Deadly Interest

by Julie Hyzy

  As I put one hand flat on the carpet, followed by another, followed by my knees, I plotted out our path. If it was open, the elevator would be our best shot at escape. If not, the “ding” would alert anyone else on this level to our position and there wouldn’t be enough time for the doors to open, us to get inside, and the doors to close again before he’d be upon us.

  If the doors were open, we could creep in silently, hit the button for the first floor, and be on our way down just as he realized we were there. It could work.

  Knee, hand, knee, hand. I glanced back at Maya. She was staying with me, her face a mask of intensity. Good girl.

  We crawled to the far wall of filing cabinets; in our dark jackets and jeans we could be chameleons and disappear into the background. We just needed a minute’s head start. A half-minute, even.

  My right knee came down on the side of hard plastic push-pin. Biting the insides of my cheeks, I resisted the urge to cry out in pain. Concentrate, I told myself.

  We had only about twenty more crawl-steps to go, but the elevator was around the doorway and I wouldn’t be able to see if it was open or not without coming out into the pale corridor light.

  Our only other option was the stairway. If we made it to the hall unnoticed, we could stand up and run to the stairs. With a good enough head start, we could make it down ten flights ahead of him. Sure we could.

  With a lurch, my stomach remembered an article I’d read once about danger in stairways, and how they were particularly hazardous places. Most office building stairways didn’t allow exit until one reached the first floor. We’d have to make it all the way down, or be trapped if the intruder beat us down by taking the elevator.

  We would have to get to the elevator first, noise or no noise.

  I’d been straining to hear any sound at all from anywhere on the floor. I heard nothing. Part of me wanted to believe that either the security guard had made a quick stop on ten and then left again, or that the elevator had mysteriously taken a trip down and back up by itself.

  I could feel my heart. People always say that, but I never really believed it. Now, I knew it was true. My heart beat, and I felt the pulsations in my eardrums speed up as we neared the open loan department doors.

  No one there.

  Bracing myself, I moved forward just slightly, enough to peer around into the corridor. All I wanted was to see if the elevator was there. To see if it was open. To see if we could make our break.

  A fast shadow movement from my left made me gasp, but before I could react, Owen Riordan jerked to a stop in front of my flat-on-the-floor hands.

  “Don’t move.” I didn’t. His voice was harsh and high, breathless. “Okay, now, slow,” he said, “get up.” Frozen to the spot, I stared up at him; he kicked at my shoulder with his foot. “I said, get your ass up.”

  Scrambling to my feet, I glanced at Maya, who cowered in terror.

  When I turned back, I saw why. Owen held a gun close to my face, its long silver barrel lined up so perfectly at my eyes, that I could see the scalloped edges of the hollow bullets in its cylinder.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  “You goddamn nosy bitch,” he said. The small baseboard lights from the surrounding corridor lit up Owen’s face from below, emphasizing his scowl and hollowing out his eye sockets. I couldn’t read him.

  Shoving the gun into my shoulder, he pressed me back against the wall until I bumped into Maya, close behind. I grabbed her hand, squeezing it in a show of bravery I didn’t really feel.

  “What the hell is wrong with you, Maya? I thought you were a smart girl.”

  She didn’t answer, but I could feel her body tremble against mine. If Owen had been the guy who’d attacked me and Diana—and right about now I decided he was—then I knew better than to underestimate him. Beneath that burgeoning layer of paunch, the man had power. But this time, I told myself—this time I was not going down so easily.

  When he spoke again, his words were sharp. “Did you get everything you came for? Think you’re some kind of detectives? Got old Owen all figured out?”

  I’d gotten over the initial shock of being discovered, and my mind started to plot out escape routes. Something about the way he handled the weapon—the way he waved it between us, the way his body swaggered as he did so—seemed theatric. As if the gun imbued him with a power that he didn’t know how to control.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, working to achieve nonchalance, but the unevenness of my voice was a dead giveaway. “We were just leaving.”

