She broke out of the woods on the footpath leading to the castle. Taking that trail presented a risk she accepted, trading exposure for the speed it would give her. There were no other footprints than hers as she sprinted in the new snowfall. Unfortunately, the weather had limited the population of runners and walkers that day-and darkened her hopes of getting help or access to a random cell phone.
The flakes had picked up intensity but not enough to cover her footprints. It wouldn’t matter. These men would be able to hunt her anyway. The thought made her increase speed and cast a look over her shoulder. As she did, Nikki slid on a patch of ice. The hard landing knocked the breath out of her. Her kneecap radiated pain like it had been smacked with a hammer. While she collected herself, a frozen twig snapped deep in the woods she had just left. They were coming. She hauled herself up. Lungs searing, Heat raced onward.
Belvedere Castle was built in the 1860s as an observation tower overlooking Central Park’s old reservoir. Its ornate turrets, arches, and main tower, masoned of granite and native schist, replicated the feel of Sleeping Beauty Castle right in Manhattan. Heat barely looked at it. Her focus was on a lamppost holding the police box on the far side. Nikki slowed to a jog, taking care not to fall on the ice that had formed on the brickwork of the courtyard. That’s when the. 50-caliber slug blew the police box clean off the post.
The crack of the rifle echoed off the face of the castle, sending waves rippling through the woods. Heat didn’t wait for the follow-up shot. She hurled herself over the low stone wall rimming the courtyard. The next bullet ricocheted off the granite trim above her head as she crouched pressing her back against the stones. Nikki had to dig in her heels in the ice to avoid sliding four stories down the sheer rock cliff she was perched on. One slip would guarantee her a broken skull on the tumble down.
They would divide up to get her. She knew her hunters were disciplined and tactical, so two would fan out to flank her. The third would wait for them to reach their positions then come over the top for her. That bought Nikki time but little else. Even if she could survive a descent down Vista Rock, running across the white ground below in her dark clothes would be suicidal. The only difference between her and a target silhouette would be that she was flesh and not paper. No, she had to play the odds again; she had to take the fight to them.
But not all of them. That was her slim chance. If they had split up as she anticipated, one of them would be alone, nearby and waiting. Nikki inched on her butt laterally along the wall, careful to keep her footing. A fall would be the end of it. She reached a cluster of Chinese wintersweet and used the bare shrubs as cover when she periscoped up for a careful peek over the wall.
He stood alone presenting his side to her ten yards away, cradling his rifle, eyes fixed through his ski mask on the point where she had bailed over the wall. Heart pounding, she lowered herself and closed her eyes, summoning details of the image she had just seen. His position was in an open expanse of courtyard, no cover for her. To her left-and most appealing, behind him-was the pavilion… a roofed open-air patio bordered by low walls on three sides, with the fourth side open to the courtyard. Mindful that his partners could have her in their sights any second, she pulled herself farther along the rock ledge toward the back side of the pavilion. Along the way, she selected the largest loose rock she could find. It was about the size and heft of a shot put. Heat slid it in her side coat pocket.
Getting up and over the wall into the pavilion would be tricky. Huge icicles rimmed the entire roof, and their drips had frozen on the wall beneath them. She looked down. A slip now would be fatal. So would waiting.
Nikki stretched into a yoga pose, unfolding herself lengthwise along the top of the wall. Then, trying to avoid excess movement or noise, she slowly poured herself over the top and down to a rest in the patio area. Heat drew one long breath to quiet her pulse rate, then took off her coat.
She crawled to the wall closest to the courtyard and peered over. Her hunter was still there, but at this angle his back was to her. With the rock weighing heavily in the pocket, she tossed her coat over the cliff and screamed while she ducked.
Footsteps. Running her way.
But they stopped short of the pavilion. When they did, Nikki vaulted over the patio wall and caught him looking down the cliff at her falling coat. He heard her coming, spun, and tried to level the rifle at her. But she was already inside the muzzle with her left hand grasping the forestock, using it to pull him toward her as she brought her right fist up to his Adam’s apple. He was trained in close combat, though, and he dropped his chin to shield his windpipe. Her fist struck his ski mask instead. He countered instantly, twisting his body in a hard pivot, using his hip and her grip on the rifle to twirl her off him.
