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Just as she grabbed the cab’s door handle, she heard someone from behind her say, “Police—don’t move.”
She let the stiletto rest on the cab’s roof in the crease where the door closed.
Chapter 96
As soon as I called out, “Police—don’t move,” I felt an odd mix of emotions. There was that taste of excitement any cop feels at the moment of making a big arrest, but I also felt anger. That was something strange for me. I could usually detach myself at a moment like this.
I saw her freeze, but I wasn’t going to take any chances. I aimed my service weapon at her head. The taxi driver was a veteran of the New York streets—he knew to lie down in his seat to keep out of the line of fire.
The woman didn’t move and rested her hands on the cab’s roof. I knew she carried her pistol in her purse, so I immediately said, “Drop the purse on the ground. Do it now.”
She hesitated, then tilted to her right and lowered her right arm. The purse slipped off and plopped on the ground. I could tell by the way the purse thumped on the sidewalk that it had a gun in it. The same one that killed that young receptionist. The same gun used to shoot Father Alonzo in the stomach. The same gun she had pointed at my daughter.
Now I stepped a little closer. I kicked the purse away from her and leaned forward. I used my left hand to grasp her left arm so I could handcuff her.
Then I felt her weight shift. It was slight, but if you’d been in a street fight, you would know what it meant.
She pushed hard off the cab, knocking us both back on the sidewalk. I stumbled but kept my balance.
Then she spun and extended her right arm. It arced through the air toward my face. I ducked, and the blow missed me. That was when I realized she had a knife of some kind in her hand. It took me a moment to comprehend that it was the stiletto she’d used in the murders.
She wasted no time after the first strike missed me. The woman threw a front kick aimed at my groin.
I blocked it with my right arm, then tried to bring the pistol up again.
She brought the stiletto down and slashed my forearm.
My hand opened involuntarily, and my service weapon clattered to the ground.
The assassin kicked my pistol under the cab and out of my reach.
Blood soaked the shredded sleeve of my jacket. It took a second to register the pain as it shot up my arm.
I took a step back, a little dazed, then faced the assassin as she thrust the stiletto at my heart. She let out a grunt, or maybe it was a “Kiai” she’d learned from her Colombia-based martial-arts instructor.
I shifted a fraction and felt the stiletto skitter across my shirt. That was close.
I lifted my right arm and wrapped my hand around hers—the one that held the stiletto. She was faster than I was and had more pure fighting skill, so I had to use my size advantage. I held on to her hand even as she struck my face with her left elbow.
I lifted her off the ground, then both of us tumbled to the sidewalk. I landed on top of the woman, who, for all her skill, was still seventy pounds lighter than I was.
The stiletto made a clinking noise as it fell onto the sidewalk.
I felt the fight go out of her.
It was over.
Chapter 97
It took a moment to secure the assassin with handcuffs and make sure I had all her weapons. She stood up gracefully even with her hands cuffed. She faced me with a look of defiance.
I held my right forearm in an effort to slow the bleeding from the gash she had given me with that stiletto. Blood dripped onto the white sidewalk in a crazy red pattern.
I felt the anger rise off me. This woman had caused me so much pain.
“What’s your name?”
She gave me a pretty smile and said, “At this time, I’m not going to say anything.”
