Echo 8 Read Online Free PDF Page A

corridor.
    â€œOh my God, Ross!” She pressed slender fingers against Tess’s pale throat.
    Tess had lost consciousness and her head hung limply, arms and legs dangling. Ross adjusted his hold to better support her neck as Carmichael’s hands fluttered over her face.
    â€œIs she alive?” he asked tightly.
    â€œI’m barely getting a pulse.” Carmichael shook her head, frowning. “She’s cold as ice.”
    He knew; she was chilling him even through his suit jacket and shirt.
    â€œShe needs a doctor,” Carmichael said.
    Their gazes met. The Echo threat was classified. The panic generated by going public could kill more people than the Echoes themselves. At least that had been the opinion of the dignitaries attending the summit.
    Ross’s heart jumped as he noticed a lock of hair on the left side of Tess’s face had blanched white as snow. “Let’s get her upstairs. I’ll contact the Seattle Field Office and have them send someone with clearance.”
    For whatever good it would do. Echo attacks left no wounds. No marks. Just empty, dried-up husks. There was conceivably hope for Tess in the fact the fade had stopped before draining her completely. Whether or not a survivor’s energy could recharge was a question they’d never had the opportunity to ask.
    He followed Tess’s supervisor down the corridor toward the central stairway.
    â€œYour apartment,” said Carmichael, reading his mind. He could have easily carried Tess up to the third floor—she felt like she weighed about twenty-five pounds—but his instincts warned him they couldn’t afford to waste any time.
    They exited the stairs at the second-floor landing. The setting sun glared through a window at the end of the hall, polished wood floor reflecting coppery light. It was August and far too warm up here—the building was sealed like a tomb, and the ancient ductwork circulated mysterious noises better than air. Sweat trickled between his shoulder blades, but for Tess’s sake he was glad for the heat.
    When they reached his apartment, Carmichael pushed open the leviathan of a door that Ross hadn’t bothered to lock. The hundred-year-old hinges protested with a series of loud cracks, like rifle fire.
    â€œPut her down on the bed,” ordered Carmichael, pulling back the covers. Ross was grateful for the director’s steady presence. He wasn’t used to someone else calling the shots, but the situation was awkward. He barely knew the woman in his arms, but if she woke scared and confused, he knew he was the last person she would want to see.
    He laid Tess gently on his bed, digging out his phone while Carmichael covered her with blankets. He had to speak to three people before he reached someone senior enough to field his request, but by the time he hung up they had reached a physician.
    â€œShe’s in the north part of town,” said Ross. “Twenty minutes.”
    Carmichael groaned. “What are we supposed to do until then?”
    â€œKeep her warm.”
    The director touched the younger woman’s cheek. “This isn’t helping.” She glanced up at him. “I think we should try the bathtub.”
    Ross crossed to the closet-sized bathroom, grateful for something to do. Despite the fact Tess had been the one to insist on interviewing Jake, he couldn’t help feeling he’d failed her. The professional tension between them had distracted him, just like the opening night of the summit, when he’d walked both feet into his mouth.
    The guy was dead . But this was no reassurance. They didn’t even know what dead meant with these people. Apparently a dust smear on the floor was not dead enough to call it.
    Shedding his jacket and loosening his tie, he rolled up his sleeves and filled the tub, testing the water temperature against his wrist.
    â€œRoss?”
    He hopped up and hurried back out to the main room. Glancing