Instinct took over and Emily assumed her favorite karate stance; the one taught to her by a kindly old Chinese man named Master Liu. It was designed to create power, flexibility, and movement, something she’d practiced over and over until it had become second nature. She set her feet, one in front of the other, and turned her body with knees bent. She held her arms up at two different levels and angled her hands flat, turning them into flat-edged weapons.
“Dat Kung Fu shit ain’t gonna work on me, missy,” the man said, licking his lips and snorting like a bull ready to charge.
“Never again,” she whispered, promising herself she’d not be a helpless victim again. Not like what had happened to her at the hands of Rob the Rapist in Jim’s restaurant.
She focused all her thoughts on one plan—attack and escape. However, in the back of her mind she knew her karate skills were no match for his colossal size and weight. Her best hope was to strike quickly, then outrun the fat bastard. Hopefully, she could sneak past the rest of his crew and make a break for it.
“Ya really think you can stop me ‘n my knife? Hell, I crap bigger dan you.”
She knew he was right. She didn’t stand a chance in a direct confrontation against this enormous predator. Especially if he was any good with the scary knife.
“I can make this quick or bleed you slow. Up to you, bitch.”
Just then, a new idea occurred to her. She decided to change tactics and use her brain for a change. He’d never expect it, and it just might work. But the timing had to be perfect, or this would be the last time anyone ever saw her. A vision of her broken body flashed in her mind, showing Big Mike tossing her into the same mine shaft where he’d disposed of his ex-wife’s body.
Emily let go of her karate pose and put her hands down. She moved across the room and stood near the foot of the bed, facing him. The glow of the moonlight washed across her back, sending her slender shadow sprawling across the floor to his feet. It looked like a runway, paving the path from him to her.
“Dat’s better,” he said, slipping his knife back into its sheath. “Smart girl.”
Emily took a deep breath and bolstered her resolve, waiting for the malevolent sociopath to come at her.
* * *
Four minutes earlier . . .
Derek had been dead asleep when a wicked nightmare shocked him awake. He sat upright in bed and looked around to get his bearings. He still wasn’t used to the top bunk, and certainly wasn’t comfortable sharing a room with five other wayward boys in the group home on Monte Vista Avenue in downtown Phoenix.
His mind was still able to recall the nightmare he’d just had, reliving pieces of it before it faded into nothing more than a feeling. The person he saw in his dream was Emily. She was in trouble, and needed help. He had a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach that something was horribly wrong.
Normally he didn’t put much stock in dreams or visions, but he couldn’t shake the lingering sense of peril from this one. He’d left Emily safe and sound—well, as safe as possible, given the situation—at the condo complex they’d snuck into earlier that evening. He’d made it to the group home on time, but just barely. He’d checked in with the house monitors and made sure his name was on all the right lists—clothes, food, school bus—it all seemed so mundane after what he’d been through, but that’s the deal when you’ve been processed through juvenile corrections in Arizona: you had to try to resume the life of a normal teenager. How that was going to be possible, he had no idea.
He scanned the room and checked the bunk below: his roommates looked to all be asleep. Derek checked the digital clock next to the door: 12:18 a.m. He’d only been asleep for eleven minutes after the last bed check at midnight. The monitors didn’t typically come around again until it was time for morning checks at 6:00 a.m., though sometimes they’d change the schedule and pop in for an unscheduled visit to keep everyone honest. Based on his own observations and from information shared by one of his roommates when he first moved in, he figured there was a two in five chance that they’d pick tonight to change it up.
He put his head on the pillow and considered his options: he could go back to sleep, which was going to be impossible with the gnawing feeling swirling inside his chest. That meant lying in bed all night worrying about Emily.
Or, he could sneak out the window, jump across to the branch of the mulberry tree that stood guard alongside the house, shimmy down its wide trunk and head for the condo to check on her. Then make it back to his rack by the regular morning check.
The second option came with the risk of getting caught and being sent back to Durango to serve out the remainder of his sentence. He weighed the Durango risk against the possibility that his dream was accurate and Emily might actually be in trouble. If she was, how would he live with himself if he didn’t go to her? He’d already made that mistake once, and if he’d hadn’t stopped Rob the Rapist just in time, Emily would be nothing more than a painful statistic today.
It didn’t take him long to make a decision. In half a second he was out of bed, dressing as quietly as possible. Five minutes later he was on the street, running at full speed, heading south toward Evans Churchill, and the condo complex that stood near The Fourth Street Café and Eatery, and Emily Heart.
* * *
Emily watched the rolls of flab begin to heave under the man’s t-shirt. They were bouncing and wiggling with every step Big Mike took after starting his sprint. He was moving across the room faster than she expected, especially for a man of his size.
Just before he got to her, she dropped to the ground and rolled onto her back with the bottoms of her bare feet pointing up and parallel to each other. She hoped her body position was correct, otherwise her plan would fail and she’d just piss him off even further.
The man’s eyes flew wide when he saw her drop to the floor, realizing what she was about to do to him, but his forward momentum continued. His belly found her feet, allowing her to use her legs as a fulcrum to disperse the weight. She let his inertia continue moving above her as she coiled her legs like a powerful spring, then she pushed with all her might, propelling him past her. He was incredibly heavy, but her adrenaline kicked in, giving her the extra strength she needed to complete the maneuver.
