The Payback Assignment (33 page)

           
A moment passed before he realized exactly what she was saying.
 
He leaped forward, but by the time he grabbed her arm, Felicity had one leg over the short parapet at the edge of the roof.
 
Unhindered by his grip, she swung her other leg over.
 
She seemed so fragile, suspended by her slender limbs into black space.
 

           
“What in God’s name are you doing?” Morgan asked.

           
“It’s called a deadfall,” Felicity replied calmly.
 
“I’ll drop down three stories, go in a window and come up the elevator.”

           
Morgan’s mouth hung open for a second before he spoke again.
 
“What are you talking about?
 
Drop down.
 
You’ve got no rappelling equipment, no grapnel hook, nothing.”

           
“Look, this is something I can do.”
 
Felicity’s reply was steel and ice.
 
“No sweat.
 
Now just back off and let me do my job.”

           
He took two slow steps back, holding eye contact as long as he could.
 
When her head was below his level of vision, his eyes never left her hands.
 
He was watching an unfamiliar, fascinating mystique.
 
He thought he already knew this woman, this stranger, pretty well.
 
But now he was seeing her from a new angle.
 
This was the lady in her own world, a narrow subculture most people only saw portrayed in the movies.
 
He was involved, yet totally excluded.
 

And he wondered if she had felt this way when he burst into her apartment not long ago to gun down two men waiting in ambush.

           
Hanging over the edge, Felicity had withdrawn herself from the world, leaving a vacuum around her.
 
Slowly she allowed the darkness to surround her.
 
The gentle breeze caressed her lithe form.
 
As she relaxed, she hung at arms length, suspended from the edge of the roof by only her eight fingertips.
 
Bit by bit, she surrendered to gravity’s loving tug.
 
The warmth of her breath reflected back from the sandstone into her face.
 
Perspiration broke from her shirt, chilling her arms.
 
Remote traffic noises brushed her ears, carried on the cooling evening breeze.

           
When fear tried to intrude on her mind, she squeezed it into a tiny ball and forced it down into the pit of her stomach.
 
In the following seconds she relaxed completely, starting with her toes and working her way upward.
 
Last to relax were her fingers.

           
She slipped through the atmosphere as a dolphin through the surf.
 
Her lungs froze during her decent, neither filling nor pushing air out.
 
A window flew by.
 
A second.
 
A third and her hands snapped out, grasping the windowsill.
 
The greedy hand of gravity gave her one bone-jarring yank, stretching her spine.
 

           
Then it was over.
 
She hung for a moment, gasping for breath.
 
She neither looked up nor down.
 
Her view was stone, four inches away from her face.
 
One tear crawled out of her left eye.
 
She could smell her own sweat, hear her heartbeat, taste the acid fear fighting to crawl up out of her stomach.

           
Now for the hard part, she thought.

           
She gripped the wall with her fingers and toes and hung, nearly four hundred feet above the sidewalk, with her body thrust out from the wall like an arrogant spider on the face of a mountain.
 
Her right hand released the windowsill and slid down to her belt.
 
Without looking she selected a small jimmy.

           
Whoever had set up security on this place had never expected anyone to reach these windows.
 
They were the old style with basic turn locks and no alarms.
 
She simply popped the lock with the jimmy, raised the window and hauled herself inside.

           
She landed like a snowflake on an ice floe, becoming one with the darkness.
 
As her eyes adjusted she saw she had invaded a conference room of some sort.
 
Deserted.
 
She moved to the door and listened.
 
Silence.

           
The hallway was just as empty, but not dark.
 
Willing herself to stand tall, she walked over to the elevator and pressed the button.
 
Apparently the coded card was only needed to enter at the top and bottom of the shaft.
 
On the levels in between, the private elevator operated just like any other.
 
The door slid open within two second and she stepped in.
 

           
Morgan did not appear at all surprised when the roof doors hissed open.
 
She was glad he didn’t embarrass her by gushing with praise, but as he stepped in he wore a smile that spoke volumes.
 
She tossed her full red hair in a gesture of triumph, pushed a button, and returned them to the floor she had just left.

           
“We should search the offices first, on the floor below the apartment,” she said.
 
“He might be keeping a safe down here, and it’s the safest place for us to start anyway.
 
The business should be all shut down for the night.”

           
Nonetheless, the two intruders walked along the walls.
 
Felicity pulled on a pair of surgical rubber gloves and tested doorknobs.
 
The first two doors were unlocked.
 
In each case, Morgan stood at the door prepared for trouble while Felicity searched the small offices with swift, thorough efficiency.
 
Using a penlight barely larger than a pair of AAA batteries she moved every object in the room, yet she left everything exactly as it was before she came.
 
