Under the window was a cast-iron radiator, bolted to the floor and tall enough to give me leverage. I forced the brush end of the broom into the narrow space between the radiator and wall, jamming it far enough in so that it wouldn’t twist or slip free. The handle lay at a steep angle on top, resting between two of the accordionlike columns.
It took two good tries, yanking down with all my weight, to break it. I had four feet of pine dowel that might pass as a walking stick if no one looked too close. No point on the end, but more useful than a .38.
Next, I planned to get the window open and sneak us out, but plans change.
Something was coming in that way.
The window was shut, but a nebulous gray shape was impossibly pushing right through the glass and wire mesh like smoke through a screen door. For a second I was fascinated by the sight, but then my heart jumped to my throat. Once it got inside—
Young Katie put a fist to her mouth as she stared, able to see it, too. She froze in place, eyes popping as the grayness thickened and took on definition. A man’s tallish shape began to materialize two feet in front of her, his arms spread wide, ready to grab her.
I scampered behind him, too scared to worry about consequences.
The instant he was fully solid, I swung and slammed the broomstick into the side of his head as hard as I could. The temple bones are thin there, more easily broken if hit with enough force.
The shock of impact twanged painfully up both arms. It was like hitting a metal flagpole. Only this pole had some give to it. Not much, but the wood in my hands made all the difference.
It was terrifying how fast he dropped, making a thud as his body hit the tile.
Katie stifled a scream, staring down in horror, not breathing.
He wasn’t breathing, either, but that didn’t bother me. I hadn’t killed him, being far too late for it. Goodness knows when that had originally happened or how.
I went to Katie and made her look at me. “He’s out for the count. Wood does that to his kind. You’re okay.”
She shook her head. “He’ll come back. I’ve seen it.”
“I bet you have, kid. Splash water on your face.”
While she pulled herself together I went through the guy’s pockets. My boyfriend and his partner do private detecting work, and I’d picked up some useful bad habits to add to a few of my own.
An ancient, long-expired driver’s license identified him as Ethan Duvert. No surprise.
I was shocked at the thick wad of money casually folded into one pocket. The bills were twenties with half an inch of crisp C-notes keeping them company. I’d bet it had come to him the easy way; he’d have floated invisibly into a bank vault and taken it, leaving some hapless accountant to try to explain the loss. I put the money in my purse for safekeeping. Honest. I’d find a way to give it back somehow.
Then—a policeman’s badge, a real one.
I nearly had a heart attack. If my boyfriend could be a private eye, then there was no reason why Duvert couldn’t be a cop, and I’d just clobbered him. Oh, God, I’d gotten everything wrong. …
“It’s something he uses,” said Katie, drying her face. “He made our chief of police give it to him to get out of tickets.”
It also gave him instant legitimacy with any cop between here and … “Sheldon, Ohio?” I read from the badge.
“My hometown. Used to be. Before he came.” Her face started to crumble and she hiccuped like a toy machine gun.
I knew the signs and stood, hands on my hips. “Hold it, sister,” I ordered in my harshest tone.
That derailed her. She gulped back a sob.
“Listen up, you can bawl like a baby later, but I need you to be a grown woman for the next three hours. Can you do that?”
She hiccuped again, but nodded. “Three hours?”
“The sun will be up by then.”
Katie looked like I’d smacked her with a wet fish. “How do you know ?”
“You first. Sheldon, Ohio—your family’s there?”
“Everyone is. It’s small, but we have a Carnegie library and there’s a private college on the other side of … oh, that doesn’t matter.”