Whistleblower

She nodded. Turning, she headed blindly for the door. Halfway there, she halted. “My purse—”

“Where is it?”

She headed back, past a curtained window. “I think I left it by the—”

Her next words were cut off by an explosion of shattering glass. Only the closed curtains kept the shards from piercing her flesh. Pure reflex sent Cathy diving to the floor just as the second gun blast went off. An instant later she found Victor Holland sprawled on top of her, covering her body with his as the third bullet slammed into the far wall, splintering wood and plaster.

The curtains shuddered, then hung still.

For a few seconds Cathy was paralyzed by terror, by the weight of Victor’s body on hers. Then panic took hold. She squirmed free, intent on fleeing the apartment.

“Stay down!” Victor snapped.

“They’re trying to kill us!”

“Don’t make it easy for them!” He dragged her back to the floor. “We’re getting out. But not through the front door.”

“How—”

“Where’s your fire escape?”

“My bedroom window.”

“Does it go to the roof?”

“I’m not sure—I think so—”

“Then let’s move it.”

On hands and knees they crawled down the hall, into Cathy’s unlit bedroom. Beneath the window they paused, listening. Outside, in the darkness, there was no sound. Then, from downstairs in the lobby, came the tinkle of breaking glass.

“He’s already in the building!” hissed Victor. He yanked open the window. “Out, out!”

Cathy didn’t need to be prodded. Hands shaking, she scrambled out and lowered herself onto the fire escape. Victor was right behind her.

“Up,” he whispered. “To the roof.”

And then what? she wondered, climbing the ladder to the third floor, past Mrs. Chang’s flat. Mrs. Chang was out of town this week, visiting her son in New Jersey. The apartment was dark, the windows locked tight. No way in there.

“Keep going,” said Victor, nudging her forward.

Only a few more rungs to go.

At last, she pulled herself up and over the edge and onto the asphalt roof. A second later, Victor dropped down beside her. Potted plants shuddered in the darkness. It was Mrs. Chang’s rooftop garden, a fragrant mélange of Chinese herbs and vegetables.

Together, Victor and Cathy weaved their way through the plants and crossed to the opposite edge of the roof, where the next building abutted theirs.

“All the way?” said Cathy.