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“Excuse me, sir,” she said to the guy who’d parked her Mercedes, “I’m going to need this.” She glanced at me. “You’d better settle up inside.” She nodded toward the restaurant. “I’ll drive you to the airport.”
CHAPTER 4
THE TINY APARTMENT that acted as their operational base was starting to develop a stale smell. Jessie had tried to describe this phenomenon to friends who worked outside of law enforcement, but never quite managed to describe the complexity of the aroma. It was like a T-shirt worn by a sweaty man for a week had been left to get to know an old French cheese on a warm afternoon and then spent the evening being dunked in beer: an acrid, yeasty, fungal smell that permeated everything.
She and Lewis Williams had been working the night shift during the surveillance operation, and she couldn’t tell whether their take-outs or Roscoe and Patton—the two Private operatives on day shift—had contributed most to the gross smell.
The studio apartment was barely large enough for a single adult, so the four of them working in paired shifts was overload for the confined space. It had air conditioning, but the windowdidn’t open. The apartment was the best they could get at short notice and the solitary sealed window overlooked West 75th Street and gave them a decent view of the penthouse on the top floor of the redbrick building opposite. One of New York’s finer pieces of real estate, the penthouse belonged to Ivor Yeadon, the man their client had hired them to investigate.
Yeadon was an Ivy League-educated hedge-fund manager whose life involved gliding effortlessly from one high-end venue to the next. They’d followed him to dinner in some of Manhattan’s finest restaurants, dates at the theater, drinks with colleagues, cocktails with his old college buddies. Jessie had been leading the investigation for a couple of weeks and was intensely jealous of this man who seemed to have everything. He worked out in the gym regularly, which kept his body trim, he had a dazzling million-dollar smile, and sported a glorious golden tan. He also had a far more interesting love life than Jessie did and seemed to be seeing three women regularly, as well as a couple of others he took out on a date or to lunch now and then.
Tonight Ivor had invited one of his steady girlfriends to his apartment for a take-out and drinks. They’d eaten and were now kissing on the couch.
Lewis was watching through a pair of field glasses, but lowered them when Ivor and the girl started to remove their clothes.
“Want to play cards again?” he asked.
He and Jessie played poker for matchsticks whenever Yeadon was entertaining one of his girlfriends. His love life was of no interest to the investigative team. Private had been engaged todiscover whether Yeadon was supplementing his massive income by selling confidential client information for profit.
Jessie turned down the volume on the speaker that picked up signals from the listening devices Lewis and Roscoe had installed around the penthouse apartment. She had no desire to hear their sex noises as things grew hotter and heavier over there.
“Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “Let’s play cards.”
Lewis pulled a boxed deck from the pocket of his crumpled jeans. Like Jessie he wore black denims, but unlike hers, his T-shirt was in grey-and-black camouflage whereas hers was navy blue. They’d chosen dark colors to reduce the risk of being spotted through the tinted windows.
They moved away from their vantage point by the dining table and sat on the edge of the bed, within easy reach of the living area, kitchen and bathroom.
“Deal?” Lewis asked.
Jessie didn’t answer. Her attention had been drawn to the apartment’s front door. She watched as someone outside depressed the handle.
Had Roscoe or Patton forgotten something?
Puzzlement turned to panic when the door swung open and she saw a masked man enter, gun in hand. Lewis registered her horror and turned in time to see the gunman fire two shots. One bullet hit Lewis in the throat and the other caught him in the mouth, shattering his teeth. He made a terrible shrill, screaming sound, which shocked Jessie and spurred her to action.
She leapt across the bed and barged into the shooter as he fired a third bullet that hit Lewis in the forehead.
Jessie drove her shoulder into the masked killer’s chest and he dropped the gun. He tried to grab her, but she punched him in the face and he staggered back. She saw him reach for the pistol and didn’t waste any time. She raced through the front door and sprinted away.
CHAPTER 5
JESSIE BURST INTO the corridor and headed for the elevator lobby, almost sixty feet away. As she picked up speed, she fumbled awkwardly in the pocket of her jeans for her phone. She used her other hand to bang on every apartment door she ran past.
“Call the cops!” she yelled. “And stay inside. There’s a shooter in the building. Call the cops!”
She repeated the message over and over until a bullet whipped through the air inches from her head. She quickly glanced back to see the masked gunman sighting her, trying to get a good shot. He fired again, and the suppressor fitted to the end of the barrel gave a muted crack as the bullet zipped toward her. This one caught Jessie in the right arm. Blood sprayed everywhere as the bullet tore an exit wound. She stumbled and dropped her phone while she fought the excruciating pain burning up and down her arm.
She found her footing and barreled on as another shot cracked and a bullet whistled past her. She saw the stairs and pushed through the fire door, hardly breaking stride as she started down the carpeted steps on the other side.
She flew down the staircase, bouncing off the walls and the guardrail, gathering speed, running and jumping, going so fast she was on the verge of toppling over. Above her, the gunman burst into the stairwell. She heard him thunder down in pursuit.
When she reached the ground floor, she turned away from the lobby and instead burst through the fire door and sprinted down a long bare concrete corridor toward the emergency exit. She was a couple of yards from freedom when she heard another crack and felt searing heat in her left side. She heard the bullet strike the metal door ahead of her and looked down to see blood soaking into her T-shirt from a wound just above her hip. Hot panic flooded through her. She was experienced enough to know a bad wound when she saw one.
Death was close on her tail. She felt weak and desperately wanted to lie down, but knew that was just the prompting of her wounded body. She pressed on and fell through the fire exit. An alarm sounded the moment she spilt onto the busy street. On instinct she dodged to the right as another bullet whined past where she’d just been standing and shattered an apartment window. Someone screamed, and passers-by gave her a wide berth when they saw the blood spreading across her T-shirt.
“Help me,” Jessie said to a thin man in a baggy suit.
He took a bullet in the chest before he could respond, collapsing with a look of shock on his face.
