To Catch a Thief. Christina Skye

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      Ten feet and she’d be eating lead.

      “Last warning, Nell.”

      She kept inching backward. Her foot struck an empty can, the sound echoing down the narrow alley.

      A bullet hit the wall near her shoulder. Cement fragments tore at her cheek and she tasted blood on her lip.

      They were cutting her off.

      She saw a sudden movement at the end of the alley, beyond the Dumpster. She froze, boxed in completely now. There were too many of them.

      “Nell, over here.” The voice from the darkness seemed familiar. “Turn around.”

      She blinked, trying to place the voice. A client? No, not that. Scotland.

      Dakota?

      “Keep moving six more feet. I’ve got your back covered.”

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      NELL BACKED UP slowly, straining to breathe, straining to make sense of why this man had suddenly reappeared in her life. “How did you find—”

      “No time for that. Just keep moving.” He sounded very calm, not remotely surprised to see men with guns following Nell and circling warily.

      In one smooth movement, he pulled her toward him and then shot out the halogen light. Behind them, bullets cracked on cement, the noise deafening in the confined alley. Rough fingers gripped Nell’s arm and then she was yanked back behind the protective metal walls of the Dumpster, out of range of the gunfire.

      Where were the police when you needed them? Hadn’t anyone reported the disturbance?

      “Three feet behind you, Nell. Focus. Reach up and you’ll feel the top of a metal fire escape ladder. Pull yourself up and move. Don’t look back and don’t stop, no matter what happens down here.”

      Nell didn’t even consider arguing. She was already grabbing for the ladder. “What about you?” she said breathlessly.

      “I’ve got unfinished business here.” His voice was cold. “Move.”

      Nell didn’t hesitate. With one jump, her hand closed around the middle rung of the fire escape and she swung her legs up.

      But when she reached the third rung, a retaining brace pulled free, dumping her and twelve feet of rusted metal right back in the middle of the alley.

      “Go out the alley behind me,” Dakota snapped. “My car is the black Explorer at the crosswalk. Here’s the key.”

      He shoved something into her hand. “Drive home, lock your door and stay there.”

      Footsteps hammered toward the far end of the alley, cutting off that route of escape.

      “Forget it.” He sounded irritated. “Stay right behind me, but keep clear of my right hand.”

      His shooting hand.

      But Nell wasn’t about to slow him down against what looked like increasingly bad odds. With both ends of the alley blocked, that left only up.

      She ran past the fire escape and grabbed a heavy rain gutter. A bullet ripped over her right shoulder. Pain burned through her neck as the round gouged a piece of brick out of the wall.

      Ignoring her pain, Nell pulled her way hand over hand up the gutter until she reached the roof. To her right, a limestone wall rose to the neighboring apartment building.

      Another bullet tore through the air beneath her, nicking her calf. Certain that he could handle himself better alone, she grabbed the end of a heavy gutter and climbed onto a second-story patio.

      She had to get to Dakota’s car and call the police.

      She heard the first wail of distant sirens as she hit the adjoining wall at a run, channeled her momentum up into a vertical walk, then swung her arm to the wooden flagpole near the roof. Rocking hard, she jammed one ankle into the eaves.

      Standard moves for a free climber.

      Except for the bullets, she thought grimly. But the rounds appeared to be high, going over her head, and she had the feeling the attack was meant to be a kidnapping, not murder.

      The same wasn’t true for her homeless friend…

      Or for Dakota.

      The thought stole her breath, freezing her in place. Her fingers were bleeding, both elbows rubbed raw. Panting, she forced herself to move, pulling herself up over the eaves and onto the roof. Below her the gunfire cleared. When she peered down into the darkness, no one was there. The alley was empty.

      Her fingers locked on Dakota’s car keys, shoved deep in her pocket. She didn’t have a clue who these people were, or how they knew her name, or why they had mentioned her father.

      Currently, she had half a dozen art projects in the process of restoration, but none of them was exceptionally valuable. Private dealers all over the city had more valuable art in their back rooms awaiting sale. So she didn’t think the attack was for simple theft.

      She sprinted down the opposite fire escape to Dakota’s black Explorer and jammed in the key, relieved when the big motor growled to life.

      They had mentioned her father. This had to involve him.

      The thought left her sick at heart. In his criminal career Jordan MacInnes had made dozens of resolute, life-and-death friends. Unfortunately, he’d made just as many enemies, competitors with no scruples and very long memories. Had one of them targeted him now?

      Nell checked the street, but there was no sign of Dakota or her attackers. As she drove slowly north, she passed two police cruisers with sirens flashing headed the way she’d just come. She briefly considered pulling over and flagging them down.

      And tell them what? My father, who happens to be an ex-con, may be in some kind of trouble and I may be a target, too.

      Yeah, like that would work.

      Especially since any hint of contact with other criminals would send her father right back to prison for parole violation.

      As a compromise, Nell placed a shaky 911 call to report a wounded homeless man in the alley. After leaving the exact address, she hung up before they could ask for her name or number. They might be able to trace her cell phone, but it was a risk she had to take for her friend’s sake.

      Driving through the dark streets, Nell fought a wave of exhaustion. She didn’t feel safe, even at the door to her apartment, where she stood frozen, listening for any sign of intruders. But there was no sound except the low whir of her refrigerator. Her locks had not been touched.

      Was she really safe?

      The past hour was a blur, and she gave up trying to process it. Instead she dropped her purse and jacket and headed for the bathroom. The sight of her face in the mirror stopped her cold. She had the beginning of a black eye, cuts on both arms, and a long welt down her right cheek. Her condition would have been far worse if the СКАЧАТЬ