At a break in the trees just before she reached the park’s East Drive, Heat paused. This was an organized hunting party, and if she were organizing one, she would cover the target’s escape route in case something went awry. Much as Nikki hated to give back her narrow head start, she crouched, panting in the thicket, to survey the tree line on the far side of the clearing. When she determined the best vantage point, she saw him. Through the visual clutter of sleet and snowflakes, a dark form huddled against a rock on high ground. She didn’t need to see the rifle to know it was there.
Time to rethink. Blocked to the east, the other three would be closing in soon from the west. The Transverse cut her off to the south. But seven blocks north, near the reservoir, sat the NYPD Central Park Precinct house. It might as well be seven miles. What else was there? Heat envisioned a map of the park, and one word popped into her mind:
Castle.
There was a police call box near Belvedere Castle.
Detective Heat, wet, cold, and unarmed, reversed direction, bending her route slightly north as she moved parallel to the course of her three oncoming pursuers who, hopefully, would not expect her to backtrack their way.
She broke out of the woods on the footpath leading to the castle. Taking that trail presented a risk she accepted, trading exposure for the speed it would give her. There were no other footprints than hers as she sprinted in the new snowfall. Unfortunately, the weather had limited the population of runners and walkers that day—and darkened her hopes of getting help or access to a random cell phone.
The flakes had picked up intensity but not enough to cover her footprints. It wouldn’t matter. These men would be able to hunt her anyway. The thought made her increase speed and cast a look over her shoulder. As she did, Nikki slid on a patch of ice. The hard landing knocked the breath out of her. Her kneecap radiated pain like it had been smacked with a hammer. While she collected herself, a frozen twig snapped deep in the woods she had just left. They were coming. She hauled herself up. Lungs searing, Heat raced onward.
Belvedere Castle was built in the 1860s as an observation tower overlooking Central Park’s old reservoir. Its ornate turrets, arches, and main tower, masoned of granite and native schist, replicated the feel of Sleeping Beauty Castle right in Manhattan. Heat barely looked at it. Her focus was on a lamppost holding the police box on the far side. Nikki slowed to a jog, taking care not to fall on the ice that had formed on the brickwork of the courtyard. That’s when the .50-caliber slug blew the police box clean off the post.
The crack of the rifle echoed off the face of the castle, sending waves rippling through the woods. Heat didn’t wait for the follow-up shot. She hurled herself over the low stone wall rimming the courtyard. The next bullet ricocheted off the granite trim above her head as she crouched pressing her back against the stones. Nikki had to dig in her heels in the ice to avoid sliding four stories down the sheer rock cliff she was perched on. One slip would guarantee her a broken skull on the tumble down.
They would divide up to get her. She knew her hunters were disciplined and tactical, so two would fan out to flank her. The third would wait for them to reach their positions then come over the top for her. That bought Nikki time but little else. Even if she could survive a descent down Vista Rock, running across the white ground below in her dark clothes would be suicidal. The only difference between her and a target silhouette would be that she was flesh and not paper. No, she had to play the odds again; she had to take the fight to them.