by Holly Hart
“Keep your eyes forward and get in the car.”
I stumble to a halt. Something hard and snub-nosed digs into my back, prodding, urging me on. There’s a limo in front of me, door yawning wide.
“Katrina? I know that’s you.”
“Then you know I mean business. Get in.”
There are people here—a man in salmon scrubs throwing bags in his trunk; two nurses chatting by the loading bay. An ambulance pulls up just beyond them, siren dying down. This is my chance.
“Scream, and I’ll shoot you right here. We’ll be gone before your corpse hits the ground.”
“I’m dead anyway, if I get in there.”
She shoulders me in the back, sending me careening toward the car. “Maybe, but not right away.” Another push, and I’m tripping over my sore ankle, barking my knee on the doorframe. I grip the roof two-handed and shove with all my might, but Katrina’s taller, heavier, with gravity on her side. I squirm and kick, twisting instinctively to bite at her wrist.
There’s a sudden yank from below. Someone’s in the back seat, dragging me by the lapels. I kick out and something crunches, a ghastly, wet sound. There’s a low grunt, and a hard thump below my ribs. The breath whooshes out of me. I drop my hands to protect my belly, and just like that, it’s over. My arms flail, my knees buckle, and I sprawl across somebody’s lap.
“Got her.”
I strain to turn my head. It’s Magnus—I’d known his voice anywhere. But I need to see his face, know I bloodied him for this. He grabs me by the hair and rubs my nose in the leather. The chemical stench of new upholstery sets me gagging.
“Hold still, if you don’t want to suffocate.”
The front door slams and Katrina peels out. Got to keep my head, focus on...on everything. Anything that might help me. I listen to the traffic, but it’s not like in the movies. There are no tunnels, no bridges, no patches of bumpy road—nothing I can identify, tie to a landmark. Time stopped making sense the second my face hit the seat. I count a left turn, a right, and another left, but none of it means anything. I don’t know this neighborhood.
When the acoustics finally change, we’re in a parking garage, not a tunnel. I’m bundled out of the limo and into a pitch-black stairwell. Magnus sets a punishing pace, urging me on, floor after floor, gun at my back. Katrina follows with a flashlight. A hopeless feeling settles into my gut: this place is deserted. The garage was a great empty cavern, and it’s quiet—too quiet. Even the street sounds are sparse, like there’s nothing around.
Emerging into the chill of the penthouse, it all makes sense: this building’s under construction. Bare concrete walls give way to a dizzying drop where picture windows should be. Plastic sheeting snaps and rustles in the wind. I could scream forever up here, and that same wind would carry it away.
“Sit down.” Magnus gives me a shove.
I sway on my feet. There’s nowhere to sit.
“I said, sit!”
A furious response boils up—I’m not a dog!—and I clamp my teeth on it. Some things aren’t worth fighting over. I put my back to the wall farthest from those empty windows and slide down.
“Where’s Jack?”
“No idea.” He could be anywhere by now: the hospital, the hotel, on his way here—maybe he followed us. Maybe he’s outside, even now, waiting to make his move.
Katrina crouches over me, leaning into my space. “Look, you’re going to tell us what you know. Could be now, could be later, but the more you draw it out, the worse it gets for you.” She hugs herself, rubbing her arms. “Brr—this weather! What do you weigh, one-ten, one-fifteen? Aren’t you freezing?”
I’m a goddamn ice cube. “I’m fine.”
“Got a long night ahead of you. Maybe you can burn that jacket... Think you can strike a spark?”
Magnus huffs. “We shut down your blog half an hour ago.” He says blog like it’s a dirty word, something to spit on the floor. “Might as well give it up: What do you have?”
Laughter threatens to break loose. What do we have? Jack’s hunch, my guesswork—and now, Magnus’s own admission there’s something to have. I turn away and say nothing.
“Better if we work together on this.” The wind picks up. Magnus strolls to the open balcony and kicks a chunk of concrete off the side. I don’t hear it land. “I guarantee you, if we go down, Jack goes down. Don’t forget: we know where the bodies are buried.”