  “Cut the shit. I know goddamn well what you came for. And what you think you found.” Moonlight glinted off the barrel of the gun that he waved between us, again. “Empty out your purses.”

  My pepper spray. It was in there. I reached into my cavernous bag, fingers making a quick search for the trusty weapon.

  “No, wait,” he said. “Drop your purses. On the floor.”

  “But—” I started to say.

  “Drop them!” He screamed. We dropped our bags; they made clanging thunks as they hit the ground. “Now . . . back away from them.”

  With the tip of his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth, he kept an eye trained on both of us as he crouched to pick up both purses. The gun pointed upward, and if I’d have tried to smash his chin with a well-placed kick, I risked having him yank the trigger and the gun take off half my face.

  Owen must have noticed me eyeing the gun, because he took a step backward, effectively out of my reach when he stood up again. Backing away two more steps, he upended both purses on the nearest desk, nabbing the original application I’d taken, and all the paperwork we’d so carefully researched and copied. One-handed, using the desk as a brace, he folded the information into quarters and shoved the thick wad into his back pocket.

  I noticed, for the first time, that he wore skin-tight leather gloves. “Stupid,” he said under his breath. Looking up at Maya, his voice took on a tone of blame. “Why can’t you stupid women ever leave things alone? Goddamn nosy bitches. All of you.” He kept watching us, even as he continued to dig through our belongings.

  If I made a move, Maya would move with me. I forced myself to believe that she would, otherwise, I risked the paralysis of indecision.

  “Did you know,” Owen said, in an almost conversational tone, “that you were going to be dead today?” His pale eyes glanced up, waited for a response from us. When we gave him none, he set back to his purse-search. “Isn’t that something? It’s weird isn’t it? Knowing when you’ll die. And knowing there isn’t a thing you can do about it.”

  Like hell, I thought, but hearing his words shook me.

  “Ah,” he said, “here’s one.” He held up Maya’s cell phone. Even in the dark I saw his grin, the triumphant head-swagger. “Now where’s the other one?”

  My cell phone sat in my back jeans pocket, as always set to vibrate rather than ring. With a start, I remembered Lulinski had promised to keep in touch. I whispered a prayer that if he did call, I’d be able to stifle my reaction to the sudden buzz.

  “I don’t have mine,” I said.

  Owen stopped, mid-search. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Fine,” I said, forcing bravado into my voice. “Keep looking. Don’t let me stop you.”

  “Then, where is it?” he asked, with just enough inquisitiveness that let me know he believed me.

  “At home,” I lied. “Charging the battery.”

  He seemed to weigh the answer, finally deciding to believe me, because he gave up on the pile on the desk. I tried hard not to show visible relief.

  “Okay, over there,” he said, gesturing with the gun.

  “Where?” I asked.

  He angled himself to my side, and pushed at the back of my shoulder. He must have pushed Maya, too, because she bumped into me, catching herself from falling by grabbing onto my arms.

  His free hand did a quick sort of the desktop, grabbing Maya’s keys in his fist. “Here,” he said, thrusting them at her. “You
clever girls can figure it out. Open up those files. The ones you thought you were so smart to uncover.”

  My feet were heavy; I took small steps back toward the window wall, as if moving slower could somehow keep me alive longer.

  Maya fumbled with the keys, her fingers shaking worse than before. I watched her down-turned face as she tried to steady herself by gripping the key with both hands. When it finally clicked open, her dark eyes came up to meet mine, silently asking what we could do. Her teeth bit down on her lip, turning it almost white, and her chin trembled. I had no answer for her.

  Owen pulled out another cell phone. Not Maya’s. He held the bright screen at arm’s length as he dialed. Whoever he called must have been waiting. “Hey,” he said almost immediately. With a glance at his watch, he added. “You got what we need?” A smile shadowed his face for the briefest moment. “Good. It’s all clear. Come on up.”

  An accomplice. Lulinski had been right.

