With Deadly Intent

by Louise Hendricksen

  She took a deep breath and hooked a finger under one bra strap. It slid off her shoulder. She followed with the other one, unfastened the hooks in back and let the scrap of black lace fall. A quick movement of hands and hips and the matching panties lay beside the bra. She turned slowly and tossed him a shy glance. Did he approve of what he saw?

  He swallowed and his Adam's apple bobbed. “You're lovely.” His features took on a look of tenderness that turned her knees to jelly.

  Feeling self-conscious of her nakedness, she moved uncertainly toward the bed. “As a doctor, I have to advise you that"—she gulped in air—"that you shouldn't be d-doing this sort of thing so soon.”

  His crooked smile clutched at her heart. “It's a perilous world, love. This little bit of time may be all we'll have.” He stretched out his hand and she went to him.

  Twenty

  They made love, slept, awoke, made love, and slept again. The next time they awakened, darkness had fallen. Amy put on her underclothes and padded into the front room. She took a shirt, jeans and sneakers from the overnight bag she'd brought.

  After she finished dressing, she took an inventory of the food situation and found Simon's cupboards practically bare. She made a list, donned her holster and jacket, and went to the bedroom doorway. Simon sat in a chair easing the slit leg of his jeans over his cast.

  “We'll need some groceries,” she said.

  “I figured we would.” He came over and nuzzled her neck. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For being loving and forgiving and for making this a wonderful day.”

  She touched his cheek. “You're pretty terrific yourself.” She turned toward the door. “I'll make a quick trip to the store up the street. I shouldn't be long.”

  “Whoa, there, lady. You aren't going anywhere without me.” He grinned. “I agreed to this arrangement so I could look after you.”

  She frowned. “You need to rest and build up your strength. All of this"—she waved her arm toward the bed—"messing around saps your energy.”

  “I've got more energy than I've had in weeks.” He scooped her up. “Want to see?”

  She laughed and shook her head. “If you're coming, you'd better put on a coat and hat. It's cold out there.”

  Simon put her down and cocked a green plaid driving cap on his head. “Will this do. Mother?”

  “On you it looks good. Got a heavy sock to protect the bare toes sticking out of your cast?”

  He looked at the ceiling. “Forgive her. The poor woman thinks I'm ten years old.”

  She bristled and jutted her chin. “I worry about you. Something wrong with that?”

  He kissed her on the tip of her nose. “Nope. I'm just not used to a woman who fusses over me.” He smiled. “Who knows? I may learn to like it.”

  “Since you're a fuss-budget yourself, you'd better.” She caught hold of his sleeve. “Let's get going.”

  When they reached the sidewalk in front of the condo, she glanced up and down the windswept street. “Wow, the place is deserted.”

  “That's the nice thing about winter,” he said. “The shops close early. In the summer, many of them stay open until nine.”

  As they came alongside her station wagon, a sharp “bang” split the silence. The car's windshield shattered. Simon swept her against him, fell to the sidewalk, and rolled into the shelter of the car. She lay next to him, her heart hammering in unison with his.

  “Now what?” he breathed.

  She wriggled free and drew her gun. Simon stared at it. “What the hell—”

  “Stay put.”

  “No, Amy—”

  She crept forward until she could get a better view and searched the shadowy area for the sniper. Nothing. She took a risk and straightened a little. A faint sound caused her to glance upward at the sky bridge spanning Western Avenue. A form separated itself from the murk and rays from a street light glinted on a rifle barrel.

  She sited over the car hood and fired. Before she could duck down, a bullet ricocheted off the car's roof.

  Simon yanked on her jacket. “Get the hell out of the line of fire.”

  “He's not much of a shot.”

  “He can always get lucky.”

  When she eased up level with the hood for a quick peek, she found the sniper had ventured to the sky bridge railing. She took careful aim and pulled the trigger. A cry echoed through the night and the rifle clattered onto the pavement below.

  Simon leaped to his feet. “I think you got him. I'll get his gun.” He dodged into the street.

