“I can’t sit around and play dumb, Sam!” The aggression in his tone surprised him. “I have to do something.”

She faced 369 Thirty-third Street again. Time was ticking. Sixty-two minutes. Kevin wiped a trickling line of sweat from his temple with the back of his hand.

“Doesn’t seem right,” Sam said.

“Too easy.”

She didn’t respond.

“We don’t have a key—how are we getting in?” he asked.

“Depends. Getting in isn’t the concern. What if he’s rigged it to blow upon entry?”

“That’s not his game,” Kevin said. “He said ninety minutes. Wouldn’t he stick to his own rules?”

She nodded. “Has so far. Blew the bus ahead of schedule but only because we broke the rules. Still doesn’t seem right.” She cracked her door. “Okay, let’s see what we have here.”

Kevin got out and followed Sam toward the building. As far as he could see in both directions, the street was empty. A warm late afternoon breeze lifted dust from the pavement in a small dust devil twenty feet to his right. The plastic Mountain Dew bottle thumped quietly against the entry door. Somewhere a crow cawed. If Jennifer had figured out the riddle, at least she wasn’t making the mistake of swarming in with the cops. They walked up to a steel door with a corroded deadbolt.

“So how arewe getting in?” Kevin whispered.

Sam eased the plastic bottle aside with her foot, put a hand on the doorknob, and twisted. The door swung in with a creak. “Like that.”

They exchanged stares. Sam stuck her head into the black opening, looked around briefly, and pulled back. “You sure you’re up to this?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“I could go in alone.”

Kevin looked at the dark gap and squinted. Black. The gun was still back in the trunk.

“Okay, I’m going around back to see what we have,” Sam said. “Wait for me to signal you. When you go in, find lights and turn them on, but otherwise touch nothing. Look for anything out of the ordinary. Could be a suitcase, a box, anything not covered in dust. I’ll work my way through the warehouse in the dark just in case someone’s in there. Unlikely, but we’ll take the precaution. Clear?”

“Yes.” Kevin wasn’t sure how clear it was. His mind was still on the gun in the trunk.

“Go easy.” She edged to the corner, looked around, and then disappeared.

Kevin ran for the car on his tiptoes. He found the shiny silver pistol where he’d hidden it under the carpet behind the spare tire. He shoved it into his belt, closed the trunk as quietly as he could, and hurried back to the warehouse.

The gun handle stuck out from his belly like a black horn. He pulled his shirt over the butt and flattened it as best he could.

Darkness shrouded the warehouse interior. Still no signal from Sam. Kevin poked his head in and peered through the oil-thick blackness. He reached in and felt for a light switch along the wall. His fingers touched a cool metal box with a plastic switch on its face. He flipped the switch.

A loud hum. Light flooded the warehouse. He grabbed at his midsection and withdrew the gun. Nothing stirred.

He peeked again. A vacant foyer with a receiving desk. Lots of dust. The smell of mildewing rags filled his nostrils. But nothing like a bomb that he could see. Beyond the receiving area, stairs led up to a second floor. Offices. A panel of switches was mounted to the wall at the foot of the stairs. Marks broke the dust directly up the middle of the steps. Footprints.

He instinctively pulled his head from the door. Slater! Had to be. Sam was right; this was it!

Still no signal from her. Unless she’d called him and he’d missed it. With all these walls it was possible.

Kevin held his breath and slipped through the door. He stood still for a moment and then walked on the balls of his feet toward the receiving desk. Behind the desk—could be a place for a bomb. No, the footprints went up . . .

Clunk!

Kevin whirled around. The door had swung shut! The wind? Yes, the wind had—

Click. The lights went out.

Kevin started in the direction of the door, blinded by darkness. He took several quick steps, stuck out a hand, and groped for the door. His knuckles smashed into steel. He fumbled for the handle, found it, and twisted.

But it refused to turn. He gripped hard and jerked the handle first to the left and then to the right. Locked.

Okay, Kevin, stay calm. It’s one of those doors that stays locked.Except that it had opened for Sam. Because she was on the outside.

Wasn’t it normally the other way around?

He turned and yelled. “Sam?” His voice sounded muted.

“Sam!” This time the word echoed from beyond the stairs.

He’d seen a light panel by the stairs. Maybe they operated other lights? Kevin turned and walked toward the stairs, but his knees found the reception desk first. The crash sent a bolt of electricity through his nerves and he nearly dropped the gun. He stepped to the side and shuffled up to where he remembered the light switches.

“Samantha!”

He slapped the wall, found the switches, and palmed them on. No lights.

The floor above him creaked. “Sam?”

“Kevin!” Sam! Her voice sounded distant, from the back, as if she was still outside the building.

“Sam, I’m in here!”

His eyes had adjusted to the darkness. Light glowed from the upper level. Kevin glanced back toward the door, saw only darkness, and mounted the stairs. Light glowed faintly above him, a window maybe.

“Sam?”

She didn’t respond.

He had to get to some light! Another floorboard creaked and he whipped around, gun extended. Was the weapon cocked? He snugged his thumb over the hammer and pulled it back. Click. Easy, Kevin. You’ve never shot a gun in your life. You shoot at a shadow and it might be Sam. And what if the gun doesn’t even work?

He headed up the stairs on weak legs.

“Kevin!”

Sam’s voice came from his right and forward, definitely outside. He paused halfway up the steps, tried to still his breathing so that he could hear better, but finally gave up and hurried toward the light at the top.

The glow came from a doorway at the end of a barely visible hallway. His breathing came hushed and low now. Something thumped down the hall. He held his breath. There it was again, a step. Boots. Directly ahead and to his right. From one of the other rooms along the hall. Sam? No, Sam was still outside! Dear God, give me strength.He felt exposed standing in the hall. What was he thinking, waltzing up the stairs as if he were some kind of gunslinger?

Frantic, Kevin stepped to the faint outline of a doorway on his right. The floorboards protested under his feet. He cleared the doorway and slid back against the wall on his left.

Boots. There was definitely someone else on the upper floor with him. Could be Sam if the acoustics had misdirected her voice. Could it be her? Sure it could.

It is, Kevin. It’s Sam. She’s in the next room, and she’s found the bomb. No, her voice had been distant. And she didn’t walk like that. No way.

Her voice suddenly came again, faint. “Kevin!”

This time there was no mistake, Sam was yelling at him from below, out near the front door now. Her fist pounded on the steel door.

“Kevin, are you in there?”

He took one step back toward the doorway. The boot again. Thumping in the next room.

Someone was in there! Slater. He gripped the pistol tightly. Slater had lured him in. That’s why the riddle was so simple. A dread spread through his bones.

Sam was at the front door. The deadbolt wasn’t engaged—she should be able to either break it or pick it.

Another thought occurred to him. The bomb was probably set to go off—what if he was trapped in here when it did? What if the cops came and Slater detonated the bomb early? But Sam would never allow the cops anywhere near the warehouse now.