“First, I worked for Gary Stone for almost twenty years. Second, you’re not the only one who brings doughnuts to Stanley.”
“I can’t believe he narked me out to you.”
“Focus. Give me the drive.”
Jackie pulled the drive out of her messenger bag and placed it in Marilyn’s outstretched hand.
“This shouldn’t take long,” Marilyn murmured. The drive hummed along. “Done.” Marilyn ejected the CD, put it on the desk, and handed the drive to Jackie.
A
click
broke the silence. Jackie turned around. Gary Stone, Robert Ashe, and a burly goon stood just inside the doorway.
The goon pointed a gun at Jackie. Marilyn inched backward toward the desk where her revolver lay. The goon said, “Don’t even think about it, Grandma.”
Ashe and Stone strode up to her. Ashe’s expensive, spice-scented cologne assaulted her. Then a sour alcoholic smell wafted from an unkempt Stone, whose wrinkled shirt and loosened tie signaled defeat.
Stone lurched toward her. “Give us the data, and we can all forget this happened.”
“I think we are past the point of forgetting what has happened,” Ashe said. A sneer curled his upper lip.
Stone grabbed Ashe’s arm. “It’s not worth it.”
Ashe shook him off. “I make the decisions. Now,” he said, turning to Jackie, “put the drive down and let’s go for a walk.”
Jackie swallowed. “Ashe, the number-one rule of negotiation: leave something on the table. What’s my incentive here? Give you the data and you kill me, or you kill me, then take the data. Bad strategy. No wonder you flunked out of college.”
Ashe closed in and wrapped his hand around her throat. His fingers were soft, but the increasing pressure made her light-headed.
“One move from you and Grandma bites it,” Ashe whispered in her ear. She felt his tongue flick over her earlobe. Hatred boiled inside her.
The burly man clamped his arm around Marilyn and pointed the gun at her head.
Ashe pressed his body against Jackie’s, his erection poking her hip. Bile rose in Jackie’s throat.
Ashe got in her face, his breath hot. “Did you enjoy Brandon? I suppose you’ve figured out by now that Brandon is quite experienced at warming up my women for me.”
He grabbed her hair, jerked her head back, and pressed his mouth against hers. She couldn’t turn away.
“Rob, that’s enough.” Brandon’s voice came from far away.
Ashe released Jackie and shoved her aside onto the desk. Air flooded into her lungs, and Marilyn’s gun jabbed her spine.
“Brandon, nice of you to reappear. I got your message this morning. I knew you weren’t serious about resigning as my expert. You’ve always understood when cooperation was called for. Your girlfriend, though, could use a little lesson. Would you like to handle it, or do you want me to?”
Brandon crossed the room toward Jackie. He slid his hand behind her and tucked Marilyn’s gun into her pants at the small of her back. “Are you okay?”
Unable to speak because of her aching throat, she nodded.
“Jackie,” Brandon said, his eyes locked on to hers, “give me the drive.”
Her grip on the drive loosened as she reached out toward him.
Ashe snickered. “That’s my boy. You’re a sucker for tall blondes with big tits. I knew she’d convince you to play nicely.”
The vision of the sultry blonde with her red lips flashed in Jackie’s mind. She clamped her hand around the drive. She wanted to trust him, to believe, but how could she?
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Marilyn inch away from the burly goon and wrap her hand around a pointy piece of art on an end table. With unbelievable swiftness, Marilyn whipped around and jammed the statue into the goon’s groin. He squealed and fell to his knees.
In the midst of the chaos, Marilyn grabbed Jackie’s arm, and they ran out of the room and down the hall toward the emergency exit. As soon as Marilyn pushed the door open, a red light blinked bright in the dark hall and a siren wailed.
Marilyn jerked her arm. “Go up! We’ll go down the other stairs from the roof!”
Before they were halfway up the flight of stairs, Marilyn’s pace slowed, and Jackie wrapped a supporting arm around her friend to help her climb the remaining steps. Although the siren’s scream blocked sound, she knew Marilyn was struggling by the way her body heaved.
“Hang in there!”
Please do not have a heart attack!
They pushed through the exit door. The tar roof blackened the scene. The air was suffocating. The Baltimore haze combined with exhaust from mechanical units. Marilyn doubled over and wheezed. Jackie held her steady.
Marilyn pointed to a door on the opposite side of the roof. “Over there.” The women dashed that way, Jackie pulling Marilyn along. Before they reached it, a beam of light caught them, and a shot rang out. They pitched to the ground.