  Keeping a wary eye above them, she followed. The guy might have another weapon. She caught a movement off to her left. “He's headed down the Hillclimb,” she shouted. “I'm going after him.”

  She dashed up the steps to level three. The sniper was tearing down the stairs and had nearly gained the second level. With a surge of satisfaction, she noticed he clutched his right shoulder. She had wounded him, and a good thing too. On the Hillclimb trees, shrubs, and massive planters made a clear shot impossible. She rushed down the series of cement steps, hardly noticing the darkened restaurants and specialty shops scattered along the way.

  “Wait up,” Simon called.

  She paused, but only for a second. Her quarry had reached the paved slope beneath the Alaskan Way viaduct. “Stop, or I'll shoot,” she yelled. He broke into a run and her bullet went wild. She took off after him.

  Once free of the stairs, she made better time. Just ahead lay Alaskan Way and the brightly lighted aquarium. She couldn't keep this pace much longer. A stitch in her side hunched her over. Each breath seared her lungs.

  The man veered off to the right and made for a blue sports car in an empty lot. The hit-and-run driver's car—she'd bet money on it. She went down on one knee, snapped off a shot, and heard the satisfying hiss of air.

  The man let out an angry howl and scuttled across the thoroughfare to a vacant warehouse on the pier.

  She ached to stop and rest, but couldn't—needed to re-load her pistol, but couldn't do that either. She'd forgotten to bring extra ammunition. Her first pursuit and she'd flunked the test.

  Behind her, she could hear Simon thumping down the slope. Although light weight, his fiberglass cast slowed him down and made him clumsy. He'd be an easy mark if the sniper had a weapon in reserve. She hurried across the street.

  The gray sheetrock covered warehouse extended three-fourths the length of the wharf and looked big enough to house a small plane. Oblong, ship-sized stretches of water separated the pier from adjacent ones.

  At the warehouse door, she fingered a broken chain and padlock dangling from the handle. Should she take it with her? No, too heavy. The thing would only be in the way.

  She swallowed to ease the burning in her throat. Only one bullet left, she'd have to make it count. She darted around the door and stood still, breathing in the rank aroma of long dead fish. She listened, but heard only timbers creaking in the wind.

  She moved forward cautiously, feeling loose planks joggle under her weight. Desperation gripped her. Unless she wrapped this up in a hurry, Simon would soon be stumbling around in here.

  A sound off to the right. She crouched and crept forward, her pistol ready. A swish of cloth and a board smashed across her outstretched arms. Her gun flew out of her hands and clattered off in the darkness. Colored disks spun behind her lids, and she bent half over, grinding torment pulsating from wrist to elbow.

  “Gotcha now, bitch.”

  His words sent shivers along her spine. His voice was muffled, making it impossible for her to tell whether she'd heard it before.

  She peered around for something to use as a weapon. “It isn't over yet.”

  Shrill laughter greeted her challenge. “For you it is.” He leaped at her from the shadows. A ski mask covered his face and he wielded a sharp pointed pole.

  Step by step, he drove her farther into the building's dim recesses where thin slats of light wriggled through roof and wall crev
ices. She glanced behind her, searching for an escape route and glimpsed open water between sections of missing planks. She tripped, and flung herself to one side barely escaping the wicked tip of the sniper's pike.

  “That's it, crawl, you filthy bitch. I'll teach you. I'll teach you good.” His right arm hung at his side, but he thrust the pole repeatedly with his left.

  A few more yards and she'd reach a two foot wide gap in the flooring. Beneath her feet, she felt the smash of waves on the pilings and smelled the salt brine. She shivered. Where was Simon? He should have gotten to the warehouse by now.

  The man came at her again, forced her back until she teetered on a plank edging the span of open water. “Bye bye, A-a-a—meee.” He drew back the pike as if it were a javelin.

  “Simon,” she shouted in a joyous tone as if he were really there. “I thought you'd never get here.”

  The man spun around. The instant he took his attention off her, she turned and jumped with all her strength. On the far side of the open water, she righted herself in time to see her attacker go head first into the bay.

  Simon stood opposite her, gripping the barrel of the rifle as if it were a baseball bat. “You okay?”

