Not spotting any better hiding places than I had in the larger dining room a floor below, I continued down the hall toward the main lounge. A short line of people waited for a chance at a table. No time to join the wait, I ducked into the women’s bathroom.
Public restrooms always offered a large variety of hiding places, and this one was no different in that respect. What I didn’t expect was the glass wall overlooking the city, giving the ladies room a view equally jaw-dropping as those in the dining areas. I pulled my attention from Navy Pier and the white-capped lake and concentrated on the interior.
The bathroom smelled of lemon disinfectant and eucalyptus from the floral arrangement on the marble vanity. I logged possible hiding places with a glance. Under the lip of the vanity. Behind the toilets. The recessed lighting in the ceiling. But again, those spots felt too obvious. The people I was dealing with had more than my face, they had my training as well. And if there was a Looking for Hidden Shit 101, the spots I’d found so far would be covered in the first lesson.
I had to come up with something better. I checked my watch. Only a few minutes until Cory would be expecting me out on the sidewalk.
I left the restroom and continued down the hall to the lounge. The host was leading the group I’d noticed to a table. I took the opportunity to breeze past, as if I was a tourist just wanting a peek at the view to the building’s east. The room presented the same assortment of hiding spots, planters, radiators and recessed lighting, along with cocktail tables and some possibilities in the lighting above the bar itself. Often people focused on everything eye level and below when looking for something. They rarely thought to look up. But still…I glanced back down the hall.
I had a better idea.
“It’s all about control,” The Instructor said. “You must keep as much control as possible, at all times. An agent should always have choices, always do things on her terms. Sometimes, options will be taken away from you. If that happens, make new options. An operative with no choices is a dead operative.”
I took care of the cell phone and made it back to the street with sixty-three seconds to spare. The John Hancock building itself sat back from Michigan Avenue. In front, the sidewalk opened up to display a half-moon shaped array of shops one story below. Steps funneled to the lower level on both sides. Steel rail and glass rimmed the edge of the depression, stretching the length of the block parallel to the street. I stepped out on the bare stretch of sidewalk between guard rail and curb and tried to quell the nervous trill in my stomach. I felt exposed, no cover other than a light pole, a trash can and a few spindly trees.
I scanned the street.
No sign of the black SUV.
No sign of Cory.
Wait.
Half a block away, a white four door sat idling along the curb. Sun reflected off the windshield, making it difficult to see inside, but I managed to make out two silhouettes. The car’s passenger door opened, and Cory stepped out onto the street.
He was a little more buff, chest broader, arms straining the long sleeves of the tee shirt he wore. He’d been lifting, no doubt taking advantage of the weights in the prison yard. A jacket draped over his right arm, one sleeve flapping in the wind. He’d always had a habit of squinting his eyes, but now crow’s feet fanned out from their corners, and creases slashed his forehead and dug between his brows. Gray sparkled among the stubble on his head. But despite changes in his appearance, his walk was the same, half-amble, half-prowl, and for a second memory overwhelmed me.
My palms felt damp, my chest tight, and just like when I was fourteen, my vision seemed to narrow and all my senses focused on him. I knew exactly how he would smell. How his voice would sound. How his lips would thin when angry. I knew the feel of his skin, and the sounds he made, when fucking…when killing.
I wanted to run, to just get away. From the memories, from the past, from my own weakness. But I’d learned long ago that running didn’t change a damn thing. There was no way to undo all he’d done to me. Besides, I wasn’t that naive teenager anymore. I’d killed more men than Cory had.
I was better than he ever was.
Harnessing that thought, I pulled in a deep breath, car exhaust and a whiff of hot dogs from a nearby vendor. A car honked in the street behind me. People shuffled past, snips of their conversations swirled and scattered in the wind. The concrete was firm under my feet. My arms hung still by my sides, the yellow bag and duffle slung over my weak shoulder. My 9mm felt comfortable and familiar, pressed against the small of my back.
“Hiya, babe.” He stopped three feet away and scanned me up and down. “Time’s been good to you.”
