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Authors: Christina Skye
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wasnât about to slow him down against what looked like increasingly bad odds. With both ends of the alley blocked, that left only up .
She ran past the fire escape and grabbed a heavy rain gutter. A bullet ripped over her right shoulder. Pain burned through her neck as the round gouged a piece of brick out of the wall.
Ignoring her pain, Nell pulled her way hand over hand up the gutter until she reached the roof. To her right, a limestone wall rose to the neighboring apartment building.
Another bullet tore through the air beneath her, nicking her calf. Certain that he could handle himself better alone, she grabbed the end of a heavy gutter and climbed onto a second-story patio.
She had to get to Dakotaâs car and call the police.
She heard the first wail of distant sirens as she hit the adjoining wall at a run, channeled her momentum up into a vertical walk, then swung her arm to the wooden flagpole near the roof. Rocking hard, she jammed one ankle into the eaves.
Standard moves for a free climber.
Except for the bullets, she thought grimly. But the rounds appeared to be high, going over her head, and she had the feeling the attack was meant to be a kidnapping, not murder.
The same wasnât true for her homeless friendâ¦
Or for Dakota.
The thought stole her breath, freezing her in place. Her fingers were bleeding, both elbows rubbed raw. Panting, she forced herself to move, pulling herself up over the eaves and onto the roof. Below her the gunfire cleared. When she peered down into the darkness, no one was there. The alley was empty.
Her fingers locked on Dakotaâs car keys, shoved deep in her pocket. She didnât have a clue who these people were, or how they knew her name, or why they had mentioned her father.
Currently, she had half a dozen art projects in the process of restoration, but none of them was exceptionally valuable. Private dealers all over the city had more valuable art in their back rooms awaiting sale. So she didnât think the attack was for simple theft.
She sprinted down the opposite fire escape to Dakotaâs black Explorer and jammed in the key, relieved when the big motor growled to life.
They had mentioned her father. This had to involve him.
The thought left her sick at heart. In his criminal career Jordan MacInnes had made dozens of resolute, life-and-death friends. Unfortunately, heâd made just as many enemies, competitors with no scruples and very long memories. Had one of them targeted him now?
Nell checked the street, but there was no sign of Dakota or her attackers. As she drove slowly north, she passed two police cruisers with sirens flashing headed the way sheâd just come. She briefly considered pulling over and flagging them down.
And tell them what? My father, who happens to be an ex-con, may be in some kind of trouble and I may be a target, too.
Yeah, like that would work.
Especially since any hint of contact with other criminals would send her father right back to prison for parole violation.
As a compromise, Nell placed a shaky 911 call to report a wounded homeless man in the alley. After leaving the exact address, she hung up before they could ask for her name or number. They might be able to trace her cell phone, but it was a risk she had to take for her friendâs sake.
Driving through the dark streets, Nell fought a wave of exhaustion. She didnât feel safe, even at the door to her apartment, where she stood frozen, listening for any sign of intruders. But there was no sound except the low whir of her refrigerator. Her locks had not been touched.
Was she really safe?
The past hour was a blur, and she gave up trying to process it. Instead she dropped her purse and jacket and headed for the bathroom. The sight of her face in the mirror stopped her cold. She had the beginning of a black eye, cuts on both arms, and a long welt down her right cheek. Her condition would have been far worse if the SEAL hadnât appeared
She ran past the fire escape and grabbed a heavy rain gutter. A bullet ripped over her right shoulder. Pain burned through her neck as the round gouged a piece of brick out of the wall.
Ignoring her pain, Nell pulled her way hand over hand up the gutter until she reached the roof. To her right, a limestone wall rose to the neighboring apartment building.
Another bullet tore through the air beneath her, nicking her calf. Certain that he could handle himself better alone, she grabbed the end of a heavy gutter and climbed onto a second-story patio.
She had to get to Dakotaâs car and call the police.
She heard the first wail of distant sirens as she hit the adjoining wall at a run, channeled her momentum up into a vertical walk, then swung her arm to the wooden flagpole near the roof. Rocking hard, she jammed one ankle into the eaves.
Standard moves for a free climber.
Except for the bullets, she thought grimly. But the rounds appeared to be high, going over her head, and she had the feeling the attack was meant to be a kidnapping, not murder.
The same wasnât true for her homeless friendâ¦
Or for Dakota.
The thought stole her breath, freezing her in place. Her fingers were bleeding, both elbows rubbed raw. Panting, she forced herself to move, pulling herself up over the eaves and onto the roof. Below her the gunfire cleared. When she peered down into the darkness, no one was there. The alley was empty.
Her fingers locked on Dakotaâs car keys, shoved deep in her pocket. She didnât have a clue who these people were, or how they knew her name, or why they had mentioned her father.
Currently, she had half a dozen art projects in the process of restoration, but none of them was exceptionally valuable. Private dealers all over the city had more valuable art in their back rooms awaiting sale. So she didnât think the attack was for simple theft.
She sprinted down the opposite fire escape to Dakotaâs black Explorer and jammed in the key, relieved when the big motor growled to life.
They had mentioned her father. This had to involve him.
The thought left her sick at heart. In his criminal career Jordan MacInnes had made dozens of resolute, life-and-death friends. Unfortunately, heâd made just as many enemies, competitors with no scruples and very long memories. Had one of them targeted him now?
Nell checked the street, but there was no sign of Dakota or her attackers. As she drove slowly north, she passed two police cruisers with sirens flashing headed the way sheâd just come. She briefly considered pulling over and flagging them down.
And tell them what? My father, who happens to be an ex-con, may be in some kind of trouble and I may be a target, too.
Yeah, like that would work.
Especially since any hint of contact with other criminals would send her father right back to prison for parole violation.
As a compromise, Nell placed a shaky 911 call to report a wounded homeless man in the alley. After leaving the exact address, she hung up before they could ask for her name or number. They might be able to trace her cell phone, but it was a risk she had to take for her friendâs sake.
Driving through the dark streets, Nell fought a wave of exhaustion. She didnât feel safe, even at the door to her apartment, where she stood frozen, listening for any sign of intruders. But there was no sound except the low whir of her refrigerator. Her locks had not been touched.
Was she really safe?
The past hour was a blur, and she gave up trying to process it. Instead she dropped her purse and jacket and headed for the bathroom. The sight of her face in the mirror stopped her cold. She had the beginning of a black eye, cuts on both arms, and a long welt down her right cheek. Her condition would have been far worse if the SEAL hadnât appeared
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