  “I'll survive.”

  He yanked off his clothes and his one shoe. Following his lead, she shed her jacket, jeans, and sneakers. Pain shot up her arms when she tried to unbutton her shirt, so she left it on.

  “Stay here,” he said. “I'll go after him.”

  “No.” She poised on the splintery brink. “We'll get only one chance. If we don't find him, he's a goner.”

  She took several fast breaths and plunged into the inky depths at the same instant as Simon. Raw, frigid water enveloped her like an ice sheath. Blessedly it deadened the ache in her forearms so she could swim.

  Shafts of light slanted along the water, glimmering on swells that humped and heaved like ravaging killer whales. No sign of the man. She dove and cast about with hands and feet, shuddering when slimy ribbons of kelp wrapped around her legs. She hastened up for a quick gulp of air and heard Simon calling her name.

  When she answered, he said, “One more time, and that's it. Okay?”

  She heard a splash. “He's over here, Simon.” She headed for the struggling man who clung to a loose board. As soon as she got near him, he let go and grabbed for her. She back peddled, but he caught a handful of her shirt and the weight of him pulled her under.

  Down, down, down they sank in the pitch black darkness. Striking out at him with her feet, she frantically tugged at her shirt to get it off. Air. She had to have air. With a last wrench she tore free of the cloth and fought her way to the surface.

  “Simon,” she gasped. “Help me.” Her attacker seized her foot and pulled her under again. She beat on him, but couldn't loosen his grip. Her strength ebbed and an overwhelming lethargy took its place. No use. No use.

  Suddenly, Simon was at her side. He grabbed the man, and shoved her topside. She struggled upward, burst into the open, and gulped in air. A large piece of debris smacked her in the head. She snatched it and held on with half-frozen fingers.

  Simon broke the surface a few feet away and towed the man's limp body toward her “Work your way to the side of the pier. Should be a ladder somewhere.”

  One of her hands slipped off the knobby chunk of styrofoam. “I can't make it.”

  He treaded water next to her. “Yes, you can. You've got a job to finish. Now go.” She didn't move. “Damn you, Amy. Get your ass in gear.” He prodded her in the ribs. “Now!”

  In her befogged mind, she knew he'd sacrifice the sniper if she had to have his help. She moved her feet to propel herself forward, but the pier's edge seemed so far away. She couldn't go on—she must rest—only Simon wouldn't let her. Shouting and cursing, he drove her ahead of him until they reached a wooden ladder.

  He yanked off the sniper's tie, fastened one end to the man's wrist, and the other to the top rung of the ladder. “That'll hold his head above water.” He put his arm around Amy's waist. “Just a little farther, love.”

  He urged her upward. When they stood on the wharf, he hugged her fiercely before he lay her down on the deck. “I'll get our clothes,” he said, and rushed away.

  The harsh phenolic odor of the creosoted planks cleared her head and made her conscious of splinters pricking her skin. She sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. Chills shook her body so violently they wrenched her bones.

  A few minutes later, Simon returned. He helped her into her clothes, zipped up her jacket, and draped his coat around her shoulders. “Feel up to helping me land our fish?”

  “I'll do my best,” she said through chattering teeth.

  Simon climbed back into the water. With him lifting from one end and her helping from the other, they got the man onto the wharf.

  Simon yanked off the man's ski mask. “Damn, it's too dark to see the bastard's face.” He swore again and started pulling on his clothes.

  While she waited for him to get dressed, Amy felt for the sniper's pulse. To her surprise, it proved to be fairly steady.

  Simon tucked his shirt into his jeans and took hold of the man's shoulders. “Think you can handle his feet?”

  “I'll try.” If her arms stayed numb a little bit longer, she'd be able to make it. She grabbed the man's ankles. “Ok, let's roll.”

  When they finally lowered him to the sidewalk in front of the warehouse, she squatted beside him. “It's Darryl, the pet shop clerk!” She remembered the sports car. “Holy mackerel, Simon, this could be Roger Norman.”