  “My office.” he said, again into the phone. “Yeah. Both of them.” He stared at us as he spoke, the blue ambient light giving his face a pale glow. He nodded. “Take your time,” he said. “We’ll be here.”

  When he ended the call, he lifted an eyebrow at me. In that small gesture I read all the smug superiority, echoing the fact that he stood on the right end of the gun and I did not—that life wasn’t fair—that I’d lost. I moved, slightly, wanting to beat his ugly face with both fists, but the weapon pointed at my mid-section froze me in my tracks.

  “Sit,” he said, like he was talking to dogs. I turned fast, to glance at Maya, then behind us, stupidly looking for a chair. “On the floor,” he said, his voice gaining intensity. “We’ve got work to do.”

  Maya and I sat next to one another, our backs to one set of unopened filing cabinets. Owen perched his butt on the corner of a nearby desk, one foot on the ground, the other suspended, swaying. His aim never wavered. “I could handle two of you by myself,” he said with a shrug, “But there’s too much at stake to take any shortcuts now.”

  I was less interested in what he had to say, than I was in figuring a way out. Whoever he’d spoken to on the phone, and I had no doubt that it was Nina Takami, was apparently en route. I knew she was small, but there’d be two of them and two of us, plus the gun, diminishing our chances even further. If we were going to move, we had to do it now.

  Keeping my gaze on Owen, I snaked my right hand toward Maya, using my pinky finger to tap hers, hoping she’d understand. With a quick look toward the elevator corridor, Owen stretched out his back, and I chanced a look at Maya. I saw in her eyes a determination that matched mine.

  I cleared my throat. “How much longer?”

  “Shut up.”

  Maya shifted. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  Owen rolled his eyes. “What, do you think I’m stupid? You gotta piss, be my guest. Piss all over yourself.”

  I ran a hand through my hair, trying to push the cold sweat out of my face, and he sat up, both feet hitting the ground, his eyes flashing with ready vigilance.

  We couldn’t try to stand without alerting him. His position was too far for me to reach with either my hands or my feet; so any wild thoughts about disarming him with some heretofore undiscovered superhero strength on my part was out of the question. My mind, fueled by the fear of that gun going off before I’d had a chance to really live, raced with crazed possibilities

  I still had my flashlight. If I could ease it out of my pocket and manage to toss it without him seeing my movement, it might create a momentary distraction. Enough for us to move.

  A very long shot. But choices grew more slim every moment—I decided I would make this work. I had to.

  I counted on the fact that Owen couldn’t see into the darkest corners where the filing cabinets met the floor. I pushed my fingers into the split where my pocket opened, tugging at the flashlight by its rubber end—inching it up, into my palm with a slow, ferocious terror that released sweat at my hairline to trickle down my face.

  It stuck.

  I tugged harder, trying my best not to show any outward sign of movement. My fingers dug in deeper, but the wetness that gathered between them made the rubber-coated light slippery and hard to move. I wanted desperately to blow my bangs off my forehead, but didn’t want to risk any undue attention.

  As it was, Owen’s unwavering gaze had begun to shift. He would watch us for long moments before chancing a quick look down the elevator corridor. We wouldn’t have much time before Nina Takami joined us.

  The next time he looked away, I leaned hard on my left palm, lifting my back end slightly off the floor—just enough to give the flashlight wiggle room. The fingers of my right hand got a solid grip and I had it in my palm.

  At that very moment, my phone buzzed, shooting its vibration into the other pocket on my backside with a suddenness that made me jump.

  “What?” Owen started, stood, came a half-step closer now, the gun that much closer to my face.

  The phone vibrated again. This time I didn’t move. “Cramp,” I said.

  “Bullshit.” Owen stared hard at my right side, his eyes flicking to mine as though he’d find an answer there. I remained as still as I could, hoping the vibration wasn’t loud enough for him to pick up. When it buzzed a third time, I coughed.

  “What’s behind you?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing.”

  He looked at me, as if trying to read my eyes. As if he’d find some answer there. “Show me your hand. Slow.”

