* * * *
Rocky stepped out of the elevator at the seventeenth floor—Marina's floor—and glanced around; he couldn't just go up and knock on the door.
Concentrating, he recalled the façade of the building. It had small, covered terraces on the upper three floors. Perhaps he could gain entry from a neighbor's terrace.
Yeah, sure. Someone was going to let him into their apartment and watch while he crawled from one balcony to another—seventeen stories up.
God, he hated heights. He'd rather face down ten hoods with automatic weapons than climb a ladder.
But while he was standing here with his thumb up his butt, someone had gained access to Marina's apartment. Who and why?
First, he tried Marina's neighbor on the left. He knocked and waited. Footsteps.
"What do you want?” a woman asked.
"I'm a security guard. I need to speak to you."
The door opened a crack, blocked by a chain. An elderly woman peered out at him. “You're not one of our guards. I know them all."
"Please, wait. Let me explain—"
Too late. She slammed the door in his face.
Couldn't blame her, but she'd probably call the police on him. Better get a move on.
Let's try the other one then. He strode down the hall to the neighbor on the right. Again he knocked. And waited.
No answer. No footsteps.
"Perfect.” He reached into a hip pocket and pulled out a case of lock picks. Less than sixty seconds later, he was inside. “Geez, I hope Marina's got better locks on her doors."
He walked over to the balcony, opened the door and stepped outside. Assailed by the city noises and traffic, he took a breath to steady his resolve. “Don't look down."
But he had to look over at Marina's terrace. He guessed it was about ten feet from her neighbor's, with a narrow ledge that ran between the two.
Rocky looked down at his size thirteens and shuddered.
He reckoned his chances of inching his bulked-up body across the ledge were slim to none. Still, he didn't have a choice. Whoever had dropped in to “surprise” Marina and Adam was in for a surprise himself.
Rocky took a deep breath and swung his leg over the terrace railing.
* * * *
Gwyneth felt someone half-dragging, half-guiding her along through the haze. “McKenzie,” she croaked, “...the fire—"
"Fire's out, Blondie, so shut it."
She struggled to take a deep breath, but couldn't fill her lungs. It hurt too much. “I can't breathe."
"Sure you can. You're running your mouth, aren't you? Try not moving your jaw."
Maybe he had a point. She tried pulling away from his firm grasp. “Where're you taking me?"
"Give it up. You're taking me to my wife."
"I don't know where she is."
"Sure you do. You filled her head with nonsense. She wants to divorce me.” He sounded genuinely outraged.
Gwyneth dug her heels into the green turf. “Women don't like being knocked around, Damico. You should've tried to control your temper when you had the chance. She's going to divorce you, and there's not a damn thing you can do about—"
He gave her a rough shove, but she was on a roll. “You're going to prison for this. Home invasion and kidnapping—now that's a federal crime. You'll be an old man by the time they let you out."
"Shut up!” He gave her another shove. She stumbled and fell, pulling Damico down—and on top of her.
"Clumsy bitch."
"Get off me, you creep.” She pummeled his back and jammed her knee into his groin.
He howled, grabbed his genitals and rolled over on his back.
She scrambled to her feet—and found herself peering into the barrel of a gun held by a hooded man.
"Not so fast."
* * * *
Down in the dimly lit tunnel, part of the labyrinth beneath the Carlton estate, Mike stopped at the exit which would place him and his father's men behind the attackers. This particular exit opened just inside the boxwood maze. All they had to do was follow the maze to the point where another exit was concealed in the dense growth, discernable only to those who knew of its existence. Once they emerged from the maze, they would be behind the choppers, and the element of surprise would be on their side.
"Who d'you think's behind this?” Hicks asked.
"Don't know for sure, but my money's on Gianni Damico."
"The wise guy?"
"Yeah. Damico and I knocked heads while I was on the force. He's got a personal grudge against Gwyneth, too. Plus, the guy killed last night was Damico's mouthpiece."
