Page 41 of View from Above

“Will he though?” Her abductor dramatically scanned the office. “Because it looked like you came home alone, and I don’t see your lap dog here now. In fact, I’d wager he doesn’t even know you’re missing.” Joy cocked her head to one side, all those dark brown waves billowing down her arm. “What happened, Mallory? Did you two have a fight? You know you can tell me anything. We’re sisters, after all.”

A fight. If only it’d been so simple. No. The confrontation between her and Payton had torn every belief she held dear and twisted it into something ugly. The pain in her ribs was nothing compared to the pain in her heart. A hurt he’d put there by pushing her away by any means necessary. In the end, he’d gotten what he wanted. They didn’t have a future. He’d spend the rest of his life alone, angry, and obsessive, and she… She’d have to be okay with knowing she did everything she could to help him. She’d have to accept the concern, passion, and love she’d convinced herself he’d felt for her had all been a lie and find a new way to move on with her life. Being bullied, manipulated, and compared to the very man who’d turned her into a prostitute for his clients wasn’t on the menu for her future. And she sure as hell wouldn’t accept it from the detective she’d fallen for these past few days. Or anyone else. “Go to hell.”

Mallory launched her head into the killer’s.

She knocked Joy off balance and swayed forward. Her sister hit the floor, the gun arcing over her head before sliding across the hardwood beneath one of their father’s sitting chairs. She clawed toward the door on hands and knees. Her ribs protested every inch gained, but she couldn’t stop. A groan escaped up her throat as her shoulder collided with the doorframe, and she pulled herself upright.

Nearly collapsing into the hallway, she picked up the pace. Employees had cleared out for the weekend, leaving thousands of places for her to hide. Mallory gripped the glass railing overlooking the lobby below. Cubicles, offices, the break room, the gym—none of them would keep her hidden for long. Her best option would be to get off this floor. She just needed to get to a phone. She had to call—

Who?

Payton had made it clear she had no place in his life, as a partner, a friend, or a something more, and she’d never gotten Trooper Wells’s contact information. There hadn’t been any need. Mallory forced herself along the railing and down the stairs into the lobby. She hit the call button for the elevator. She’d have to trust 9-1-1 to direct her call where it needed to go.

“Mallory, I’ve spent years thinking of this moment. I’ve put every piece of my plan into place.” Joy’s voice echoed down from balcony directly over Mallory’s head. One step. That was all it would take for the killer to find her. “There’s nowhere you can run I won’t find you.”

The elevator dinged, giving away her position.

Gunfire exploded.

Mallory ducked her head between both hands as the bullet wedged in the elevator door. A scream tore from her throat. She raced beneath the overhang of offices above, moving to the stairs as fast as she could. Ten stories. It’d take Joy hours to search every floor. Long enough to give her a chance.

She slipped into the stairwell, careful not to let the door slam behind her, and descended the stairs. Pain ignited up her back, but she couldn’t stop. Couldn’t slow down. She was going to die unless she got out of the building. The door to the seventh floor had been wedged open with a foothold beneath the corner, and Mallory raced onto the floor.

Unfamiliar territory stretched in front of her. She’d never had the inclination to visit this floor. She didn’t know the layout or which departments occupied these cubicles. Didn’t matter. She listened for movement, noise—anything to tell her where Joy might be but was met with silence. “You can do this.”

Staying low, she clutched her ribcage to keep it in place and searched the last cubicle down the first row. The desk phone slipped from the cradle and dove off the end of the desk with a hard thud. She clutched it to her chest. Pressing it to her ear, Mallory stopped.

No dial tone.

She depressed the handset button to reset over and over. Still nothing. Realization hit harder than it should have and crushed air from her lungs. “She shut down the phone lines.”

Damn it. Leaving the handset to dangle from the desk, she went through the drawers. There had to be something here. Something she could use to get a message to Seattle PD. Paperclips, a lighter, staples, a scarf, a bottle of gin. No forgotten cell phone. Mallory pressed her forehead into the side of the desk and closed her eyes. “Think, damn it.”

If the phone lines were down, security would’ve been alerted. Which meant Joy had most likely taken care of them and all of the surveillance cameras. She was good at that.

“Uh, oh. No phones. How will you ever call for help?” Joy’s voice tendrilled through the darkness. “You know, you really should’ve considered why the stairwell door had been wedged open, Mallory. It’s so easy to manipulate people into doing what you want when they believe their lives are in danger. I guess that’s the difference between us. You give into the flight part of your brain. I give into the fight.”

That was impossible.

She couldn’t have known where Mallory would run. Could she?

Movement registered down the row where she’d hidden. If she fled now, Joy would have her right where she wanted her. She clutched the bottle of gin from the lower drawer of the desk as the killer’s words set in. Joy had been right. She’d always given into her flight instincts. It was why instead of standing up for herself, she’d let her father use and control her as a child. It was why she’d forgotten that part of her life and blocked out what’d happened on the roof. And it was why she hadn’t fought Payton to prove her feelings were real, not a manipulation as he’d claimed.

She’d been running her whole life.

Physically, mentally, emotionally.

But it’d never protected her.

Warmth collected at the back waistband of her jeans. Mallory slipped her hand against her skin. Liquid smeared across her fingertips. Blood. Her heart shot into her throat. The pain in her back. The bullet she thought had lodged in the elevator door must’ve ricocheted and grazed her. Awareness intensified the agony stripping her nerve endings raw. She tightened one hand around the glass bottle and grabbed for the scarf and the cheap cigarette lighter from the middle drawer. They wouldn’t hold up against a gun, but it would have to be enough. She stood, exposing herself to a killer. “What about you, Joy? You’ve convinced yourself your life will be better if you get your hands on the inheritance. As Roland Kotite’s daughter and a therapist, I can tell you that’s not how it works. The anger you’re feeling, the pain in learning where you came from, the sense of abandonment and betrayal—it’ll keep following you.”

The connection between Joy Leonard and the three serial offenders Payton had told her about fused solid. A wrathful mother grieving the loss of her son, a poisoner desperate to save her sister from envy, a transplant surgeon willing to do whatever it took to greedily keep her lover to herself. And Joy. Unwilling to let go of her pride long enough to recognize Roland Kotite had been incapable of loving anyone but himself. Right then, it all made sense. The motives behind each murder. The events that triggered these women to kill had left them feeling helpless, useless, and incapable. The loss of a child, the attempted suicide of a sister, the desperation to hold onto what made them whole. Now, they were on a mission to take back their power. “The money won’t grant you the happiness you’re looking for. Believe me. It’s nothing but a burden, a way for you to owe the bastard who disappointed us both.”

Joy’s outline clarified dead ahead. Emergency lighting highlighted the shiny metal of the gun aimed directly at Mallory’s chest. “Disappointed me?” A sharp laugh punctured through the strong thud of Mallory’s heartbeat in her ears. “No, dear sister. He freed me. He showed me exactly who I am. I’m Roland Kotite’s daughter, and like him, I’m not going to stop until I get what I want.”

“Then I’m sorry for what has to happen next.” Mallory thumbed the scarf into the bottle of gin and lit the lighter. Throwing it at Joy’s feet, she dove behind the cubicle she’d raided and bolted for the other side of the seventh floor as fire erupted. Smoke curled through the air and triggered the sprinkler system overhead.

A psychotic scream filled her ears, but Mallory didn’t have the inclination to look back. She had to get out of the building. She had to go to the police.

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