The bodies. Right. “Think they’re still there?”
He whirls, eyes boring into me. “What are you talking about?”
“I mean, it’s a desert. It’s made of sand. Things move around. Get unearthed. Carried off by—what do they have over there? Jackals? Vultures?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Katrina gets to her feet. “Bodies or no bodies, it’s three against one. We’ll swear he knew from the start. Masterminded it, even. Think about it: these two snatched their slice of the pie and sat on it. Your boyfriend built an empire. Who’s the Machiavelli of the bunch?”
“You are.” A nasty mix of fear and anger spurs me on. “Flying under the radar, all this time—so sneaky, even Jack had no idea you were involved. You still think you’ll slink off into the night, don’t you? If all this goes south?”
Katrina lunges. My sidelong dive’s just quick enough to deflect her kick to the meat of my thigh.
“Or maybe it’s you! Swoop in like some slutty seagull, fly off with whatever you want? That your game?” She goes for another kick. I roll over, catching it in the back this time.
Magnus sniffs and wipes at his bloody nose. “This is getting us nowhere. C’mon. Let’s get Erik. Couple of hours in the cold ought to soften her up.”
Or harden me into an icicle.... I gather my knees to my chest, trying to fit as much of myself as possible under my coat. Jack will come. Or I’ll find a way out. At the very least, this is a construction site. There’s got to be something—a level, a crowbar, a nail gun—something with lethal potential.
I wait till I can’t hear footsteps and scramble upright.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Jack
Gone to ER, 10PM—having some cramps. PLEASE don’t worry! Probably indigestion!
I glance at my watch. That was hours ago. Meanwhile, I’ve called every ER in Brooklyn, and I’m no wiser than when I started. My apartment’s all over the news, Starkey’s fucking gone, and I think I’m a suspect in Erik’s murder. Don’t worry? Good one!
On the plus side, Stella’s story is spreading like wildfire. Magnus crashed her site pretty quick, but she was right: it took on a life of its own. Hopped around social media for all of twenty minutes before the first network got hold of it.
A perky news anchor’s counting down BeeBee’s greatest hits: new developments must’ve slowed down. My foot’s tapping, tapping, out of control.
I can’t sit around here and wait. Can’t leave, either: if Stella comes back to an empty room, who knows what she’ll think? Especially when she sees the news. It’s been all us for the last half hour, a constant loop of Nagler, Starkey, Erik, Nagler again—a profile on me; speculation on the Countess—and back to Erik. I watch as they wheel out his covered body for the sixth time this hour.
Starkey shot Erik, but he was looking at me. Meant those words for me.
I can’t think about that now.
Something’s happened to the baby. Or Stella. Or both. Can’t think about—
“And we have breaking news—a possible missing persons alert for this woman, caught on cell phone camera being forced into a car outside Kings County Hospital Center, Brooklyn, about an hour ago. Anyone having information on her identity or location is urged to call—”
Stella! I’m on my feet in an instant, out the door and halfway to the elevator before I realize I’ve no destination in mind. Where, where, where—it’s got to be Magnus. Where would he take her? Blakemoor head office? Too far, and too obvious. Home? Not with Mary around, and the ridiculous household staff he insists on keeping. Nowhere fits: I know
every property he owns, every club he belongs to. He’d need privacy, secrecy, convenience—where?
I drop my head against the elevator doors. I’m calm. I’m focused. I just can’t think, can’t....
Katrina.
Stella mentioned Katrina. She was there too, guarding the airport. If she didn’t spot Stella, she won’t be sure Stella saw her. One of her properties, then. I whip out my phone: time to narrow the list.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Stella
Freezing—it’s freezing. I jog along the wall, back and forth, back and forth, trying to keep the circulation going. I’m sweating under my coat, but I can’t feel my feet. My fingers are numb around the length of rebar I found near the stairwell—the locked, barred stairwell. No way out: the elevator isn’t responding, and the idea of sliding and clambering down the scaffolding has me quaking in my boots. Nineteen floors is a long way down.
