by Meg Gardiner
Caitlin held, heart jackhammering. Keyed the radio. “Can you see Hannah? Is Hayden in the room where she is?”
The helicopter swept overhead.
“Don’t have an angle right now,” Rainey said. “We’re making another sweep.”
Gut check. Endgame. She couldn’t wait for SWAT—she might as well walk away. There was nobody else. Just her, here, now.
Caitlin tightened her ballistic vest. She swung around the fridge and shoved open the swinging door as she dropped and rolled. No gunfire met her. She came up, sweeping the gun across the view.
The great room ran along the entire side of the building. Tall ceiling. Sconces on the wall, one with a low-wattage bulb emitting shabby yellow light. Broken coffee table and overturned wingback chairs. Smashed mirror. A velvet fainting couch. Across the room, facing the thirty-story drop, was a gaping wall of air. The frames of the windows remained, but the plate glass had been removed. A set of silk drapes billowed in the winter wind.
A second set was drifting to the floor.
The drapes had been ripped from the curtain rod with the flourish of a magician whipping aside a cape. By Hayden, who was watching them balloon and glide across the room. He stood facing Caitlin, holding Hannah tight against his chest.
The drapes. Hannah had hidden. And he’d found her.
The wind haloed Hannah’s hair. Beyond her spread the immense emptiness of the night. No glass, no netting, no force field, nothing to hold her safe. Just the window frame: a two-inch-wide metal border behind her back. Not a barrier but a portal to concrete death. Three hundred feet straight down.
Hayden stood ten feet from the edge, left arm gripping Hannah’s waist and pinning her arms, right elbow wrapping her neck. A vascular restraint hold—maybe he’d learned it from Uncle Trey. The semiautomatic in his right hand was aimed at the ceiling. But squeeze Hannah’s neck any tighter and he would choke her to death.
Under the beam of Caitlin’s flashlight, he looked ready to do it. Blood trickled from a gash in his cheek. And from cuts on Hannah’s palms, and from the broken slice of mirror that gleamed on the floor nearby. Goddamn, this kid. Hannah hadn’t simply hidden—she’d freed her wrists from the duct tape with the glass, then gone for him. His blue eyes crawled with rage.
As long as she had a clear shot, Caitlin could fire. It would be a good shoot. If she squeezed the trigger now, the Shooting Incident Review Group would declare it a justified use of lethal force.
That knowledge did nothing to ease the knot in her gut about firing on a high school sophomore.
And she didn’t have a clear shot. Hayden was blading his body so Hannah blocked it.
“Drop the gun,” Caitlin shouted.
Hayden’s shoulders rose and fell. He held onto the pistol. The knot tightened in Caitlin’s gut.
Outside the window, a roar swelled. The helicopter rose into view, blinding them with its spotlight.
The wash from the rotors sent dust and paint chips and paper scraps flying. Hannah cringed. Hayden turned into a backlit silhouette.
The chopper hovered and turned sideways. Rainey was braced in the open doorway, a Colt burst-fire rifle to her shoulder. Caitlin juked out of her line of fire.
“It’s over,” Caitlin yelled. “Drop the gun. Now.”
She held fire. So did Rainey, eye to the rifle scope.
Hayden looked thoughtfully at the ceiling. He seemed to consider it. His shoulder lifted—a teenager’s whatever shrug. Then, with almost cavalier insouciance, he released his grip on Hannah’s neck.
He lowered his arm, and let the pistol twirl from his index finger and clatter to the floor. He booted it away.
“Knife too,” Caitlin shouted. “Kick it toward me.”
He snagged a switchblade from his front pocket and flipped it onto the floor. Kicked.
She felt a trickle of relief and didn’t trust it. His grip on Hannah’s waist remained tight.
Caitlin inched toward him. “Let her go, Hayden. On the floor. Lock your hands behind your head.”
His voice rose above the chopper, clear but strained. “You can’t shoot me. I’m unarmed.”
Hannah’s eyes swam with light. Her shirt rippled across her shivering shoulders. Caitlin inched another step closer.
“Stop.” Hayden hoisted Hannah off her feet and held her head directly in front of his.