Mike continued, “Even before I left the force, I heard that Damico had branched out and added arms-dealing to his usual activities."
"That'd explain the firepower."
"Yeah.” Mike nodded at the ten men. “Let's roll."
* * * *
Rocky inched his way toward Marina's balcony. “At this rate, I oughta get there in about an hour. Don't look down. Don't look down. It's only seventeen stories. Not like I'm on the frigging Empire State building. Yeah, right. Seventeen. Might as well be a hundred."
His heart hammered in his chest like he'd already run a marathon. Keeping his eyes away from the street below, he felt his way along the narrow ledge. Never had twelve inches seemed so small.
He paused in his journey to take a deep, cleansing breath. That was supposed to help, right? Hell, no. If he missed the ledge, that deep breath would be his last.
Some hero. Spiderman, he wasn't.
As his body clung to the side of the building, his weapon dug into his back.
A pigeon flew by—and landed on the ledge between him and Marina's balcony. “Dammit. You lousy, shittin'..."
More than anything, he wanted to kick the damn bird off the ledge. Hell, it could fly. But he couldn't command the muscles necessary to take his foot off the ledge.
And while he was here having a near panic attack, there was no telling what was going on inside the apartment.
He took another step sideways. The bird would have to move sooner or later. Wouldn't it?
He gave the pigeon his evil eye, but the damn bird wasn't impressed. It just sat there.
Another side step. And another.
The pigeon ruffled his wings—Rocky held his breath, but it didn't move another feather.
"Dammit. One of us is moving,” he told the damned bird. “And since you can fly, I figure it oughta be you."
Dark, beady eyes stared back at him.
He took another step, his thigh muscles beginning to tremble with the strain it took to move. What a chicken-shit he was.
He shuffled another step sideways—and the bird flew off the ledge.
All right.
In slightly less time than it would have taken him to climb Mt. Everest, he made it to Marina's terrace. Another deep, breath and he clambered over the ledge. Now if he could just tell what was happening inside the apartment. No need to endanger Marina and Adam by rushing in with guns blasting. But the longer he waited, the greater the danger.
* * * *
Marina cleared away Adam's dinner things. “I want you to go to your room."
"Aw, Mom."
"Now,” she told him firmly. “You can watch TV or read a book.” She didn't want her son around when Henry realized what she'd done.
After Adam padded off to his bedroom, she went back into the living room. Henry sat unmoving, his hands folded across his stomach. “I know you must be hungry. You might as well eat something. The soup is already hot and—"
"Not necessary."
"But you look like you could use something to eat. Heaven only knows how long you'll be here. I mean..."
"Well, I guess I could have a bowl."
Or two, she finished silently. “Why don't you come into the dining room? I'll bring it to you.” She'd already heavily laced the remainder of the soup with the ipecac. She'd even sampled it—just a tiny bit—to make sure of the taste. Luckily, t
he aromatic seasonings masked the emetic's syrupy flavor.
She carried a generous bowl of soup and set it on the table in front of Henry. “I could fix you a sandwich. A bowl of soup isn't enough for a big guy like you."
"No, thanks. This is fine."
She set a crusty loaf of French bread down beside the bowl of soup and waited while Henry picked up his spoon. “Aren't you going to eat?” he asked.
"I can't. I'm too nervous."
A cold, appraising glint appeared in his eyes as he lay down his spoon. “Join me. I insist."
"Of c-course.” Her stomach yah-yahed, and she fought the urge to crumple, but she sat down just the same. Her hands shook as she reached for a slice of the crusty bread.
"What's the matter? Don't you like your own soup?"
"Of course. It's just, I'm not used to being in situations like this."
"I'd like to see you eat some of the soup.” He shoved the bowl in her face. “Try mine."
Nodding, Marina took his spoon and sampled it, actually managing to maneuver the spoonful of soup to her mouth without spilling any of it.
"Mm. It's good. Really.” Now how long before she started throwing up? She'd outsmarted herself. Well, it wouldn't kill her, but Henry would soon guess what she'd done. And then what would he do?
