Chapter 2

Window cleaners. Not terrorists.He felt like a fool. But before he could sit down, the building circled and rolled slightly underfoot. He steadied himself by holding onto the corner of his desk.

Earthquake. Mild.

It was over in about forty-five seconds, Ryan thought, but it had spilled his cafe macchiato all over the papers on his desk.

The new high-rise was built to withstand tremors, but he watched in horror as the big platform cables snapped on the end where the man in the khakis was working. The man’s hands clamped onto the railing and he hung on as it dropped.

Ryan yanked his phone out of its cradle and dialed.

An even, steady voice responded, “Nine-one-one emergency. What are you reporting?”

As he talked, he shrugged out of his suit jacket, pulled his tie loose, and let it hang as he unbuttoned his top shirt button. He couldn’t control the shake in his voice as he explained the dilemma of the window washers. It irritated him when the dispatcher patiently repeated what he’d said and asked for his name and location a second time.

“Get help quick! Oh, God, it’s swinging toward my window!”

Ryan dove under his desk as the dispatcher said, “Stay on the line, sir.”

“I’m on, I’m on!” He curled into a ball and covered his face, cradling the phone to his chest. It took three blows before the safety glass cracked. “It’s broken the window! The Orion Building. Thirtieth floor, suite seven. Hurry!”

When no other blows happened, he ventured out from the desk’s kneehole.

“Are you still with me, sir?”

“Yes.”

“Are you injured?”

“No, but here it comes again. I’m getting back under the desk!” He remembered to stay on the line. The gondola demolished much of the glass remaining in the center of the window, scattering pieces of glass on the expensive gray carpet. Apparently, shatter proofdidn’t mean unbreakable. “I’m okay,” he told her as he stood after the platform retreated.

“Estimated time of arrival for fire trucks and ambulance is ten minutes, sir. Can you safely look to see if the window washers are all right? Remember to stay on the line with me.”

He might be a corporate officer, but he was terrified of unguarded heights, and a strong breeze was now blowing in from the opening. Standing timidly to one side of the window, where glass remained, he shouted, “I’ve called nine-one-one. Help will be here soon. Are either of you hurt?”

The men were wearing goggles and yellow hard hats. Doc Martens shook his head for himself, but pointed to the co-worker he supported.

“Dispatcher, the older man doesn’t look good. He’s clutching his left arm and is having chest pain. We need that ambulance. “

“They’re on their way, sir. Estimated time of arrival is now eight minutes. You should be hearing sirens soon.”

He listened, then smiled as he crept to the window and called to the men, “Hear those sirens? Fire trucks and ambulances. Hang on. They’ll be here soon.”

The dispatcher said, “If you can, sir, keep them talking. See if you can get their names and the name of the company they’re with. I’ll notify the owners.” The calm voice irritated him because it didn’t reflect his panic, and yet it soothed as it offered hope everything would work out.

Why get their names?Of course—if the remaining cables broke, they’d be dead before anyone could find out who they were.Goose bumps popped up on his arms, joining the dark hairs standing up on them.

He called to them again and transmitted their names and that of the company to the voice on the phone. For one crazy moment, he thought of stopping the movement of the platform by looping his belt over the top railing and pulling, but, hell, he’d be yanked out of the window. Dealing with emergency dispatch was all the help he could give. It wasn’t a good feeling when the need was this urgent.

“It’s time to open your door and wait for the rescue team, please, but stay on the line. Don’t hang up until I do.”

“I’m going to the door to let the firefighters in!” he shouted out the window.

The elevator dinged, and as the door slid open, men in fire gear pushed through. He waved. “This way!”

The first firefighter’s helmet was red and his badge read Captain Barrington. The other firefighters wore yellow helmets. The man whose badge read Garrison seemed to be second in command. The captain briefly paused in front of Ryan to confirm he was the one who had called and this was the correct suite, then he signaled his crew to follow.

As firefighters carrying grappling hooks and an axe rushed past, the elevator doors opened again and paramedics and EMTs in dark blue spilled out, rolling two beds toward Ryan. Soon his office was swarming with men and women in uniform, and the man with the axe was knocking the last of the broken glass from the window frame. He was knocking the glass into the room, mindful of any spectators on the sidewalk below. Another man had commandeered a broom from somewhere. He swept the glass away from the rescue and first aid areas.