by Holly Hart
I wait till I can’t hear footsteps and scramble upright.
48
Jack
Gone to ER, 10PM—having some cramps. PLEASE don’t worry! Probably indigestion!
I glance at my watch. That was hours ago. Meanwhile, I’ve called every ER in Brooklyn, and I’m no wiser than when I started. My apartment’s all over the news, Starkey’s fucking gone, and I think I’m a suspect in Erik’s murder. Don’t worry? Good one!
On the plus side, Stella’s story is spreading like wildfire. Magnus crashed her site pretty quick, but she was right: it took on a life of its own. Hopped around social media for all of twenty minutes before the first network got hold of it.
A perky news anchor’s counting down BeeBee’s greatest hits: new developments must’ve slowed down. My foot’s tapping, tapping, out of control.
I can’t sit around here and wait. Can’t leave, either: if Stella comes back to an empty room, who knows what she’ll think? Especially when she sees the news. It’s been all us for the last half hour, a constant loop of Nagler, Starkey, Erik, Nagler again—a profile on me; speculation on the Countess—and back to Erik. I watch as they wheel out his covered body for the sixth time this hour.
Starkey shot Erik, but he was looking at me. Meant those words for me.
I can’t think about that now.
Something’s happened to the baby. Or Stella. Or both. Can’t think about—
“And we have breaking news—a possible missing persons alert for this woman, caught on cell phone camera being forced into a car outside Kings County Hospital Center, Brooklyn, about an hour ago. Anyone having information on her identity or location is urged to call—”
Stella! I’m on my feet in an instant, out the door and halfway to the elevator before I realize I’ve no destination in mind. Where, where, where—it’s got to be Magnus. Where would he take her? Blakemoor head office? Too far, and too obvious. Home? Not with Mary around, and the ridiculous household staff he insists on keeping. Nowhere fits: I know every property he owns, every club he belongs to. He’d need privacy, secrecy, convenience—where?
I drop my head against the elevator doors. I’m calm. I’m focused. I just can’t think, can’t....
Katrina.
Stella mentioned Katrina. She was there too, guarding the airport. If she didn’t spot Stella, she won’t be sure Stella saw her. One of her properties, then. I whip out my phone: time to narrow the list.
49
Stella
Freezing—it’s freezing. I jog along the wall, back and forth, back and forth, trying to keep the circulation going. I’m sweating under my coat, but I can’t feel my feet. My fingers are numb around the length of rebar I found near the stairwell—the locked, barred stairwell. No way out: the elevator isn’t responding, and the idea of sliding and clambering down the scaffolding has me quaking in my boots. Nineteen floors is a long way down.
Magnus needs to be first off the elevator when they get back. If I can catch him by surprise, take him out of commission... There’s a chance I can take Katrina. I’ll go for his face. No—his kneecap. Fuck—I don’t know. I’ll probably just piss him off.
I should hide it instead—slip my weapon under my coat, wait for my opportunity. If Magnus goes out on the balcony again, I could...what? Toss it at his head? Hope he trips and goes over? Then I’d have nothing to hit Katrina with.
I can’t take them both. Escape is my only option.
Escape.... If I can’t get down, maybe I can get up. Get to the roof, somehow. Wave my arms, scream... Someone might think I’m a suicide. Call the fire department. It’s worth a try.
There’s a place near the...master bedroom? Living room?...where a skylight’s supposed to go. A nice big hole in the ceiling, nine feet above my head. Too high to jump. Why couldn’t there be a chair, a crate, something to stand on?
A chair... Well, there kind of is. Doesn’t look like the toilet’s plumbed in yet, but it’s there, squatting behind a row of joists. I might be able to stand on that, if it’s the heavy, old-fashioned kind. And if I can drag it over here.
Might want to take it easy for a day or two.... What would that nice old doctor think if he could see me now? Hell, the man has six children. He’d see a mother fighting for her life and her child’s. He’d cheer me on.