  “Okay,” I said, opening my fingers before pulling my hand forward. The flashlight dropped to the floor behind me with an almost inaudible thump. I held my empty hand out for his inspection.

  Satisfied, he nodded, then looked toward the elevators and down at his watch. He must have had a hard time reading it because he leaned ever so slightly toward the cold night windows, adjusting the angle of the watch’s face to catch the light.

  I gripped the flashlight in a fast snatch, and threw it hard in an overhand arc, pulling my hand back behind me, fast—trying to look as though I hadn’t moved. The tiny tool hit a far wall with a small, but noticeable bump.

  He leaped up, shouting, “What was that?”

  I scrambled to my feet, reaching for his arm, hoping to either grab the gun from him, or to force his hand back toward his own face. I would pull that trigger. It was kill or be killed, and I had no intention of going down.

  “What the—” He twisted his body, but I’d latched on tight.

  “Run,” I said to Maya, but she’d grabbed him from behind, helping me.

  Women don’t have upper body strength. The adage flashed through my mind and I fought the despair accompanying it. In my case, it was too true, and Maya’s skinny arms couldn’t be much stronger than mine.

  Damn it. Every muscle strained to keep from losing, but his superior power was killing me. Hampered by my slippery hands, the tight fabric of my leather jacket, and the fact that we were slight women fighting a two-hundred pound man, I felt my hold on him lessen with every slow-motion second.

  His arms had gone high over his head, both hands gripping the gun, and I fought to keep it pointed upward, away from us. We three danced like this, a vicious ménage a trois—his breath, coming in short pants across my face, souring my stomach with every hot blast. If I could jam his eyeballs, I might have a chance, but that meant dropping my straining arms from their protective perch—depending on Maya to keep that gun pointed away.

  A woman’s strength is in her legs.

  I gritted my teeth—and shot a knee into his balls with strength borne of fury and disgust.

  With a whoof, he doubled, his arms jamming down, an elbow grazing my head. Maya toppled to the floor behind him, and I heard a solid crack that could have been her head against the desk. I lunged for the gun, but he backed up fast, extending his arm, aiming at me again. His left hand cradled his private parts and the twisted expression on his face told me my life was a trigger-pull away from ending. His arm
shook, the gun’s barrel wavered.

  We both heard the sound at the same time. The elevator.

  I caught sight of Maya, behind Owen, still on the floor. She tried to stand, but Owen pushed her down, backing up as he did so, to keep us both in his sights at the same time. He’d gotten out of my reach, and his voice came out hoarse, cracked, as he screamed filthy names at me.

  I took a small measure of satisfaction out of the fact that I’d hurt him. Small satisfaction, because he was ready to kill us both, now. Even in the dark, I could see the intent in his eyes.

  Crouching, I helped Maya up. She rubbed at her left elbow.

  The elevator doors opened with their cheery ping, as Owen continued to curse, shouting epithets in a pained rasp. Behind him, a shadow crossed the doorway, fast. She’d be here any second.

  With another gun, no doubt. We’d blown our chance to get away.

  Keeping a close eye on us, Owen half-turned to greet the newcomer, but his weapon stayed trained on us.

  But the voice from the darkness behind him wasn’t Nina’s.

  “What now, Owen?”

  My stomach somersaulted downward to my feet as David stepped through a slice of faint blue window light before melting back into the far shadows again. For the briefest moment I held onto hope that he’d come to save us, like a knight in shining armor swooping for the rescue just in the nick of time.

  “I knew you’d screw this up,” he said, his disembodied voice coming from the corner’s depths. “Give me the gun. Do I always have to come in and clean up after you?”

  He emerged then, into our tiny section of light, dressed down in a dark turtleneck and dark pants, his face the only pale part of his body that I could see.

  Owen handed the weapon over, then eased backward, head down, till he managed to brace himself against a nearby desk. Still cupping the family jewels, he ran his free hand over his sparse hair and blew out an anguished breath. “That one,” he said, pointing to me. “Do her first.”