His familiar scent reached me, a mix of cigarette smoke, leather and sweat. I braced myself against the answering memories.
I was ice. Cold. Calculating. “Is Kaufmann in the car?”
“Maybe. And maybe he’s got a gun pointed at him right now. Just like you do.” He pulled a corner of the jacket back with his left hand to show me the handgun.
As if that was supposed to surprise me.
Tracking his hands with my peripheral vision, I kept my main focus on his eyes.
His brows shifted. His eyes searched mine, as if realizing he couldn’t read me the way he used to. “Before you go and do something stupid, I got one of those Bluetooth earpieces on. Anything happens to me, my partner ices Kaufmann.”
I hadn’t done anything truly stupid since the last time I believed a word Cory said. I held out my hands, palms up and non-threatening. “I want to see him.”
Cory watched me for a moment, then nodded. “Make him sit up,” he muttered.
In the car, the driver’s silhouette moved. A second figure rose from the back seat.
“How do I know that’s him?”
“You’ll just have to trust me.” He nodded to the yellow book bag on my shoulder. “The money in there?”
I nodded. Not all the money he wanted, but I figured we’d get to that later.
“Good girl. Now give it to me, or he loses another finger.” Judging from his smile, he not only meant the threat, he enjoyed the prospect of cutting off body parts just as much as he always had.
I took the bag’s strap in one hand and held it out a few inches, as if I barely had the strength to offer it. “Don’t hurt him. Please.”
He stepped toward me and laughed, a derisive snort of a sound that used to make me feel small and stupid. “I always liked it when you begged. Let’s hear it again, babe.”
“Please, Cory.” I let a tremor seep into my voice, a tremor that wasn’t entirely acting. “Please.”
He took another step closer. Reaching out his left hand, he grasped the bag. His right hand snaked out from under the jacket, the pistol aimed at my chest.
I released the strap. In the same motion, I swung my right hand down hard and seized his wrist above the gun. I pivoted my body sideways, out of the way of a bullet.
He didn’t have a chance to fire.
Holding his arm, I grabbed the pistol with my left hand and forced the weapon backwards. At the same time, I thrust my knee hard into his groin.
He grunted and pitched forward. His hand released the gun.
I heard a shuffle of feet and surprised voices. I sensed people’s heads snap around, looking for the source of the commotion, but at this point, I was beyond caring what they saw. I fitted the pistol into my right hand and dropped the barrel in line with his crotch. “Tell your partner to let Kaufmann go, now, or I shoot off your pitiful little dick.”
Tires screeched on pavement.
I glanced up, expecting to see Cory’s ride taking off. But the white car sat in the same spot.
The black SUV that had followed me earlier had whipped around the corner and was barreling up the street toward us. The passenger window lowered.
Shit shit shit.
I released Cory and spun away, the book bag hooked in my elbow. Automatic weapon fire peppered the sidewalk behind me. People screamed. Three strides and I leapt fo
r the rail. My hands hit the top, and I vaulted the barrier. My feet landed on two different steps and I lurched forward into the far rail before I could regain my balance.
Glass shattered above under a rain of lead.
Holding Cory’s pistol at the ready, I started up the staircase. People cascaded down, screaming and stumbling, threatening to sweep me with them. Glass crunched under my shoes. Finally I shoved my way back to street level. I slipped behind a sign for the self park ramp. The SUV rounded the corner. I trained Cory’s gun on it, but it was too far away and moving too fast. A stray shot would be more likely to strike a panicked civilian than my intended target. But they had to know there was a good probability they’d missed me. In just a few seconds, I’d get another chance.
I spotted the white car, it had pulled away from the curb and was moving toward me still half in the parking lane. I wasn’t sure where Cory went, but I was dead sure of one thing: I wouldn’t let his partner get away with Kaufmann. I leveled my barrel and took my shot, going for the tires.
The car skidded to the side then overcorrected and bounced up on the curb. The driver’s door flew open.
