Killer Heat (36 page)

“Can I sit down for a minute?” I said. “I-uh-I feel dizzy. I
think I'm going to be sick.”

I knew women who had put off their assailants by becoming
physically ill.

Troy tugged at his lower lip. “I think the best thing for that
is a little fresh air, Alex.”

I imagined Mercer and Leamer, bound and gagged like Pam Lear, on
the floor of the adjacent room. I didn't want to leave them to go
off with this maniac.

He grabbed my elbow and pulled me toward the door. There was a
chain around his neck, hanging down under his T-shirt. Something
dangling from it made an impression against the cotton in the shape
of a dog tag.

He stopped in front of me and started to give orders.

“We're going for a walk, Detective, like I told you. And I'm
gonna go nice and slow out there 'cause I know you're barefoot. I
know that's why you can't exactly run fast, either. So you remember
that, too. Oh, and did I tell you that you might want to be very
careful where you walk?” he said, stroking my cheek with the back
of his hand. “You must be good at following orders, aren't
you?”

I didn't answer.

“I asked you a question, girl, and I expect you to answer me.
And the answer would be 'Yes, sir.' ”

“Yes, sir,” I said, with hesitation.

“ 'Cause if you walk off without me, I'd just hate to think of
something fragging you into so many pieces I wouldn't be able to
have any fun later.”

I'd seen more than enough news reports of soldiers “fragged out”
by the deployment of grenades. Rasheed had used his time well. He'd
learned the deadly art of setting booby traps from his father, and
in the hours since he'd tortured and deserted Pam Lear in the
dungeon, he wanted me to believe, he had concealed fragmentation
grenades around the island.

“And what do you say to that, Detective? You want me to have fun
with you, don't you?”

There was no way to suppress the tremors that were rippling
through me.

“Where is it, Alex? Where's the answer I want to hear? What do I
want?”

I knew what I wanted. I wanted Mike to come running down from
Nolan Park. I wanted Pam Lear to release him from her side so he
could help me. I wanted Mercer to get himself loose and get back on
his feet.

“Yes,” I said, quietly. “Yes, sir.”

Gripping my elbow with his right hand, he opened the door with
his left and led me out onto the steps and down to the cobblestone
walk, where the pebbles blown around by the storm dug into the
soles of my feet.

I prayed that he would turn left and take the path back to
Governor's House. But instead, he pointed ahead to the large hill,
to the great star-shaped landmark in the center of the island. It
was Fort Jay, the place we'd been on our way to see when the feds
kicked us off the island on Saturday.

“We're going to higher ground, girl. Don't want anybody to mess
with you till we've gotten to know each other.”

I walked as slowly as I could, listening for sounds that boats
or choppers were back in the water and air. I pretended the rocky
roadway made walking painful.

“You can do better than that, Detective,” he said, pulling on my
arm.

The rain was falling gently, and there an eerie silence now that
the thunder had rolled off to the east.

Troy Rasheed toyed with his silver chain while I bent down to
remove a small rock that had wedged between my toes. I was playing
for time. He hadn't recognized me from the night at Ruffles. There
was no reason for him to have done so, since he would have seen
only my back as I left behind Mike and Kiernan Dylan. He didn't
know I was aware of his criminal history-and of the fate that
awaited me if I didn't escape.

“Get up, sugar. Time to go.”

I looked back over my shoulder and he jerked my arm to make me
keep up with him. He lifted the chain and put the army dog tag to
his mouth, biting nervously on the edge of it.

There was something else hanging from the chain. Something gold.
It was the West Point ring, a gold band with a citrine stone and
the USMA emblem, that Elise Huff had worn every day since her
grandmother's death. It was the trophy that Troy Rasheed had taken
from her body, a reminder of his resolve to leave none of his prey
alive.

FIFTY-FIVE

Ifelt like I was on a forced march back in time, to quarters
like I'd just seen in the more primitive structures that surrounded
this imposing centerpiece of Governors Island.

