Read Exposed - A Thriller Novella (Chandler Series) by J.A. Konrath & Ann Voss Peterson Online

Authors: JA Konrath

Tags: #thriller, #assassin, #suspense, #mystery, #espionage, #female sleuth, #spy, #jack kilborn, #jack daniels

Exposed - A Thriller Novella (Chandler Series) by J.A. Konrath & Ann Voss Peterson (4 page)

BOOK: Exposed - A Thriller Novella (Chandler Series) by J.A. Konrath & Ann Voss Peterson
9.12Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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I hadn’t spotted Udelhoffer standing behind a
hedge that separated pool from lawn, but now he stepped out from
the right, coming at me fast for such a big man.

Adrenaline spiked my blood, making everything
slower, clearer. Udelhoffer’s movement. The drum of my heartbeat.
The smell of the water and screech of the gulls. I stopped and held
up my hands. “I was just wondering where everyone went.”

“What happened to Ronnie?”

“He’s taking a breather.”

Udelhoffer’s eyes narrowed. His beefy fingers
twitched. I could see him thinking it over. Asking himself, is this
just some dumb bimbo, or is something going on here?

His training kicked in.

His hand went for the Tec-9.

I anticipated the move and kicked to the
side, my right foot striking just below his knee cap. I followed
the blow through, scraping the side of my shoe down his shin,
drilling the stiletto heel into his instep.

He bellowed like a bull.

Without pause, I brought a knife hand blow to
his forearm, targeting his radial nerve just below the elbow.
Localized strikes are hard to pull off on a moving target, but I
was fast.

The Tec-9 fell from his grip and swung on its
sling. I grabbed the strap, dropped, and jerked it off his
shoulder, twisting as I did. Then I released. The machine gun
skittered across flagstones without going off.

I moved to follow-up with a chin jab, missing
and hitting his chest. High heels were effective weapons, but they
also made balancing trickier. By putting so much of my weight
behind the stab to his foot and the blow to his arm, I’d left
myself unbalanced.

I saw him aim the palm of his hand for my
chin, but I couldn’t reverse my momentum fast enough.

My head snapped backward, the blow clanging
through my skull. My brain stuttered, overtaken with too much
stimuli at once. I staggered, almost going down. Motes of light
swirled in my vision just as the pain came.

He lunged at me again, slamming a fist into
my solar plexus.

Air burst from my lungs, and I doubled over
and tried not to puke.

He came at me again, an old-fashioned right
hook this time.

I twisted out of the way, causing his attack
to bounce off the top of my skull. But even though it was a
glancing blow, the force clanged through my head like a fire bell.
I was able to get in close and respond with an elbow strike,
snapping it up under his chin, but I wasn’t sure the behemoth even
felt it.

“That’s enough.”

I heard the unmistakable sound of someone
racking a semi-auto.

Udelhoffer and I both stumbled to a halt.
Above us on the steps, Hawk Nose glared down, a 9mm pointed at my
chest.

Another dark-haired man emerged from the
house, one I hadn’t seen before. Wearing a white Scarface suit, he
held an automatic pistol.

Outnumbered and outgunned, I dropped my gaze
and rounded my shoulders, looking submissive.

“Take her inside. Think you can handle that,
Udelhoffer?”

The brute grumbled, breathing hard. He
wrapped his left arm around my right like a bridegroom escorting me
down the aisle, then grabbed my hand, locking me into place by his
side. It was a hold often used by police to convince unruly
civilians to come along without a fuss. Just a little pressure and
he could easily bring me to the ground or break my elbow.

I gasped as if he was hurting me. “Let me go.
Please.”

He forced me back in the direction of the
house.

The pulse of helicopter blades speeding up
their rotation registered somewhere in the back of my mind. If that
craft lifted off, Julianne was gone.

I couldn’t let that happen.

The man’s training and size would enable him
to counter any move I threw at him. My only shot was suckering him
into underestimating me. I thrashed against him ineffectively,
hoping to convince him this was all I had left to give.

“Knock it off.” He put pressure on my wrist,
and I let out a cry of pain that wasn’t entirely acting.

I let him lead me past the pool, and we
started up the shallow flagstone steps. Above us, Hawk Nose lowered
his pistol. Apparently satisfied that Udelhoffer was under control,
he and the other man turned and slipped into the house ahead of
us.