* * * *
As far as Rocky could tell, Marina's apartment was quiet. Maybe too quiet.
He jerked his weapon from the holster. By habit, he ejected the clip, checked it, then jammed it back in the grip. Pulling back on the slide, he chambered a round.
Crouching low, he risked a peek through the patio door. Nothing. Oh God, what if he was too late?
He strained, listening for the slightest sound. A shadow cast on the wall, and he jumped back.
It was Adam ... walking into the living room and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.
Good sign? If the boy was all right, then Marina had to be okay, too. He watched as Adam crawled up on the sofa and reached for the remote control.
Normal activity. Good. Still, he waited.
Marina came into the living room. He could hear her low-pitched voice through the glass, but not clearly enough to make out what she was saying. He started to knock on the window, but stopped when a man came into view.
Rocky knew him—or at least, he knew the type. A wise guy. Armed, but from the economy of his movements, he didn't need a gun. His body was a weapon.
Marina and Adam were in deep shit.
Forty-four
Gwyneth glared back at the gunman. Hands clenched at her side, she yelled, “I've had enough. I've had my head banged against a brick wall and been knocked down a flight of stairs. And just to make my weekend really special, I spent the night in jail on suspicion of murder. If you want to kill me, get in line."
Still writhing on the grass, Damico screamed, “Bitch!"
She glanced over her shoulder at Gianni. “Call me that again, and I'll personally castrate you with my dullest fingernail file.” She crouched by the mobster. “And believe me, Gianni boy, nothing would give me greater pleasure.” She straightened up, then drew her foot back—
The pressure of cold metal at the base of her neck brought her up short. “Turn around. Nice and easy."
"I hardly ever do anything nice and easy.” She turned to face the mobster's henchman. “Not my style.” She batted her eyelashes and gave him what she hoped was a ‘come hither’ smile. If he came just a little more hither, he'd join his boss on the ground.
The gunman motioned with his weapon. “Stay back, Blondie. I've already seen what you can do with those long legs."
"Can you blame me?” she asked with a seductive shrug. “I've had a rough week. Surely you understand."
One corner of his mouth quirked up. “I understand you think you're working me, but you're wasting your time. Now head for the chopper. We're going for a little ride."
* * * *
Safe on Marina's balcony, Rocky planned his next move.
Gotta distract him. Can't just go barreling in with little Adam sitting right there on the sofa. Rocky bent down, picked up a potted plant and heaved it at the window he'd passed beneath during his time on the ledge. THWACK!
The glass didn't break, but it made a hell of a satisfying racket. He watched and waited as the wise guy drew his weapon and rushed down the hall.
Now or never. Rocky stepped forward and tapped on the patio door.
Marina whirled around, her eyes wide with fear. He motioned for her to let him in. Her sweet mouth dropped open. She nodded and signaled for Adam to hide behind the sofa as she raced to the door. Rocky nodded his approval.
Opening it, she began, “I'm so—"
Over Marina's shoulder, Rocky saw the hit man return. Shoving her aside, he brought up his gun and fired.
Marina's intruder ducked and stepped back, but he moved too late. A gout of blood spurted from his neck as he fell backwards into the hallway with a heavy, muffled thud.
"Stay back,” Rocky warned her. He stepped over to the fallen man and kicked away his gun. Crouching beside the body, he felt for a pulse. None. “He's gone."
"Omigod! I-I have to get Adam out of here."
"Take him to his bedroom while I call the police."
Marina nodded and sped away. “Come on out, son. It's all over."
A very wide-eyed boy crept from behind the couch. “Don't look, baby.” Marina picked him up, stepped over the body and carried the child down the hall to his room.
When she returned, Rocky slipped his cell phone back in his pocket. “Is the little one all right?"
"Yes. Did you call the police?"
"Yeah. They'll be here in a few minutes. There's a station house nearby."
