Free UNSEEN by John Michael Hileman Page B

weeks, every day till six."
    Angela grabbed her binoculars and made a quick scan of the grounds; it would make matters less complicated if she could locate Mark Phillips before stepping on site.
    There were only eight men visible inside the hollow ribcage of the building. Three of them were poring cement near the back. The one who had his back turned was of average height, with a lean build. His pose resembled the slight leaning stance of the serial killer while his white work helmet gave the appearance of a mask.
    " I think I see him," she said. "He’s pouring cement near the back." She set the binoculars on the seat and got out of the car. Perez came around and joined her.
    " As soon as we step inside, the foreman is going to make a bee line toward us and tell us we need a helmet. I want you to play interference." They started across the street. "I don't want Mark to know we’re coming, so let's enter through that right door where the plastic is." She pointed.
    They crossed the dirt parking lot, keeping an eye on the three men at the rear of the building, and entered through the right door. The smell of dust and dirt filled Angela's nostrils. In the surprising quiet of the construction site, she could hear the dirt crunching between her shoes and the cement floor. Some of the men were eating lunch, and two others were pouring over a blueprint laid out on a piece of plywood between two sawhorses.
    One by one heads turned toward them, and soon all eyes were watching. Angela kept her eyes fixed on Mark Phillips. He set a bag of cement down in front of him, wiped his forehead with the back of his dirty grey hand, and looked up. His first expression was one of confusion, but when she held her badge up, it changed to fear.
    " Mark Phillips, I'm Special Agent Angela Grant with the FBI. I need to ask you a few questions." Her voice reflected off cement and metal.
    Mark took a step backwards, and Perez said under his breath. "He’s gonna run isn’t he? Tell me he's not gonna run."
    With that, Mark bolted toward the rear door. Angela and Perez took off after him.
    " I hate it when they run!" shouted Perez. He was a muscular Mexican with a little extra meat around the midsection; great for breaking down doors, but not so great for chasing criminals. Angela’s full bodied figure wasn't ideal for chasing down criminals either, but she tended to surprise her colleagues by how quickly she could move.
    Angela cut through the center of the building in a dead sprint, then slowed at the rear door opening. The way was clear. Mark was sliding down the embankment immediately behind the building.
    " Stop! We just want to ask you some questions!"
    He continued to slide, so she slid down after him. The sharp gravel bit through her pants and into her hand. Perez ran along the bank and headed down to cut Mark off. There were only two choices, head toward the parking lot on the other side of the road that skirted the embankment, or run down the road and enter the residential neighborhood.
    Mark Phillips got to the road and looked back. Agent Grant was halfway down the embankment. There was no way he was going to make it to the houses, so he jumped the guardrail and ran across the parking lot. At the far end was a fitness center, and beyond that a tree line. If he got to the tree line, he might lose them.
    Angela hit the bottom of the embankment hard and regained her footing. As she ran her hand ripped the radio from the velcro on her belt and she brought it to her mouth. "Suspect is fleeing on foot to Boyd's Gym! We need backup!" She leaped over the guardrail. He was only one row ahead of her. If she dug in, she might be able to catch him.
    Her heart pounded in her ears, her nose and lungs burned with each breath. Slowly the gap between them closed. But it wasn't enough. He made it to the gym and ran up the stairs and through the door.
    Angela followed. She cut right and ran up two flights of stairs to see Mark running down a wide hallway with a