Thirty-Six and a Half Motives
Page 25
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“Rose!”
I looped the strap over my shoulder. “I’m goin’.” I ran over to the back edge of the building, but the hopelessness of my situation washed over me when I saw the distance between the roof and the fire escape platform. “I can’t do it,” I said. “It’s too far.”
“How far?”
“I don’t know. Maybe eight feet.”
“Shit.” He paused. “You have to jump.”
“Skeeter!”
“The way I see it, you have three choices. One, you stay there and get captured. Two, you hide in the shed and then shoot them when they open the door. Or three, you jump. Now which do you pick?”
“It’s gonna make noise when I land on the metal grate, Skeeter. There are police officers milling around the alley. They’re sure to notice.”
“Give me thirty seconds, and there’ll be a distraction. When you see it, jump.”
“What is it?”
“You’ll know when you see it. They should all clear out so you can lower the ladder and get to the street.”
“It’s already down.” Further confirmation that they’d holed up in Kate’s apartment. “Then what?”
“Head north on Lincoln and then go into the Greasy Spoon diner. Wait for me at a booth in the back.”
I looked down at the fire escape again, shaking with fear. The landing was narrow. What if I missed?
He grunted, then his voice lowered. “I have to go, but wait for me there and try to keep a low profile.”
“Skeeter!” I shouted, but he’d already hung up, leaving me terrified and alone. I hadn’t realized how reassuring he’d been—even if it was just a voice in my ear—until he was gone.
About ten seconds later, an explosion lit up the night sky over by the square, sending pieces of burning debris raining down on the street. The police in the alley ran off to investigate, and I took that as my cue.
I dropped the bag first, aiming for the fire escape. Instead, it missed by a good three feet and landed in an open Dumpster with a loud thud. Thankfully, no one was around to notice.
Except . . . Shoot. That didn’t bode well for my own leap.
I glanced back over my shoulder and saw a head popping out of the trap door on my building’s roof.
Oh, shit.
I climbed onto the ledge, sucked in a deep breath, and then jumped, looking back just in time to see Sam Teagen staring right at me.
The fright of getting caught overrode my fear of jumping—not that I could have changed my mind midair. I landed in a crouch, hitting my shoulder against the metal siding hard enough to hurt—taking comfort that I wasn’t in the trash bin—then scrambled up.
I didn’t have much time to get down the ladder, around the alley, and out of sight. They were sure to see where I went.
Which gave me another idea.
I spun around and peered inside the dark apartment. Kate’s dark apartment. When Neely Kate and I had broken into this very apartment last week, the fire escape had been our escape route. I was betting my life on a huge gamble, but if I pulled it off, I’d likely save my hide.
But first I had to get the window open. The window connected to the fire escape had been stuck last time, so I saw no reason to waste precious moments on it now. The next window over—the escape route I’d used with Neely Kate—was slightly open, hinting that Teagen and his friend had come that way, too. I leaned over the railing, slid my fingers under the one-inch crack at the bottom of the window, and jerked upward. The window slid up, but only by a foot.
Crap on a cracker.
I climbed onto the railing and, holding on to it with one hand for balance, used my free hand to grab the bottom of the window frame and shove it upward with all my strength. The window slid open with a jerk, making me lose my balance on the railing. I pitched forward—my chest and upper body landed in the opening, and the lower half of my body hung out of it.
I heard Teagen’s friend yell, “She went over the edge!”
“Shut up, you idiot!” Teagen shouted, his voice much fainter.
I’d already suspected Teagen was craftier than half the criminals in the county, but his friend fell into the stupid category.
Pushing on the ledge, I pulled myself the rest of the way into the apartment and then spun around and pushed the window mostly shut, leaving the one-inch crack to throw Teagen off.
One of them shouted something incoherent. Panicked, I scrambled backward to the makeshift bathroom area that I remembered from my first “visit” to the apartment. I climbed into the tub and hid behind the shower curtains the owner had hung to stand in for makeshift bathroom walls. One of the men landed on the fire escape with a loud thud, which was quickly followed by an explosion that shook the floor beneath me. They’d set the fire.
There was another thud on the fire escape, followed by a groan. “Shit, I think I broke my ankle,” the sandpaper voice whined.
“Get up, you wuss. She got away. Simmons is really gonna kill us if we don’t track her down.”
I strained to listen, thankful they weren’t whispering.
“If you’d just killed her last week like you were supposed to, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“My job was to snatch her. The others were supposed to kill her. I did my part. I left her at the cabin, then went off to kill the assistant D.A.”
“Which you didn’t do.”
“Shut up, Marshal. I couldn’t find him!” Teagen whined.“It’s like he vanished into thin air until they captured Simmons.”
“That bitch wasn’t happy before. She’s already pissed she hasn’t gotten her bail money back, so imagine how ugly she’s gonna be now. We have to find that girl and quick.”
“Then let’s go find the girl,” Teagen said. “And you better not bellyache about your foot.”
“Ankle.”
“Whatever. The fire’s really burning now. We need to git.”
He was right. Smoke was wafting down through cracks in the ceiling above me.
Their voices grew fainter as they descended the fire-escape staircase. Time to leave.
I ran to the front window and cursed when I saw how many people were gathered out front. How would I justify leaving Kate’s apartment? The staircase to the street led only to this apartment.
But the answer quickly presented itself in the form of the elderly couple who owned the antique store downstairs. It couldn’t be later than eight o’clock, but they were both ready for bed. Or had been when the alert went out. The husband was wearing a pair of overalls over a flannel pajama shirt along with a pair of dirty rain boots; the wife had on a nightgown over a pair of pants, and her thin gray hair was up in six or seven foam rollers. They pushed through the growing crowd, moving toward the front entrance of the store, yelling, “Get out of my way! We gotta save our stuff.”