She heaved a sigh, then gazed up at him, her warm, brown eyes glistening with unshed tears. “How did you know to come back? I've never been so glad to see anyone in all my life."
She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. “How can I ever thank you?"
Rocky grinned down at her. “It's okay. No thanks needed. I should've stayed with you and the boy.” He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Are you sure you're all right? Did he hurt you?"
"No, we're both all right. Thanks to you. I don't know how much longer we would've been, though. Henry was the scariest man I've ever seen."
"Henry?"
"That's what I called him.” Marina clasped her hands together in a nervous gesture. “Made him seem a little more human."
Without warning, her face grew pale. She bent over and grabbed her stomach. “I-I have to go."
"It's just nerves,” he told her. “You'll be all right, just take some deep breaths."
"No,” she gasped, “I dosed his soup with ipecac, but I outsmarted myself. He made me eat some to prove it was all right.” She clamped her hand over her mouth and ran down the hall.
Rocky shook his head and marveled at her audacity.
She tried to poison the creep. What a woman.
* * * *
After exiting the tunnel, Mike turned to his left and ran along the path of the boxwood maze. He motioned for his father's security force to follow him. The labyrinth made a perfect camouflage, concealing them from the invaders. The walls of maze extended up at least ten feet. Long ago, he'd learned the ins and outs of this warren of paths. As a kid, he'd hidden in the dense depths whenever he'd gotten in trouble.
He strained, listening for what he couldn't see...
Gwyn's voice. “I'm not going anywhere with you. If..."
What in damnation was she doing outside? She was supposed to be inside with Detective McKenzie and the sheriff. Had she lost her last bit of common sense? Why was she challenging armed gunmen? He whipped around another corner to the left, ran down the grassy path, turned right, then left, then another left.
Finally, he reached the rear of the maze. One panel of boxwood was false. He reached into the bush and activated the mechanism. The panel slid open with the barest rustle of fake
greenery.
His heart nearly stopped when he saw a gunman and a smiling Gwyn. Smiling? Amazed, for a second, he watched. Four of Damico's henchmen littered the ground, unmoving. Damico himself was on the ground, struggling to his feet, but doing a piss-poor job of it.
"Cover me,” Mike whispered to Hicks.
Hicks nodded.
Mike slid from the hedge, creeping forward, closing the distance between him and the gunman.
* * * *
Gwyneth stood her ground, facing Damico's henchman. “I'm not very fond of helicopters. I don't understand the physics that—"
A none-too-gentle shove in the belly with the gun barrel and a terse, “Shut it,” gave her pause, but not for long.
For some strange reason, she wasn't afraid. After all, Damico wanted something from her—the location of his wife. Small matter that she didn't really know. Sylvia would've been moved to another location soon after she'd been dropped off at the way station. Damico wouldn't kill her as long as he thought she knew his wife's location, but if he realized she was telling the truth, her chances of survival would take a steep nosedive; he'd have her killed just for the hell of it.
"Leave me the hell alone. I'm not going anywhere with you. You'd do better to pick up your dickless boss and get him the hell out of here, before..."
Over the gunman's shoulder, she saw Mike and several black-clad security guards materializing, like a mirage, from the back of the maze.
Distract him. Yeah. Gwyneth reached for the clasp on her skirt and undid it.
"What the hell?” The gunman's eyes widened as the skirt slithered to the ground in a silken pile. She stepped free of it. “Like what you see? There's more...” Crossing her arms in front of her body, she prepared to pull off the silk top as Mike advanced, coming up behind the hooded gunman without his ever noticing.
"Drop it, dirt bag."
The gunman whirled, feinted and rolled into a ball before leaping to his feet like a Cirque du Soleil performer.
Mike evaded the gunman's maneuver with a jumping sidekick. It landed solidly in his solar plexus.
"Ooph.” Damico's henchman hit the ground, but not before he managed a powerful back fist to Mike's left jaw.
Mike shook his head to clear it, then spun and delivered a high, roundhouse kick to the side of his opponent's head.
The Man For The Job Page 30
