Dead Reckoning (43 page)

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. You see, I’ve been planning this for quite some time. Right down to the suicide note you sent your parents.”

“I didn’t,” she choked.

“Just a simple apology for the pain your suicide will cause them. I think that will suffice.”

“My parents won’t believe it. Mike Shelley won’t believe it. Neither will Frank Matrone.”

But Kate could tell Rooks wasn’t concerned. “I brought a couple of Xanax for you.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved two pills. “Please. Take them. It will make this easier for both of us.”

“Fuck you.”

He smiled. “Strong to the bitter end. I respect that. But it’s not going to help you.” He dropped the pills back in his pocket. “If you change your mind, I have them right here.”

He slid a sleek baton from beneath his London Fog. “I did not want to use such a primitive instrument.” A flick of the wrist and the baton extended to three feet in length. “But for obvious reasons a gun was out of the question. A knife would raise questions. Physical trauma, on the other hand.” He shrugged. “Let’s just say a nine-hundred-foot fall will leave little for the medical examiner to work with.”

“Stay away from me,” Kate said.

He ran his hand along the deadly looking length of steel. “The expandable baton is a law enforcement tool, when non-lethal force is called for. It’s illegal in some states.” His eyes landed upon hers. “One way or another, you will jump from this building tonight.”

Kate stepped back, looked wildly around for something, anything to use as a weapon. The scaffolding was to her right. A stepladder straight ahead. A plastic five-gallon bucket. A toolbox, its padlock glinting in the dim light.

“This space where we’re standing will eventually be the penthouse,” Rooks stated. “The rent will be outrageous. A filthy rich law firm will claim it, I’m sure. Or perhaps a restaurant.” He circled her. “No one will think of the young woman who jumped to her death months before. A month from now, no one will remember you.”

“I won’t do it.”

“Of course you will.”

Kate could feel her eyes darting left and right. She felt like a trapped animal, with a predator closing in to devour her. She was trying to formulate a plan. Knock him out. Take the elevator key. Get the hell out of there. She wasn’t expecting him to lunge at her.

Air
whooshed
when he swung the bat. Kate reeled backward. All she could think about was protecting her broken arm. She knew if he hit her there, she could black out. All he would have to do then was carry her to the edge and throw her off. . . .

The tip of the baton grazed her injured arm. The pain was like a supernova bursting in her brain.

An animal sound tore from her throat as she stumbled back. “No!” she screamed. “Get away from me!”

His lips peeled back, revealing perfect white teeth. Kate saw intent in his eyes. Cruelty. Self-preservation in its most primitive form.

He swung the baton again. She lunged sideways, but she wasn’t fast enough. Steel slammed into her shoulder. Heat streaked down her arm. She snatched up the five-gallon bucket and threw it with all her might. He deflected the bucket and it bounced aside. Using her good arm, she grasped the six-foot stepladder and toppled it.

Cursing, he stepped toward her. “You can’t get away, Kate. Give it up. Let’s get this over with.”

She knew she was out of time. Out of options. Out of luck. Kate did the only thing she could and ran.

TWENTY-NINE

THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 9, 3:15 A.M.

Kate ran blindly through the darkness. She could hear her boots cracking against the concrete floor. Too loud. Giving away her location. She could hear her breaths tearing from her throat in ragged gasps. Her heart thundered in her ears. A storm of pain ripping through her arm.

She darted around a concrete support beam. A gust of wind hit her in the face, blew her back a step. Ten feet away she could see where the floor ended. Snow swirled crazily against the backdrop of light. The yellow safety netting flapped wildly.

Pressing her back to the concrete, she tried to catch her breath. If she could keep her head, she might be able to survive this. Surely the cop back at the convalescent home had realized by now that she wasn’t there. Surely he would contact Mike Shelley. Mike would contact Frank.

“Frank,” she whispered.

She closed her eyes against the tears. The thought of all that would be lost if she perished here tonight sent a sob to her throat. Using her good arm, Kate put her hand over her mouth, closed her eyes tightly, and fought hard for the control she needed to survive this.

Every muscle in her body went taut at the sound of Rooks’s voice. Taking a deep breath, she peered around the corner of the support beam. He was thirty feet away, turning in a slow circle, his head cocked as if listening.

