An Eye for Danger (26 page)

Then I remembered the pink phone.

I pushed redial, but the endless ringing only blistered my patience.
C'mon, c'mon
. Sam was probably too angry to pick up, or too stubborn, and I couldn't find the words to leave a message, not when I couldn't be sure who might access this line besides Sam.

I turned, jogged back down the stairs and pushed into the misty night. With Stone long gone, and my cop detail yet to return, I had a short window to find Sam and get home. My feet flew down the sidewalk, my eyes peeled for Sam's form between streetlights. Against all reason, all hope, I was heading for the last place I'd seen him, back to the bistro.

A block from home I heard heavy footsteps lumbering behind me. "Hey, lady."

"Sam." I turned, swelling with hope. And stared at a grizzly bear's shadow.

"Forget your dog? 'Cause I've got a nice bone for you, little honey." Troy lunged.

A scream broke from my throat as he scooped me up, his giant hand swallowing my face, his iron fingers stabbing into my jaw.

"How do you know Sam?" he hissed. "Were you his contact?"

 I shook my head, my eyes pleading innocence as he walked me backwards into a market stall now closed and lightless. My nose flared for air under his hand, sucking in his stench of stale alcohol and piss and smoke.

"You got one shot, lady. Where's Sam? Scream again and I'll rip your throat out." He released me slowly, keeping his hand within millimeters of my lips.

"I can't find him," I said between gasps.

His thumb slid up my windpipe. "Tell me where." As he pressed harder, the corners of his mouth curved. His soulless eyes watched me struggle for air as he pounded the words into my face: "Where. Is. Sam."

When I nodded, his grip relented. I coughed and coughed till I could spit out, "Voce. Voce Bistro."

He reached for my face again. "Then I don't need you anymore."

As his hand took hold of my mouth, I sank my teeth into his thumb pad, grinding at flesh and bone. He yanked back, cussing a blizzard of threats, and I screamed loud enough to wake the neighborhood. But I wasn't waiting for help. I twisted and pushed through the gap between Troy and the wall.

His claw landed on my back, ripped me off the ground, and threw me into the dark corner. My head bounced off the wallboard, sending a spear of pain ear to ear. For a second I lost balance, but I was still conscious, still able to thrust my knee into his groin, still able to scrape at his shins, claw at his hairy face.

Troy laughed. My kicks he blocked with his leg, my fists he held off with one arm, and my scratches he simply endured with a smile. Nothing I attempted could injure a man three times my size and weight.

"Help me!" I kept yelling. Troy stepped off and backhanded me.

The blow turned the gray night to black. I wavered, losing my sense of direction or weight, and crumpled into the corner of the stall. Darkness lingered, my body evaporating into the night's mist. I could just make out a man's laughter and the vague sense that I was being dragged. Part of me wanted the release, to let go of fighting him, fighting the world. Futility washed over me like a calm sea.

Sam
. My last thought would be that he'd survived, that I'd valued his life above mine and finally paid an unpayable debt for causing Luke's death. Yet I'd saved Sam's life only to betray him tonight to Troy.

Oh, God, I had to live, I had to fight. I had to escape and warn Sam.

Awareness of my body returned in a flash of adrenaline reheating my veins. Blinking, I saw a short, fuzzy shape move to my right.
Max?
With effort I lifted my arm, refocused my eyes, and tried to reach for him.

But the black pupils staring back at me were Troy's. "Time to wake up, little honey."

He leaned over me, like he'd leaned over Sam that morning in the park, ready to shoot. I screamed. Then his fingers laced around my throat so completely, I knew he'd never let go.

As he lifted me off the ground, his face twisted into a smile. "You're too damn easy. Sam always picks losers."

I scratched at his leathery face, then tried to hook my finger into his eye socket, tactics the major had taught me. But Troy's grip only tightened, and he stretched his long arm to keep me away from his face.

My legs still free, I kicked the wood walls, drumming an alarm to wake the neighborhood. If they wouldn't come for my screams, maybe they'd call the cops for the racket keeping them awake.

Troy pivoted and held me away from the walls, so I wriggled in the air like an insect pierced on a stick. He could crush my windpipe in an instant, but he clearly enjoyed my slow death.

