Part 24 (2/2)

”Suite seventy-six, on the thirty-eighth floor,” he said.

”And the elevators are still running?” I asked with a perky smile. ”Mr. Mansfield's expecting me.”

Emmanuel gave me a look well beyond his years, that said he was wise to my line of BS and wasn't inclined to go for it. ”If he were expecting you, he would have told you that the elevators stop running without a keycard at six o'clock.”

Dammit, I had factored in cameras and Joshua's force of thugs, but I hadn't counted on a smart minimum-wage slave blocking my path.

”It's a very personal personal appointment,” I purred, placing one hand on his arm. I should have unb.u.t.toned the top b.u.t.ton of my s.h.i.+rt, or worn tighter jeans, or something. Emmanuel wasn't going for it. appointment,” I purred, placing one hand on his arm. I should have unb.u.t.toned the top b.u.t.ton of my s.h.i.+rt, or worn tighter jeans, or something. Emmanuel wasn't going for it.

”Lady, if you don't have business in the tower, you're going to have to leave,” he said primly.

”Okay, fine,” I said. ”I'll level with you. I'm Jess McMillan with the SEC. Mr. Mansfield contacted us confidentially some time ago with information about inappropriate activities within the O'Halloran Group.”

”SEC?” Emmanuel frowned. ”Like whistle-blowers and stuff?”

”Exactly like that,” I agreed. ”We're very concerned about certain transactions Seamus O'Halloran has been involved in.”

”That guy's a sc.u.mbag,” said Emmanuel. ”You know he cut health benefits for hourly workers last year?”

”That's why it's so important I get to see Mr. Mansfield right now,” I said. Emmanuel shot a look at the security guard, who was reading something with a bikini-clad woman on the cover, and then handed me a white plastic square.

”Keycard,” he said. ”It'll get you all the way to floor forty. After that it's all private codes anyway.”

”Thank you for all your help,” I said sincerely.

”Hey, if I get to see the execs led out of here in handcuffs with news cameras flas.h.i.+ng in their faces, it'll be enough,” Emmanuel said.

I didn't tell him that in Seamus's case, I really hoped he got his wish.

The upper floors of the tower were all dark. Gerard Mansfield had long since gone home, but a cleaning cart sat at the end of the hall with a radio perched on top, playing that song about being all out of love.

I pilfered the key ring off the cart and found that they were neatly labeled masters with floor numbers on the face. Number 38 unlocked Mansfield's door and I slipped inside, leaving the lights off.

A quick search of Mansfield's desk uncovered a fondness for organization, chewing on the ends of pencils, and chocolate-covered cherries. What a saint. I almost felt bad about using him this way.

I found Mansfield's keycard under the candy box, slightly sticky but usable. I had almost made it back into the elevator when the cleaning woman came around the coiner and saw me.

”Who are you?” she demanded. ”This floor is closed for the evening.”

c.r.a.p. Somehow I didn't think an unscheduled visit from the Junior League would fly, so I smiled sweetly and said, ”No ”No hablo ingles, senora.” hablo ingles, senora.”

”You stay put,” she said, loudly and slowly. Like that ever helped. ”I'm calling security. You stay!” she barked at me when I reached for the elevator call b.u.t.ton.

If she alerted Joshua's men, I'd be screwed. I took a quick step, s.h.i.+fted my weight, and came in with a right jab just under her cheekbone. Her head snapped around and she folded before she even felt any pain.

This was a p.i.s.s-poor heist, I reflected as I dragged her into the elevator with me and swiped Mansfield's keycard for the top floor. James Bond never had to punch out a cleaning lady.

The elevator door opened into blackness at the top of the tower. Seamus's office was ghostly in the lights from the city below, but I could make out the desk and chair and bar, and even the crack in the plaster where I'd fallen into the wall. Behind the crack I saw the gleam of a metal door.

I turned on some lights, sent the elevator to the bas.e.m.e.nt with the cleaning lady, and carefully pulled away the broken section of the wall. The steel door leading to Seamus's private apartment s.p.a.ce was small and scarred, like it had survived a few previous a.s.saults. There was no alarm pad, no high-tech laser grid, but even from here I could feel the p.r.i.c.kle of the ward marks that sat like invisible barbs on the surface of the door.

Brute force would not get me through the door. If I touched it, I'd end up extra crispy for Seamus to find tomorrow morning.

”Thanks a lot, Shelby,” I muttered. As much as I had convinced myself that this break-in was a bad idea, I felt irrationally disappointed to be foiled by something as simple as a fire door. I slumped in Seamus's high-backed chair with a sigh.

His phone caught my eye, neat prelabeled b.u.t.tons for LOBBY, GARAGE and SECURITY.

The idea that popped into my head was terrible and dangerous, along the lines of sailing across the Pacific in a garbage scow or buying up real estate in Pompeii. But bad ideas always appeal to me, so I picked up the phone and punched the b.u.t.ton.

The voice that answered was gravelly, like it had been catnapping and was trying very hard to disguise the fact. ”Security.”

”You've got to help me!” I said, putting just enough teenage scream queen in my voice to sound breathy and terrified. ”There's someone trying to get in!”

The voice perked up. ”Where are you, miss?”

”Floor sixty!” I squeaked, and slammed the phone down. That would get their blood pumping. No one was supposed to be in here except Seamus, I was sure.

Now I had probably sixty seconds before Joshua's thugs burst in. I ran to the switch panel on the wall, slapping them in turn until one rolled heavy black shades down over the wall of windows. I switched off the few ambient lights and waited by the hidden elevator door with my back against the wall.

It was total soft blackness. A plain human would be hard-pressed to locate their own hand in front of their face. With my night vision, I could see the darker-than-dark shapes of furniture and the soft glow of light around the edges of the curtains. It wasn't much, but it would be enough.

The elevator whirred and I heard the soft ding from the interior just before the door rolled back.

I lashed out at the first person out of the car, a squat man with his gun and flashlight both poised in a textbook military stance. The gun, I noticed as I rotated his wrist and slammed the b.u.t.t backward into his face, was a high-end Sig-Sauer P226. Nothing but the best for Seamus's own private army.

The second guy in the elevator let out a yell as his bleeding partner fell back into him, and got off a wild shot into the darkness. I waited for him to emerge from the car, the light he held quivering like a dying Tinkerbell.

”Who the Hex is out there?” he demanded. ”I've got a gun.”

The elevator door closed, plunging us into blackness again except for the thin beam of the flashlight. I stepped in behind the thug and grabbed his gun arm, yanking it backward into a submission hold before he could react. Speed is everything in a fight. The security thug struggled with me and I kneed him in the kidneys. He grunted and went to the ground.

”You'll never get away with this!” he promised, although in the dark I could have been a poltergeist for all he knew.

”Keys,” I demanded, putting pressure on his wrist joint. A few more millimeters and I'd be breaking it. I didn't want to do that if I could help it, even though the guy probably deserved it.

”Keys to-ah! Keys to what?”

”O'Halloran's apartment,” I snarled in his ear. ”Give them to me.”

”I don't know what you're talking about!” he cried, in a not-very-convincing display of innocence. I leaned over his shoulder so he could see me and let my eyes luminesce to gold. The thug's breathing stopped with a short, sharp intake and he started to shake underneath me.

”Oh, Jesus.”

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