30
No more dead babies.
Thin rays of sunlight came through the skylight in the ceiling, illuminating a large lobby with gray carpets and a curved wooden desk along the wall opposite the door. Half a dozen people – most of them women – knelt in front of the bench seats in the middle of the room with fingers laced over their heads.
Christopher tossed the receptionist to the floor.
A tall woman in a black skirt and matching blouse, she landed on all fours, her dark hair fanning over her back. “Please,” she whimpered, her body shaking with every gasp. “You don't have to do this.”
Christopher stood over her in blue jeans and a gray t-shirt, the gun in his right hand pointed at the back of her head. He was a tall man with pale skin, stubble on his jawline and dark hair that he wore neatly c
