— 59 -
Hutch crashed hard, the impact jangling his brain.
Pain radiated through his skull as the apartment door slammed shut behind him. But he didn't waste time thinking about it. He immediately brought his wrists to his mouth and started biting at the gaffer's tape, trying to tear it free.
He glanced at the first monitor, at the shot of the lobby door. If Gus was true to his word, Hutch now had less than three minutes before that door flew open and Langer appeared.
He kept biting at the tape, but it wasn't coming loose. Gus had secured it good and tight and there were several layers to rip through. Hutch tore into it as if he were gnashing on a tough piece of meat, but the tape just wouldn't yield.
Glancing toward the monitors again, he saw Ronnie shaking on the bed, tears streaking down her face.
Her sobs were the only sound in the room.
He kept tearing at the gaffer's tape, but it was no use. The seconds were ticking by and he'd barely made an inch of progress.
He needed the knife.
Glancing at it atop the table, he rolled onto his side and pressed his hands against the floor, trying to push himself to his knees. But his brain jangled again, dizziness throwing him off balance, and the blow to the head seemed to have sapped him of strength. Try as he might, he couldn't push himself upright.
How much time had passed?
A minute?
More?
He dropped to his side, straightened out, then rolled, heading in the direction of the table. As he reached it, he tried again to get to his knees, but he still didn't have the strength and his body wouldn't cooperate.
Instead, he grabbed hold of one of the table legs and shook it, trying to knock the knife to the floor. He heard it rattle above him, but it didn't fall. He shook the leg again, harder this time, and it suddenly came lose in his hands and broke free, the world crashing down around him.
The table toppled sideways, barely missing him, but one of the monitors beaned him on the head. Pain exploded, radiating through his skull like an electric charge as the monitor tumbled to the floor and landed next to him. For a moment he thought he might pass out again, but he held fast, willing himself to stay conscious.
He blinked, trying to clear his vision, and looked at the monitor. It was the one showing the lobby door. He thought he saw a shadow onscreen, approaching beyond the frosted glass.
Langer about to enter the building.
Turning now, he frantically searched the floor, looking for the knife. But the only light in the room had come from the monitors, and the second one had either blown or landed face down. There were too many pockets of darkness around him, and the knife could be anywhere.
Remembering his cell phone, Hutch jammed his hands into his pants pocket, hoping to Christ Gus hadn't taken it. Then his fingers touched plastic. Relief washed through him as he worked the phone free, then touched a button on the side to activate it.
Shining the light from the screen toward the mess around him, he caught the glint of a blade and saw it poking out from beneath the edge of the overturned table.
He dove toward it, ignoring the protests of his aching skull. Scooping up the knife, he shoved the handle into his mouth and clamped his teeth against it, so that the blade pointed to one side. Then he rolled onto his back, turned his head to angle the blade toward the ceiling, and brought his wrists up to the sharp edge, positioning it between them.
Moving his hands back and forth, he frantically sawed through the gaffer's tape, straining to watch the monitor as he worked.
Onscreen, the lobby door was opening, the creep stepping inside.
Hutch moved his wrists faster, cutting through the thick layers of fibrous tape strand by strand, all the while pulling his wrists apart, trying break them free. The seconds were ticking by and this process seemed to be endless, taking forever. This goddamn tape had to be made of buffalo hide.
On the monitor, Langer was at the stairs now, his dead eyes looking straight into the camera as he mounted the steps. He had five flights to go and he wasn't wasting any time, and all Hutch could hear were Ronnie's terrified sobs.
Hutch watched the creep clear the first landing and disappear from view, and knew he was running out of time. There was no way he could beat the clock.
Then finally, thankfully, the tape came loose and his hands broke free.
Ripping the knife from his mouth, he grabbed the edge of the overturned table and pulled himself upright. The room spun around him. A new wave of nausea swept through him as he leaned forward, using both hands to saw at the bonds around his ankles.
Bile rose in his throat and for a moment he was sure he would puke, but he swallowed hard and forced it back as his hands kept working, kept sawing, kept hacking away, as he flexed his ankles, trying to pull them free.
Finally the tape came lose and he quickly unwound it and tossed it aside, then grabbed hold of the table edge again. Using it for leverage, he pulled himself to his feet. The room tilted sideways, and his knees buckled, threatening to send him sprawling.
Catching his balance, he reached up with one hand, touched the back of his head and found something wet and oozing there, along with a knot about the size of a golf ball.
It was a wonder he could stand up at all.
But he didn't have time to be thinking about this. Listening to Ronnie's sobs rise from the speakers, he steadied his legs, turned, then launched himself toward the front door.
The room was still spinning but he didn't stop. He kept moving forward until he reached the knob, yanked the door open, then staggered out into the hallway.
Across the hall was the door marked STAIRS, and he realized that he was in the first apartment. The one he'd seen when he stepped out of the stairwell.
Turning, he barreled down the graffiti-scarred hallway toward the apartment at the far end, its door hanging open a crack. Langer was nowhere in sight and there were only two possibilities here-either he was already inside, or he hadn't yet made it to this floor.
Hutch much preferred option two.
Stumbling forward, he attacked the apartment door with his body weight, slamming it open, then held the knife in front of him as he barreled inside.
But something felt wrong the moment he passed the threshold.
Something was different.
There should light coming from the bedroom at the end of the hallway.
He should be able to hear Ronnie crying.
He spun around now, grabbing the wall to steady himself, and looked back toward the door he'd just come through.
Either this wasn't the right apartment or Ronnie had been moved.
And he doubted Ronnie had been moved.
As he stood there trying to get his bearings, a faint but familiar sound trickled down from overhead: muffled sobs, coming through the ceiling.
He was on the wrong goddamn floor.
Gathering himself, he took a deep breath, tried to ignore the throbbing in his head, and went back out into the hallway.
