But he didn’t, because none of it could be undone. None of it could have been predicted. Things happened. Parents fought. Children were caught in crossfire. Hookers died on cheap motel sheets. Reid could hate the people who made such things happen, he could devote his life to stopping them, but he couldn’t fix everything.
He could fix his own life, though. He could take the things he wanted and fight to make them work. He could love Stephanie and Jilly and make a family with them if he tried hard enough.
If he got them out of this alive.
So he gave the pale rookie a man-to-man nod, wadded his suit jacket against the hole in the kid’s chest and directed him to press on it. “Backup’s en route.” Assuming it ever got through that accident, or managed to backtrack far enough around to come in another way. “Which door?”
O’Connell gestured with his chin. “Sagging green one next to the ticket office. Third window over, I think. The one with the old theater marquee right below it.”
The marquee in question looked as though it might let go and crash the three stories to the ground at any moment. Reid scowled. He could picture the inside—a warren of narrow, smelly hallways and cramped, smelly rooms. Sort of like his place.
Then he froze as he saw a window above the marquee slide open. Saw a leg appear. And saw Stephanie, with her daughter balanced carefully on her hip, ease her way out the window and take a shaky step along the rotting wood.
“Jesus.” He didn’t dare yell, for fear of attracting the Botts’ attention to their escaping prisoners. Didn’t dare wave her back from an inevitable fall for the same reason.
Did she realize how precarious her perch was? Perhaps so, and she had decided the alternative was worse. She was inching her way along the false theater front, aiming for a rusty, crusty fire escape at the far end of the building.
She couldn’t possibly see that a three-foot section between her and the fire escape was supported by nothing. The decorative cross members and bracing lay in sharp-edged heap on the sidewalk, and the few boards that remained sagged into empty space.
“Radio Sturgeon and get him here,” Reid snapped at the groggy O’Connell. “I don’t care if he drives on the sidewalk or straight through a department store to get here, just get him here. Got it?”
Without waiting for the rookie’s assent, Reid yanked his weapon free and charged across the street, dodging and weaving, hoping to foul the shooter’s aim. A pair of shots chipped the asphalt at his heels. He’d just reached the faded green door when he heard the sound he’d been dreading.
It wasn’t the sound of rotting wood giving way beneath the woman he loved and the child he wanted for his own.
It was the slide of a second window and a man’s voice yelling, “Hey, you. Stop! Hey, Dwayne. They’re out on the ledge. They’re getting away!”
DON’T LOOK DOWN. Don’t look back. The words had become Steph’s mantra as she edged her way along the soft boards that had once supported a sign for Coming Attractions. Yeah, she thought, coming soon, the amazing Stephanie and Jilly Alberts and their death-defying midair walk.
No. Can’t think of that now. Her foot wobbled on the one sturdy beam she’d found and Steph closed her eyes for a quick moment and used the feel of her daughter in her arms to find her balance once again.
There were no “do-overs” here. She had one chance and one chance only. But when she’d pressed her ear to the bedroom door—flimsy enough to hear through but not so flimsy that she could break it if she could think of some way to overpower the men on the other side—she’d heard Dwayne say, “It’s time to cut our losses and scram, brother. We can’t stay here anymore. I can’t alibi you out of this mess and you can’t alibi me. Got it?”
“And those two?”
“We’ll take the woman and dump the kid, just like we planned.”
And she’d known she couldn’t afford to get into their getaway car. The police wouldn’t be able to find her then, and she didn’t think a can of pepper spray would be enough to hold off Dwayne Bott, who seemed more than human to her.
More than evil.
Escape was her only option.
The window had been locked with a simple bolt, making it a suitable prison for a little girl, but not for a grown woman. That is, until the grown woman looked down at the spongy, rotten ledge and the street three stories below.
But there had been no other choice. It was the Botts or the ledge.
Don’t look down. Don’t look back. She was almost halfway to freedom when she heard the sash scrape behind her, heard Derek’s excited shout.
And she started to run toward the fire escape.
REID DIDN’T BOTHER with stealth. The woman he loved was up there with Dwayne and Derek Bott and she needed him.
He didn’t wait for backup. He simply charged up the stairs and flung himself into the room where the brothers Bott had holed up.
“Freeze! Police!” Have to remember there’s two of them, he reminded himself as he flattened his back to a thin wall and tried to cover them both at once. It was a little disconcerting that they looked exactly alike as they advanced toward him, like he was in a funhouse hall of mirrors, only this was no fun.
Then one snapped, “Go get the woman and the girl. I’ll take care of him.”
The dead snake eyes told Reid he was facing the smarter, meaner brother. “Dwayne. You don’t want to do this.” The high-powered rifle in Bott’s hands was designed more for sniper shots like the one that had felled O’Connell than it was for close-range combat, but Reid figured it could put a pretty big hole in him regardless. “This doesn’t have to be as bad as you’ll make it if you kill me.”
