said. "That one was shot to death at nine o'clock this morning. I don't know what's happened to the second. She might already be dead. Which makes you next on the list They've had enough time to locate you."
"I've been out of town—I only got back an hour ago—"
"Which explains why you're still alive. Maybe they came here earlier. Maybe they decided to check out the other two women first."
She shot to her feet, suddenly frantic with the need to flee. "I have to pack my things—"
"No. Let's just get the hell out of here."
Yes, do what he says! an inner voice screamed at her.
She nodded. Turning, she headed blindly for the door. Halfway there, she halted. "My purse—"
"Where is it?"
She headed back, past a curtained window. "I think I left it by the—"
Her next words were cut off by an explosion of shattering glass. Only the closed curtains kept the shards from piercing her flesh. Pure reflex sent Cathy diving to the floor just as the second gun blast went off. An instant later she found Victor Holland sprawled on top of her, covering her body with his as the third bullet slammed into the far wall, splintering wood and plaster.
The curtains shuddered, then hung still.
For a few seconds Cathy was paralyzed by terror, by the weight of Victor's body on hers. Then panic took hold. She squirmed free, intent on fleeing the apartment.
"Stay down!" Victor snapped.
"They're trying to kill us!"
"Don't make it easy for them!" He dragged her back to the floor. "We're getting out. But not through the front door."
"How—"
"Where's your fire escape?"
"My bedroom window."
"Does it go to the roof?"
"I'm not sure—I think so—"
"Then let's move it."
On hands and knees they crawled down the hall, into Cathy's unlit bedroom. Beneath the window they paused, listening. Outside, in the darkness, there was no sound. Then, from downstairs in the lobby, came the tinkle of breaking glass.
"He's already in the building!" hissed Victor. He yanked open the window. "Out, out!"
Cathy didn't need to be prodded. Hands shaking, she scrambled out and lowered herself onto the fire escape. Victor was right behind her.
"Up," he whispered. "To the roof."
And then what? she wondered, climbing the ladder to the third floor, past Mrs. Chang's flat. Mrs. Chang was out of town this week, visiting her son in New Jersey. The apartment was dark, the windows locked tight. No way in there.
"Keep going," said Victor, nudging her forward.
Only a few more rungs to go.
At last, she pulled herself up and over the edge and onto the asphalt roof. A second later, Victor dropped down beside her. Potted plants shuddered in the darkness. It was Mrs. Chang's rooftop garden, a fragrant melange of Chinese herbs and vegetables.
Together, Victor and Cathy weaved their way through the plants and crossed to the opposite edge of the roof, where the next building abutted theirs.
"All the way?" said Cathy.
"All the way."
They hopped onto the adjoining roof and ran across to the other side, where three feet of emptiness separated them from the next building. She didn't pause to think of the perils of that leap, she simply flung herself across the gap and kept running, aware that every step took her farther and farther from danger.
On the roof of the fourth building, Cathy finally halted and stared over the edge at the street below. End of the line. It suddenly occurred to her that it was a very long drop to the ground below. The fire escape looked as sturdy as a Tinkertoy.
She swallowed. "This probably isn't a good time to tell you this, but—"
"Tell me what?"
"I'm afraid of heights."
He clambered over the edge. "Then don't look down."
Right, she thought, slithering onto the fire escape. Don't look down. Her palms were so slick with sweat she could barely grip the rungs. Suddenly seized by an attack of vertigo, she froze there, clinging desperately to that flimsy steel skeleton.
"Don't stop now!" Victor whispered up to her. "Just keep moving!"
Still
"I've been out of town—I only got back an hour ago—"
"Which explains why you're still alive. Maybe they came here earlier. Maybe they decided to check out the other two women first."
She shot to her feet, suddenly frantic with the need to flee. "I have to pack my things—"
"No. Let's just get the hell out of here."
Yes, do what he says! an inner voice screamed at her.
She nodded. Turning, she headed blindly for the door. Halfway there, she halted. "My purse—"
"Where is it?"
She headed back, past a curtained window. "I think I left it by the—"
Her next words were cut off by an explosion of shattering glass. Only the closed curtains kept the shards from piercing her flesh. Pure reflex sent Cathy diving to the floor just as the second gun blast went off. An instant later she found Victor Holland sprawled on top of her, covering her body with his as the third bullet slammed into the far wall, splintering wood and plaster.
The curtains shuddered, then hung still.
For a few seconds Cathy was paralyzed by terror, by the weight of Victor's body on hers. Then panic took hold. She squirmed free, intent on fleeing the apartment.
"Stay down!" Victor snapped.
"They're trying to kill us!"
"Don't make it easy for them!" He dragged her back to the floor. "We're getting out. But not through the front door."
"How—"
"Where's your fire escape?"
"My bedroom window."
"Does it go to the roof?"
"I'm not sure—I think so—"
"Then let's move it."
On hands and knees they crawled down the hall, into Cathy's unlit bedroom. Beneath the window they paused, listening. Outside, in the darkness, there was no sound. Then, from downstairs in the lobby, came the tinkle of breaking glass.
"He's already in the building!" hissed Victor. He yanked open the window. "Out, out!"
Cathy didn't need to be prodded. Hands shaking, she scrambled out and lowered herself onto the fire escape. Victor was right behind her.
"Up," he whispered. "To the roof."
And then what? she wondered, climbing the ladder to the third floor, past Mrs. Chang's flat. Mrs. Chang was out of town this week, visiting her son in New Jersey. The apartment was dark, the windows locked tight. No way in there.
"Keep going," said Victor, nudging her forward.
Only a few more rungs to go.
At last, she pulled herself up and over the edge and onto the asphalt roof. A second later, Victor dropped down beside her. Potted plants shuddered in the darkness. It was Mrs. Chang's rooftop garden, a fragrant melange of Chinese herbs and vegetables.
Together, Victor and Cathy weaved their way through the plants and crossed to the opposite edge of the roof, where the next building abutted theirs.
"All the way?" said Cathy.
"All the way."
They hopped onto the adjoining roof and ran across to the other side, where three feet of emptiness separated them from the next building. She didn't pause to think of the perils of that leap, she simply flung herself across the gap and kept running, aware that every step took her farther and farther from danger.
On the roof of the fourth building, Cathy finally halted and stared over the edge at the street below. End of the line. It suddenly occurred to her that it was a very long drop to the ground below. The fire escape looked as sturdy as a Tinkertoy.
She swallowed. "This probably isn't a good time to tell you this, but—"
"Tell me what?"
"I'm afraid of heights."
He clambered over the edge. "Then don't look down."
Right, she thought, slithering onto the fire escape. Don't look down. Her palms were so slick with sweat she could barely grip the rungs. Suddenly seized by an attack of vertigo, she froze there, clinging desperately to that flimsy steel skeleton.
"Don't stop now!" Victor whispered up to her. "Just keep moving!"
Still
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