MirrorWorld

Walking calmly with the woman in my arms while showing no fear garners far less attention. A few people look my way, concern in their eyes, until they see my rock-solid confidence. It’s like some voice in their heads is saying, “Don’t worry. He’s got it under control.” And they go right back to chatting about what could have caused the double alarms. It’s a far greater mystery to them than the fate of the unconscious stranger dressed in a johnny. It’s also possible that Shiloh isn’t the only unconscious patient being brought out of the building. I didn’t get a look in the other rooms. They might have all been occupied for all I know.

I push the lock button. The horn responds, pulling my eyes to the right. Winters’s orange SUV is easy to see. Unfortunately, so is the woman my worried face sent running. She’s got a man in tow, but a quick assessment of the man reveals he’s not a threat. For starters, he’s pudgy and soft. But it’s the medical kit he’s holding, along with the red cross on his white polo shirt, that reveals he’s a medic, which, if I’m honest — and I always am — could come in handy.

“There he is!” the woman shouts, pointing at me.

The people around us turn and stare, but my continuing calm and the medic’s arrival make us a nonevent compared to the continuing evacuation. It probably helps that no one seems to recognize Shiloh. Or me.

“What’s wrong with her?” the medic asks me. He’s out of breath. Hands on knees.

I motion to the back of the SUV and click the unlock button. The rear lights flash yellow. “Get the hatch so I can lay her down.”

He nods quickly and opens the hatch. “Good idea.” He climbs inside the SUV and puts down the back seats. He turns to me and waves me in.

This is going to be easier than I thought.

I gently place Shiloh into the back of the SUV and the medic, supporting her head in one hand, helps guide her inside. Once she’s settled, he puts his fingers on her wrist and stares at his watch, checking her heart rate.

A hand on my arm turns me around. I’m ready to deliver a number of attacks, but it’s the concerned young woman. “What happened to her?”

“I rescued her,” I say.

She turns to the Neuro building. “Is there really a fire?”

A quick glance around reveals that no one is watching us. In reply to the woman’s question, I quickly squeeze, tap, and slap the same three pressure points that knocked Winters out cold. But here’s the thing: a very small number of people are resistant to the technique. This woman is one of those people. Instead of falling unconscious into my arms, she reels around and says, “Oww! What the hell was that—”

The butt of my empty handgun against the side of her head does a much better job. I catch her in my left arm and lay her down in the empty space beside Winters’s SUV. When I stand back up, the medic is staring at me with wide eyes. Eyebrows turned up in the middle. Lips pulled tight to the sides.

Now that’s what fear looks like.

I point the gun at him. “She’s your patient now. You take care of her and you’ll be just fine. Understood?”

He nods furiously.

With one last look around to confirm we’ve gone unnoticed, I close the SUV’s hatch.

That’s when a gunshot rips through the air.

“Everybody down!” The amplified voice is followed by a loud three-round burst. “On the ground! Now!”

All around the parking lot, people drop in fear.

All but one.

Dammit.

I need to start watching people’s fear-based social cues and mimic them when appropriate. It’s too late now. Being the only person still standing in the parking lot, in front of a bright-orange SUV, has made me stick out like a — well, like a bright-orange SUV.

I duck down a fraction of a second before the first bullet comes my way. I dive to the unforgiving pavement along the driver’s-side door. The gunfire stops as I disappear from sight. They want to stop me something fierce, but they’ve got a lot of bystanders to worry about, too. I roll back to my feet, staying low, and open the driver’s door.

The tall seats hide me from view when I climb inside, but that won’t be much help when the security teams flank the vehicle. If they’re even remotely competent, they have two teams already moving up the sides of the lot. I’ve got just a few seconds.

“Who are you?” the medic asks.

I glance back, reassessing the man. Most people would have bolted when I came under fire, but he stayed by Shiloh’s side. He’s got a blanket over her and a blood pressure cuff on her arm.

“And what happened to this woman?” He lifts her arm, revealing the string of bruises.

“Wish I knew,” I tell him, answering both questions. “Better hold on tight.”

He nods and lies down, draping an arm, a leg, and a portion of his torso over Shiloh’s body. It’s as secure as they’re going to get.