Bott snorted. “Don’t play me, detective. You’ve got us on a bunch of rapes, murder, kidnapping, shooting that cop in the street, and who knows what the hell else? It can’t possibly get any worse for Derek.”
“But you did most of that, Dwayne. Not Derek.” Reid was agonizingly aware that Derek Bott was crawling out the window after Steph and Jilly. But Dwayne’s finger was hard on the rifle trigger and Reid wouldn’t be much help if he got shot in the process of taking Dwayne out. The anger soared and he fought it. He needed logic now, not rage. He needed a distraction.
The big man shrugged. “Who cares? Derek will go down for all of it. I’ll see to that. The DNA will match. I’ll make sure his alibis recant, then I’ll disappear for good. He screwed up in the first place, raping that little kid without a condom, and I’ve had to do all this work to get him out of it. Then he got cute with that letter bomb and the teddy bear….” Dwayne blew out a frustrated breath. “Frankly, he’s a liability at this point.”
Reid developed an odd feeling on the back of his neck. Not an itch that told him something was wrong, but a prickling that told him there was someone there. Someone friendly.
Do something, Sturgeon, he thought, I’m running out of time here.
“Oh, damn—!” The muffled shout came from outside the window. There was a spongy crackling, and the whole building seemed to sway for an instant under an onslaught of furious popping and tearing sounds. Reid heard Stephanie scream and thought his heart had stopped.
Dwayne half turned toward the window and bellowed his twin’s name, and that break was enough for Reid. He dove on the heavier man, swinging the rifle away and down. A shot rang out as it discharged through the floor and into the—he hoped—empty apartment below.
Reid pistol-whipped Bott, who sagged and howled, but fought back with the strength and ferocity of a grizzly. He grabbed Reid in a bear hug that threatened to crack a few ribs, and carried him toward the window.
“Bott! Freeze!” And suddenly there were men pouring into the tiny gray apartment, surrounding Bott and yelling for him to let Reid go. To surrender.
Reid punched Dwayne hard in the face and felt the contact sing up his arm and meet the anger that burned within him. The big man sagged and Reid hit the floor running, praying to a God he barely remembered from childhood that some of the marquee ha
d survived the collapse. He stuck his head out the window and looked out.
Nothing.
A jumble of wood, girders, and smashed neon lights lay strewn across the street. A human figure was sprawled atop it. Unmoving. A spreading pool of dark radiated from the still figure.
Uniforms and rescue workers were gathered around the mess, gesturing and pointing, and Reid scanned the wreck frantically, hoping to see a woman and a child standing at the edges of the disaster area, or maybe being treated in the back of the ambulance, or—
“Reid.” The whisper came from his left and he whipped around to stare.
She was standing not ten feet away from him, balanced on a shattered spike of beam that hadn’t yet fallen. Jilly’s arms were wrapped hard around her neck and there were tears in both their eyes. As he watched, Stephanie’s fingers went limp and a shiny silver canister spun through the air and fell to the ground, three stories away.
Jilly’s little lips formed the whispered word, “Tek-tif,” and Reid felt his heart lurch.
Then it stopped when he heard a crackling sound and the beam started to let go.
FROM THE MOMENT she’d pepper-sprayed Derek Bott and seen him reel back and fall and heard his choked-off scream when he hit bottom…from the moment she’d seen the rest of the fragile structure break free and follow Bott down three stories of open air, Steph had known it was only a matter of time before she and Jilly followed.
She could see no way out. There were scurrying, yelling figures below, but she knew any sort of landing site they might rig would be too late. The heavy ironwork and sharp boards below were too dangerous.
But perhaps, she’d thought, she could curl herself tightly enough around Jilly to protect the little girl from the landing.
Maybe she could save her daughter.
Then Reid had leaned his head out the window, and all thoughts of martyrdom fled. She wanted to live, damn it, if only so she’d have the opportunity to try once more to prove to Reid that he wasn’t like his father. That he wasn’t just a cop. That he’d make a good daddy. A good husband.
That he deserved a family.
He didn’t look at her right away, but instead stared down at the mess below. At the broken body of Derek Bott. She whispered, “Reid,” as though a yell would bring her precious foothold tumbling down, and his head whipped around. His eyes bored into hers, and she felt the tears rise. She let the pepper spray go and heard it land on the street far below.
So close. He was so close, yet the ten feet seemed like miles. And the fragment of beam she was clinging to with all her might began to give way.
“Rope,” he barked over his shoulder. “I need rope. Belts, anything, and I mean now!” She could hear the scuffling behind him and was grateful that he wasn’t alone with Dwayne. Wasn’t shot dead, though she saw the blood on his arm and his face and knew he hadn’t escaped unscathed.
“Reid,” she whispered again, afraid that even breathing too deeply would send her and her daughter crashing down. “You’ll have to catch Jilly.”