When he turned in her direction, she sank against the support beam and looked for a place to run. A place to hide. But Kate had run out of options. There was no place left to run. Just a nine-hundred-foot drop and certain death.

“Frank,” she whispered. “I need you. Come for me. . . .”

 
THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 9, 3:16 A.M.

Frank felt every second that ticked by as if it were the last beat of his heart. He sped north on Preston Road, pushing the Chevy to ninety miles an hour. He blew a traffic light at Park. In the distance Providence Tower loomed like a shadowy skeleton.

He whipped the cell phone from his belt. His hand shook as he hit the speed dial for Mike Shelley. The DA answered on the first ring.

“Jameson Rooks has Kate,” Frank said. “He’s taken her to Providence Tower. I think he’s going to kill her.”

“Where are you?”

“En route. I need the architect or the construction site manager on the horn. Now.”

“Give me two minutes,” Shelley said. “I’ll notify Plano PD. You stay the hell out of the line of fire.”

Frank disconnected, his mind torturing him with thoughts of all the terrible things that could be happening to Kate. He consoled himself with the fact that she was a fighter. A survivor. But he knew that not even Kate Megason was a match for a gun or knife or the savagery of a killer.

He swung the Chevy onto the street that would take him to Providence Tower. The construction site was massive with several outbuildings and a ramp to what looked like an underground parking garage. Too dark to see if there was a Jaguar parked in the lot. Knowing the gate would be padlocked, Frank hit the gas. The Chevy crashed through the chain link like a tank cutting through high weeds. Sparks shot high into the air as the truck dragged a length of fence into the parking garage. The truck skidded to a halt ten feet from Jameson’s Jaguar.

Frank jammed the truck into Park and threw open the door. He darted toward the construction elevator and punched the Up button. The lighted sphere blinked, then went dark. “Damn it.” He hit the button again and again, but the light that told him the elevator was operational remained dark. Rooks had somehow jammed it.

Desperation clawed at him as he left the underground garage and sprinted toward what would be the building’s lobby. Toolboxes, coiled extension cords, and rolls of polyurethane sheeting lay scattered about. A forklift hulked in the corner like a sleeping beast. Huge slabs of marble that would comprise the walls were stacked twelve feet high.

He’d been hoping to find a stairwell or freight elevator, but found neither. He wished desperately for a flashlight, but he hadn’t thought to bring one. He set his hand on his cell phone. “Come on, damn it.”

The lighted dial told him four minutes had passed since he’d spoken to Mike Shelley. They were the longest four minutes of his life.

His cell phone chirped, and Frank snatched it up. “Yeah.”

“This is Doug Johnson, construction manager of Providence.”

“A woman is being held hostage on the top floor of the building. The suspect has jammed the construction elevator. Is there another way for me to get up there?”

“Shit, man, I don’t think so.”

“Think! Damn it, he’s going to kill her if I don’t stop him.”

“Freight elevator might work. Company came out and installed the cables and electric motors last week. But it hasn’t been tested or inspected or nothing.”

“Where?”

“West side of the building.”

“Stay on the line.” Holding the phone to his ear, Frank sprinted through the lobby toward the west side of the building. “I can’t see shit,” he muttered. “It’s dark as hell. I’m in the main tower. Can you guide me?”

“Go straight west. Ten yards before you reach the end, go right. There will be an interior hall. Low ceilings. Freight elevator will be on your left.”

Frank had already found the second hall. Halfway down he located the elevator. He punched the button. In the distance he could hear the wail of sirens.
Plano PD,
he thought. He knew he would probably pay dearly for not waiting. But in his heart he knew he was out of time. That Kate was out of time.

The elevator doors slid open. Frank stepped inside. There were no walls, just a plastic mesh safety net. Shit, he thought, and hit the button for the top floor.

The ride to the top seemed to take forever. The higher he went, the harder the wind blew. Every two seconds a concrete floor
whooshed
by. The occasional support beam. On several floors the walls were finished out. But as the elevator moved up the shaft, there were fewer walls. Just open floors, wind, and swirling snow. Frank stood with his feet braced in the center of the platform and tried hard not to look down.