“Shiiiiit!” he screamed, as she flung him toward the window. The same window she’d left open earlier for fresh air to seep in. She watched his flight path from below, hoping her aim was on the mark. It was. His head and face made impact with the window first, sending it flying open before the sadistic man’s body sailed through the opening.
Emily rolled over and hopped to her feet, making it to the window just in time to see Big Mike land on the pavement twenty stories below. He didn’t bounce or roll—he just hit the ground with a thud and stuck there like a giant sack of dog shit.
“Thirty-two feet per second, per second,” she snorted, remembering some of the physics she had taught herself in the library. “Try to crap that, asshole.”
She’d been in several altercations in her years on the street. She’d even been directly responsible for the deaths of a gang of West Side Locos in a restaurant altercation, and for the Locos and Glassford Gatos her friend Jim had shot and killed in another gun battle. But she’d never watched someone die—as she assumed the big biker just had—by her own hands, in real time.
She felt a tinge of queasiness, but then Master Liu’s words came to her: “If someone attacks you, or if you know for certain someone has ill intent and they’re about to cause you harm, then they’ve forfeited their right to safe passage. Your responsibility is to yourself first, and use whatever is at your disposal to incapacitate them. Do not hesitate. Do it hard and do it fast. Be decisive. Be merciless.”
Emily worried that she’d done a little more than incapacitate Big Mike—but she didn’t know what else to do. He was going to kill her, and she had a right to defend herself. Certainly anyone in her position would have done the same thing, right? The only other choice was a blood
y death.
Logic took control of her brain, reminding her that she had to get out of there, and fast. She took one last look from the window at the lifeless hunk of meat below, then turned and crept through the bedroom door and down the hallway. She wanted to exit through the living room, but she heard someone open the front door of the condo. She froze, plastering her back against the wall.
“Big Mike! Where you at?”
Emily dropped to the floor and crawled to the kitchen, hiding behind a center island with a giant wooden cutting board sitting on it. A double stainless steel sink was sitting in the middle of the island, and there was a chorus of pots and pans hanging on polished metal hooks directly above it. The developer had gone all out with this demo unit, Emily thought, as her mind wandered off topic for a moment. Behind her was a gas stove, several banks of drawers and cabinets, and a gleaming chrome refrigerator.
“Mike! Bro!” the voice called out again.
She stayed low and out of sight when she heard footsteps nearby, then peered around the corner of the island when she thought it was safe to do so. She saw the skinny hoodlum named Slick, as Big Mike had called him. He was heading down the hallway that led to the master bedroom where she had just been.
This is my chance.
She tiptoed through the kitchen, heading toward the spacious living room. Before she made it the couch, she heard Slick call out from the bedroom.
“Mike! Mike!”
Shit. The time for stealth has passed.
She sped through the living room and had her hand on the doorknob when she heard Slick come running down the hallway. She didn’t know why, but she turned to look at the skinny man. Partly out of curiosity, she thought, or maybe she wanted to gloat about her victory over the fat slob they called Big Mike.
Slick stopped short when he saw Emily. He was breathing heavily, with a look of astonishment on his face. He froze, acting like a deer caught in headlights, when they locked eyes on each other across the living space.
Emily’s second sight kicked in and all she felt was fear from the man. But she wasn’t sure if he was fearful of her or something else. There wasn’t much else inside the scumbag, probably because he was a simple drone who took orders from others.
She let a smile form on her lips, feeling damn good about herself. Her free hand moved up on its own and flipped Slick the bird before she tossed open the door and took off down the hall. She raced around two ninety-degree corners, waving her arms in the air to celebrate her escape. She found the stairs just past the twin elevators, and several minutes later she was on the bottom floor where an open breezeway welcomed her. She tore through it, admiring the condo’s pool area on her right.
* * *
Derek ran the two and a half miles from his group home to the condo high-rise near Jim Miller’s restaurant in what must have been Olympic record time. He passed the restaurant and turned down the side street that led to the alley that ran adjacent to the complex.
When he made his way across the access drive and found the side of the building, he knew immediately that his instincts had been spot-on: something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. Lying still on the pavement in front of him was a huge man dressed like a biker. His body was twisted and bloody and he wasn’t moving. Derek knelt by the man and felt for a pulse along his neck; there was none. His chest wasn’t heaving, either. No doubt about it, the man was dead.
Derek craned his neck at the condo tower before him, focusing his eyes on the top floor. He ran through the path in his mind—the path to the developer’s demo unit, calculating its distance and location from the front of the building and its bank of elevators. He was sure that the open window on the top floor belonged to the demo unit where he’d left Emily for the night.
A dozen scenarios ran through his mind as he tried to come up with reasons for the corpse being where and how he’d found it. However, one answer kept coming to the top of the list, no matter how many times he ran through it in his head: The man had fallen to his death from the master bedroom window.
Was Emily responsible?
Did she tangle with this dude?
Was she hurt? Or worse?
