Dead Reckoning

by Linda Castillo

  Frank jammed the truck into Park and threw open the door. He darted toward the construction elevator and punched the Up button. The lighted sphere blinked, then went dark. “Damn it.” He hit the button again and again, but the light that told him the elevator was operational remained dark. Rooks had somehow jammed it.

  Desperation clawed at him as he left the underground garage and sprinted toward what would be the building’s lobby. Toolboxes, coiled extension cords, and rolls of polyurethane sheeting lay scattered about. A forklift hulked in the corner like a sleeping beast. Huge slabs of marble that would comprise the walls were stacked twelve feet high.

  He’d been hoping to find a stairwell or freight elevator, but found neither. He wished desperately for a flashlight, but he hadn’t thought to bring one. He set his hand on his cell phone. “Come on, damn it.”

  The lighted dial told him four minutes had passed since he’d spoken to Mike Shelley. They were the longest four minutes of his life.

  His cell phone chirped, and Frank snatched it up. “Yeah.”

  “This is Doug Johnson, construction manager of Providence.”

  “A woman is being held hostage on the top floor of the building. The suspect has jammed the construction elevator. Is there another way for me to get up there?”

  “Shit, man, I don’t think so.”

  “Think! Damn it, he’s going to kill her if I don’t stop him.”

  “Freight elevator might work. Company came out and installed the cables and electric motors last week. But it hasn’t been tested or inspected or nothing.”

  “Where?”

  “West side of the building.”

  “Stay on the line.” Holding the phone to his ear, Frank sprinted through the lobby toward the west side of the building. “I can’t see shit,” he muttered. “It’s dark as hell. I’m in the main tower. Can you guide me?”

  “Go straight west. Ten yards before you reach the end, go right. There will be an interior hall. Low ceilings. Freight elevator will be on your left.”

  Frank had already found the second hall. Halfway down he located the elevator. He punched the button. In the distance he could hear the wail of sirens. Plano PD, he thought. He knew he would probably pay dearly for not waiting. But in his heart he knew he was out of time. That Kate was out of time.

  The elevator doors slid open. Frank stepped inside. There were no walls, just a plastic mesh safety net. Shit, he thought, and hit the button for the top floor.

  The ride to the top seemed to take forever. The higher he went, the harder the wind blew. Every two seconds a concrete floor whooshed by. The occasional support beam. On several floors the walls were finished out. But as the elevator moved up the shaft, there were fewer walls. Just open floors, wind, and swirling snow. Frank stood with his feet braced in the center of the platform and tried hard not to look down.

  An eternity later the elevator jolted to a halt. Drawing his weapon, he stepped out onto the concrete floor. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness and he could see that the top floor was little more than a concrete slab with a roof. Polyurethane sheets had been stapled to the west side of the building and whipped in the brisk wind, making it difficult to hear.

  Dropping to a crouch, he ran to the nearest support beam. His heart stopped in his chest when he heard the scream. He spun, but it was too dark to see. His blood ran cold when he spotted the silhouettes against the night sky. Rooks and Kate were locked in a struggle just a few feet from the edge and a sheer nine-hundred-foot drop.

  Terror swept through him, a violent tornado scattering his thoughts into chaos. Stepping out from behind the pillar, he drew down on Rooks. “Rooks! Stop! Now!”

  Frank didn’t need to see the other man’s face to know his intentions. Rooks’s arms were locked around Kate. Too close to her for him to get off a shot. Too close to the edge to charge.

  Shifting his weapon slightly, he fired a warning shot. “Let go of her! Now!”

  “Frank! He’s armed!”

  The terror in her voice ripped at him. He felt that same terror rampaging through his own body. The memory of Gittel’s violent death had been imprinted on his brain, and those images paralyzed him with fear.

  Arms locked around Kate, Rooks swung her closer to the edge. “Drop the gun, Matrone.”

  Kate fought him wildly, but Rooks outweighed her by eighty pounds. “Frank!”

