by Renee Simons
"Look there," he said, "under the car. Is that the bloke?"
They could just make out the mass of the man's body in the darkness. "Yeah. What the hell is he doing?" Torres muttered.
"You'd know that better than I. Is it usual practice to inspect the undercarriage of a vehicle like that?"
"Only if you have reason to suspect tampering."
"Or if you were doing the tampering yourself..."
"Exactly," Torres admitted reluctantly.
"You don't suppose O'Keefe's in on it, do you?"
"You like him, don't you?"
"I'd hate to think he's part of this mess."
Torres glanced across the street and spotted the officer exiting the eatery. "Well, you're about to find out how good a judge of character you are. Me, too." He nodded in O'Keefe's direction. "Here he comes."
The police officer approached his vehicle, looked inside and left his purchase on the hood. He went to the lobby of the television studio, looked around and then came back out, turning to examine the empty street. Finally, as if he didn't know where else to search, he walked toward Jordan’s car. He bent to check out the interior. Just then, his partner slid out from under the car, and the two men confronted each other.
Nothing of their conversation carried to Torres and Ethan but a heated discussion obviously was taking place. Finally, O'Keefe crawled beneath the car. He emerged moments later and went to their vehicle, reaching inside for the hand-set. His partner simply stood his ground.
"C'mon," Torres ordered. He and Ethan crossed the street. Torres approached O'Keefe and the man turned to him, his face a mask of disappointment.
"He tampered with the steering, Lieutenant. Burned nearly through one of the tie rods with some kind of heavy duty acid. The first turn they made, they'd have lost control and wrapped themselves around a pole or something." He shook his head. "Ten years we've been partners. I can't believe it."
Torres patted him on the shoulder and walked over to Meade, who waited where his partner had left him. "Were you responsible for the dolls, too?" he asked softly. The man nodded. Torres held out a hand. With tears rolling down his cheeks, Meade surrendered his gun and badge. The Lieutenant handed Ethan a set of keys.
"You wait for Ms. VanDien and your brother and take them home in the vehicle we've been using. I'll go to the station house with my men and send a tow truck for the MG."
"See you in the morning?" Ethan asked, and Torres nodded silently.
Ethan moved the car to a spot in front of the studio and waited for Drew and Jordan to come out. They finally showed, surrounded by people who seemed determined to make contact. Some asked for autographs, some had questions, others words of encouragement. The total effect was that of a protective shell with Jordan at its center and Drew at her side to provide additional support.
Ethan found himself envying his brother at that moment, in a position he would have assumed gladly but for the fact that he knew she would see it as interference. He found it difficult to accept the long lead she insisted upon, when he wanted only to hold her close and protect her from the danger she seemed to court, a danger that for some strange reason now nagged at a corner of his subconscious.
He searched the street, trying to trace the cause of his uneasy feeling. When he saw nothing out of the way, he examined the building facades looming over them. A movement in a first-floor window caught his eye. It could be nothing more than a curious neighbor watching the excitement, he thought, but he concentrated on the shadowed figure and waited. On the edge of his vision, he saw the crowd separate so Jordan and Drew could make their way to the curb. Just then light bounced off something metallic in the open window, like moonlight reflected on a rifle barrel.
Heart pounding, pulse racing madly, Ethan slid across the seat of the car, rammed the passenger door open and moved swiftly to intercept Jordan and Drew. He reached them and spread his arms like a shield. A dull report sounded above the low surprised murmur of the crowd and something sharp and hot and excruciating slammed into his back. He staggered under the impact and the three of them went down, scattering the crowd like leaves before an autumn wind.
People ran, pushing and shoving, trying to escape. Someone screamed, a male voice shouted and a babble of voices rose and fell in the space above him, but nothing made any sense as he struggled to draw breath around a deep and pervading pain.
Drew gently lifted his fallen brother's body and slid out from under, supporting him so Jordan could do the same. Instead, she raised herself to a sitting position and turned Ethan's face to one side so he could breathe. As she cradled him in her lap her gaze fixed on the map of blood spreading outward from a wound beneath his left shoulder blade.
"Somebody go inside and call the police and an ambulance," she heard Drew say.
A voice from the crowd responded. "I'll do it." She looked up in time to see people make a path for a burly man in faded jeans and a Grateful Dead tee shirt, who dashed back into the lobby. A woman stepped forward and knelt beside her.
"I know a little first aid," she said calmly. "I can help 'till the paramedics get here." She reached out to Drew. "Give me your shirt and tie."
When he had complied, she made a pressure pad of the white linen and applied it to the wound, tying the bandage taut against Ethan's back. They turned him and laid him on the ground. She folded Drew's jacket and used it to elevate Ethan's legs, covering him with Jordan’s blazer as a buffer against shock. As the stranger checked Ethan's pulse, his eyelids fluttered open.
He focused on Jordan, smiling in satisfaction when he realized that although obviously distressed, she was okay.
"Only...one shot...?" he asked in a tightly controlled voice.
Close to tears, she just nodded. He turned to his right, found Drew and grabbed his arm.
"Get her... away from here," he whispered hoarsely to his brother. "The shot...for her...still in danger."