Regardless of what he learned in the next few minutes, if she was involved, then all of this was his fault for leaving her alone—again. He never should have gone home. He should have stayed with her. Protected her. Stood watch as she slept, even if it meant being sent back to Durango for violating curfew.
Just then he heard metal clanking, and male voices coming from the back of the building. He suddenly had a vision of Emily in his mind: she was tied up and gagged, being led away from the building by a gang of bikers beating garbage can lids with baseball bats like a drum procession.
He took off running, and made it to the corner in under three seconds. He leaned around the wall and took a peek. A pair of men, both dressed like the dead man behind him, were loading appliances and TVs into the back of a paneled delivery truck.
There was no sign of Emily.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Emily had a good jump on Big Mike’s friend, Slick, but she knew the skinny assailant or his pals would be coming after her to exact revenge for what she’d just done. She ran through the back door, across the unfinished courtyard, and into the alley through a hole in the orange construction fencing. She dodged two vehicles sitting on rims with no tires and flew past a stack of smelly garbage bags sitting next to a stand of blue milk crates.
She gained both speed and confidence as she rounded the corner and hit the street, turning right. Then things happened almost too fast for her to process.
Derek—Derek?—was suddenly there in front of her on the sidewalk; she clipped him as she flew by, which sent her off balance. She looked back at him as she started to spin and fall backward to the ground.
Out of nowhere, her second sight kicked in and she flashed on him: Derek was frantically worried about her. He was coming to help her. He had sensed something was wrong and was as surprised to see her as she was to see him. All this filled Emily’s head and heart in an instant.
But then her focus changed when she realized that time had slowed down, which was typical right before a time jump, but this was different. Time hadn’t stopped completely, like usual. Instead, it was playing one frame at a time, like a video projector stuck in super-slow-mo.
She was in mid-spin, moving through the air an inch at a time, but her thoughts were operating at lightning speed. Adrenaline was coursing through her body, but there was no jump tingle in her spine. None of it made any sense. She decided it was due to The Derek Effect.
Then, before she could process another thought, time resumed at regular speed, bringing with it the laws of physics. Gravity and momentum took over as she put her hands down behind her, hoping to soften the impact when her butt hit the pavement. It didn’t. Her landing was hard and out of control. Her head snapped backwards, smashing into the side of a blue mailbox bolted to the sidewalk, making a loud clang. Her vision doubled and ran out of focus just as a stinging jolt of pain ripped through her brain. It took a handful of moments to see clearly again.
Derek streaked across her field of vision and reappeared, kneeling next to her. His hand was tugging at her.
“Em, Jesus. Are you okay?”
“Sort of,” she said, rubbing the spot on her head where it crashed into the mailbox. “Damn, that hurt.” Her fingers found a lump that was starting to form and it was tender to the touch.
“What the hell’s going on here? What about that body? Was he trying to hurt you? Did you push him out?”
“We need to go! Now! He’ll be coming!”
“Who?”
“The skinny man, and maybe his friends. I’ll explain later. Let’s go!” she snapped at him while trying to climb to her feet. She used Derek’s shoulder as a brace to get started, then he helped her the rest of the way up.
They took off running together.
* * *
January 6, 2015
12:45 a.m.
Miller was out in his yard, tacking heavy plastic sheeting over the holes in the back of his house. The doors and windows had been obliterated by the blast, along with the BBQ island and sections of his roof. His hands were working on autopilot as his mind stayed focused on Emily Heart, the Orange Man with the exploding briefcase, and how he was going to handle his old Marine buddy, Detective Alison.
Two faint pops echoed through the still, night air, spaced over a couple of seconds, coming from a few blocks south. His military training kicked in automatically, trying to assess the situation.
Weapon: .22 caliber pistol. Range: five thousand feet. Threat level: zero.
“Fuckin’ gangstas,” Miller said to the darkness, speaking with the same street-thug accent he assumed they’d use. “I hope they shoot their balls off.”
He lifted and peeled a purposely loose section of the sheeting away, allowing him to walk into his house through the makeshift plastic door. His cell phone buzzed on the kitchen table. He picked it up and checked the display: Alison. He swiped his thumb across the screen.
“Alice, this better be good. I’m trying to get my beauty rest.”
“Yeah, bullshit, Millsy. I know you’re always up past midnight. Just calling to give you the heads-up. You’ve been cleared in the Fourth Street shootings. Investigation just wrapped up this afternoon.”
“Oh yeah? Good to hear.”
Miller was dubious. Not about the investigation—he knew he was going to be cleared for the incident, partially because he agreed not to sue the department over being shot himself, since the insurance company’s compensation check for personal pain and suffering was going to be substantial—but also because the shootings were one hundred percent clean.
He was questioning why Alice was calling him in the middle of the night when they had a meeting already planned for the next day.
“Couldn’t it wait ‘til tomorrow, Alice? You still comin’ by the restaurant?”
“Yes, it could have. But I just found out and knew you’d be up. Wanted you to rest easy about it, my friend. And yeah, I’m still coming by, but it can’t be in the morning. We have to push it back to tomorrow night. Late. That work?”
Glassford Girl: Boxed Set (Complete Series) (Time Jumper Series) Page 27