Jackie craned her head. Ashe and Brandon stood silhouetted against the light from the door. Ashe held a gun. They began to walk toward Jackie and Marilyn.
Jackie tugged at Marilyn’s sleeve. “Marilyn, come on.” Marilyn lay facedown on the ground. Jackie crouched next to Marilyn. She rolled her tiny, limp body over.
She looked so helpless. A lock of her hair lay across her face. She was unconscious, but Jackie couldn’t find any sign of blood. Jackie placed her fingers on Marilyn’s wrist. Her papery skin was warm.
A pulse!
Brandon inched closer to her. “I need you to trust me.” Ashe lurked behind him. “Give me the data. You’ll go free.”
She looked back and forth between Ashe and Brandon. Marilyn’s limp hand lay in her hand. She should have trusted Marilyn. If she had, Marilyn would be safe in her home right now.
Brandon stood in shadows on the dark roof, but something about his eyes touched her. In a flash, memories rushed through her mind. All the moments he’d listened to her. Accepted her endless inconsistencies without pressing. Gave her space to be angry. Met her passions without hesitation.
She gave Marilyn’s hand a squeeze and stood up. She took several steps away from Marilyn. She needed to get them away from her.
She held out the drive.
Ashe’s oily grin shone through the darkness. He sauntered toward her and lowered his gun.
When he was a few feet from her, she plowed forward. Knocked the gun out of Ashe’s hand. Caught him off balance and shoved him to the ground.
She concentrated on the open door. She ran at full speed. Her lungs burned. Her legs cramped. She had to get out and get help.
A massive object appeared in her path. The goon. He had a gun. Jackie darted to the left, ducking behind an HVAC unit. She was safe from the gunshots but trapped in a dead end. A fence rose behind her. The HVAC unit was on her right. The black night fell over the edge of a building on her left. The streets of the Inner Harbor buzzed twenty stories below.
Cornered, she crept back. Brandon and Ashe rounded the unit and walked together toward her. Ashe motioned for the goon to stay back.
“I’ve had it with your games,” Ashe shouted over the loud whir of the machine’s fans. “Give me the data.”
With her back against the fence, the gun Brandon had tucked into her pants dug into her spine. She had never fired a gun in her life, but what choice did they leave her now? She pulled the gun out and held it in two hands, hoping TV mimicked reality. The gun wobbled in her shaking hands. The metal was cold and heavy. “Don’t come any closer.”
Ashe laughed at her. “You won’t shoot. You might miss me and hit your lover. Now hand over the data, and let’s all say good-bye.”
After Ashe’s second step toward her, Jackie closed her eyes and squeezed the trigger. The gun gave a benign
click
. She held the gun up and looked at it. Panic seized her. Her pounding heart jumped into her throat.
Ashe lunged at her, the impact from his body slamming her against the fence. Agonizing lines of pain erupted across her shoulders where the fence’s wire dug into her.
Jackie raised her knee to kick Ashe in the crotch but hit his hip instead. A sharp stab shot through her leg. White stars over the black background of the night flashed in her vision. Quick cracks exploded somewhere.
Ashe’s weight was on her, and his hands clawed into her pants for the drive. More cracks, and then shouts rang out.
Suddenly, free of Ashe’s weight, Jackie plunged forward. She pushed herself up onto her hands and knees and looked for Ashe. Brandon wrestled with him at the building’s edge.
Heights,
her brain screamed. Brandon was afraid of heights.
Although smaller than Brandon, Ashe was wiry and moved quickly. He flipped Brandon over and rolled out from beneath him. They circled each other, taking wary crouching side steps. Ashe sprung forward. Caught off guard, Brandon lost his balance and fell backward. He lay pinned beneath Ashe, perilously close to the building’s edge.
Ashe throttled Brandon. Brandon gagged. He clawed at Ashe’s hands. Ashe laughed maniacally. “You’re such a sucker, Brandon. You were back in college, and you still are. Brynn was nothing but a tramp. Did you know I fucked her, Brandon? Did you? Bitch accused me of rape. Tried to blackmail Dad. Had to shut her up. Dropped benzos in your beers. Guys ran you off the road. Nice of Dad to bail you out. You walked. The bitch is dead. Have you missed her?”
Brandon’s eyes bulged. His arms fell away. His legs twitched under Ashe, but his signs of struggle faded.