"I'm not leaving you like this," Drew said. "And you know she'll never go."
Ethan closed his eyes for a moment as a wave of pain shuddered through him. When it passed, he looked at his brother again.
"...shot...across...street...first floor window." His breath came in a gasp. "after her...try again."
He grabbed the front of Drew's undershirt and dragged his brother down until their faces were inches apart. He struggled to maintain control. "Take her the hell out of here...before that bastard gets his hands on her."
Jordan loosened his grip, taking his hand in hers. He turned and looked up at her, saw something calm and sure in her eyes as she watched his face. He gritted his teeth and stiffened against another spasm. She clasped his hand, pressing it to her lips and holding on tight, as her eyes held his. Finally, the wave of pain passed. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and upper lip. She wiped them away with her scarf. He savored the scent of her perfume clinging to its silken folds and felt his breath catch in his throat.
"I'm not afraid," she whispered. "I don't want to leave until help comes for you." Her fingers touched his cheek and he welcomed their cool strength. "I have to know you're all right, Ethan. Do you understand?"
He brought her hand to his lips. He tried to add steel to his voice, but managed only to whisper, "not fourteen years ago...not like your father..." His voice weakened and he closed his eyes briefly, then gathered his strength once more. "Listen, for once...do as I say."
He had used up his last reserves when he finally heard her say, "All right. I'll go, but only under protest, remember that."
He was trying to remember - something that hovered in the back of his mind, something vitally important, he knew, but the pain had returned, making breathing difficult and concentrating harder still.
"What?" she asked, as if sensing his struggle.
"Something...can't remember...important."
"It'll keep. Just lie still, now."
It seemed like an age before he felt her touch withdraw, longer still before he felt the empty space where her presence had b
een, when only the scent of her perfume lingering on the scarf in his hand reminded him she'd been there.
Suddenly he remembered and cried out to stop her. The woman who had bandaged him took his hand. "She's gone. Is there something I can do?"
"Which...car?"
"I didn't notice," she answered.
Another voice replied, "The little red one."
Something that had nothing to do with his injury broke apart inside him. Her name tore from his depths, his voice gone hoarse and heavy with despair. He heard no response, only far in the distance the screech of brakes and the squeal of tires, the sound of a crash and a heavy silence that closed down around him and sent him into darkness.
Chapter 14
Several blocks away, Jordan and Drew had just managed to roll from the MG as it careened down the street, its steering unresponsive, its braking power useless. Now they stared into the distance where it lay folded around a highway stanchion in a barely recognizable heap of crushed metal and splintered glass.
“Poor Maggie,” she said.
Drew’s breath came in short bursts but he managed a small laugh. “First time I ever heard anyone name an MG.”
Jordan heard the reverberation of metal rending against metal, the crunch and crackle of breaking glass, the gentle patter of severed auto parts falling to the ground.
"The steering wheel felt, I don't know, disconnected," she said.
"A broken tie rod, maybe. I'm no expert in cars."
"Are you okay?"
"I'll live," he said. "Let's make a run for it. These streets are unhealthy."
Too late Jordan heard the footstep behind her. An arm locked across her throat and a hand clamped down on her mouth. She heard Drew grunt and fall to the ground. The arm moved from her throat to her waist and lifted her off her feet. Several well-placed kicks to the shin and knees of her captor had no more effect than the elbow she slammed into his ribs. He carried her to a waiting vehicle and shoved her through the open door. Another pair of arms grabbed her and hauled her into the back seat. Furious at having fallen into a trap she screamed, reversed her body and kicked at the man, hitting him squarely on the chin. She heard a sickening crack. He grunted as his head snapped back on his neck.
She dove for the door handle in an attempt to escape before the first man settled himself behind the wheel. A click told her he'd locked the doors. The second man sat up, shook his head from side to side and punched her in the mouth. Dizziness overwhelmed her as he hit her again, sending her sprawling against the door. The back of her skull hit something hard. Everything went black.
She came to on a battered sofa whose fake leather upholstery felt brittle and cold beneath her hand. To have regained consciousness at all surprised her. Apparently, Anthony Volpe was not quite ready to end the game.
Sitting up, she tasted blood where her teeth had cut the inside of her torn and swollen bottom lip. A lump the size of a golf ball had risen at the back of her head. Her focus was off but she could see Volpe well enough. At the moment, nothing else mattered.
He leaned against the edge of a metal desk. Behind him, a bank of monitors glowed with a cold gray light that revealed the dim insides of the project. She realized with a shiver that Tony had brought her here to die. Stupid, she thought. They'll know who did it. Arrogant as he was, maybe he didn't care.
He lit a cigarette, started to offer her one and seemed to reconsider. "You don't smoke, do you?" His voice was low, menacing in its lack of expression.
She shook her head once, a mistake, as pain flooded her skull. The room spun. She closed her eyes again and waited for things to settle down. "You know what the Surgeon General says."
"If it's only your health you're concerned about, then you can have one, 'cause in a few minutes, you won't have no more worries on that score."
"Killing me isn't going to change what happens in that courtroom. Except to make things worse. You must know that."
