He stood still for a moment, listening to the darkness. A faint clanging sound came to him, drawing his attention upward. A metal fire escape led to the upper floors, and he thought he detected a movement on one of the landings.
Without a second thought, Brant started climbing.
HARRY BLACKMAN was probably the most formidable-looking man Valerie had ever met. It wasn’t just the fact that he was huge—well over six feet and at least two hundred and fifty pounds of solid muscle—nor the fact that his head was completely bald with a dagger tattooed at the back.
What Valerie found so intimidating was the fact that he always wore a weapon, a .357 Colt Python strapped to his side, in plain view. She had no idea if he carried the weapon on the street or not, or whether he even had a permit for it. She’d never met him any place other than his office, and the gun was always there, like a crucial appendage he couldn’t live without.
Valerie supposed it was the nature of his occupation, or perhaps the location of his office, that made Harry overly cautious, but whatever the case, she found it hard to keep her mind—and her eyes—off that gun.
“All right, here’s the deal,” he said, in a voice that sounded like two sheets of sandpaper being rubbed together. “I’ve located the woman you’re after. She’s in New Orleans.”
Valerie’s heart quickened. “Is? That means she’s still alive?”
He nodded. “She’s going by the name Marie LaPierre. Has been for over twenty-five years. She owns a voodoo shop in the Quarter.”
A voodoo shop? Somehow that seemed appropriate to Valerie. There were so many strange things about her father’s case.
“Here’s the address.” Harry shoved a crumpled piece of paper across the desk toward her. Valerie noticed, as she had before, the tiny tattoos on each of his knuckles, but she’d never been able to tell what the images were.
“The guy you’re looking for. This Odell Campbell. He’s in a nursing home in Madison, a small town fifty miles north of here. He’s suffering from Alzheimer’s, the advanced stages, so I doubt he’ll be able to tell you much.”
Valerie’s heart sank at that news. She’d hoped to be able to convince her uncle to tell the truth after all these years. He was her mother’s brother, so he had to have some goodness in him. But now it looked as if it didn’t matter whether he did or not. Odell would, in all likelihood, be of no use to her.
Still, Valerie took the address of the nursing home from Harry. She knew she would pay her uncle a visit for one simple reason: other than her father, he was the only living relative she had left on this earth.
“What was that?” Harry said.
“What was what?” So lost in thought had Valerie been, she had no idea what he was talking about.
Harry stood and drew his weapon. Valerie gasped, but he motioned for silence just as the window behind him shattered.
“Get down!” he shouted, plastering himself against the wall.
He didn’t have to tell her twice. Valerie hit the floor behind Harry’s desk as he reached over and turned off the light. The office fell into darkness, but enough illumination filtered in through the broken window that Valerie could see Harry silhouetted against the wall. He was moving toward the window, but another shot rang out, and he fell back for just a split second, then sprang forward, firing through the broken glass.
Valerie huddled against the desk, her hands over her ears, her heart pounding in terror. She looked up to see Harry heading toward the door.
“Harry!”
“Stay there,” he ordered. “He’s going in through a window. I’m going after him.”
“But—”
Harry disappeared through the door, and Valerie was left alone in the darkness. She wondered what she should do. Harry had told her to stay put, but she didn’t like the idea of remaining here in the dark, all by herself, while someone who had been shooting at either Harry or her or both of them roamed the building.
She would make a run for it, Valerie decided. Get to her car.
No, maybe she should use the phone. Call the police. But then, she didn’t exactly trust the police, did she?
All right, then, she would run for it. Done.
She edged to the end of the desk and peered around, toward the window. Someone was easing over the ledge, and for a moment, relief surged through her. “Harry,” she whispered. Then the man straightened, and she realized he was as tall as Harry, but not nearly as bulky.
The man stood for a moment, looking around, getting his bearings. Then, very deliberately, he moved toward the door. Valerie flattened herself against the desk, praying he wouldn’t see her.
As he passed by her, something triggered a flash of recognition inside Valerie. Suddenly she knew the man inside the office with her was Brant Colter. For a moment, she started to call out, but then she realized that his movements were suspect, to say the least. What was he doing here, in Harry Blackman’s office, moments after she’d been shot at?
He opened the door into the hallway, looked out, and then, in a heartbeat, was gone. Valerie sat huddled on the floor, her heart beating a rapid staccato inside her.
Brant Colter was here. Just like he’d been on the scene the day she’d been pushed in front of the bus. Had he been the one shooting into the office just minutes ago?
She got to her feet and stood in the darkness. She had to get out of here. Now. Her every instinct screamed in warning, and Valerie wasn’t one to ignore them. Crossing the floor to the door, she peered into the corridor. It was empty. The doors that opened to the other offices were all closed, and only a dim light near the elevator illuminated the gloomy hallway.
She started down the corridor when she heard the unmistakable clang of the elevator, and saw the Up arrow lit. Someone was heading up to the fifth floor. But who? Harry? Brant Colter coming back? Or was there a third person in the building? The gunman?
Valerie whirled and ran down the hallway toward Harry’s office. She vaguely recalled seeing the stairwell door somewhere off to her left, and she tried all the doors along the way until she found one that was unlocked. She pushed it open just as the elevator came to a halt and the doors slid open.
Trying not to make a sound, Valerie stood just inside the stairwell, leaving the door opened a crack so that she could look out. Someone hurried down the corridor. As he drew even with Harry’s door, he paused for a moment, and Valerie held her breath, wondering if he had heard the pounding of her heart in the darkness of the stairwell.
She didn’t recognize the man. He kept his face averted, so that she couldn’t see his features, but Valerie had the distinct impression from the way he stood that he was a good deal older than either Brant or Harry.
He carried a gun, and as Valerie stood watching him, she saw him check the clip with a smooth, practiced motion that made her wonder how often he’d done that very same thing in the past. Could he be a professional hit man? Hired to get rid of her?
The thought was almost her undoing. Her hand, sweaty with fear, slipped on the doorknob, and the door clicked shut. Even as slight as it was, there was no mistaking the sound, and Valerie knew she’d given herself away. She turned and headed for the stairs, slipping off her shoes as she ran.
Instead of going down, she went up. The gunman would expect her to try and reach the street, wouldn’t he? By going up, she hoped she could lose him.
In stocking feet, she flew up the stairs and pulled open the door to the roof. It was hot and muggy outside. The low-hanging clouds over the river were heavy with moisture. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Valerie knew there would be rain soon. She wondered if that would help or hinder her escape. She wondered where Harry was. And Brant Colter.