  “Rooks, don’t do it!” Frank edged closer. He could feel his heart pounding. Fear whipping and coiling inside him. “I’ll do whatever you want!” he screamed. “Just let her go.”

  Rooks’s teeth flashed white in the semidarkness. He looked dangerous and evil and very insane. “What is she worth to you, Matrone?”

  “Everything.” But Frank didn’t lower the pistol. He was close enough now so that even in the darkness he could see Kate was injured. She was cradling her arm. Choking back sobs. “Let her go, and I’ll let you walk away from this.”

  “Liar.” Rooks began to laugh.

  A chill raced down Frank’s spine.

  Legs apart and braced, the lawyer heaved Kate toward the edge.

  “Frank, kill him!” she screamed.

  Two feet from the edge. Terror snarling inside him. Panic sinking into him like fangs. Knowing Rooks was seconds away from killing her, Frank risked the shot and pulled the trigger.

  Rooks’s body jolted, but he didn’t release Kate. Another, stronger wave of terror. A beast galloping through him. The hard slam of panic in his heart. Frank wanted to kill the son of a bitch. He wanted to cut his throat, remove him from the face of the earth. “Let her go!” he shouted.

  “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

  Frank stared, his heart exploding, fear permeating his every cell.

  Rooks shoved her violently. Kate stumbled over what looked like a rope, twisted in midair. Her arms flailed wildly. Her scream rent the air. As if in slow motion she went over the edge.

  And then she was gone.

  THIRTY

  For the span of several heartbeats, Frank stood there, disbelief and rage coursing through him in a violent torrent. He couldn’t believe Kate was gone. Couldn’t believe God had taken her from him the same way he’d taken Gittel.

  His vision tunneled on Rooks. Thoughts as black as death scrolled through his mind. He didn’t remember closing the distance between them. He didn’t feel it when the other man slammed the baton across his chest. He didn’t remember raising the gun or pulling the trigger eleven times as he emptied the clip into the other man’s body. The one thing he did remember was shoving Rooks’s body off the edge of the building.

  Alone on the twenty-seventh floor of Providence Tower, Frank Matrone went to his knees. “No! No! Noooo!”

  He slammed his fists against the concrete with each word. An animal sound of rage and denial tore from his throat. The sense of loss overwhelmed him. Grief flowed through him like the black blood of the dead. He put his face in his hands as the thunderstorm of emotion doubled him over. “Oh, God, Kate.”

  “Frank!”

  He raised his head, not sure if her voice was in his mind or if he’d really heard it. Then he heard it again. Kate. Hope burst through him, sent him staggering to his feet. He crossed to where she had gone off the edge on trembling legs. He spotted the orange extension cord running over the side. He walked to the edge and looked down. An instant of disbelief. Relief slammed into him when he saw Kate dangling ten feet down.

  “Jesus!” Then, “I’ve got you!”

  She must have known what Rooks had planned for her. She’d tied one end of the cord around the concrete pillar, the other end around her torso and beneath her arms.

  “Sweet Jesus.” Using the pillar for leverage, he wrapped the cord around his fist and pulled. “Hang on!”

  A moment later a single hand reached up and grasped the edge of the concrete floor. Frank quickly secured the extension cord and ran to her. His entire body shook uncontrollably when he grasped her hand. “I’ve got you,” he sa
id.

  She seemed weightless as he pulled her onto the floor, then to her feet. “Oh, God . . . Frank. Oh, God. I thought . . .”

  She teetered for an instant, and then he pulled her into his arms. “Shh. Easy. I’m here, baby. I’m here.”

  “Rooks . . . He was going to . . .”

  “I know. It’s okay now. He’s gone, honey. You’re safe. It’s just me.”

  “You came,” she choked. “I knew you would.”

  Realizing she was favoring her arm, he pulled back slightly. “You’re hurt.”

  “I think my arm is broken.”