Clever boy. Clever, paranoid, smart, deadly boy. He practically sewed the little girl onto him like a suit. A shadow. An overlay. Anything that hit him, especially a high-powered round, would kill Hannah too.
Caitlin stopped. “Let her go and we’ll all walk out of here. You know that’s the way it works.”
He shook his head. And began turning in circles, making any shot impossible. As he spun, he reached into the front pocket of his hoodie, one-handed.
He brought out a set of handcuffs.
Fuck. He’d taken them from his mother.
He slapped one cuff around Hannah’s left wrist. Then he maneuvered the other cuff around his own.
Double fuck.
He backed within eight feet of the window frame. “Go on. Pull the trigger.”
He smiled. The sight of a calculating grin on his Disney-kid face chilled Caitlin to the marrow.
Even if she managed to hit him and miss Hannah, she couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t fall backward out the windows.
His gaze dropped to Hannah. The hatred on his face was so blinding that it almost reached devotion. Caitlin’s nerves flashed like a sparking electrical wire.
“No, Hayden,” she shouted. “She doesn’t see you. I do.”
His head jerked head up and he locked eyes with her. His spinning slowed. His gaze degenerated. Rage. Panic.
“On the floor. Now.”
Her heart skipped. He was so little more than a child. One move, she thought. One step, one twitch, and I pull the trigger. Even if she had to risk hitting Hannah. Dropping him would be her only chance to keep him from jumping. She could barely breathe.
His smile returned, jagged and wild.
He wanted to make her do it.
She tried to keep her voice level. “Hayden, you can’t talk your way out of a nine-millimeter bullet. You won’t end up in the ER, or a psych ward, or juvie. If I fire, I blow out your candle. There’s no coming back.”
Omnipotent control. He was desperate for it. A malignant paranoid, convinced his enemies had gathered to destroy him.
Hayden wanted to defeat her. Suicide would be his victory.
And he wanted to take Hannah with him.
His smile was whiter than the spotlight. “I uploaded a vid,” he said, spinning. “Unless I yank it, it goes live at four a.m. It tells the real story. How my mom did all of this and put it on me. It’s her fault. I got here to try to save Hannah but it was too late.” His expression turned sly. “Shoot me and everybody will think you did it to bury the truth. I’ll be a martyr.”
His smile broadened. “By the time you pull the trigger we’ll be halfway out the window. And you’re not wearing a body cam. Nobody’ll believe you. You’ll be the kid killer.”
Cool excitement ran across Caitlin’s skin, thin hope. Over the roar of the helicopter, she shouted, “I don’t need a body cam.”
She nodded outside. The FBI helicopter wasn’t the only copter in the air. A fleet of news choppers hovered in the distance, filming the scene.
She held the Glock steady. The moment stretched. Hayden turned in one more slow circle. Then stopped.
“Want me to let go of her?” he said. “Fine.”
He spread his arms, a sweep of angel’s wings. And he gave Caitlin the finger with both hands.
Hannah’s cuffed hand jerked along with his, the chain clinking. Caitlin saw it in his eyes.
She dived for Hannah. “No.”
Hayden thre
w himself backward toward the window.
Lunging, Caitlin got her arms around Hannah’s waist and tackled her, full bore, a cornerback bringing down the receiver. Her flying momentum jerked Hayden off balance and all three of them crashed to the dusty floor.
Hayden scrambled for the edge. Hannah screamed. Lying on top of the girl, holding on, Caitlin brought up the Glock but Hayden was at the maw. He lunged for the night and flipped over the lip of the window frame.
He dropped with shocking swiftness, jerking Hannah toward the edge. Caitlin’s weight couldn’t stop the slide. They skidded, fast, toward the window.
Hannah screamed in pain as the cuff dug into her wrist. The edge of the building loomed closer. Something, anything, Jesus—
Scrambling, Caitlin kicked sideways. The edge arrived. She jammed her shoulder into the window frame, the vertical side jamb that ran from floor to ceiling, and wedged herself against it. Hannah’s handcuff caught on the bottom rail of the frame, taking part of Hayden’s hanging weight.
“Hold on,” Caitlin said. “Hold tight.”