I lined up my next shot, ready to take out Cory’s partner before he could retaliate against Kaufmann.
Wait. Not he.
She.
A girl jumped from the driver’s seat, tall and slim and so young she’d probably only sprouted breasts in the last week. Long brown hair hung in her eyes. She took a few steps in my direction, then skidded to a stop and stared at my gun, her mouth forming an O and her eyes going wide. Her hands hung empty at her sides.
Just a kid…
Like I had been.
Another scream of rubber on pavement. The SUV roared around the corner, coming back the way it had gone.
It would be on us in seconds.
I grabbed a glance at the car, noted the engine was still running, and looked back at the girl. “Run.”
She did, and so did I.
I reached the open driver’s door of the white car just as the shooting resumed. Slamming it into drive, I gunned the engine. The car shot forward on the sidewalk, bucking on the deflating tire. The SUV roared straight at me, bearing down in a game of chicken I’d never survive. “Kaufmann. Keep your head down.”
I heard a mumble from the backseat. It was Kaufmann’s voice, all right, but I couldn’t make out the words.
In front of me, the SUV jumped the curb as smoothly as running over a seam in the highway. Up ahead, a truck idled in the parking lane, the driver either gone or dead or paralyzed with fear.
I spun the wheel toward the street. The car flew over the curb and hit hard, the impact jarring up my spine. I swerved around the idling truck and glanced the back bumper. Metal screamed against metal. I skidded onto Michigan Avenue, just missing oncoming traffic.
The SUV was still on the sidewalk, blocked by the truck, but that would buy me no more than a few seconds. If Kaufmann and I stayed out on the street, we were dead. I had to get out of the line of fire. And I had to do it now. I spied the self park sign and pushed the pedal to the floor. “Hold on.”
The car skidded around the corner, the tire I’d shot flopping. I spotted the ramp’s entrance and the two security guards manning it. One hunkered in the booth, a phone to his ear. The other stood at the entrance.
I drove straight for him.
He stared at me for a second, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, as if he couldn’t comprehend what I was about to do. Finally self-preservation kicked in. He half-dashed, half-leapt to the side. I crashed through the flimsy wooden gate and kept going. The parking ramp corkscrewed upward, a tight curly-cue of poured cement. I followed, pushing the car as fast as I could negotiate the turn. My passenger side mirror kissed the edge of the half-wall and broke off with a crunch. The tire I’d shot was useless now. The bare rim shrieked against concrete. Sparks flashed in the dim light.
The SUV would follow, of that I had little doubt. But for a few seconds, the barrage of bullets had stopped.
“Kaufmann? Talk to me.” The odor of blood and sweat and fear filled the car. I did my best to glance over my shoulder while watching the tight spiral ahead.
A rustle of movement from the back seat.
Had Kaufmann been hit? I hadn’t seen any holes in the car, but I could have easily missed them. “Kaufmann? Are you okay?”
“Don’t worry about me.”
My throat tightened. I’d been scared for Kaufmann since Cory’s call, but at that moment, I realized how much. I pushed the emotion back. This wasn’t over. I had to fully focus on what was happening now.
The spiral opened up, and the car thunked onto the ramp’s top level. I swung into a handicapped spot next to the elevator and jumped out, shucking the duffle and shoulder bag. I grabbed a glance of Kaufmann through a shattered back window.
He lay on his side in the back seat. His hands were bound in front of him with handcuffs, and he clutched a bloody rag around his injured fingers. Duct tape wrapped his ankles. He looked small, pale, the lines bracketing his mouth and digging across his forehead etched deep. I was sure the past few hours had taken their toll, but at least he was alive.
Now I had to keep him that way. “Stay down.”
He hitched himself up on one elbow. “We need to call the—”
“You need to lay your ass back down.”
He didn’t move, damn fool. Probably thought he was going to save me. Again. He didn’t realize it was my turn to pay him back.
I checked Cory’s gun and handed it to Kaufmann. He grasped it in his uninjured hand. I pulled my semi-automatic from the back of my waistband. “Stay down. If anyone comes looking for you, kill them.”