She saw the knowledge in his eyes, knew that the momentum would be too much for her perch but she could see no other way. But damn it, she wanted to live. She wanted to love him, whether he liked it or not.
She could see willing hands holding his belt and legs as Reid began to inch his way out the window, following the scant remnant of scaffolding that had survived the collapse. He ran out of support after only a few feet.
He reached out toward her and she knew. He could go no farther.
“I love you,” she said, not whispering now because the beam was cracking anyway, and she saw the answering emotion gleaming gold in the afternoon light.
“I love you, too, Steph. And by God, I’m not going to lose you now. Either of you. Swing Jilly this way and when the beam starts to go, push off the wall as hard as you can and grab my hand. I swear on my soul I won’t let you go. Either of you.”
And then it was too late to argue. With a final groan, the air beneath her feet shifted and gravity reached up to snatch her down.
With a grunt of effort, Steph heaved her daughter toward Reid, but she didn’t follow. She jammed her fingers and toes as deep as she could into the shallow cracks that seamed the old building and clung like a spider.
Reid grabbed Jilly out of midair and hustled her through the window, then shimmied back out on his meager ledge and held out a hand to her. “Your turn, sweetheart. Trust me. I’ll catch you. I love you.”
And Stephanie Alberts, who’d sworn never to put her faith in another man, let go of the wall and leapt into thin air, trusting Reid to save her.
Trusting him not to let her go.
Epilogue
“Jilly? Jilly, where are you?” The starched white lab coat flapped around Stephanie’s calves as she eased up the stairs toward her daughter’s bedroom. She wasn’t moving so quickly these days. “Are you in here, baby?”
“I’m not your baby.” Five-year-old Jilly, who hadn’t stopped talking in two years, mock-scowled, though her eyes twinkled. “That’s your baby.” She pointed at her mother’s once-flat stomach, which now resembled—at least in Stephanie’s mind—the back end of a VW Beetle.
Then the child belied the complaint by pressing her face against Steph’s belly and saying, “Hi, baby! When are you coming out?”
“When she’s fully cooked,” came the reply from above and behind Steph’s shoulder, and she spun—sort of—with a glad cry and was immediately cuddled against her husband’s chest. She smelled the turpentine and wondered when he’d found time to sneak upstairs to the room they’d converted to his studio.
Then she wondered if he’d finished his “surprise” yet, and she hoped that he and his brushes were kind to the curves and bumps that had developed as her pregnancy advanced. She wouldn’t have posed nude for him that day, except that he’d loved her into pliant, boneless submission before arranging her on the sofa with a hot look in his eye.
Two years ago, it would have been laughable to envision tough Detective Peters as a closet oil painter. But then again, it had been almost impossible to see him as a family man. He’d turned out to be a natural at both.
“Daddy!” yelled Jilly, and immediately dove into the group hug. “You’re home early!”
“It seems we both are.” Reid cocked an eyebrow—a trick she was pretty sure he’d gotten Sturgeon to teach him—at Steph’s lab coat. “Feeling frisky?” he whispered into Steph’s ear.
It never ceased to amaze her what a starched white lab coat could do to a man. Well, to her man. But frankly she was feeling anything but sexy. She’d left the coat on because twisting around to take off the extra-oversized lab coat—which resembled a white pup tent—had been too much of an effort, so she’d left it on.
Her back ached, her feet hurt and she’d left work early, hoping for a nap and not expecting Reid or Jilly to be home. But Maureen and Mortimer were off on their twice-delayed honeymoon tour of jazz clubs across the country, and the babysitter had had too much homework to stay late.
“Not so much,” she managed to reply, aware that Reid was looking at her strangely and that Jilly had fallen unusually silent.
“Everything okay, sweetheart?”
Though it usually warmed her when the big, bad detective who’d sworn he didn’t need to be loved called her that, today it just gave her heartburn and made her backache worse.
Funny. That’s about how she’d felt when she’d barely managed to drag herself out of the cab.
“Steph? What’s wrong?” The first hint of concern laced Reid’s voice as Stephanie began to piece one and one together and got…three.
“I don’t think I’m feeling frisky, love. I think I’m feeling like having a baby.”
And though they’d talked about it, planned for it, run through every contingency plan imaginable, Steph was surprised to see on her husband’s face the one emotion he’d never shown her before, even when he’d been hanging out that apartment window holding onto her with ju
st three fingers of one hand as Sturgeon and the others had struggled to pull them to safety.
Stark, abject terror.
And so, when she most needed to be soothed, she found herself soothing. When she most needed to be held, she found herself holding. When she most needed to be reassured, she found herself reassuring.
And she discovered that it was exactly what she had needed after all.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-6956-3
SECRET WITNESS
Copyright © 2004 by Dr. Jessica S. Andersen
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