I blow on my hands to warm some sensation back into them and head for the toilet. It’s heavy and awkwardly-shaped, but when I put my back to it and shove, it scrapes across the concrete. Just an inch or two, but if I can do that fifty, sixty more times, I’m home free.
Magnus said something about a couple of hours. I’ve already wasted most of one. I lower my head, square my shoulders, and push.
50
Jack
Only one place it could be: Reston Plaza—major new development, four towers plus commercial space, spanning an entire city block. I goose the accelerator coming up the hill. I can see it already, four skeletal towers, darker shapes against the night sky. Got to hand it to Magnus: it’s the perfect hiding place. Here in the wee hours, the block’s dead—no clubs, no shops, no nightlife. Just rows of old low-rises, relics of the seventies, full of retirees. Hardly a lit window in sight.
She has to be in the east tower. It’s the only one accessible from the street. The construction office is in there, first floor.
I swing into the parking garage and take the ramp down a level. It’s pitch dark underground: only my highbeams light the way as I coast to a stop near the elevator. No power, of course—probably an empty shaft at this stage. I power on my penlight and hunt for the stairs. Nineteen floors—what are the odds she’s somewhere near the bottom?
“Stella?”
No answer. I start up the stairs at a jog. Someone’s been here, and recently. Smells of dollar-store aftershave—got to be Magnus. He thinks women go crazy for that shit. Has since high school. Not sure what it is about that minty, aseptic bouquet... Just makes me think of prom night and zits.
Stella always smells of light summer flowers.
I call out again on the third floor, the sixth, the ninth. She should be able to hear me by now, even from up top. It’s dead quiet. Even the street noise is barely a hum. I shout louder, to no avail. Maybe she’s gagged. Or unconscious. I push myself harder, jumping the stairs three and four at a time.
Still remember the first time we went running together. She was so determined to keep up. Even kept talking, while her face turned red as a beet.
Someone’s jammed the top two doors, as if the locks weren’t enough. So she is here... But I won’t get to her this way. I could pick one of the locks, given time, tools, and adequate lighting, but I’m short on all three. Doesn’t matter: there’s always a way around.
Two floors down, I find a door that yields to my shoulder. I’m not thrilled about monkeying up the scaffolding in the dark, sans harness, but I’m fresh out of options.
Think Stella’s scared of heights. Our rooftop escape—that was the one time I saw her back off a challenge. She didn’t want to go over that roof.
I call her name one more time as I step out on the balcony. This time, I hear something back—a faint answering cry, immediately carried off by the wind. That gale’s going to be a problem, especially getting back down. Stella won’t be doing any climbing on that ankle, and carrying her might not be practical.
At least it’s not raining: my footing’s solid and my grip’s sure. As long as I ignore the queasy sway of the structure, the vibration of my boots on the scaffolding, this is fine. All good. Good thing it’s only two floors, though: the metal’s cold enough to numb my hands.
“Stella, you there?”
No answer this time. I pull myself up over the side and roll onto the roof. “Stella?”
“Jack!”
“Shit—get back from the edge!”
Stella takes two big steps back and drops to her knees.
“What were you doing?”
“Trying to get someone to call the cops.” She chuckles.
“Might even have worked, if there was anyone down there.”
I drop down beside her and hug her tight. She’s shivering violently, and the hand that grasps mine is cold as ice.
“Going to get you out of here, get you somewhere warm...hot chocolate, blankets, a bath—whatever you need.” I fold her into my jacket, trying to bundle some heat back into her. “But first, how’d it go at the hospital? Did you get seen? Everything all right?”
A genuine smile lights up her face. “More than. I saw the baby—heartbeat and all.” Her hands sneak under my shirt, stealing my warmth. “It’s so tiny, it’s like the whole thing’s one beating heart...a pea with a pulse.”
“Wish I could’ve seen that.” Next time, for sure.
“What was that?” Stella’s voice drops to a whisper. A cold sweat beads my neck. I strain to hear over the wind.
“I don’t—”
“Sh!” She cocks her head. “There! Listen!”