Halfway up, I stumbled a little, getting out
of step, throwing him slightly off balance. Then I made my
move.

I veered toward him and reached down with my
free hand, grabbing his balls and yanking them like the handle of a
Nautilus machine.

He released my arm, buckling over with a
grunt. No matter how much hand-to-hand training a man had, when you
went below the belt he forgot everything and tried to protect the
goods.

As he leaned forward I slipped to the side,
grabbing his shoulder, using his momentum to carry him forward and
introduce his head to the stone planter at the top of the stairs.
He hit it with a dull
thud
, then crumpled to the ground.

I didn’t know if I’d killed him or merely
incapacitated him, and I didn’t wait to find out. I raced down the
stairs and past the pool, kicking the shoes from my feet as I ran
for the helicopter.

I wasn’t exactly sure what I’d do once I
reached it. I had no weapon, no plan. The aircraft was a purple
Bell 427, under ten years old. Twin engine, light utility, seated
eight. Through the cabin doors I saw four people inside, one of
them the pilot, one Julianne. I’d been trained to fly several
different varieties of chopper, including more common types used
for corporate flying, but I didn’t think they were just going to
hand over the keys because I asked nicely.

Voices erupted behind me, but I didn’t turn
to look. I ran in a zigzag pattern, waiting for the pop of gunfire,
but it never came.

Then I heard grunting behind me; a runner,
giving chase.

I straightened course and pushed more energy
into my legs. The grass was stiff and harsh against the soles of my
feet, jabbing and slicing. The copter backwash was hot, smelled
like exhaust, blowing faster and louder every step closer, until I
couldn’t hear my pursuer anymore.

But I knew he was still there.

Ahead the helicopter shifted to one side,
then started to lift.

I hit a dip in the ground and stumbled to one
knee. Pushing off, I righted myself and ran harder.

I could feel the man behind me now, feel his
footsteps gaining. I was fast, but in a few strides he would
overtake me.

I was nearly upon the aircraft. Sand
particles pelted my skin, stirred into the air by the blades. Hair
whipped across my eyes. The chopper was now three feet in the air,
rising fast.

There was only one thing I could do, and I
couldn’t believe I was actually going to attempt it.

Once I passed under the chopper, I leaped for
all I was worth. My fingertips hit the right skid. I grabbed on,
one hand slipping. The helicopter swayed and bucked and for a
moment, and I thought the whole thing might come down on top of me.
I made another swipe with my loose hand, and this time my fingers
held and the helicopter lifted me into the air.

My pursuer was right beneath me. His arms
closed around my legs, binding, holding tight. It was the Tony
Montana wannabe.

I twisted, fighting to break free.

The chopper tipped and veered to the
right.

I pulled a foot loose and kicked, hitting him
in the forehead with my heel, but he wouldn’t let go.

The blades canted, dangerously low to the
ground. One hit and it would be over for all of us. I’d seen a bird
cartwheel before. They never found all the pieces of the dead.

I pummeled Scarface with my bare heel, the
force shuddering up my leg. His hold slipped. He clawed at my knee,
locking my ankle in his armpit, but I kept up my assault, driving
my foot into his head, his face, as we ascended.

My grip was one of my best skills. I could
crack walnuts barehanded. Once, during training, I hung onto an
iron bar for six hours.

But I didn’t have an extra hundred eighty
pounds gripping my ankles, or the extra g-force of liftoff. Unable
to hold on, my left hand slipped off the skid.

My right wrist turned, and I felt like I was
being pulled in half. I chanced a look down, saw the ground
blurring beneath me, and got a straight shot of fear.

Fear was an ugly, destructive thing. It
enveloped you, made you doubt yourself, clouded your thinking and
muddied your ability to act.

But human physiology also provided a plus to
counter all of those minuses. The fear kick-started my adrenal
cortex, and I got a pop of adrenaline that made me feel like my
muscles had been electrified.

Screaming against the pain, the weight, I
slapped my loose hand up against the skid and doubled my kicking
efforts, aiming for my assailant’s nose, feeling each impact
shudder up from my heel to my palms.

Say! Hello! To! My! Little! Friend!

Scarface finally let go when we were high
enough for the fall to break his neck.