Magnus needs to be first off the elevator when they get back. If I can catch him by surprise, take him out of commission... There’s a chance I can take Katrina. I’ll go for his face. No—his kneecap. Fuck—I don’t know. I’ll probably just piss him off.
I should hide it instead—slip my weapon under my coat, wait for my opportunity. If Magnus goes out on the balcony again, I could...what? Toss it at his head? Hope he trips and goes over? Then I’d have nothing to hit Katrina with.
I can’t take them both. Escape is my only option.
Escape.... If I can’t get down, maybe I can get up. Get to the roof, somehow. Wave my arms, scream... Someone might think I’m a suicide. Call the fire department. It’s worth a try.
There’s a place near the...master bedroom? Living room?...where a skylight’s supposed to go. A nice big hole in the ceiling, nine feet above my head. Too high to jump. Why couldn’t there be a chair, a crate, something to stand on?
A chair... Well, there kind of is. Doesn’t look like the toilet’s plumbed in yet, but it’s there, squatting behind a row of joists. I might be able to stand on that, if it’s the heavy, old-fashioned kind. And if I can drag it over here.
Might want to take it easy for a day or two.... What would that nice old doctor think if he could see me now? Hell, the man has six children. He’d see a mother fighting for her life and her child’s. He’d cheer me on.
I blow on my hands to warm some sensation back into them and head for the toilet. It’s heavy and awkwardly-shaped, but when I put my back to it and shove, it scrapes across the concrete. Just an inch or two, but if I can do that fifty, sixty more times, I’m home free.
Magnus said something about a couple of hours. I’ve already wasted most of one. I lower my head, square my shoulders, and push.
Chapter Fifty
Jack
Only one place it could be: Reston Plaza—major new development, four towers plus commercial space, spanning an entire city block. I goose the accelerator coming up the hill. I can see it already, four skeletal towers, darker shapes against the night sky. Got to hand it to Magnus: it’s the perfect hiding place. Here in the wee hours, the block’s dead—no clubs, no shops, no nightlife. Just rows of old low-rises, relics of the seventies, full of retirees. Hardly a lit window in sight.
She has to be in the east tower. It’s the only one accessible from the street. The construction office is in there, first floor.
I swing into the parking garage and take the ramp down a level. It’s pitch dark underground: only my highbeams light the way as I coast to a stop near the elevator. No power, of course—probably an empty shaft at this stage. I power on my penlight and hunt for the stairs. Nineteen floors—what are the odds she’s somewhere near the bottom?
“Stella?”
No answer. I start up the stairs at a jog. Someone’s been here, and recently. Smells of dollar-store aftershave—got to be Magnus. He thinks women go crazy for that shit. Has since high school. Not sure what it is about that minty, aseptic bouquet... Just makes me think of prom night and zits.
Stella always smells of light summer flowers.
I call out again on the third floor, the sixth, the ninth. She should be able to hear me by now, even from up top. It’s dead quiet. Even the street noise is barely a hum. I shout louder, to no avail. Maybe she’s gagged. Or unconscious. I push myself harder, jumping the stairs three and four at a time.
Still remember the first time we went running together. She was so determined to keep up. Even kept talking, while her face turned red as a beet.
Someone’s jammed the top two doors, as if the locks weren’t enough. So she is here... But I won’t get to her this way. I could pick one of the locks, given time, tools, and adequate lighting, but I’m short on all three. Doesn’t matter: there’s always a way around.
Two floors down, I find a door that yields to my shoulder. I’m not thrilled about monkeying up the scaffolding in the dark, sans harness, but I’m fresh out of options.
Think Stella’s scared of heights. Our rooftop escape—that was the one time I saw her back off a challenge. She didn’t want to go over that roof.
I call her name one more time as I step out on the balcony. This time, I hear something back—a faint answering cry, immediately carried off by the wind. That gale’s going to be a problem, especially getting back down. Stella won’t be doing any climbing on that ankle, and carrying her might not be practical.