Fuck. That, I heard—a woman’s voice, raised in irritation; a metallic clang.
“This is good.” I rock back on my heels, positioning myself between Stella and the door. “We were never getting down the way I came up. We’ll go through ‘em—break for the stairs. You—shit!”
Stella’s got a foot of rebar from somewhere. She’s holding it like she means business.
“Don’t...don’t get involved, if you can help it. Stay behind me, and be ready to....” I was going to say run. “Be ready for anything.”
The voices are closer now. Coming this way. There’s a skylight-hole not five feet away. I hit the deck: can’t risk being spotted.
“...fucking toilet.”
“Not like she got far.”
“Whatever. I’m not scrambling up there. Let’s—”
I creep closer, belly to the concrete. As soon as their backs are turned....
“—want to bet that’ll be on our heads, too?”
“We’ll clean that up later. For now....”
They’re moving away. It’s now or never.
I drop into near-darkness. Magnus is already spinning my way. A glint catches my eye, and then I’m ducking and rolling, blinking away the afterimage of his muzzle flash. Forgot how quick he is with that thing.
“How’d he get here? What’d you tell him?” Katrina’s backing away.
“Shut up and—”
I charge him, low to the ground, going for his legs. My shoulder connects with his knee and we go down hard. I feel heat on the back of my neck—heat that explodes into pain. The butt of his weapon smashes into my shoulder, my back, my head.
“Just shoot him!”
I roll over on my back, pulling my knees to my chest. Magnus rises on his elbows, already aiming. My legs piston hard, and the gun flies clear. It sails into the dark and skates out of reach.
“Bad fucking idea!” Magnus hurls himself at me, and I see his game. Tangle me up long enough for Katrina to snatch the gun—never going to happen. A swift elbow in the face and he’s on his back, snuffling through a gushing nose. I press my advantage, pinning him to the concrete. I don’t want to kill him, but if I have to—
“Going to do me like you did Erik?”
“What?”
Magnus shoves me off. He’s furious, practically spitting, all knees and elbows and flying fists. It’s not hard to fend him off, the way he’s swinging wild. I block him hard, driving his own knuckles into his nose.
“You—you’re seriously going to pretend that wasn’t you?”
I jerk my head to the side, flinging him off. Fucker’s spraying blood all over me. “Not that I owe you an explanation, but it wasn’t.”
He rolls to his feet, scrubbing at his face. “Who else?”
Katrina’s circling around us, headed for the gun. I manoeuver myself into her path. Not today.
“Really, I want to know. Who gets to take the fall this time?” He’s closing in on me. Trying to herd me to the balcony. Time to end this.
“Think there’s plenty of blame to go around, don’t you?” A series of quick jabs keeps him on the defensive. I keep coming, driving him back. “Look, nobody else has to die. You got your jet. There’s still time to get out. No one’s after you yet.”
“We both know that’s not true.”
“So, what? You want to double down? Make it worse?”
He ducks my next punch and plows headfirst into my gut. I stagger, breathless, fumbling for his hair. Slippery fucker almost wriggles free, but I trap him against my belt. My knee flies once, twice, and on the third blow I let him go. Magnus weaves, but doesn’t crumple. I watch in disbelief as he drops to one knee, struggles upright, and shambles toward me.
“Just...stay down. It’s over!”
Magnus bellows, a wet, gurgling sound, rough with fury. I step to one side to avoid his clumsy charge, and Stella fucking kneecaps him. He doubles over, clutching his leg. Still standing.
I grab Stella’s arm instinctively, pulling her behind me. “When’d you—”
“Let’s go!” She’s tugging at me, putting her weight into it.
I sweep her into my arms and bolt for the stairwell. Metal scrapes on concrete: Katrina’s got the gun. She’s a quick shot—accurate, too. At least, she was in her active days. Don’t want to bet on her having lost the knack. I pivot to one side, fling open the door, and barrel through. The darkness opens up to welcome us. Safe, finally; I—
There’s a deafening report, a tinkle of glass, a hot streak across my hip. I lose my footing and gain it again, plunging into the black. No time to tread carefully. I hurl myself over the edge, sailing over the stairs, straight to the landing. I buttonhook around, and jump again. Stella muffles a cry against my shirt.