The helicopter rolled in the other direction,
and it was all I could do to hold on. The air swirled around me,
beating like fists. Tears filled my eyes and streaked my face. Hair
lashed my cheeks.

If I lived through this, I swore I’d shave my
head.

The copter leveled and rose into the air. My
shoulder and chest still ached from Udelhoffer’s blows, and I
groaned as I performed a pull-up and hooked my elbows over the
skid. Below, the ground receded, and soon we were flying over Long
Island Sound.

Vibration from the rotors knocked my teeth
together. Pressure squeezed my chest, making it hard to breathe. I
had never been fond of heights, but that was nothing next to my
hatred of water. I’d never forget the feeling of it closing over my
head, trapping me, filling my lungs, pulling me down …

Another shot of fear overtook me, so powerful
I almost panicked, and for a moment I thought I might fall.

I closed my eyes, blocking out the sparkling
blue below. I couldn’t let myself think of the water, the height. I
had to focus on getting control of the helicopter. I could land
this one in my sleep. I just needed to get inside.

That meant I had to get the other passengers
outside.

I kicked one knee over the skid and looked up
into a side window just in time to see the barrel of a rifle—AR15
or M16—staring at me.

I pushed myself forward and flipped head
first, diving between skid and the body of the craft. A piece of
cake in the gym. A bit more complicated hanging from a
helicopter.

Swinging from my hands, I jackknifed my body
toward the bottom of the bird, not thinking, just acting on muscle
memory. Finding the bracket where the skids connected to the craft,
I pulled up and caught it with my knees. I hung wildly like that
for a second, upside down, wind beating me, before I could find a
handhold and right myself.

I looked up. A gun barrel poked under the
fuselage. Then a boot followed, bracing on the skid.

I didn’t wait for him to get a shot lined up.
I switched my grip to my hands. Using my stomach muscles, I swung
my body as before, and on the second swing, aimed both feet
directly at the boot. My heels hit hard, and the boot slipped,
followed by the man. The rifle jarred free of his hands and hung by
the strap around his shoulder. He caught the skid with his elbows,
his legs dangling right beside me.

The craft bobbed then dipped like a
rollercoaster, and for another stomach-lurching moment, I thought
we were going down.

We locked eyes, his aflame with fear and
rage. He kicked out, hitting my thigh, causing me to swing again.
My strength was ebbing. Another kick like that, and he’d knock me
off the skid.

Hand over hand, I moved away from him. Then I
switched my handhold and turned around, eying the other skid,
opposite me, about seven or eight feet away.

I looked back at my attacker. He gained hold
of the rifle, pointing it in my direction.

I jackknifed my legs and swung, hard and
fast, like a gymnast getting ready for her dismount.

Gunfire crackled behind me.

I eyed the opposite skid—

—and let go.

The brief moment of weightlessness, soaring
through the air under the chopper, seemed to play out in super-slow
motion.

I felt the wind, cold and sharp, invading
every pore on my body. Heard the rotors and the shots, impossibly
loud but surprisingly easy to ignore. Stared up at the blue steel
underbelly of the helicopter as my body became parallel to the
fuselage. Waited for my legs to hit the other skid, waited so long
that I had plenty of time to second-guess my aim, sure I’d missed
my mark, sure I’d plummet to the ocean where I’d shatter my body
and drown.

But then my knees found the opposite skid, my
legs bending over it, my hands reaching up and locking on.

Before I could celebrate, I caught a hot burn
across my shoulder, like I’d been touched with a branding iron.

Shot.

I’d been shot.

I turned around, still able to hold on,
facing the man who shot me. He had one hand on the opposite skid,
the other on the rifle, pointing at me.

He was too far away for me to kick him, but,
incredibly, I noticed I still had my cross-body purse hanging from
my shoulder.

Hanging from one hand, I pulled the purse
strap off my shoulder and made a quick slipknot around my
ankle.

He fired, bullets breaking to my right.

I swung at him, kicking out my legs.

My handbag continued forward on its strap,
and hit him right where I was aiming—square in the nose.

He cried out through closed teeth, the sound
driven away in the whipping wind, and his grip broke. He followed
his assault rifle into the water.

From this height, it was like hitting
concrete. He wouldn’t be swimming back to shore.

BOOK: Exposed - A Thriller Novella (Chandler Series) by J.A. Konrath & Ann Voss Peterson
9.12Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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