I kicked at his torso and arm in a final pathetic burst. Despite daily workouts and a killer soccer kick in college, I hadn't the muscle strength to break his thick arm or the reach to snap his bulldog neck. And with every kick I used precious oxygen. Eventually, I'd lose consciousness.

So I fought till I could no longer lift my legs. Then my arms tingled and dropped to my sides, leaving my numb fingers dangling uselessly. The world spun sideways and my limbs disappeared. I felt boneless, a drooping daisy in a monster's grip.

My eyelids sank. Mother's prayer ran through my mind. And another voice: my own.
Thank you for Sam
. A strange sense of peace devoured my fear. Something akin to forgiveness.

Then I plopped onto the ground.

And felt the impact of cold cement. I should have felt nothing. Why wasn't I dead? Maybe he'd ditched me to hunt for Sam. Or Troy was toying with his prey before the kill.

Get up, Jules
. Yelling penetrated the shadows, overtook the ringing in my ears.
Stand up
.

Curling on my side, I wheezed for air in a body I could barely feel, let alone fully operate. A boot shoved my shoulder. If I moved, surely Troy would begin beating me. And I needed to accept that fate. I'd no real hope of escaping, but at least I could delay Troy from finding Sam a little longer.

"Run, damnit."

The sound of blows and grunts prevailed, the shop's walls vibrating with battle. I gulped air, tried to re-engage my body and managed to open my eyes. Any second Troy's blunt boot kicks would strike.

Sam heaved in front of me, holding his ribs. "Get out of here!"

A snarling, fuzzy mass came into view, then lunged. Max's form was no hallucination as he ripped into Troy's jeans. When Troy bent to grab him by the neck, Sam jumped into the fray with an upper cut, receiving instead a blow to his gut that sent Sam crashing into the wall.

With all my strength, I pushed to my knees, dizziness holding me in place. Sam threw another punch that landed in Troy's face, much to his amusement.

Growling, Max sank his teeth into Troy's calve and the beast yelled bloody murder. Sam got off two more strikes to Troy's gut, just to keep him occupied.

I reached to pull Max out of danger, but he was faster than either of us, biting Troy's hand and driving the bastard's retreat. Max snarled, revealing his bloody teeth, and lunged again. I prayed he'd rip the bastard to shreds for crows to eat.

"Damn it, Jules, run!" Sam jumped back and whipped out his Glock.

On wooden legs I rose and stumbled toward the street. I couldn't run, but I could flag down a passing car, get someone to call 911, or find that absent patrol car.

Then a
crack
pierced the night. I slammed against a Jeep, my arms covering my head as the gun's report rang like artillery across a battlefield. Another shot snapped me out of paralysis, propelled me down the street. I struggled to stay upright, catching my balance with rubbery arms against the cold metal of parked cars. I wanted to return to Sam, but my body was in survival mode.

My building stood in sight. I looked for the patrol car, for Stone.
Where the hell were they when I needed them?
Then I spotted a taxi parked across the street. From my angle, I could see the window lowered, the driver door ajar with the driver's leg sticking out.

"Help me," I strained through my bruised throat as the man came into view. "Raul! Dios mio. Ayúdame, por favor." But he didn't move. Just stared straight ahead. "Raul?"

I touched his shoulder, and he slumped sideways onto the middle console. Light from the street lamp illuminated a black knife handle fixed in his upper ribcage. Blood had pooled onto his seat, blackening his jeans. His eyes never blinked.

At first, I backed away slowly. Then I ran for my building, fumbling for the keys in my pocket. I couldn't just leave Raul there, but I couldn't stay for a dead man either. I'd call the police from my apartment, I reasoned as I managed to get the door unlocked.

I jumped inside and leaned on the automated door to hurry its progression. Then I took two stairs up before realizing Troy knew where I lived. That meant my apartment could be hiding more of his friends.

I slinked back to the foyer. Flattening my back against the mailboxes, I could see the street, but no Sam or Max. Raul was dead, Petosa dead. Stone and his watchdog AWOL. Gunshots rang through my head, and I prayed Sam had been spared. 

I checked my pockets, but the pink phone must have been lost in the scuffle. I could call from Cicily's apartment, but she'd ask questions. Neighbors could hide me, but I'd only be risking their lives too. No, I'd hide and wait for Sam, if he was still alive.

