to smithereens, her evening plans included cracking open the minibar, room service and a long soak in the tub. With her headache drumming, she revised those plans to include a couple of aspirin.
Car keys clenched in one hand, briefcase in the other, she shoved open the door and stepped into the cold afternoon gloom.
With thoughts of the escaped Edwin Isaac never far from her mind, she paused just outside the door. The wind gusted, raking through her dark hair like wild fingers while her senses strained to catch the slightest noise, the slightest movement.
Maybe it was just the low, ominous-looking gray cloud bank sucking up what was left of the daylight that compelled her to settle her briefcase at her feet and slip her hand into her coat pocket. When her fingers failed to connect with the asp she habitually carried there, she swore a silent oath. She’d stowed the collapsible tactical baton inside her suitcase for yesterday’s flight from Dallas to Oklahoma City. In her haste this morning, she’d forgotten to retrieve the weapon.
“Can’t just stand here,” she muttered. Picking up her briefcase, Paige hunched her shoulders against the chill and headed around the side of the building.
The instant she came abreast of a thick, bushy shrub she sensed a presence. Motion. The hair rose on the back of her neck. Her right hand instinctively went for the holstered Glock she hadn’t carried in three years.
At the edge of her vision she glimpsed a towering black-clad figure wearing a leather mask charge from the shadows. Adrenaline blew through her system, and she had a crazy half second to think how her day was about to get worse.
Chapter 2
Paige’s elbow swept up toward the man’s jaw at the same instant the side of his hand slammed into her temple. The blow shot jagged lights behind her eyes.
Stumbling off balance, she smashed against the hood of her rental car.
She had no time to think, to work out if the attacker was Isaac. No time to wonder if he had a weapon. There was no time to do anything but act and react.
Sucking in a breath like a diver going under, she tightened her hold on the briefcase, spun upward. Her mind catalogued her attacker’s black leather mask and gloves as she slammed the briefcase into his gut.
His breath exploded in a grunt. It turned into a cursing rush when the toe of her shoe plowed into his knee. She knew if he had a weapon, odds were he’d have gone for it by now.
He locked an arm around the briefcase and yanked. Snarling, she held on like a pit bull.
Still gripping the keys in her right hand, she shoved one between her clenched fingers. She jerked on the briefcase’s handle, yanking him into a forward stagger as she jabbed the key at his left eye.
He feinted and, instead, the teeth of the key raked a furrow along the side of his neck, drawing blood.
Howling, he swung his fist.
The blow to Paige’s cheekbone sent pain grinding down her face. Reeling, she knew she was going down, and made sure she took him with her. She hit the pavement hard, and though she rolled, he landed on top of her.
The impact stole her breath.
He lunged up. Jerked the briefcase from her hold. Bolting in a half limp, he veered across the parking lot toward a six-foot cement block fence.
Paige shoved herself up, ignoring the flash of pain in her side and the throb in her cheek. She set off running after him. Eyeing him from behind, she realized the mask fitted over his entire head, like something out of an S&M flick.
She was a foot away when he swivelled. She dove under his arm and hit him hard. Instead of toppling, he took the impact, swung the briefcase. She twisted, deflecting the brunt of the blow with her shoulder.
She wished like hell she had her asp baton.
He lobbed the briefcase over the fence, then scrambled after it. She caught his pant leg when he was halfway over.
“Give it up, bitch!” he snarled, kicking wildly.
The toe of his shoe caught her in the jaw, snapping her teeth shut. She lost her grip on his pants, staggered back and landed on her butt. She was on her feet in a flash.
And knew there was no way she could get over a towering cement block fence in her snug straight skirt and three-inch suede heels in time to catch the scum.
“Dammit!”
Lungs heaving, breath ragged, adrenaline rocketing through her system, she crammed her trembling hands on her hips. Her jaw clenched as she listened to the bastard race through what sounded like high brush on the other side of the fence.
“Freaking February tenth,” she muttered.
The patrol cop whose brass name tag said Vawter sat behind the wheel of his black and white, jotting a note on a report form clamped to a metal clipboard. He sent Paige a speculative look across the front seat. “You sure you don’t want to go to the hospital, Ms. Carmichael?”
“Positive.” A crackle of police traffic from the radio accompanied her reply. Even though she had a stinging sensation in her jaw and her right cheek was just now getting the feeling back, Paige had gotten roughed up a lot worse when she was a street cop. Nothing a couple of Advil couldn’t help. “The other guy was doing all the bleeding.”
“A stroke of luck, considering the way you said you went after him.” Vawter was tall, with a linebacker’s shoulders beneath his uniform jacket. His thick hair and vivid blue eyes reminded Paige of her Grandpa Carmichael. “It’s going to take some doing to get the grime out of that expensive coat. And it’s my guess you’ve got a few bruises underneath it.”
“A couple.” Already, her hip ached like a bad tooth.
“Might have been smarter to let the guy have your briefcase. Especially if you think it could have been the escaped shrink.”
“Like I said, I’ve got my doubts it was Isaac.” With the after-attack adrenaline still pricking at her wrists, Paige stared out the windshield toward the cement fence the scum had slithered over. “The voice didn’t sound like Isaac’s. And his waging an assault like that doesn’t fit his profile. He first likes to play mind games with his prey. Attack comes later. When that happens, he doesn’t leave his victim behind. He takes her with him.”
“You said he called you after he escaped. Maybe he’s ready for a face-to-face.”
“Anything’s possible.”
“But you don’t think it’s probable.”
“I don’t know. He’s been locked in a cell for three years. That changes a person.” Paige pursed her mouth. “My partner and I suspected Isaac had an accomplice, but we could never prove it. If we were right, that could have been who mugged me.”
Vawter nodded. “Let’s look at things from another angle,” he said. “In my experience, a run-of-the mill mugger wants cash, credit cards. Stuff a woman carries in her purse.”
“You’re wondering why he stole my briefcase. Maybe because I slammed it into his gut? Though he didn’t
