The Edge of Midnight
With a curse, Myk snatched off the headset. He had to get down there. The others in the surveillance team wouldn’t begin arriving for at least another twenty minutes. He knew he should wait for backup, but by then who knew what might happen. Myk grabbed his gun. After checking the chamber, he stuck the weapon into the small of his back and ran to the penthouse’s private elevator.
Sarita placed the last of the sparklers into the small velvet pouch and drew the drawstrings closed. From the open toolbox at her feet she took out a roll of black electrical tape, then unzipped the front of the dirty overalls. She undid the top button of her jeans and pulled her T-shirt free. Using two long pieces of the tape, she fastened the pouch to the skin of her waist inside her jeans. Because the bag added bulk to her waistline, she had to suck in her stomach in order for the jeans to close again. They did, finally, but not without the sticky black tape pulling painfully against her skin. Removing the tape later would be no fun, but the slight discomfort would be forgotten once she received her money from Fletcher.
The man on the bed continued to snore, making her wonder what the women had given him, but she didn’t dwell upon the question. She was just thankful they had. Just a few more minutes she prayed. She took a quick glance at the small luminous face of her watch—12:38.
She closed the safe, spun the dial, and rehung the painting. As she made a slight adjustment to the frame’s positioning, she heard a noise and froze. Her eyes went immediately to the man on the bed, but his snoring hadn’t changed. The noise came again. Her attention shot to the door, and her eyes widened with alarm. Someone was trying the knob!
With no time to spare, she snapped off the light. Her hands were shaking, her heart pounding. The toolbox lay open at her feet, but she doubted she had time to gather it up. Instead, she hoped it would remain hidden by the darkness while she frantically searched the shadows for a place to hide. She ducked down next to the dresser positioned beside the bed. Her mind whirled with the awful possibilities: security, the police, a friend of the man on the bed come to awaken him for some unknown reason. She prayed that whoever it was had somehow come to the wrong room and would realize the mistake and move on, but her prayers went unanswered.
The person entered the room cautiously, carefully, as if judging the interior in much the same way she’d done earlier. She listened to the barely audible footsteps, her heart beating wildly, her stomach in knots. She tried to make herself smaller, but the wall at her back kept her from cringing any farther.
The footsteps crossed the carpet like a whisper, and from where they halted she judged the intruder to be just on the other side of the bed. She heard the sound of the bed shaking. The intruder seemed to be trying to awaken the sleeping man, but the snores continued.
Sarita waited for the next move. The following seconds dragged by like years. The clock on top of the dresser ticked in the silence. The soft brittle sound, amazingly loud in the darkness, came to her ears like a death count. She debated what to do. The longer the person hung around, the higher were her chances of being discovered. She toyed with the idea of dashing across the room to the door, but if the person were armed she didn’t want to chance catching a bullet in the back. Once again she had no options. All she could do was hide, stay calm, and keep praying the uninvited guest would leave.
No such luck.
She watched a small flashlight beam moving slowly over the walls. When it snaked menacingly over the rehung landscape, she tensed with renewed alarm. She could hear the footsteps crossing the room, then saw the shadowy figure of a tall, well-built man. She didn’t dare even breathe. He stood in front of the painting and directly across from where she huddled. She tried to make herself invisible and watched with horror and fascination as he carefully took down the painting. Was he after the diamonds, too? Evidently yes. It took him only a few minutes to open the safe, but she felt a momentary sense of satisfaction knowing he wouldn’t find anything. She wondered what he would do?
He answered her unspoken question by uttering a muttered curse. He slapped the door of the safe closed, a further show of his displeasure. He stood motionless then as if trying to decipher the dilemma. After a few long moments he bent to retrieve the painting he’d placed by his feet. When he didn’t straighten up right away, Sarita’s stomach turned sick from fear. She knew he’d discovered the open toolbox. As he turned the beam on the area, she waited, horrified. When he finally straightened to his full height, he had the flashlight in one hand and a gun in the other.