At least it’s not raining: my footing’s solid and my grip’s sure. As long as I ignore the queasy sway of the structure, the vibration of my boots on the scaffolding, this is fine. All good. Good thing it’s only two floors, though: the metal’s cold enough to numb my hands.
“Stella, you there?”
No answer this time. I pull myself up over the side and roll onto the roof. “Stella?”
“Jack!”
“Shit—get back from the edge!”
Stella takes two big steps back and drops to her knees.
“What were you doing?”
“Trying to get someone to call the cops.” She chuckles. “Might even have worked, if there was anyone down there.”
I drop down beside her and hug her tight. She’s shivering violently, and the hand that grasps mine is cold as ice.
“Going to get you out of here, get you somewhere warm...hot chocolate, blankets, a bath—whatever you need.” I fold her into my jacket, trying to bundle some heat back into her. “But first, how’d it go at the hospital? Did you get seen? Everything all right?”
A genuine smile lights up her face. “More than. I saw the baby—heartbeat and all.” Her hands sneak under my shirt, stealing my warmth. “It’s so tiny, it’s like the whole thing’s one beating heart...a pea with a pulse.”
“Wish I could’ve seen that.” Next time, for sure.
“What was that?” Stella’s voice drops to a whisper. A cold sweat beads my neck. I strain to hear over the wind.
“I don’t—”
“Sh!” She cocks her head. “There! Listen!”
Fuck. That, I heard—a woman’s voice, raised in irritation; a metallic clang.
“This is good.” I rock back on my heels, positioning myself between Stella and the door. “We were never getting down the way I came up. We’ll go through ‘em—break for the stairs. You—shit!”
Stella’s got a foot of rebar from somewhere. She’s holding it like she means business.
“Don’t...don’t get involved, if you can help it. Stay behind me, and be ready to....” I was going to say run. “Be ready for anything.”
The voices are closer now. Coming this way. There’s a skylight-hole not five feet away. I hit the deck: can’t risk being spotted.
“...fucking toilet.”
“Not like she got far.”
“Whatever. I’m not scrambling up there. Let’s—”
I creep closer, belly to the concrete. As soon as their backs are turned....
“—want to bet that’ll be on our heads, too?”
“We’ll clean that up later. For now....”
They’
re moving away. It’s now or never.
I drop into near-darkness. Magnus is already spinning my way. A glint catches my eye, and then I’m ducking and rolling, blinking away the afterimage of his muzzle flash. Forgot how quick he is with that thing.
“How’d he get here? What’d you tell him?” Katrina’s backing away.
“Shut up and—”
I charge him, low to the ground, going for his legs. My shoulder connects with his knee and we go down hard. I feel heat on the back of my neck—heat that explodes into pain. The butt of his weapon smashes into my shoulder, my back, my head.
“Just shoot him!”
I roll over on my back, pulling my knees to my chest. Magnus rises on his elbows, already aiming. My legs piston hard, and the gun flies clear. It sails into the dark and skates out of reach.
“Bad fucking idea!” Magnus hurls himself at me, and I see his game. Tangle me up long enough for Katrina to snatch the gun—never going to happen. A swift elbow in the face and he’s on his back, snuffling through a gushing nose. I press my advantage, pinning him to the concrete. I don’t want to kill him, but if I have to—
“Going to do me like you did Erik?”
“What?”
Magnus shoves me off. He’s furious, practically spitting, all knees and elbows and flying fists. It’s not hard to fend him off, the way he’s swinging wild. I block him hard, driving his own knuckles into his nose.
“You—you’re seriously going to pretend that wasn’t you?”
I jerk my head to the side, flinging him off. Fucker’s spraying blood all over me. “Not that I owe you an explanation, but it wasn’t.”
He rolls to his feet, scrubbing at his face. “Who else?”
Katrina’s circling around us, headed for the gun. I manoeuver myself into her path. Not today.
“Really, I want to know. Who gets to take the fall this time?” He’s closing in on me. Trying to herd me to the balcony. Time to end this.