Melnikova, in Trish’s body, strolled casually, unconcernedly through the squad room, straight for Wilkins.
He watched, his insides churning in horror and disbelief, as the pride of the Lawrencedale Police Department tried in vain to stop her, to slow her, to even get her attention. She took only a few seconds to reach him, but to Wilkins it seemed like her approach would never end. Forster stood frightened and staring at his side.
There’s Pete Hanson, all 285 pounds of him leaping onto her shoulders, he thought. She’s brushed him away as easily as if he’d been a strand of errant hair. Somehow that little gesture has thrown him backward into the wall. He’s down, stunned. Reardon, the former college fullback, is charging her head-on. Bounces off, hits Williamson. Greene grabs her arm. He’s