Hannah wrapped her free arm around Caitlin’s shoulder. Her screaming was equal parts fear and anguish. The wedged handcuff squealed against the metal frame. But the chain, designed to keep crazed tweakers from ripping out jailhouse bars, didn’t break.
The vertical post, lodged against Caitlin’s collar bone, dug into her shoulder. She felt Hannah slide a fraction of an inch. In her earpiece, she heard the SWAT commander.
“Alpha Team is ascending in the elevator.”
Rainey responded. “Enter the apartment on the west side of the building and ascend the interior staircase. Repeat, interior staircase, then south to the living room. Move, move. Agent needs backup.”
Hannah slid another half an inch. Caitlin fumbled for the handcuff around the girl’s wrist. She felt blood, tried to focus on anything but Hannah’s unearthly cries.
Hannah moaned, “Omigod, please Caitlin don’t let me fall.”
SWAT wasn’t going to get here fast enough.
Hayden’s weight was too much. He was hanging straight down off the side of the building and seemed to be swinging and kicking. Though the cuff locked to Hannah’s wrist was wedged against the bottom of the window frame, sooner rather than later it would break free of that. When it did, Caitlin wouldn’t be able to hold onto the girl.
Caitlin carried her own handcuffs at the back of her belt. The key for those was in her jeans pocket. Holding tight to Hannah, she couldn’t reach it.
She looked out the window at Rainey. “Do you have a shot at the chain?”
In the helicopter, Rainey didn’t move her eye from the rifle scope. The chopper was hovering smoothly, but with the wind, engine torque, and the rotor downdraft washing back from the building, it was impossible for the pilot to hold it absolutely motionless.
“Rainey?”
No answer. But beneath Hannah’s wails, a new voice cried, desperate and broken.
“No. No. God. Don’t. I don’t want to die. God. No. This was a mistake.”
It was Hayden.
“Please. I’m sorry. Pull me up. Jesus Christ, help me.” His pleading became a sob. “Please. Please please please.”
Rainey’s voice came through Caitlin’s earpiece. “I have a shot at the chain.”
“You sure?” Caitlin said.
“I won’t miss. Not from this distance.” Rainey sounded as certain as Caitlin had ever heard her. “Go or no go?”
Hayden shrieked. “Forgive me. I was wrong. I know how they all felt now. Oh, my God, forgive me.”
Caitlin’s chest clenched. The rotor downwash blasted the room. Rainey was waiting.
Caitlin jammed herself hard against the post of the window frame and secured her arm around Hannah.
She shouted into the night air, over the edge of the void. “Give me your hand, Hayden.”
For an instant, there was no reply. Then relief and a tone of even-more-desperate fear burst from him like an explosion. “I don’t think I can.”
“You can do it,” They had only seconds left. “Hurry, Hayden.”
“Okay … okay …”
Securely wedged against the upright post, she removed one hand from Hannah, fumbling. Hayden’s right hand swung into sight, fingers scrabbling. Caitlin stretched. And got a glimpse over the edge, at his face.
Hayden swung, nothing below him but darkness and sickening finality. He was smiling.
His pleas were a ploy.
He grabbed for her, trying to grip her wrist and pull her and Hannah over the edge with him in a victory plunge.
Caitlin moved fast. And shouted into the radio, “Shoot the chain.”
Hayden howled. “I win, bitch.”
Rainey fired. The bullet hit the chain of the LAPD handcuffs and broke it cleanly.
Caitlin grabbed Hannah, pulled her back from the edge, clutched the girl. Held on, shuddering, hearing Hannah cry.
Hayden’s screams pierced the sky outside. Endless. Hysterical.
Frustrated. Loud, and getting louder. Hovering right near her ears.
Caitlin’s own handcuff scraped against the upright post of the window frame. It was securely locked around it. The other bracelet was locked around Hayden’s right hand.
She had snapped it on as he tried to grab her. He was caught, locked to the window frame, kicking and screaming in futility.
Caitlin hauled Hannah away from the edge. The girl shuddered, cradling her injured wrist. Caitlin pulled her against her shoulder.