The light began a swift search of the premises, first over by the door, then the dresser, then she was onstage.
“Stand up!” he commanded.
Sarita uncurled herself and reluctantly stood, her legs shaking.
“Raise your hands. Slowly.”
She didn’t argue.
Myk stared curiously at the person caught like a deer in his light. A repairman? “Take off the hat.”
Sarita hesitated but, using one hand, slowly complied. Her nerves were shot. Because of the light in her eyes, she couldn’t make out the man’s features, but not even the glare could mask his height, or the power in his large, muscular frame. She was shaking so badly, she couldn’t think.
Myk watched the hat come off, then swung the light up to the intruder’s face. Not a repairman, Myk thought testily. He had here a bandanna-wearing kid! Myk set the flashlight on the edge of the table. Gun in hand, he stepped over to the kid and began to pat him down for weapons. When his hands brushed the soft swells of female breasts, she jumped away, and he drew back as if he’d touched something hot. His eyes widened. He was so shocked, his first instinct was to pat her down again in order to verify this startling turn of events, but he held off. He shot the light back to her face instead. A woman! He reached up and snatched the bandanna from her head to reveal her sleek, short-cut hair. He cursed to himself. He patted her waist and felt the bulge. “Give me the diamonds.”
Tiny rivulets of fear-fed sweat were running down the rigid, shaking column of Sarita’s spine. She wanted to say she’d rather not, but he obviously didn’t care to be kept waiting because he stuck the barrel of the gun between her eyebrows and hissed dangerously, “Now!”
When she hesitated, he mistook her shock for noncompliance and increased the pressure of the cold barrel against her skin. Sarita took in a deep, shuddering breath. “Okay, okay.”
He and the gun backed up to give her some room. She slid the straps off of her shoulders then eased the front down to reveal her T-shirt. Stiff with anger and reaction she worked the coverall down to her waist and raised the shirt.
Myk could see the tops of her black panties but was more intent upon the package taped to her waist. Once he got her back upstairs to the penthouse he’d find out who she was and who she worked for. He sensed she didn’t like him ordering her around because she didn’t bother masking the angry flash of her eyes or the defiant set of her chin as she stripped off the tape and slapped the small bag into his outstretched palm. Looking at her more closely, he couldn’t believe he’d mistaken her for a male. Now, he could see the face was too finely carved, the mouth too ripe to be anything but female. “Fix your clothes and let’s go.”
“Where?” she asked defiantly.
No answer.
“Are you hotel security?”
The look he gave her said no more questions.
Sarita took the hint, wondering if she’d live to see the sun rise. He had the diamonds, and she, well, she was probably expendable. Scared, but determined not to fall apart, she bent to get the toolbox while her mind whirled with alternatives to whatever he had in store. She could think of none.
“Let’s go,” he growled.
She preceded him to the door.
Sarita willed someone to be in the hall to see them leaving Room 1533, but as he eased the door open and peered out, she knew the chances were less than slim. She’d seen no one on the way in and now, with the hour even later, she doubted she would see anyone. Her guess proved co
rrect. No one.
He steered her down the hall with a viselike grip on her arm and partially propelled, partially dragged her in his wake. She hazarded a look up at this face. It was mustached, dark brown, and cold. The stern eyes were fixed straight ahead.
To her surprise he took her to the penthouse elevator. The doors opened as if at his command. Was he a guest? If not, how had he gained access to the “limo” as it was called by the housekeeping staff.
He shoved her roughly inside. Once the doors closed, he pulled a ring of keys from his back pocket. He pushed one into a slot in the rectangular panel housing the floor buttons, but his large build prevented her from seeing which slot he’d used. When he withdrew the key the car began to rise. The limo led not only to the penthouse suite offices of various corporations, but also to the roof. Was that where they were headed? She looked up at him towering over her so malevolently. The vision of him killing her and tossing her body from the roof to the pavement forty-five floors below almost set her to screaming. She was certain he could feel her trembling under his painful hold on her arm, so she took a deep breath to steady herself against her rising fears—to panic would be to let go of the little bit of sanity she had left.