  “Rotten bastard! He could have drowned you.” He glanced around him. “Soon as I find something to tie him with, I'll call 911. Where's your pistol?”

  “Somewhere inside the warehouse. He knocked it out of my hands.”

  “Damn, we could use it right now.”

  “Sorry, I goofed up.”

  He brushed his fingers along her cheek. “Can you watch him while I look for some rope?”

  She took his coat from around her shoulders and handed it to him. “Sure. With a wounded right shoulder, and possible hypothermia, he's not apt to be too frisky.”

  Simon unwound the broken chain from the warehouse door handle and lay it beside her. “If he tries to get away, hit him.” Before entering the building, he looked back over his shoulder. “Don't take any chances.”

  “Don't worry.” She bent to check Darryl's pulse again. It seemed a bit fainter, but with her cold fingers, she couldn't be certain.

  An icy gust tumbled paper cups along the curb and spurred her to action. The wind and the man's sodden clothing increased his chances of hypothermia. If she wanted to keep him alive, she'd have to get his wet things off. Maybe Simon would be able to find some sort of dry covering.

  She forced a leather button on his sports jacket through a button hole and pain shot up her left arm. She gritted her teeth and continued until the buttons were free.

  She pulled the sides of the sports jacket away from him. The unusual weight of the fabric puzzled her, but she didn't take time to dwell on it. She'd worked his arms free and started on his shirt when Simon returned.

  “I found a piece of fish line. It isn't much, but it'll have to do.”

  “Give me another few minutes. I want to check his wound and get some of this wet stuff off him before he—” Suddenly, Darryl reared up, grabbed a handful of her hair and scrambled to his feet, pulling her flailing and kicking with him.

  Simon snatched up the piece of chain and started toward them. “Let go of her.”

  “Drop it!” Darryl whipped a knife from his clothing and held it to her throat. “One wrong move and she dies right here.”

  Simon opened his hand and the chain clanked on the sidewalk. “You hurt her, you sonuvabitch, and I'll kill you.”

  A wild laugh bubbled out of Darryl's mouth. He thrust the knife up under her chin, piercing the skin. She cried out and felt a warm trickle of blood run down her neck. She held herself stock-still. Of all the stupid ama
teurish stunts, she hadn't even searched the man for a weapon.

  Simon's features went taut. “Leave her be, damn you. I'm the one you want.”

  Another weird scale-climbing laugh gushed from Darryl's throat. “A lot you know.” A spasm went through him and the pressure of the knife he held in his right hand lessened.

  Nerves and adrenalin speeded Amy's heart. Soon, the cold water's temporary anesthetic effect would leave his wounded arm. A slim chance, but enough of one to give her hope.

  He drew in a labored breath, groaned, and shoved her forward. “We're gonna use your car.” He jerked his head at Simon. “Pick up my coat and walk ahead of us. Get cute and"—he took another ragged breath—"and she's had it. Got that?”

  “Yeah, I got it.” Simon's gaze met Amy's and he made an almost imperceptible nod, she answered the silent signal in kind. He lifted the clerk's sport jacket. “Good Lord, no wonder you damn near drowned.”

  “Move it, or I'll cut her again.”

  Simon uttered a guttural sound, strode across Alaskan Way and up the paved slope toward the Hillclimb. Amy and Darryl followed close behind him. As they started up the steps, the clerk let out a snuffling moan interspersed with the foulest expletives Amy had ever heard.

  On the first level, Amy thought she saw a movement among the shrubbery, but didn't dare interrupt her concentration. If her captor weakened or made a mistake, she must be ready—her life and Simon's depended on it.

  They moved past the office of Olson/Walker Architects and began the next ascent. “You okay, Amy?” Simon asked, stressing “okay.”

  “Just call me superwoman.” She tensed and estimated the distance between herself and Darryl.

  “Don't move or I'll shoot!” The command came from above and below them at almost the same instant.

  Amy stood stock still for a millisecond, then both she and Simon went into action. She rammed her elbow into Darryl's midriff at the same moment Simon swung the coat. It smacked Darryl's wounded shoulder. He howled, dropped his knife, and fell to his knees.