  The thought of Rooks causing her that kind of pain filled him with rage. But it was short-lived. Rooks was dead. Kate was warm and alive against him. So close he could feel the warmth of her breath, the wetness of her tears. The softness of her hair. The scent of her perfume that had always driven him a little nuts. The vibrant force of her life.

  “You saved my life,” she whispered.

  Setting his hands on either side of her face, he looked into her eyes. “I saw you fall. I thought . . .” His voice broke as the memory of the terror and grief pressed down on him. “If you had fallen, I would have died right along with you.”

  “I didn’t know if the cord would hold. I couldn’t see. My hands were shaking.”

  Closing his eyes against the rush of emotion, he set his forehead against hers. “That was smart, honey,” he said. “That cord saved your life.”

  She pulled back, her gaze meeting his. Raising her uninjured arm, she set her palm against his face. “This is probably a bad time to say this. I’m not even sure you want to hear it. But I love you.”

  He grinned. “That could be the shock talking.”

  Choking out a sound that was part sob, part laugh, she hit him on the shoulder with her good hand. “I’m not in shock.”

  “In that case, I guess it’s safe for me to tell you I love you, too. I’ve loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you.”

  “Liar.”

  “Okay, the second time I laid eyes on you.”

  He pulled her close. He could feel the tremors racking her body. He could feel his own body shaking. His emotions breaking free. He felt tears on his cheeks, and they stunned him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. But he didn’t care because Kate was alive. The future was theirs for the taking.

  Holding her tightly, he bowed his head and vowed never to let her go.

  EPILOGUE

  MONDAY, FEBRUARY 13, 9:20 A.M.

  For the first time in her career, Kate was late for a meeting. She tried not to notice the stares and whispers of the administrative staffers as she rushed toward Mike Shelley’s office. At the doorway, she paused to take a deep breath in an effort to gather her composure, then opened the door.

  Three heads turned, all eyes in the room landing on Kate. “Sorry I’m late,” she said.

  “No problem.” Mike Shelley sat at his desk, his eyes steady on hers.

  Kate wasn’t sure she liked the compassion she saw in his expression. She was much more comfortable with annoyance or exasperation. She figured she was going to have to deal with that for a while.

  “How’s the arm?” Detective Bates asked.

  He sat at the small conference table. Same bad suit. Same stained tie. Some things never changed.

  “Better.” Kate smiled. “Thank you.”

  “Everyone wants to sign your cast.” Liz Gordon chuckled. “Totally inappropriate stuff, Kate. Don’t let them.”

  Kate laughed, but her nerves were taut. She looked around the small conference room table. Frank was supposed to be here, but he was conspicuously absent. She didn’t want to ask about him; she wasn’t sure she would be able to keep a handle on her emotions. But she couldn’t help but wonder if he was tied up with the legal problems that had arisen from the shooting death of Jameson Rooks.

  As if reading her thoughts, Mike Shelley cleared his throat. “Matrone is on his way. Hopefully.” Rising, he left his desk and walked to the conference table where he pulled out a chair for Kate. “You didn’t have to be here today,” he said.

  “I’d like to stay apprised of what’s happening with the case, if that’s all right.”

  “That’s fine,” he said. “But I meant what I said about your taking some vacation time.”

  Kate tried not to wince as she lowered herself into the chair. She was still sore from the ordeal she’d gone through with Jameson Rooks atop Providence Tower four days ago. Her arm had been set and would heal with no lingering damage. But she knew the emotional wounds would take a bit more time.

  Frank had stayed with her until the paramedics loaded her into the ambulance. He’d wanted to ride with her to the hospital, but the PD had had plenty of questions for him that had kept him tied up the rest of the night. But he’d been in her room when she’d wakened the next day . . .

  “Kate, I called this meeting to brief all of you on the Ferguson and Rooks investigation.” Mike opened the folder in front of him. “I thought you might want to know what our investigation has uncovered so far.”