"Yeah, but it's going to happen all the same. 'Cause I never leave unfinished business and that's what you are."
"Doing away with this piece of unfinished business could mean the difference between life in prison and a lesser sentence. Don't be a fool."
"Thanks to my pal, Terry, the least they'll hand me is twenty-five years, no matter what I do," he said, sitting beside her.
He took her face in one hand and examined her, giving her the opportunity to notice that he was considerably older than she'd thought. He'd done something to his hair, or maybe hadn't done anything to it, letting the gray show. To gain the jurors' sympathy?
His mouth came down on hers, hard and cold as the amber eyes staring at her. His nostrils twitched and he licked his lip as if savoring the taste of her blood. The wolf dream had never seemed more real. She sat without moving, waiting for the revulsion to subside. Her body shook with anger. At least, she hoped it was anger.
Finally, he straightened and bared his teeth in a smile as cold as his kiss. "You see me up close so maybe you can tell I'll end my years inside. I need some pay back for that. Finishing you off gives me the satisfaction of knowing that you'll all be gone - your lying father, your crazy mother and now you. And that makes it a job well done." He twisted her face to examine the bruises, then wrapped her arm in an iron grip. "C'mon."
Once outside the construction trailer, he pulled her along, never allowing her to gain any balance. She stumbled after him, dragging her feet to slow him down. The site was dark, except for small areas of icy blue where safety lights hung. Tony stumbled in the darkness. She tried to pull away but he tightened his grip on her arm.
"Don't try it," he said from deep in his throat. But she felt compelled to try something, anything.
Time is running out, she thought, and there's no one here to help.
Tony cursed and muttered something about the damned darkness. Having found the wolf's weakness, she acted before his eyes could adjust. She swiveled quickly, breaking his grip, then lowered her head and butted him in the midsection. He lost his balance and crashed to the ground, grabbing for her ankle to keep her from getting away. She stomped on his wrist with her other foot. He let go. Leaving him still struggling to his feet, she took off for the utility stairs. This was almost home ground by now. She had a good chance of losing him in the darkness, especially if he didn't know his way around. She gambled that he didn't.
Grateful she’d dressed casually for the show, she moved swiftly, skirting discarded scrap materials that lay about in rusting and rotting piles. She found gloves in her jacket pockets and pulled them on while she ran. As she scrambled over the mound of concrete and metal from the collapsed walkways, one hand settled on a piece of coiled steel about a foot long. She didn't know what it was, but hoped it would make a good weapon. She jammed it down the front of her jacket and raised the zipper higher. The gloves made grabbing for handholds easier.
Tony banged into something that fell noisily to the ground. She climbed faster. Once on the other side of the rubble, she darted in and out of a maze of steel and concrete uprights and finally found the metal staircase leading to the top floor. Each time she passed a safety light, she gave it a twist until it went out. She removed the metal coil from her jacket and used it to smash bulbs beyond her reach. The resulting darkness seemed worth the noise.
On the last level, the girders of the walkway still stretched intact. How had they survived when those below had collapsed? Maybe because the concrete hadn’t been poured up here yet?
“Focus, dammit. You’ve got to get to the other side.”
Once across, she could make her way to the roof of the building that abutted the site. Somewhere below, Tony stumbled and cursed his way toward her. When she looked down the stairwell, she could see a small light darting, weaving. He'd found a flashlight, but the beam didn't seem powerful. She expected to stay beyond its range.
Her heart pounded against her rib cage. Her mouth felt dry. Perspiration ran down her body, but she hesitated to remove her jacket. The dark colors helped
her blend into her surroundings, providing added protection as she made her way across the steel floor.
Only two thin guy wires marked the boundary between the deck's perimeter and oblivion. She moved cautiously. Taking a leaf from Tony's book, she dug into the change pocket of her slacks and removed the mini-flashlight that dangled on a black cord from her key ring. At least she could see where her next step would be before she took it.
A sweep of the area with the small beam of light convinced her she was too far to the right to get to the girders. Volpe had picked up speed, no mean feat at his age.
“Probably works out every day,” she whispered. With his own trainer. In his private gym.
He wasn't far below her now. She sprinted laterally across the deck. Slanting the light downward and a foot ahead of her, she started for the edge. A moment before the light tangled in the guy wires, she sensed the change.
The darkness thickened, turning an inky black unrelieved by any form or light that might have lessened its intensity. Silence filled the open space, growing more dense nearer the floor of the courtyard, as if the dimensions of the place could be measured by the degree of quiet. An updraft shattered the illusion as it swirled around the open space with a sigh, strumming the guy wires with a gentle stroke, making them hum.
She trained the light over the courtyard and moved it from side to side. It reached just far enough to pick out the girders in the dim glow. After taking ten steps to the left she had only to take another over the wire and out onto either one.
The sound of Volpe pounding up the stairs had stopped. Either he'd paused to rest or he'd made it up to the deck. The Wolf would find her before long. She needed to keep moving, but fear of the unknown kept her rooted in place. So pretend you're up on the board, she thought, and get out there. Only no dives, fancy or otherwise. The degree of difficulty is too great.