The limo was notorious for its slow climb. So far, it had reached the twentieth floor. Twenty-five more to go. The deliberate pace of the elevator would give her more than ample time to berate herself for getting mixed up in this scheme of Fletcher’s in the first place. She wouldn’t put it past him to have set her up this way just so he wouldn’t have to pay her off.
The man beside her hadn’t said a word since leaving 1533. She wondered if he could be convinced to let her go? She doubted it—that was a serious piece of firepower in his hand. He looked more likely to shoot her than to listen. She had to figure out something, though, because she dearly wanted to come out of this escapade alive. She also made a vow to never, ever, do anything like this again.
But how to escape him? She had no weapon. The only thing in her possession was the toolbox with a few generic tools inside to make her appear reasonably legit if stopped by a hotel employee. Neither the toolbox nor its contents was designed to stop a bullet.
The light for the thirtieth floor winked on and then off.
Fifteen floors to go.
Sarita turned her eyes away from the panel and went back to her dilemma. An idea came to mind, and from it a very raggedy-filled-with-holes plan began to take shape. Maybe the toolbox wouldn’t have to stop a bullet. If she could distract him long enough to…
Myk underestimated his captive’s determination. He thought her too intimidated by his gun and his size to do anything but submit meekly. Consequently, when she smashed the toolbox into the side of his face, he reacted a split second too late. The pain exploded in his head like shards of glass. His arm instinctively rose to ward off the next blow, but pain exploded again, this time from the vicious knee she planted firmly in his groin. The double agonies made him bend over. He almost retched as he slid uselessly to the floor. He didn’t care that the gun rolled away.
The terrified Sarita snatched up the weapon. She slammed her hand against the down button on the elevator panel, praying the ascent would halt, but it didn’t. Her would-be captor lay in the corner, eyes closed, breathing harshly. She leveled the gun on him. “Give me the key to this thing!”
Myk ignored her, more intent upon the fire raging in his genitals. The blow to the head had rendered him groggy and disoriented.
“I said, give me the damn key!”
In response, she received a glare that promised havoc once he got back on his feet, but a shaking yet amazingly calm Sarita didn’t care. “I will shoot you.”
Floor 38.
Myk touched the bleeding gash on his head. A few more inches, and she’d’ve cost him an eye. He surveyed his bloodstained fingers. “You fire that gun in here, and we’ll both wind up dead.” But she didn’t appear to be in the mood for logic, he noted. Her well-balanced stance and the shaking yet steady hold upon the gun told Myk she just might know what she was about, and since he needed more time to recover before he could get up and strangle her with his bare hands, he ignored the hurtful throbbing of his injuries, fished around in his pocket, and produced the ring of keys. “Come and get it.”
“Do I look like a fool?” she snapped sarcastically. “Slide them over here. Along with the diamonds. Easy now.”
Myk, growing less groggy and more angry with each breath, complied.
A very wary Sarita kept the gun trained on him as she knelt to retrieve the big ring of keys and the bag. She pushed the diamonds into the pocket of her coveralls.
Myk thought he’d add to her stress by saying, “There’s a lot of keys on that ring, little girl. Which one is the right one?”
She ignored him. She stuck the familiar key into the slot marked GARAGE, then said sweetly, “All elevator keys look alike.”
The elevator was headed down to the underground garage. Its slow descent matched its slow ascent. She toyed with the idea of stopping it at a random floor and jumping off, but ruled it out. He had a key to the penthouse elevator. Who knew how he’d gotten hold of it. He could be connected to the hotel’s security force, the police, or to a competitor of Fletcher’s. She didn’t want to spend the next hour ducking and dodging her way through this vast place trying to find a bolt-hole. No, the underground parking structure would be a better choice. From there she could go right to the city streets. Fletcher promised to have a ride waiting. She hoped she hadn’t missed it. Fletcher. She didn’t even want to think about having to explain this mess to him, but if she managed to escape, he wouldn’t have to know.