Two large doors faced me: the laundry room, which was too public, and the boiler room, which lacked cabinetry in which to hide. But under the stairwell was a child-size door. Experience told me I'd fit in the triangle-shaped cubby. I'd hidden there whenever I ran away to make my aunt crazy, shaving years off her already fragile life.

As I barely squeezed through the portal, my head bumped the short end of the slanted roofline, breaking loose a cloud of dust into my eyes. I coughed and wiped my face, shutting the door and dreading the spiders or cockroaches or mice living in this precious New York apartment space.

The building's front door creaked open and I stopped fidgeting. Heavy footsteps landed, placed with caution. Not a woman's step, nor someone just waltzing home from an evening out.
Sam?
I'd never learned Sam's normal gait, only his injured stumbles toward the restroom. And without the sound of dog paws, I didn't dare show myself.

The footsteps climbed the stairs, the old oak planks creaking over my head. Dust dropped onto my face like a veil. I coughed, quickly pressing my mouth inside my trench collar.

Feet thundered down the stairs. The metal door to the boiler room dragged over the carpeting. Soon after, the laundry room door squeaked open and slammed shut.

"Jules?" he whispered, but from my cubby I couldn't recognize the muffled voice. Sam had called my name in front of Troy, and Troy had already fooled me once tonight.

"Max, seek."

I fell out the cubby onto the carpeting, coughing my lungs out. Max licked my face, while Sam took my arms and helped me sit up.

"Anything broken?" Sam's hands sped down my arms and legs, despite my proclamations to the contrary.

"He's dead," I whispered, trying not to cry. "There's a knife. And so much blood."

"I know, baby. I know." A door shut above us. Sam glanced upstairs.

"Don't go. Don't leave me." I gripped his sleeve so tightly my battered knuckles ached.

He took my face in his hands. "Shhh. We're not safe yet. I need to go clear a path for us, baby. Understand? Wait for me here."

"No, you're not leaving."

"I'm coming back for you, I promise. I'd never leave you." He kissed my forehead, and then urged me into the cubby. "Don't come out unless you hear me say 'Max.'"

Max whined as Sam shut the cubby door on me.

Nearly half an hour passed. I tried not to replay my fight with Troy or the image of Raul sitting in his own death pool of blood. Instead, I considered exit strategies, how we'd get to my stash of money, fly south to the Bahamas. Anything to keep my mind off that grizzly's face exhaling acid breath into my nose as I gasped for air or why I didn't remove the knife from Raul's body.

My nerves fractured, and I shook violently in the darkness of the cubby, feeling small and helpless, like the night of Luke's death: impotent to save him. If Sam encountered trouble, he needed my help, my courage, not this quivering child.

I pushed on the cubby door.

Creaking floorboards sounded overhead, releasing another burst of dust into my face. I shut myself inside again, listening as the boiler room door dragged against the carpet, and then the laundry room door squeaked open. Rooms Sam had already checked and cleared.

Then the feet stepped to my cubby door and I held my breath.

CHAPTER 18

A knock at the cubby door. My body iced over and waited.

"Max," Sam finally whispered.

He pulled me out of the cubby into his arms, and I hugged him so hard it hurt.

"We need to move now, baby. Just do as I say and we'll be okay."

"Nothing's okay. We have to run." I pulled him toward the front door.

"We can't go outside till I know it's clear."

"I don't care. Let's get out of here."

"Jules." When I started for the door, Sam grabbed my shoulders. "Listen to me. Max is waiting upstairs. We can't leave without him. He's family, right?"

I paused, nodded.

"Good girl. Let's go get Max. We're all going to stick together now. We're family." Sam took my hand, rounded the banister and pulled me along. "Stay close," he whispered, keeping me behind him.

Our backs slid along the wall as we took the stairs in silence. Weapon drawn, he stopped and started at each landing, his eyes searching halls, doors, shadows. His thoroughness I didn't doubt. My nerves just expected another ambush.

Max whined from afar. When we came to the third-floor landing, I veered toward my apartment, eager to hug him again. But Sam yanked me up the stairs, raising a brow when I resisted. Had he tricked me? When I wouldn't budge, Sam wrapped an arm around my waist and carried me back into the stairwell.

Then Max yipped from the floor above us, and Sam couldn't hold me back from taking the stairs double-time. Tail wagging, Max waited at the door of my snobby neighbors' apartment directly above mine. He gave me a slobbery reunion.