Authors: Meg Gardiner
China Lake (48 page)
The alarm rose in pitch.
‘‘How long to get down?’’ she said.
They ran to the service elevator and she pounded on the button. The searchlight panned along the windows. Like a white flare, it caught them in the eyes.
‘‘I see them. They’re attempting to escape from this deadly tower. . . .’’
She whacked the elevator button with the riding crop.
‘‘Open.’’
‘‘Open.’’
With a
ping
, the elevator arrived. They lunged inside.
ping
, the elevator arrived. They lunged inside.
On the ground floor they burst out a back exit into an alley. The asphalt was wet and steaming. Scott clicked his stopwatch.
‘‘Seven seconds. Time to spare.’’
‘‘Maniac,’’ she said.
They dashed through puddles toward the end of the alley. On the street a police car blew past, lights flashing. The helicopter thumped overhead, searchlight pinned on the roof.
Scott nodded at it. ‘‘They got it on tape. You have evidence.’’
‘‘You’re reckless. I think you actually want to get caught.’’
‘‘I carried out the dare. Did I make the cut?’’
She fought with her zipper. ‘‘We’ll put it to a vote. No promises.’’
They rushed out of the alley. The street, lined with banks and swanky stores, was being cleared by the police. They slowed to a walk, trying to look normal. He buttoned his jacket. She smoothed down her hair.
Elation flooded him.
‘‘Admit it—that was awesome.’’
‘‘It was outrageous.’’ She pointed at him. ‘‘And do not tell me it ended with a flourish.’’
‘‘Really?’’ He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a baseball.
‘‘What’s that?’’
He tossed it to her. She caught it.
‘‘A Willie Mays autographed ball?’’ She looked up, surprised. ‘‘From the law firm’s memorabilia collection? You stole it?’’
‘‘On our way out. And it’s not just any baseball. It’s
the
ball—from the 1954 World Series. The greatest catch of all time.’’
the
ball—from the 1954 World Series. The greatest catch of all time.’’
She gawked. ‘‘It’s got to be worth—’’
‘‘Hundred thousand.’’ He smiled, broadly. ‘‘Right under
your
nose.’’
your
nose.’’
Anger flashed across her face. She shoved the ball back into his hands. ‘‘Okay, bonus points for chutzpah.’’
He laughed and tossed the baseball into his other hand. ‘‘Fear not—it’ll be returned. That’s the next challenge.’’
‘‘How? The building’s locked down. And your fingerprints are all over it.’’
‘‘So? I’m a star client. My lawyer let me hold it. It doesn’t matter that my fingerprints are on it.’’ He glanced at the police car down the block, then back at her. ‘‘How will you explain that yours are?’’
She stopped dead on the sidewalk.
He held up the ball. ‘‘Return it without getting prosecuted. I dare you.’’
He turned, faced the jewelry store they were passing and hurled the ball straight through its front window. Glass crashed. An alarm shrieked. He spun back around.
‘‘Have fun, Hardgirl.’’
He took off running down the street.
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