Chapter SevenThe feeling of danger doesn’t go away.
I instinctively jump back, nearly tripping over the brick’s carcass.
A bucket with paint lands where I stood, splattering all over the pavement to create a modern art painting.
What the hell?
I force my stunned brain to work and make my body move toward the building.
As soon as I take a step, a wrench smacks into the paint blotch; then more instruments follow in a deadly metallic hail.
I look up as I start running. On the side of the scaffolding is one of those rope elevators that window cleaners and construction workers use, only this one is slanted toward the ground. Clearly, the hazardous materials slid from there.
I bet they’re breaking a million regulations by using that thing without fencing off the work area. Is Brighton Bea