No valuables came into view in either room, although she did find some interesting files in the second office.

“This looks shadier by the minute,” she told Morgan when she left the room.
 
“For an import company, they sure don’t import much, but the company does seem to move a great deal of money in the commodities market.
 
I think our boy spends his time influencing the market for profit.”

Morgan shrugged.
 
“We’re talking about a guy who’d see a piece of jewelry he wants and then just steal it.
 
That kind of person would do anything.”

“You think so, eh?” Felicity said.
 
When Morgan didn’t respond she returned to the elevator and pushed the up button.

When the doors slid open Felicity froze.
 
She hastened to the double doors on the other side of the hall.
 
Leaning forward, she could hear voices.
 
She eased the knob around a quarter turn and pushed the door open a quarter inch.
 
A bright beam of light stabbed out through the crack.
 
With her left eye, she scanned the long meeting room, past the reception area, up to the conference table.
 
Two well-dressed men sat at each side of it.
 
Behind each of them stood a larger, yet also well-dressed man.
 
At the near end of the table a thin, gray haired man drew on a long cigarette.
 
But at the far end, there sat the man from the newspaper report.
 

           
“It’s him!” she hissed.
 
As she stared into Adrian Seagrave’s pockmarked face, something snapped inside her.
 
Being so easily swindled and so carelessly disregarded had stung her pride.
 
It short-circuited her brain.
 
At that moment the brooch lost all meaning for her.
 
The money was no longer the issue.
 
Her professional pride demanded justice.
 
It screamed in her head that Seagrave must be made to treat her with respect.
 
Her reputation, her pride, her professional standing were her most precious possessions.
 
Before Morgan could react, she burst through the door, hearing it slam against the wall behind her as she stalked forward.
 

           
“Seagrave!” she shouted, teeth bared.
 
“My names O’Brian.
 
Do you know the name?
 
You owe me!”

           
Ignoring the two football player types pulling snub nosed thirty-eights from under their jackets, she surged forward into the late business meeting, carried along by her indignation.

-28-

           
Just when he thought he was getting to know Felicity, Morgan watched her do something totally irrational.
 
The door she had burst through hit the wall with so much force it bounced back toward him.
 
He shoved the door wide again and drew his pistol as Stone stood, stopping Felicity’s charge with a hand on her stomach.
 
Her eyes were locked on Seagrave’s.
 
He and she were in their own world, with her launching ice darts from her eyes.
 
Judging from Seagrave’s face, he had no idea who she was or why she had invaded his meeting with talk of some forgotten debt.

           
Morgan had drawn Stone’s attention away from that conflict when he entered behind the girl.
 
His gun was drawn but he was out in the open, facing two pistols.
 
He had to protect Felicity, yet he knew it was impossible.
 
His only hope was that Stone would stop the other two from opening fire.

           
“Tell your boys to drop their guns,” Morgan snarled with all the arrogance he could muster.
 
“You’re the only one here who knows what I can do, Stone.
 
We can avoid a bloodbath if you stop them now.”

           
“Is he mad?”
 
Seagrave broke away from Felicity’s gaze to find Stone’s face.

           
Stone’s eyes shone with fear, but his voice was tightly controlled.
 
“I assure you he is sane, but not rational.
 
No doubt if one of these men were to open fire, he would fight.
 
Based on his previous record, he could well take out the whole room full of us, and to hell with himself when he finally went down.”

           
“I’m getting nervous over here.”
 
Morgan stepped closer, madness in his eyes.
 
“I might start shooting anyway if they don’t drop those pieces.”

           
“Please don’t,” Stone said firmly.
 
“There is a third gun on your back.
 
You must surrender.”

           
Stone’s limpid blue eyes and hypnotists voice had been just enough of a distraction.
 
Before he could react, Morgan felt two fleshy vices clamp onto his upper arms.
 
The grating voice behind him said, “I don’t need my gun.”
 

           
Morgan’s hands went numb and his pistol dropped with a muted clunk into the carpet.
 
Monk’s fingers bit into his biceps, cutting off the circulation.
 
Monk lifted him off the floor, holding him at arms’ length.
 
Morgan swung a booted heel into one of the brute’s thighs with no visible effect.
 
He hung helplessly in the air as Stone stepped majestically toward him.

           
“I believe some introductions are in order,” Stone began, picking up Morgan’s automatic.
 
“The lovely lady with the rather confused expression on her face is Miss Felicity O’Brian, jewel thief extraordinaire, obviously quite skilled in breaking and entering.
 
The black gentleman is Morgan Stark, the mercenary soldier we’ve discussed before.
 
Our business companions at the table and their protectors had best remain nameless.
 
Paul?”