Behind me was the dark, silent city, just beginning to come to
life, with scattered lights and the sound of aircraft somewhere
overhead. Looming in front of me, on top of the hill, was the
enormous mass of an eighteenth-century fort, far more complex than
Castle Williams. I had no idea what remained behind its walls, but
I feared that Troy Rasheed knew every crevice in it.

We had crossed the cobblestone path and roadway. Now we were on
grass, and my captor broke into a run. His left hand held Mercer's
gun in place in his waistband, while his right kept a tight grip on
my upper arm

Too fast," I said, pretending to stumble, but he wasn't having
any of it.

“Run, damn it,” he told me, squeezing me with his big hand.

He was moving as though we were on an obstacle course,
zigzagging so that I thought-or was meant to think-that he had
rigged the muddy field with explosive devices.

I looked at the giant stone counterscarp, the side of the fort
that seemed impenetrable. We'd flown over it as we landed this
morning, and I'd seen its great five-sided star shape from the air.
Now we were approaching an actual drawbridge that led into a
covered entry, a forbidding separation from the rest of the
island.

Rasheed apparently heard a noise overhead, too. He looked up,
never letting go of me, to see whether whatever machine was flying
in the pea-soup sky above was coming in to land, but the droning
sound faded away.

“Almost there, girl. I'm gonna show you some sights.”

The switchblade was still in the rear pocket of my jeans, which
were so tight that it hardly jiggled when I moved. Maybe this was
the moment to try to slice at Rasheed's arm, before we crossed over
into the fortress.

I was feeling dizzy. The view directly ahead of me shifted. We
were sprinting toward the drawbridge but suddenly the ground to the
left and right of the gate opened wide below me. A gaping hole
appeared, twenty feet wide, stretching the length of the entire
visible side of the fort.

“I can't,” I screamed at Rasheed, hoping Mike would hear me,
hoping my voice would carry from the island's peak.

I stopped in place, terrified by the sight. It was a moat, a dry
moat, and if I made a misstep, I would fall off the bridge to its
bottom.

Rasheed confronted me, holding my shoulders with both hands,
shaking me fiercely. “You ain't gonna miss a minute of this, sugar.
You come to your senses, okay?”

I was out of breath and frightened. I couldn't get any words
out.

Then he removed Mercer's gun from his waistband and held it to
the side of my head. “Welcome to my house, Detective
Cooper.”

He moved aside but picked up my arm again and kept the gun in
his other hand.

We emerged from beneath the cover of the bridge, into a small
village. Around a central courtyard were rows of brick buildings
two stories in height. They were more elegant than the crude
barracks that lined the waterfront, but just as deserted.

There was no way to see beyond the high walls of the fortress. I
wouldn't know whether the river was calming enough for boats to be
launched again, and I doubted that the tide would recede fast
enough to let the ferry make the trip across.

But I could hear noises from above, and I was silently begging
Commissioner Scully to get our chopper airborne.

“Now this here is where the officers lived,” Rasheed said,
dragging me toward a building on the east side of the grounds. “So
I figured it was a fine place for me.”

Not exactly what the Sex Offender Monitoring Unit had in mind
when they asked him to register his address.

“No, no, no, girl. Not up there,” he said, as I scanned the
second story of the barracks, wondering if the windows of those
rooms looked out above the massive stone walls. “I prefer the dark.
I spent a lot of time in solitary, Detective. You know what that's
like, don't you?”

I stopped short.

“It's not polite to ignore me. You've sent perps to solitary,
haven't you? How do you think you're gonna like the black
hole?”

Rasheed was behind me now, holding the back of my neck as he
prodded me along. At the last room in the long row, he let go of me
and turned the knob. The door opened.

I stood on the threshold, letting my eyes adjust to the dark.
Waves of nausea rolled in my stomach.

There were no windows in the room, no ventilation source that I
could see. There was a pile of rope next to my feet, and I was sure
that he would have something handy to gag me with, if he didn't use
a piece of my own clothing.

“Take me somewhere else,” I said to Rasheed, trying to
reposition myself, trying to turn around to face him. “I'll do
whatever you want. I promise. Whatever you want.”