  Kate had already figured out most of how the insurance scheme worked. This morning, her overriding concern was for Frank. She’d found out late yesterday that a grand jury would convene to rule on the shooting death of Jameson Rooks. The process was routine, even for justifiable shooting deaths. But the legalities were never easy to go through.

  Mike Shelley grimaced. “From what the Dallas PD and federal investigators have been able to find out, it looks like the law firm of Ferguson and Rooks created companies that purchased franchises for coffee shops, convenience stores, and pizza parlors. Nationwide, there were about four hundred and twenty-two units in twenty-eight states. The parent company took out life insurance policies on hourly employees. We believe Jameson Rooks then hired a hit man to go into the stores, murder the clerk on duty, and make it look like a robbery. The family of the deceased clerk usually received four or five thousand dollars, if anything. The corporation owned by the law firm of Ferguson and Rooks would receive between two hundred and three hundred thousand dollars.”

  Kate had done the math and the numbers astounded and sickened her. “Rooks told me they had murdered upward of twenty-two people.”

  Detective Bates sighed. “That’s over six million dollars. Who says murder isn’t lucrative?”

  “A lot of families devastated,” Liz said.

  Mike Shelley grimaced. “The practice is known as dead-peasant insurance.”

  “Apt term,” the detective said.

  “What about the case?” Kate asked.

  “We’re still working out the details with the feds.”

  “And Belinda Ferguson?” she asked.

  “She’s going to make it.” Mike’s eyes glinted hard for a moment. “I’ve already told her attorney no deals. She’ll do hard time.”

  Kate thought about that for a moment and asked the question that had been eating at her for four days now. “What about Frank?”

  Mike’s expression softened when he looked at Kate. “He’s got some legal red tape to work through, but he’ll be exonerated.”

  As if on cue, the door swung open. Kate looked up to see Frank standing inside the door. He looked as if he’d just stepped out of the shower. His hair was damp and mussed. A tiny piece of tissue paper clung to his chin. He was wearing a nicely cut charcoal suit, a crisp white shirt, a burgundy tie, and, of course, cowboy boots.

  “We’re glad you finally decided to grace us with your presence,” Mike said.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Frank addressed the group, but his eyes were on Kate. “I had some things to take care of.”

  She hadn’t seen him since the morning she’d wakened in the hospital. He’d called to check on her, but he hadn’t come to see her. She didn’t understand why. So much had happened in the last few days she wasn’t sure she’d ever figure it out. The only thing she knew for certain was that it hurt not seeing him.

  “Kate, I need to talk t
o you.”

  The utterance of her name jolted her from her reverie. She blinked, realized Frank was addressing her in front of the group. Uncertain, she looked at Shelley, who nodded. “Go,” he said. “You’re on vacation the rest of the week.”

  “What about my caseload?”

  “We’ll talk about that when you get back.” Mike rose and helped her scoot back her chair. “I’ll see you next week.”

  Then she was walking toward the door, toward Frank. She could feel her heart beginning to pound. Her emotions ebbing and flowing. His eyes burning into her as she crossed the distance between them. She was glad to see him. Too glad. But she didn’t know what to expect. She didn’t know where she stood with him. Where they stood. And it was driving her crazy.

  He took her hand when she reached the door and ushered her into the hall, closing the door behind them.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

  “Getting something off my chest.”

  She was standing with her back to the wall. He was so close she could smell the tangy out-of-doors scent of his aftershave. His eyes were dark and level on hers.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “I’m . . . okay.”

  “Liar.” But he softened the word with a smile. “I’m sorry I haven’t come to see you.”

  “You have a lot to deal with.” She pursed her lips, suddenly aware that she was inordinately nervous. “I’ve been worried. I mean, the grand jury.”

  “Grand jury is going to be a slam dunk.” He grinned, but she saw the same nerves she was feeling in the depth of his eyes. “It’s the other thing that’s got me tied up in little knots.”

  “What other thing?”

  “We said some things the other night . . .” He looked down, then met her gaze. “No matter how things play out between us, I just want you to know that I meant what I said.”