena squeezed her eyes shut against the saliva, giving her just the moments she needed.

The mop was nearby. Annabelle managed to wrap her hand around the handle and pull it toward her. Again, she thrust a projectile into Yelena and, this time, Annabelle was able to run.

Down the ramp, down to the closet, with Yelena following.

As the broadcast ended, Linus ordered with disgust, “When Annabelle does show up, send her in to see me. She better have a damn good explanation.”

Annabelle heard the heavy footsteps pounding down the ramp behind her. In Yelena’s blind rage she must have forgotten about the security camera, thought Annabelle as she ran toward the closet. Running for her life, for Mike, for the children.

Tara and Thomas, so young and innocent, so needing their mother. At the thought of Thomas and the anthrax that was infecting his small body, Annabelle felt her injured knee give way beneath her. She stumbled forward, crashing to the hard floor. Wincing, she tried to right herself again, as Yelena was given the precious moments needed to catch up.

Annabelle felt the crazed woman bearing down on her from behind, grabbing at her waist. As Yelena fought to pull her back, Annabelle scrambled on her stomach, using all her strength to inch forward.

Closer. A little closer to the closet.

Please, let me get there. Please, please, please, let someone be watching.

The camera’s narrow view caught a limited picture, a raised fist, the back of a head. But it was enough to send Joe Connelly and his guards rushing downstairs.