Cold Heart Read Online Free

terror another. Every footstep, every breath, echoed down the hallway as though it were amplified by the entire equipment setup for the Grateful Dead.
    No problem.
    She hurried down the narrow corridor, moving from one side to the other, opening each door, flipping on each light, flipping it back off, closing each door as silently as possible. Every room was the same.
    All I have to do is survive long enough for the cops to get the firepower to take this guy out.
    But officers on the beat didn't carry armor-piercing shells. More than likely someone would have to be sent to the nearestgun shop to purchase or requisition some. In the meantime the pair outside would be pretty much unstoppable. And that meant that sooner or later, the bastard in the bar was going to discover the door into the corridor.
    Micky reached the last cubicle on her right. The room was identical to the rest. But she had nowhere else to go. And just like her, the bastard would have to search every room.
    But she couldn't make herself go in.
    She was hyperventilating. If she didn't control her breathing, she would faint on the floor and the son of a bitch would wind up shooting her in the back while she was passed out. But she had no more control over her breathing than she did over her hands, which were again shaking like leaves in a high wind. She put her left sleeve in her mouth and bit down hard, inhaling through the constricted opening.
    She glanced down the length of the corridor, at the thin metal door between her and the killer, and suddenly it was as though the metal were dark glass and she could see the bastard through it.
    He's looking at the door
    He's turning toward it.
    He's lifting the machine pistol.
    His finger is fumbling for the trigger.
    She dove into the tiny room.
    A burst of automatic weapon fire ripped jagged holes through the center of the metal door between the corridor and the bar, and blew out the lights in the hallway. Micky cowered against the wall of the tiny massage room, slamming the flimsy door shut while the bastard was still firing.
    Far away, there was the sound of more sirens and gunfire.
    So they still haven't been able to subdue the bastard's partner.
    The room squeezed around her like a boa constrictor.
    It was dark as pitch but she was certain that the walls were closing in. The ceiling was lowering. She bit her sleeve, gagging for air.
    Now, I suppose I'll piss my pants.
    Anger welled up, tempering the fear that bound her.
    He still isn't through the damn door.
    And he had to get into the room to kill her.
    Well, not exactly.
    The walls were paper-thin drywall, and the door into the massage room was a bargain-basement, hollow-core type. All the bastard really had to do was establish where she was and then blast right through the wall. She leaned on the tissue paper on the table and nearly fell off when it slid across the slick vinyl.
    Setting the Glock on the tabletop, she moved to the far end of the room. The wall behind her seemed to be right against her back. The claustrophobia was driving her mad but her fear of the gunman and her growing anger buffered it. She bent and gripped the end of the table with both hands, wedging her knee against the rear wall.
    The table gave an inch, scratching across the filthy floor.
    The cry of the blasted metal door screeched against the tiles outside and echoed down the hallway.
    The gunman was entering the corridor.
    She took a shaky breath and tugged again.
    The table gave another inch.
    The metal door in the hall crashed, as though it had been kicked viciously.
    Micky tugged harder.
    The table gave a little more and she wedged her knee between it and the rear wall. Placing both hands on the top, she levered with her leg at the same time. The table crept along the wall enough for her to slip in sideways behind it. But not enough for her to crouch and hide. And it still didn't block the door.
    She shoved with her legs, her hips, and both arms. The table slid a bit easier, just