Flashlight beams and targeting lasers erupted into the room and SWAT poured through the door. Outside the empty window, in the helicopter, Rainey lowered the rifle. Her face was unreadable in the crazed light. Caitlin lifted a hand, in gratitude and admiration. Rainey raised a fist. The helicopter turned and swooped away. Its engine faded.
Hayden’s screams remained.
55
Winter morning twilight brightened the sky. The eastern horizon glowed blue, blazing with the morning star. On the street outside the Swallowtail Hotel, Caitlin shook hands with the departing SWAT team.
The construction company had brought in spotlights and a crane with a hydraulic lift to remove the concrete barriers that blocked entry to the demolition zone, and the street around the hotel was filled with police cars and ambulances. Detective Solis, despite his exhaustion, looked weightless. Golden. Soon the adrenaline would drain and he’d crash, good chance sleep for twenty-four hours, but for the moment, he was soaring.
He shook Caitlin’s hand. “Didn’t expect you to draw the short straw, but …”
“Could have been any of us. Glad it ended the way it did,” Caitlin said.
Alvarez came around the corner, loosening his ballistic vest. Caitlin smiled at him.
“Your Jeep survive last night’s pursuit unscathed?” she said.
“She’s damn tough.”
“Baitsy deserves chrome rims and new leather interior.”
He laughed and slapped her on the back as he walked toward the hotel. He was approaching the entrance when the paramedics came out with Emmerich sitting up on a stretcher. He was pale and beat up. His leg was in a temporary brace and he wore a cervical collar.
He was on the phone. “Probably this afternoon … yes, Director.”
He saw her and wrapped up the call. He asked the paramedics to wait. They shot him a look, like, We don’t work for you, and kept walking. Caitlin fell in at their side.
Emmerich tried, briefly, to appear as if he wasn’t in pain. “Fractured tib-fib,” he said. “Possibly a mild concussion.”
The paramedic pulling the stretcher gave Emmerich the stink eye.
“Protocol requires me to go to the ER, but I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“You’ll be back as soon as they turn their heads, but let them take care of you
, boss.” Caitlin leaned toward the paramedics. “He’s slippery. Don’t let him get away.”
She unholstered the weapon he had entrusted to her, his Glock, and held it out. He smiled and took it. He likewise unholstered the gun on his hip.
“Found yours ten feet from where you left me.” He returned it to her. “Figured you’d need it back.”
“Thank you.”
The paramedics rolled him to the ambulance. They were shutting the doors as Keyes pulled up with Rainey in an FBI Suburban.
They were hot-eyed, worn, and almost shining with pride and relief. Caitlin waited for them with her hands on her hips.
She peered up at Keyes. “You made this possible.”
“Don’t know about that,” he said.
“Take the credit, dude. It won’t always come around.”
He smiled.
Caitlin locked eyes with Rainey. She felt a welter of emotion, a dam about to burst. She held it back and squeezed Rainey’s arm.
“Fine fucking shooting,” she said.
Rainey nodded. Her serene exterior showed no cracks. But it seemed, briefly, transparent. The relief, the confirmation, the achievement, the daring, and above all the weight she had been able to shoulder, all shone near the surface, a heated glow.
“Let’s hope we never have to call it that close again.” Rainey raised her head to take in the shadowed bulk of the hotel. “I hear Hayden has fingernail scratches on his neck. Maya Cathcart did claw him. She’s going to help put him away.”
Caitlin nodded. It was insufficient. She pulled Rainey into a hug.
Up the street a man and woman stood at a barricade, talking to the officer controlling entry to the scene. Caitlin put two fingers to her teeth and whistled. The officer turned.
“They’re good,” she shouted. “Let them through.”
It was Mina and Dave Guillory. The officer quickly signed them in. They rounded the barricade and ran up the street, Mina with the back of her hand to her mouth, Dave keeping his hand on her back. Caitlin pointed them toward an LAPD cruiser.
In its open front door, Hannah sat talking to Detective Weisbach while the paramedics examined her. Her wrist wasn’t obviously fractured, but had sustained enough ligament and soft-tissue damage from the handcuff that she would need to have it x-rayed and splinted.