We were inches apart now. He laughed at me. “Oh, I do know that
you will, girl. I know that you will.”

With the barrel of Mercer's gun, he pushed the frizzy hairs off
my forehead.

“Just-just a different place than this,” I said. “Upstairs,
where there's more light.”

“No need to get all shaky on my account. You take off that
jacket and I'll make you feel better, Alex. Alex, that's
right?”

I had lectured to school groups scores of times. I had urged
children-and women, too-not to get into cars with their abductors.
The statistics were shocking. The likelihood of victims being found
alive after they submitted to entering a vehicle was minuscule. The
best time to fight was before being finally caged. If I was to
escape from Troy Rasheed, gun or no gun, I would have to do it
before he backed me into this room.

He put his free hand on the sleeve of my jacket and pulled on
it.

“I'll take it off myself,” I said. That way, I could have better
access to the knife.

“That's my girl. I'd like to put this gun down, but I can't do
that until you're settled in, you hear?”

Now he was pulling at his lip again, kneading it between two
fingers.

“I think I'm going to be sick,” I said, grabbing my stomach and
bending forward as I dropped my jacket to the ground. I wasn't
faking it. I was overcome by nausea.

“Not on my time, babe. You just breathe in some of this nice sea
air and swallow hard.”

I leaned my head back and inhaled.

Rasheed make a sucking noise, then bowed forward, like he was
reaching to kiss me.

“You're bleeding,” I said to him. “Your lip is bleeding.”

He didn't take his eyes off me. He lifted his left hand and
rubbed it across his mouth. “Ain't nothing to be scared of,
Detective. You might like the taste of blood.”

Troy Rasheed put his fingers up again, exposing the inside of
his lower lip.

“That's my new one, sugar,” he said, showing me the tattoo,
still so raw it was irritating the surface. “I did that for my
girlfriend last week. My old girlfriend.”

He laughed as he wiped his mouth again. I guess he had run out
of room on his body to pay homage to each of his victims. Those
were Amber Bristol's initials on his lip.

FIFTY-SIX

Step inside, Alex," Rasheed said.

I stood at the edge of the door, my back against the jamb. He
pushed me and I swiveled halfway into the room.

He put the gun in his other hand, holding it to my stomach, and
kneeled down to reach for the coiled rope.

I wasn't going to let myself be tied up. Not while I had an
ounce of strength in me. With my left foot, I kicked at the pile of
rope and heard it topple over, away from me

Damn it, bitch," he said, grabbing at my leg to stop himself
from falling with it.

I reached into my rear pocket with my right hand and withdrew
the knife. I pressed the switch and the blade snapped open while
Troy Rasheed tried to regain his balance and get to his feet.

“It's time we get down to business,” he said, lifting his head,
his lips glistening with his own blood. “C'mon, Alex. You be
nice.”

He was on his knees, trying to stand, when his eyes met mine and
he said my name again. I raised my arm over my head and plunged the
knife as deep as I could into his chest. Blood spurted out through
the hole in his shirt and Rasheed collapsed forward, driving the
blade even deeper into his body.

FIFTY-SEVEN

Troy Rasheed was still screaming when I ran out through the
gates of the fortress, crossed the drawbridge, and raced across the
grassy lawn that sloped downhill. I didn't care whether he had laid
traps that would ensnare or injure me. Anything would be better
than the torturous death that he had planned.

I stayed on the cobblestone path, shouting Mike's name as loud
as I could. The smooth, cold stones felt good beneath my feet, and
the pebbles that peppered them barely slowed me down.

I veered to the right when I saw the roadway that led into
Nolan Park, up to the Governor's House. In less than three minutes,
I reached the porch of the old building. The door was wide open. I
called for Mike and for Pam Lear, but the house was deadly
still.

I stood on top of the steps, looking out on the quiet scene.
Then I remembered the old bell buoy, the one Mike and Mercer and I
had passed on the first day. It was closer to the Governor's House
than the Park Service office. I could be there in seconds, making
more noise than this island had heard in centuries.

I flew down the steps and took off to the left, sticking to the
cobblestone path.