I looped the strap over my shoulder. “I’m goin’.” I ran over to the back edge of the building, but the hopelessness of my situation washed over me when I saw the distance between the roof and the fire escape platform. “I can’t do it,” I said. “It’s too far.”
“How far?”
“I don’t know. Maybe eight feet.”
“Shit.” He paused. “You have to jump.”
“Skeeter!”
“The way I see it, you have three choices. One, you stay there and get captured. Two, you hide in the shed and then shoot them when they open the door. Or three, you jump. Now which do you pick?”
“It’s gonna make noise when I land on the metal grate, Skeeter. There are police officers milling around the alley. They’re sure to notice.”
“Give me thirty seconds, and there’ll be a distraction. When you see it, jump.”
“What is it?”
“You’ll know when you see it. They should all clear out so you can lower the ladder and get to the street.”
“It’s already down.” Further confirmation that they’d holed up in Kate’s apartment. “Then what?”
“Head north on Lincoln and then go into the Greasy Spoon diner. Wait for me at a booth in the back.”
I looked down at the fire escape again, shaking with fear. The landing was narrow. What if I missed?
He grunted, then his voice lowered. “I have to go, but wait for me there and try to keep a low profile.”
“Skeeter!” I shouted, but he’d already hung up, leaving me terrified and alone. I hadn’t realized how reassuring he’d been—even if it was just a voice in my ear—until he was gone.
About ten seconds later, an explosion lit up the night sky over by the square, sending pieces of burning debris raining down on the street. The police in the alley ran off to investigate, and I took that as my cue.
I dropped the bag first, aiming for the fire escape. Instead, it missed by a good three feet and landed in an open Dumpster with a loud thud. Thankfully, no one was around to notice.
Except . . . Shoot. That didn’t bode well for my own leap.
I glanced back over my shoulder and saw a head popping out of the trap door on my building’s roof.
Oh, shit.
I climbed onto the ledge, sucked in a deep breath, and then jumped, looking back just in time to see Sam Teagen staring right at me.
The fright of getting caught overrode my fear of jumping—not that I could have changed my mind midair. I landed in a crouch, hitting my shoulder against the metal siding hard enough to hurt—taking comfort that I wasn’t in the trash bin—then scrambled up.
I didn’t have much time to get down the ladder, around the alley, and out of sight. They were sure to see where I went.
Which gave me another idea.
I spun around and peered inside the dark apartment. Kate’s dark apartment. When Neely Kate and I had broken into this very apartment last week, the fire escape had been our escape route. I was betting my life on a huge gamble, but if I pulled it off, I’d likely save my hide.
But first I had to get the window open. The window connected to the fire escape had been stuck last time, so I saw no reason to waste precious moments on it now. The next window over—the escape route I’d used with Neely Kate—was slightly open, hinting that Teagen and his friend had come that way, too. I leaned over the railing, slid my fingers under the one-inch crack at the bottom of the window, and jerked upward. The window slid up, but only by a foot.
Crap on a cracker.
I climbed onto the railing and, holding on to it with one hand for balance, used my free hand to grab the bottom of the window frame and shove it upward with all my strength. The window slid open with a jerk, making me lose my balance on the railing. I pitched forward—my chest and upper body landed in the opening, and the lower half of my body hung out of it.
I heard Teagen’s friend yell, “She went over the edge!”
“Shut up, you idiot!” Teagen shouted, his voice much fainter.
I’d already suspected Teagen was craftier than half the criminals in the county, but his friend fell into the stupid category.
Pushing on the ledge, I pulled myself the rest of the way into the apartment and then spun around and pushed the window mostly shut, leaving the one-inch crack to throw Teagen off.
One of them shouted something incoherent. Panicked, I scrambled backward to the makeshift bathroom area that I remembered from my first “visit” to the apartment. I climbed into the tub and hid behind the shower curtains the owner had hung to stand in for makeshift bathroom walls. One of the men landed on the fire escape with a loud thud, which was quickly followed by an explosion that shook the floor beneath me. They’d set the fire.
There was another thud on the fire escape, followed by a groan. “Shit, I think I broke my ankle,” the sandpaper voice whined.
“Get up, you wuss. She got away. Simmons is really gonna kill us if we don’t track her down.”
I strained to listen, thankful they weren’t whispering.
“If you’d just killed her last week like you were supposed to, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“My job was to snatch her. The others were supposed to kill her. I did my part. I left her at the cabin, then went off to kill the assistant D.A.”
“Which you didn’t do.”
“Shut up, Marshal. I couldn’t find him!” Teagen whined.“It’s like he vanished into thin air until they captured Simmons.”
“That bitch wasn’t happy before. She’s already pissed she hasn’t gotten her bail money back, so imagine how ugly she’s gonna be now. We have to find that girl and quick.”
“Then let’s go find the girl,” Teagen said. “And you better not bellyache about your foot.”
“Ankle.”
“Whatever. The fire’s really burning now. We need to git.”
He was right. Smoke was wafting down through cracks in the ceiling above me.
Their voices grew fainter as they descended the fire-escape staircase. Time to leave.
I ran to the front window and cursed when I saw how many people were gathered out front. How would I justify leaving Kate’s apartment? The staircase to the street led only to this apartment.
But the answer quickly presented itself in the form of the elderly couple who owned the antique store downstairs. It couldn’t be later than eight o’clock, but they were both ready for bed. Or had been when the alert went out. The husband was wearing a pair of overalls over a flannel pajama shirt along with a pair of dirty rain boots; the wife had on a nightgown over a pair of pants, and her thin gray hair was up in six or seven foam rollers. They pushed through the growing crowd, moving toward the front entrance of the store, yelling, “Get out of my way! We gotta save our stuff.”