“Sorry—got to get out of here. That hurt?”
I feel her shake her head. “Just...don’t trip.”
“I won’t.” I hope. My left leg’s going kind of numb, and that’s definitely blood pooling in my crotch. Gross.
The door slams open, up above. An unsteady light seeks us out. I dodge it, redoubling my headlong flight. It’s starting to hurt, now, a pulling, tearing sensation, wet and meaty. Like before, with the bayonet, only...no. No. This time, it’s a flesh wound. A few stitches, a nasty scar—that’ll be that.
“There’s nowhere to hide!” Magnus—doesn’t he ever give up?
Stella curls tight against my chest, making herself as small as possible. I hold on tighter. Got to be halfway down now. I bite my lip to stay alert, trying to visualize the garage, the street outside. We need a plan—a plan for a clean getaway. Can’t have them chasing us through the city, putting innocent lives at risk.
Another shot rings out. It ricochets off the walls, missing by a mile. Katrina’s got to be firing blind. Or aiming for a reaction—a scream, a gasp, to pinpoint our location. Stella has the sense to stay quiet.
Five floors from the exit, we’re pulling ahead. Magnus is dragging, favoring one leg. Stella might not have broken his knee, but she’s done some damage. Katrina’s in heels—I can hear her clacking and skidding, trying to run. By the time they make it to the bottom, we’ll be out of sight.
“Hold on. Nearly there.”
I’m not sure, but I think I feel Stella smile against my chest.
51
Stella
Of course—of course it can’t be that simple.
“Hide.” Jack sets me down as gently as he can. I get a trashcan between me and whoever that is in the dark. Don’t suppose it’ll provide much cover, but there’s nothing else in range.
“Fuck you doing with my car?” Jack strides out, making a target of himself. The stranger pulls a switchblade.
I cower, not wanting to see what happens next. The sounds are more than enough. There’s a shout, and the ugly sound of...of meat being pounded—someone taking a mallet to a fat bone-in steak, crunching and squidging—disgusting. I want to cover my ears, but being blind and deaf in a combat zone seems like a terrible idea.
Harsh grunts and whuffs echo off the wal
ls. Feet skid. Flesh connects with metal. Somebody’s panting; somebody’s retching. I whimper, hoping it’s not Jack. He can’t lose—he can’t. We’re so close....
Something whistles through the air, landing in front of me with a leathery slap: a brown loafer. I shrink away from it, startled.
“All clear!”
I raise my head cautiously. Jack’s standing over a body—a still, lumpen shape in the glare of a fallen flashlight. I stare, transfixed, holding my breath till I catch a sign of life: one finger, lifting and dropping, like he’s trying to tap out.
There are voices in the stairwell, and the stomp and click of feet.
“Quick—over here!”
Torchlight hits the window, illuminating Magnus’s hulking silhouette on the stairs. That gets me moving. I half-crawl, half-stumble into the open. Jack meets me halfway, nearly dragging me to the car. He’s already pulling out as I fall into the passenger seat, hauling the door shut behind me. His highbeams come up, and we take the ramp far too fast. I can see the glow of a streetlight ahead... Almost there.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” Jack brakes hard and swerves, barely avoiding a limo nosed up to the exit. “Hold on!”
I don’t know what to hold onto, so I shrink in on myself as the limo lurches forward. For one awful moment, I’m positive it’s going to broadside us, smash through my door and me with it, but Jack pounds the gas, and we squirt out onto the street. There’s the slightest of jolts, and I hear a taillight smash—but we’re on our way.
“Magnus... Did he hurt you?”
“No.” Jack glances my way. “You?”
My thigh’s throbbing where Katrina’s boot connected with my old bruise, but apart from that.... “No.”
