Page 85 of The Devoted Game

Anticipation sent goose bumps scattering across Vivian’s skin. Time to face the last challenge. After this it would be over, Fincher had insisted. All they had to do was make the hero thing happen one more time.

Her attention settled on McBride. He could do it.

Whatever the challenge, he could handle it.

She didn’t know all the details about his career, but the one thing she knew for certain was that the Bureau had been wrong to allow such a talented agent to get away.

Inside, Vivian paused while he took care of the lights. For security and insurance purposes, the building’s utilities remained active. She checked her weapon, and then they climbed the few steps to the lobby. The building’s two elevators were at the top of those steps.

“You want the stairs or the elevator?” She was fine with either one.

McBride hefted the backpack onto his shoulder. “I’ll take the stairs.”

Vivian hit the elevator’s call button as he walked away. When he was out of sight, she turned back to the elevator, but the call button hadn’t lit up as it should have. She pressed it again and waited just in case the problem was only a faulty light. The stairwell door closing behind McBride echoed in the deserted lobby. She rested her right hand on the butt of her weapon as she waited another minute for the elevator to respond.

She pressed the button a third time. What was wrong with this thing?

Still no light and no bump and slide sound in the shaft.

Okay, that was it. She wasn’t waiting any longer. Taking separate routes to ensure Fincher didn’t come down one way while they went up another had been a good plan, but time was wasting.

Watching for the slightest movement anywhere in the lobby, she took the same route as McBride. The idea that Fincher could be in here somewhere watching his cracked plan play out had her just the slightest bit unnerved. So far there was every indication that this man didn’t actually want to hurt anyone, but he was a nutcase—his motivation and goal could change any time without notice.

Once she was in the stairwell, McBride’s footsteps overhead allowed her to breathe again. She hustled to catch up. It wouldn’t have been possible if he hadn’t heard her and slowed the pace of his climb to wait for her.

“Elevator isn’t functioning,” she said between gasps for air. She hadn’t worked out in five days, and her body was revolting against the abrupt extra exertion.

“Could be a safety precaution in case of a break-in,” he offered.

Possibly. If vandals broke in, there was no reason to make their work easier. But then it could be Fincher’s doing.

“Top floor,” he announced as they arrived on five.

Slowly, methodically, they searched each floor, turning on lights as they went. Every office. Every closet. Every single window. That the rooms were empty helped speed up the process. A quick call to Pierce to report nothing at all as they reached the second floor met his “every half hour” demand.

The room on the second floor where the printing press had once produced the city’s news still housed equipment that required additional time. Then there was the shipping area. Any place Worth might be hidden had to be examined. They didn’t bother calling his name since the rest of the victims had been sedated. He likely had been as well.

They found zilch.

No planted explosives. No fire traps. No Worth.

The elevators were the same on each floor, nonfunctioning. Opening the doors manually had proven impossible.

“How much time do we have left?” McBride asked.

She checked her cell. “One hour twenty minutes.”

“He’s gotta be here. The door was open. The clues add up.” McBride walked around the lobby as they started back at square one. They surveyed the area, double-checked every nook and cranny.

“We’ll have to call in again soon, or Pierce will be sending in the troops.” She wasn’t anywhere near ready to give up, even if they did have nothing so far. Keeping Pierce and Birmingham PD out of here was essential. They didn’t want Fincher making good on his promise.

McBride stopped in the middle of the lobby, dropped the backpack, and bracketed his hands on his hips. “If we don’t find him first, he’s to take a fall,” he said, repeating the threat in the email. “He’s not hanging by a thread anywhere outside. Not in the stairwell. Not from any of the ceilings.” His gaze landed on hers. “He has to be in one of those elevator shafts.”

“That’s why the elevators aren’t working,” she agreed.

“Back to the top.” He grabbed the backpack and rushed toward the stairwell door.

By the time they reached five again, she was glad he was carrying the backpack. Her heart was racing. Her adrenaline was pumping hard, preparing her to face difficulty.