Jackie staggered toward Ashe, screaming, “You bastard! Let go!”
She kicked her foot at him. Pain ripped through Jackie’s foot as her skimpy Mary Jane met the bone of Ashe’s cheek, but the blow knocked him off Brandon.
The beating blades of a helicopter drowned all sound. Jackie turned her face toward the sky. A helicopter flew in from the harbor toward the building. A bright light suddenly blinded her. Her hair whipped her face and stung as it cut across her eye. A maelstrom of debris pelted her. She tucked her chin into her chest and covered her face with her arms.
A sudden force hit her square in the chest. She hit the ground. She tried to breathe, but the air had been knocked from her lungs.
Someone was on top of her. Choking her. She squinted against the bright lights, clawing at Ashe’s hands but her efforts were futile. Her lungs burned, and then everything went black.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
When Jackie came to, a man in ball cap with FBI on it knelt next to her. After he confirmed she was bruised but otherwise fine, he helped her up. She searched the roof for Brandon. In the darkness, she made out several figures, but none of them resembled Brandon.
She grabbed the FBI agent’s sleeve. “Where’s Brandon? Tall guy, blond hair.”
The agent moved her quickly to the fire exit. “Let’s get you downstairs.” He escorted her down the stairs, then into the elevator. The exited the elevator in the basement and walked down a windowless corridor. She entered the door labeled Security. Two other FBI agents, Marilyn, and Stan had already gathered there.
Jackie rushed to Marilyn and hugged her. “Thank God you’re all right.”
Marilyn softly patted Jackie’s back. “It’s going to be okay.”
Jackie separated from Marilyn and grabbed Stan’s hand. He pulled her into a hug. Hugs had always been awkward for Jackie. Now, she held on to Stan like her life depended on it. His sinewy, ex-marine physique reassured her.
One of the agents cleared his throat. “We’ve got to interview everyone as soon as possible. If you can keep from discussing tonight’s events, you can all stay together.”
The three assented. Jackie took a seat with Stan and Marilyn at a round table with mismatched plastic chairs. Cinder-block walls surrounded them on three sides. The fourth wall was glass and showed another room packed with monitors and computers. Jackie fidgeted in the chair, hoping to find a comfortable position. Exhausted, she gave up and slumped over the table with her head resting on her folded arms.
Bad coffee brewed somewhere. The acid in her stomach responded like Pavlov’s dog to the burned, acrid smell. One of the agents leaned up against the soda machine, keeping an eye on them so that they didn’t leave or exchange stories. The other two agents took turns calling each of them into an office for interviews.
Jackie assumed Ashe and the goon had been cuffed and taken away. Where did Gary stand in the whole debacle? A pang of pity swept through her.
Most importantly, where was Brandon? The last time she saw him, Ashe was strangling him at the building’s edge.
Please, God, let him be alive.
Jackie was the last to be interviewed. An agent had escorted both Marilyn and Stan out of the room, and presumably out of the building, after their interviews. By now, it was approaching dawn, according to her trusty pink Timex.
The FBI agents sat across a desk from her. Both wore dark blue jackets. A baseball cap covered what looked like a shaved head of the smaller guy. With a stony face, the bigger of the two men said, “You’re a lawyer, so you’ll know your full cooperation would have benefits.”
There was no question about cooperating fully. She knew anything she said could be used against her. “Am I under arrest?”
Silence.
The ball-cap agent whispered in the other’s ear. Finally, the big guy said, “No.”
She threw herself at their mercy. Could she hope that her law license could be salvaged? Her reputation in the legal community would undoubtedly be shredded. Thankfully, the agents were professional, if not polite. She retraced for them the events of the last two weeks.
Was that all it had been?
With each unfolding detail, her morale sunk lower. How had she let herself get caught up in this drama? Why hadn’t she sought help sooner?
The answer was simple.
She didn’t need help.
Ever.
Head in her hands, she cursed her headstrong self-sufficiency. Marilyn had warned her. Stan had warned her. Brandon had warned her.
Brandon.
Where did he fit in?
The interview over, she rose to leave but turned to ask a question of the agents. “What happened to Mr. Marshfield? Was he arrested?”
The agents stole a quick glance at each other. Ball-cap guy opened his mouth to talk, but the other silenced him with a subtle movement of the hand to his arm. “We are not at liberty to discuss that. I’m sure you understand.”