Vince came into view as he stopped in the doorway.
Her lungs froze as she watched from the gap beneath the couch.
She could see most of him. Could he see her? Did he know she was there?
A long moment passed.
Then another.
Her heart continued to race.
What was he doing?
She watched as he paused near the lighting bar and lifted a screwdriver he’d brought back with him.
He loosened a screw on one of the fixtures near the top.
Using his finger, he grabbed one of the can lights and nudged it.
It fell, landing on Thayer’s head with a sickening thud.
Her breath caught.
Vince took one more slow look around the room, and his gaze stopped on something.
He slipped a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped down the table where Thayer hit his head. Then he walked toward the door.
Her heart pulsed in her ears as she struggled to remain silent.
A few minutes later, the sound of his footsteps faded. Somewhere down the hall, a door opened and closed.
Rowan stayed where she was and counted.
Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty.
She didn’t hear anything else. Vince should be gone . . . right?
She had to get out of here. Was this her opportunity?
She scrambled from behind the couch and paused for only a moment beside Thayer.
Grief clutched her heart as she stared at his lifeless body.
“I’m so sorry, Thayer,” she murmured. “So sorry.”
Wasting no more time, she sprinted through the door, down the hallway, and away from the office wing. Her shoulderbumped the wall in her haste to leave, and pain shot through her.
She ignored it.
The exit door opened onto a side alley.
She burst outside, and the night air hit her like cold water.
She kept moving around the corner of the building until she reached the edge of the parking area.
She paused and pressed herself against the exterior wall. Panic threatened to overtake her. She couldn’t afford to have an anxiety attack right now.
Instead, she focused on breathing—slow in, slow out.