“Carmen, I…”
“Just listen to me. Cory isn’t as bad as the ones we’ve got coming after us now. Shoot first, and shoot to kill.”
I pulled away from his bewildered expression and took position behind a concrete support. I fitted my weapon tightly into the web between thumb and forefinger and wrapped my second hand around the first. I moved my index finger to the trigger. The odors of exhaust and burned rubber coated the back of my throat. The roar of an approaching engine reverberated off concrete, the sound amplified by the corkscrew shape of the ramp.
The music goes round and round…ohhh…and it comes out here.
I could see the SUV, winding toward me. It emerged on the sixth floor. The moment I saw the driver’s eyes, I squeezed the trigger.
The report cracked in my ears. I let my wrists move with the kick of the first shot. When it settled back, I gave him a second tap.
The windshield cracked, splintering into hundreds of tiny lines, obscuring the driver’s face. The SUV kept hurtling forward, across the parking level. It hit the half wall hard, reared up as the concrete crumbled, and plunged over the edge. The loud crash of vehicle and pavement shuddered up my spine.
When I got back to the car, Kaufmann was sitting upright in the seat, Cory’s pistol in his bound hands. He stared at me for a moment before he finally spoke. “I’m pretty sure you haven’t been entirely honest with me.”
A typical Kaufmann understatement. “I’ll explain. Later. As much as I can.”
To his credit, he didn’t say a word, just let me help him out of the car. I cut the duct tape around his ankles with the utility knife I’d bought. I picked the handcuffs binding his wrists and stashed the cuffs in the duffle. We ducked into the elevator. He sagged against the wall as I hit the button to take us to the lobby.
The elevator car started down, moving much more smoothly than the high speed car I’d taken to the 95th floor. The cramped quarters smelled strongly of sweat and stress and even more strongly of blood.
I eyed the rag wrapping Kaufmann’s fingers. “Let me see your hand.”
He unpeeled what looked like a girl’s t-shirt and held out three fingers. I examined the bloody stump, and my stomach did a little flip. I’d seen many injuries worse than this, but this was Kaufmann and he was hurt
because of me. I needed a second to regain my balance.
“You killed the driver. You caused…” His lips thinned into a line.
I pulled my gaze up to his eyes. “It’s what I do. What I really do.”
I wasn’t sure what I expected. Shock. Disbelief. Repulsion. Instead, Kaufmann offered a simple nod. “Later?”
I wanted to hug him. “Yes. Later.”
As much as I needed to explain things to Kaufmann, to take care of his hand, we didn’t have time. At worst, more of the people who were after me waited outside the lobby door. At best, the police would be looking to arrest whoever took out the SUV driver and caused it to hurtle six floors to the pavement below. Dealing with the bad guys was uncomplicated. They were trying to kill me, I would try to kill them. The cops presented a more complex problem, especially where Kaufmann was concerned.
The elevator’s movement slowed and settled. “Kaufmann,” I said. “We can’t go to the police.”
Kaufmann stared at me as if I was speaking gibberish. “People died. Maybe more than we know.”
“And I can’t explain that now.”
“I’ll explain it, what I know, anyway.”
“You can’t.”
“I’m an agent of the court. I have to.”
I shook my head. I wasn’t worried about his ethics. “You won’t be safe.”
“The police can protect me from Cory.”
I also wasn’t worried about Cory. I looked Kaufmann square in the eye. I had to convince him to follow my lead before the elevator doors opened. “Those guys in the SUV, there are more of them, and I don’t know who they are. But if they can reach me, they can reach you.”
Kaufmann shook his head.
The elevator’s bell chimed. I could hear the shriek of sirens even before the door opened. “Years ago I trusted you, Kaufmann, and you saved me. Now you have to trust me. If you don’t do what I say, we both will likely die. Now tuck your hand in your pocket and follow me.”
Jack Kilborn & Ann Voss Peterson & J. A. Konrath Page 6
