Page 38 of Shadowed Agenda

“Five minutes,” Pavlo said.

Regan nodded and left the restaurant.

She was a few yards away from the elevator when the trembling started. Worried the two other people waiting for the elevator would notice her shaking hands, Regan curled her fingers into her palms. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, and she could barely breathe.

She couldn’t do it.

Regan’s brain worked frantically to control her jelly legs, and she walked past the elevator to the stairs.

No one would be in the stairwell this early in the morning. Still shaking off sleep, they’d take the elevator. It’d be safe. She would hear anyone from above or below enter the stairwell. If she felt uncomfortable, she could run to the closest exit.

Regan pushed the door open and stepped inside the stairwell. Leaning against the cool cement wall to steady herself, she silently cursed. She couldn’t live her life in fear of elevators.

The effort wasn’t a failure, just a postponement.

When they left for the book signing on the fourth floor, she’d try again. It was fewer floors with less time to panic.

One thing she couldn’t do was admit to Pavlo that she’d chickened out. She’d tell him there was a crowd waiting for the elevator. It was a better excuse. Regan trudged up the stairs, wishing she’d thrown on her jeans instead of her black Louboutins and pencil skirt purchased in the hotel’s boutique. She usually dressed for the day when she woke up rather than changing several times.

Regan was only on the third floor when she heard a door below open. Whoever had entered the stairwell was wearing more comfortable shoes than her and ascending quickly. It couldn’t be Pavlo. Her five minutes weren’t up and she was supposed to meet him as he exited the elevator.

Pushing herself, Regan held on to the railing for balance and picked up her speed. The tap of her heels on the concrete steps echoed in the stairwell. She could hear the person below her speed up. Regan hiked up the hem of her skirt with her free hand so she could move more quickly.

As she reached the landing of the fifth floor, she glanced down the rectangular abyss between the stairs. There was a flash of red. Regan was positive it was a baseball cap.

Adrenaline shot through her. She yanked her skirt higher, a ripping sound accompanying the movement. Regan ran up the stairs, not daring to look behind her. She could feel him closing in.

He caught up with her on the seventh-floor landing. His arm shot out and grabbed her around the waist. One of her heels fell off, and tumbled down the steps.

The man dragged her to the side of the stairwell door, where people couldn’t see them on their way to the elevator. Regan opened her mouth to scream, and he slammed her against the wall, covering her mouth with his hand. He was wearing the same red baseball cap he’d had in the FBI photograph.

He whipped out a butterfly knife and flashed it in her face. “We’re going to have a little talk. You try to move or scream, and I’ll use the knife. Nod if you understand.”

Regan nodded, and he removed his hand from her mouth.

“I’ve agreed to the private book signing,” Regan spat, ignoring the sickening wave of fear that swept through her. She wouldn’t allow herself to be weak. The man holding her at knifepoint was the same as a schoolyard bully. Fear was their drug of choice. “I asked Finlay Giammarino to run the exclusive story. The Senator said it was a surprise. I haven’t divulged Mrs. Aster’s name.”

He studied her momentarily as if deciding if she was telling the truth, then leaned forward. His sour breath made Regan wrinkle her nose in disgust.

“We’ll be watching. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you change your mind,” he said.

The stairwell door beneath them opened and closed.

“Sorry.” A woman’s voice drifted up. “It’s so early. I didn’t expect anyone else to be using the stairs.”

The man was quick. Before Regan could react, he’d yanked her away from the wall and thrown her in front of him like a shield. She couldn’t move. The butterfly knife bit into her neck as he dragged her to the edge of the landing at the edge of the stairs. A warm, thin line of blood trickled down her neck.

Pavlo rounded the corner of the stairwell. His eyes flickered to the discarded high heel lying on the step. The smile on his face died when he looked up and saw her at the top of the stairs.

Her attacker loosened his grip, startled by Pavlo’s arrival. Regan drove the heel of her remaining stiletto into his foot. He howled and dropped the hand holding the knife.

Pavlo rushed up the stairs, but the guy had already recovered. He pushed Regan down the stairs before Pavlo reached the top.

Regan screamed as she flew at Pavlo. It was like hitting a brick wall. Pavlo didn’t move an inch as he wrapped his arms around her, preventing her from tumbling down the stairs.

“Pavlo…” Regan squeezed his name out of lungs that couldn’t suck in enough air. She clung to him as he climbed the remaining stairs to the seventh-floor landing.

The diversion had given her attacker enough time to reach the eighth floor. Regan heard the stairwell door above them slam shut.