Floor 27.
The descent was taking entirely too long for her liking, but she had both the gun and the diamonds, and that gave her a measure of confidence. However, she knew he would do everything in his power to keep her from leaving once the elevator car stopped. He didn’t seem to be a man who enjoyed being bested, and being bested by a “little girl” probably made his defeat worse.
Finally, the light panel began to show floor levels in the teens once again, then single digits. Sarita did not lower the gun. Although the man hadn’t moved, she could feel the heat of vengeance simmering in his eyes. Every second of the descent gave him back his strength, strength that could undoubtedly snap her like a twig. She’d have to say good-bye quickly when the elevator stopped.
The elevator came to a halt. The doors slid open, and the cool night air drifted in. With a blind foot, she searched behind her for the lip of the opening. Another step back brought her feet in contact with the cement garage floor. She took a quick look over her shoulder to make sure no one was around, then instantly turned back to her adversary. Her arms were starting to stiffen from holding the gun so tightly, but her aim never wavered. Her eyes held his steadily as she reached over and repositioned the key into the slot labeled ROOF then withdrew it. Pocketing the keys, she said, “It’s been a pleasure.”
She slapped her palm against the UP button, and the door began to close. She could feel relief rising and as her adrenaline slowed she relaxed.
A mistake.
He launched himself at the door. Her panicked scream blended with the two quick bursts she squeezed from the gun.
Myk felt the hot lead explode in his shoulder, and the resulting pain spun him back against the elevator’s wall. Her dark and frightened eyes were the last he saw of her as the door slid shut. The elevator began to climb, and his howl of frustration echoed through the darkness.
Later, back in the safety of her little flat, Sarita took a long hot shower to try and wash away the fright and anxiety. It didn’t work. She emerged from the water cleaner, but just as near hysteria as she’d been two hours ago. Fletcher’s crew hadn’t been there with the promised ride, so she’d had to take a city bus. Thanks to the new mayor, the buses now ran on time again even at such a late hour. No more than five minutes after leaving the man on the elevator, she’d hopped the first one heading up J
efferson Avenue.
She got into bed and pulled the covers up high on herself. She’d been trying not to contemplate his fate, but she hadn’t been able to set aside those thoughts either. How seriously had she wounded him with those two bullets? Had he bled to death? And why had he looked so familiar? Back in the elevator, she’d been too freaked out at the time to give his face much thought, but now, as she replayed his features in her mind she swore she’d seen him somewhere before. She just didn’t know where. Then again, maybe it was simply her imagination. In reality his identity didn’t matter. Her life had been in danger. She’d done the necessary thing to ensure her own survival. Still, it bothered her on a moral level to have shot someone. Before tonight, she’d never shot anything other than the targets on the range operated by the local police precinct.
Sarita snapped off the lamp and darkness overtook her tiny bedroom. Shivering from the delayed reaction of the dangerous night, and from the steady draft that invaded the flat like an unwanted relative every fall and winter, she slid deeper beneath the quilts and blankets. She lay awake a very long time.
Sleep finally came, bringing with it dreams of guns, diamonds, and the howls of a furious, dark-eyed man.
“Hold still, Myk!”
“Dammit, Drake, hurry up! I have to find her!”
“It won’t be tonight, so hold still,” Drake demanded. The surgeon-mayor finally managed to bandage the wound on Myk’s upper arm. In a way, he’d been lucky. The one bullet that caught him sliced through muscle, not bone. A few inches to the left, and it would have been a lot more serious than stitches, gauze, and bandages. “She give you this gash on your head, too?”
Myk’s boiling glare skewered the mayor, but Drake, accustomed to his brother’s temper, smiled and cleaned up the head wound, too. “She must have been an Amazon to inflict this kind of damage.”