An eternity later the elevator jolted to a halt. Drawing his weapon, he stepped out onto the concrete floor. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness and he could see that the top floor was little more than a concrete slab with a roof. Polyurethane sheets had been stapled to the west side of the building and whipped in the brisk wind, making it difficult to hear.

Dropping to a crouch, he ran to the nearest support beam. His heart stopped in his chest when he heard the scream. He spun, but it was too dark to see. His blood ran cold when he spotted the silhouettes against the night sky. Rooks and Kate were locked in a struggle just a few feet from the edge and a sheer nine-hundred-foot drop.

Terror swept through him, a violent tornado scattering his thoughts into chaos. Stepping out from behind the pillar, he drew down on Rooks. “Rooks! Stop!
Now!
”

Frank didn’t need to see the other man’s face to know his intentions. Rooks’s arms were locked around Kate. Too close to her for him to get off a shot. Too close to the edge to charge.

Shifting his weapon slightly, he fired a warning shot. “Let go of her!
Now!
”

“Frank! He’s armed!”

The terror in her voice ripped at him. He felt that same terror rampaging through his own body. The memory of Gittel’s violent death had been imprinted on his brain, and those images paralyzed him with fear.

Arms locked around Kate, Rooks swung her closer to the edge. “Drop the gun, Matrone.”

Kate fought him wildly, but Rooks outweighed her by eighty pounds. “Frank!”

“Rooks, don’t do it!” Frank edged closer. He could feel his heart pounding. Fear whipping and coiling inside him. “I’ll do whatever you want!” he screamed. “Just let her go.”

Rooks’s teeth flashed white in the semidarkness. He looked dangerous and evil and very insane. “What is she worth to you, Matrone?”

“Everything.” But Frank didn’t lower the pistol. He was close enough now so that even in the darkness he could see Kate was injured. She was cradling her arm. Choking back sobs. “Let her go, and I’ll let you walk away from this.”

“Liar.” Rooks began to laugh.

A chill raced down Frank’s spine.

Legs apart and braced, the lawyer heaved Kate toward the edge.

“Frank, kill him!” she screamed.

Two feet from the edge. Terror snarling inside him. Panic sinking into him like fangs. Knowing Rooks was seconds away from killing her, Frank risked the shot and pulled the trigger.

Rooks’s body jolted, but he didn’t release Kate. Another, stronger wave of terror. A beast galloping through him. The hard slam of panic in his heart. Frank wanted to kill the son of a bitch. He wanted to cut his throat, remove him from the face of the earth. “Let her go!” he shouted.

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

Frank stared, his heart exploding, fear permeating his every cell.

Rooks shoved her violently. Kate stumbled over what looked like a rope, twisted in midair. Her arms flailed wildly. Her scream rent the air. As if in slow motion she went over the edge.

And then she was gone.

THIRTY

For the span of several heartbeats, Frank stood there, disbelief and rage coursing through him in a violent torrent. He couldn’t believe Kate was gone. Couldn’t believe God had taken her from him the same way he’d taken Gittel.

His vision tunneled on Rooks. Thoughts as black as death scrolled through his mind. He didn’t remember closing the distance between them. He didn’t feel it when the other man slammed the baton across his chest. He didn’t remember raising the gun or pulling the trigger eleven times as he emptied the clip into the other man’s body. The one thing he did remember was shoving Rooks’s body off the edge of the building.

Alone on the twenty-seventh floor of Providence Tower, Frank Matrone went to his knees. “No! No!
Noooo!
”

He slammed his fists against the concrete with each word. An animal sound of rage and denial tore from his throat. The sense of loss overwhelmed him. Grief flowed through him like the black blood of the dead. He put his face in his hands as the thunderstorm of emotion doubled him over. “Oh, God, Kate.”

He raised his head, not sure if her voice was in his mind or if he’d really heard it. Then he heard it again. Kate. Hope burst through him, sent him staggering to his feet. He crossed to where she had gone off the edge on trembling legs. He spotted the orange extension cord running over the side. He walked to the edge and looked down. An instant of disbelief. Relief slammed into him when he saw Kate dangling ten feet down.