Heat landed on the icy bricks, but still clutched the forestock. She yanked backward. His forefinger was stuck in the trigger guard, and she heard bone snapping as she pulled. A round fired as he fell backward beside her. The bullet struck the pavilion roof, knocking a sheet of ice and a row of icicles onto the courtyard around them. She got up, trying to take the weapon from him, but he scissored her legs at the knees, knocking her back down.
He got up on one knee, moaning as he shook his broken finger clear of the guard. Heat lunged for the rifle. She should have gone for him instead; he simply raised the weapon and, as her momentum carried her by, slammed her with his forearm, sending her skidding in the ice debris. With his right forefinger dangling loose inside his glove, he transferred the rifle to his left side and went for the trigger with his good hand. But just as he pivoted to aim at Nikki, she came at him, thrusting the sharp end of an umbrella-sized icicle deep into his gut. The weapon dropped from his hand and he clutched his wound, eyes flashing disbelief through the holes of his mask. Heat took the rifle in both hands and hammered the butt hard into his windpipe. He fell backward, fumbling at his neck, gurgling and bleeding out of his stomach on the snow.
Across the courtyard, one of the other hunters double-timed into view and hunkered down behind a rock. Nikki took the rifle and scrambled back inside the pavilion. She was still outnumbered, but at least she had a weapon.
Sirens approached. They weren’t close yet, but they were coming.
Just as she positioned herself, resting the rifle on the top of the wall, almost braced for her holding action, a blur of two figures moved into the woods, fleeing.
Nikki’s body began to tremble but she kept close watch. Only when the sirens grew loud and she could see flashing lights did she let down. Still clutching her weapon, Heat leaned back against the wall, looking upward at the castle that had been her salvation.
Time had first slowed down and then stood still for Nikki. The ensuing minutes had no definition. And strangely, no sequence. A psychologist might say she didn’t shut down, she surrendered. After the tense ordeal of being hunted, shot at, evading, and then doing some hunting and killing of her own, Heat released control. For her it was the greatest luxury of survival.
Events lost their connective tissue and for Nikki Heat they kaleidoscoped. One moment, a face swam into view, reassuring her. Next, latex-gloved hands pried the rifle from her grip and slid it into plastic. Her own leather gloves came off, revealing palms wet with ice melt and blood. She found herself sitting in the back of an ambulance without recalling the journey. Did she walk there? Bushes parted in slow motion as her two assailants fled. Wait, that was before… She hallucinated Elmer Fudd standing there. Elmer Fudd with earflaps and jumbo binoculars hanging from his neck and snowflakes collecting on his eyebrows. Coffee in a cup rippled from her quaking hands. An EMT shined her penlight across her eyes and nodded, pleased. She pulled the blanket snug around her shoulders. Where did the blanket come from?
When the two shooting investigators from downtown joined her in the rear of the ambulance, Heat tossed back the rest of her coffee to spike her sharpness. She willed herself into the moment and walked them through the whole damn deal. They took notes and asked questions. Questions for clarification at first, and then the same questions asked a different way to see if her answers matched. She had been through this waltz before and so had they. Her answers were clear; they danced politely. But their goal was different than hers. They wanted to determine if she had killed according to policy. She wanted to capture the bastards, and this interview was something to get through so she could get back to work and do just that.
Elmer Fudd wasn’t a hallucination, after all-although he had a different name. The old man wearing the binoculars and the L.L. Bean hunter’s cap was actually Theodore Hobart. A birder who had spent the morning in the castle tower waiting for an eastern screech owl to return to its cavity in a tree near the Turtle Pond, Hobart witnessed the siege below and called 911 on his cell phone. Heat thanked him for saving her. He blushed and plucked the feather of a red-tailed hawk from the breast pocket of his Barbour coat and gave it to her. To Nikki it felt like a rose.
Zach Hamner pulled up in a black Crown Vic and strode to the suits from downtown. Heat watched them confer briefly, one of the detectives gesturing toward the pavilion and the other to the woods where a K-9 dog was
