“Steve, listen to me, you have to get us out of here, all right?” Mike heard Dr. Walker giving orders to someone behind him. “Just tell me, is there any way out of this thing?”

There was a long pause, as if Calhoun were awaiting translation. Then: “It’s an elevator, Mike. If you’re stuck between floors, there’s nothing I can do, you know, except like I said—”

On the stretcher, Snow’s mouth was open, his throat producing a raspy crow noise. Rraww. It could have been an effort to breathe or—

It could be laughter. He’s actually laughing. He’s laughing at us, trapped in here with him.

“Rraww!” Snow cried. “Rraww!”

“What the fuck is this?” Repko asked.

Mike looked up. Even Walker had moved away from Snow now, staring at him from what little distance he could manage.

“Hey, Mike?” Calhoun’s voice asked from far away. “You still alive in there, buddy?”

The elevator shook again, followed by the low underwater creaking sound of heavy weights straining against reluctant pulleys, and then, so slowly that it might have been an illusion at first, the car began to rise. Mike heard several sighs of relief from the cops.

“Steve? It’s working again.”

“Praise Jesus,” Oz said, not sounding wholly sarcastic about it.

Through the receiver, Calhoun made a grunting sound. Somehow he sounded more disturbed now than he had a moment earlier. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Tell him to meet us up on six.” Dr. Walker’s voice was brusque. “I need him to unlock the equipment room up there for the vent.” He paused as if considering whether to state the obvious: “And Mike?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell him to take the stairs.”

8.

“You want some of this?” Jolie asked, holding up the bottle. “It’s already lost its fizz.”

She hadn’t actually asked the older officer, McPhee, to stay down here with her in MRI while she packed her things, but she was grateful for his company just the same. All the other cops had gone up in the elevator with Snow and Walker and Mike Hughes, but their departure had left a void that made her jumpy, and she was not someone who was easily spooked.

McPhee shook his head. “I don’t drink.”

“It’s just sparkling grape juice.”

“Nah.” From the sound, he was still on the other side of the suite, watching her. “Say, that’s some tan you’ve got there.”

“Thanks. My boyfriend says I’m going to get skin cancer if I’m not careful.”

McPhee ignored the boyfriend reference, maybe didn’t even hear it. “You go to one of those salons?”

“Sometimes.”

“No tan lines, huh?”

Jolie gave him a dollar-store smile, the kind that any lonely guy worth his Maxim subscription would’ve read as a great big No Entry sign. “I don’t believe in half-measures.” Now she was just blathering, filling empty space while she packed the last few items from her locker: a spare scrub top, mouthwash, contact solution, a financial self-help paperback called Prince Charming Isn’t Coming. “I’m ready if you are.”