our progress. The sooner I got this madman away from Stone and Max the better.
Stone's eyes trailed mine until a woody cloak broke our eye contact. Then the detective and my dog vanished behind a wall of brush. And I was alone.
***
"Keep moving." Sam pulled me by the arm down a row of dogwoods edging North Meadow, clearly avoiding the open acre of flat grass that would conceal no one. Central Park was small enough to know other dog owners, big enough to hide if you knew the terrain. But we couldn't hide forever with cops surrounding and penetrating the park.
Sam groaned again and clutched his side, as if that would keep him upright, sounding more winded than a man in good shape should be. Maybe he'll just pass out. Or maybe I could talk him into surrendering. I knew better than to expect maybes to come true.
If he'd been shot, he needed to keep pressure on the wound. I'd spotted a singed, bullet-size hole in his sweater left of his heart, if he had one. The lack of blood, however, made a gunshot wound improbable. So what the hell was wrong with him?
Why do you care, Jules?
An injury could be exploited. I could strike his wound, kick free. But with that gun flitting in the air, and Sam's stumbling gait, I trusted his motor control even less than my fighting skills. One wrong move and he could reflexively squeeze the trigger.
Besides, emergency field training in third-world countries taught me to save life at any cost, sinner or priest, kidnapper or cop. Damned if I'd break that vow twice.
"You need professional help," I said.
"That's the general consensus," Sam mumbled.
He set a finger to his lips when I started to insist, then his fist rose in the air, like a soldier's signal to halt, and we both froze. With his weapon lifted, he peeked over a clump of bushes. I followed suit, poking my head up to see Bear Man cutting across the meadow, running full tilt in our direction. At his speed, he'd be on us in seconds. Shit. Maybe they'd planned a rendezvous, but that hardly seemed likely considering their knock-down, drag-out fight. Then again, they had a new enemy in common: a witness.
"Get down and stay down," Sam whispered as he pulled me to the ground. "All the way."
He nearly flattened my face into the damp leaves and hovered over my back, his thick thigh a wall to my left, a tall bush a wall to my right. His fist gripped the back of my coat tightly enough that my feet would only dig dirt if I tried escaping.
"Doing good, lady. Just stay still and be real quiet."
I wasn't moving far with his hand clamped down between my shoulder blades.
Bear Man's shuffling boots neared our position. Sam tensed, his breath suspended.
The boots stopped, stepped one direction, then the other. Not even a muscle quiver came from Sam, though he was clearly exhausted and injured. Cool control under pressure. That scared me more.
Finally, the boots pounded into the distance.
Sam's hand remained plastered to my back for several minutes. After a few gulps of air, he started to rise. When I followed his lead, he held me down.
"Not safe yet," he whispered.
I remained crouched over my shoes for a couple more minutes, as creepy thoughts raced through my mind. How hidden we were, how easily he could rip off my clothes with a gun pinning me down. I'd fight a wounded man, but would still lose to a bullet round. Yet I recalled who'd shouted for me to run the first time, and prayed he wasn't the bastard he seemed since kidnapping me.
Then I realized he'd eased his grip on my back and was taking on a severe lean. His forehead dropped against my shoulder blade, and he panted so hard I could feel the pressure through my windbreaker. At this point, I calculated how solid he really was, or if a kick to the groin could level him.
He started shaking against me. "Bastard thinks I'm dead." He lifted his head, snickering. "Won't he be surprised when he sees my face again."
Laughing turned into a coughing spell, and he fisted the leaves as he tried
Stone's eyes trailed mine until a woody cloak broke our eye contact. Then the detective and my dog vanished behind a wall of brush. And I was alone.
***
"Keep moving." Sam pulled me by the arm down a row of dogwoods edging North Meadow, clearly avoiding the open acre of flat grass that would conceal no one. Central Park was small enough to know other dog owners, big enough to hide if you knew the terrain. But we couldn't hide forever with cops surrounding and penetrating the park.
Sam groaned again and clutched his side, as if that would keep him upright, sounding more winded than a man in good shape should be. Maybe he'll just pass out. Or maybe I could talk him into surrendering. I knew better than to expect maybes to come true.
If he'd been shot, he needed to keep pressure on the wound. I'd spotted a singed, bullet-size hole in his sweater left of his heart, if he had one. The lack of blood, however, made a gunshot wound improbable. So what the hell was wrong with him?
Why do you care, Jules?
An injury could be exploited. I could strike his wound, kick free. But with that gun flitting in the air, and Sam's stumbling gait, I trusted his motor control even less than my fighting skills. One wrong move and he could reflexively squeeze the trigger.
Besides, emergency field training in third-world countries taught me to save life at any cost, sinner or priest, kidnapper or cop. Damned if I'd break that vow twice.
"You need professional help," I said.
"That's the general consensus," Sam mumbled.
He set a finger to his lips when I started to insist, then his fist rose in the air, like a soldier's signal to halt, and we both froze. With his weapon lifted, he peeked over a clump of bushes. I followed suit, poking my head up to see Bear Man cutting across the meadow, running full tilt in our direction. At his speed, he'd be on us in seconds. Shit. Maybe they'd planned a rendezvous, but that hardly seemed likely considering their knock-down, drag-out fight. Then again, they had a new enemy in common: a witness.
"Get down and stay down," Sam whispered as he pulled me to the ground. "All the way."
He nearly flattened my face into the damp leaves and hovered over my back, his thick thigh a wall to my left, a tall bush a wall to my right. His fist gripped the back of my coat tightly enough that my feet would only dig dirt if I tried escaping.
"Doing good, lady. Just stay still and be real quiet."
I wasn't moving far with his hand clamped down between my shoulder blades.
Bear Man's shuffling boots neared our position. Sam tensed, his breath suspended.
The boots stopped, stepped one direction, then the other. Not even a muscle quiver came from Sam, though he was clearly exhausted and injured. Cool control under pressure. That scared me more.
Finally, the boots pounded into the distance.
Sam's hand remained plastered to my back for several minutes. After a few gulps of air, he started to rise. When I followed his lead, he held me down.
"Not safe yet," he whispered.
I remained crouched over my shoes for a couple more minutes, as creepy thoughts raced through my mind. How hidden we were, how easily he could rip off my clothes with a gun pinning me down. I'd fight a wounded man, but would still lose to a bullet round. Yet I recalled who'd shouted for me to run the first time, and prayed he wasn't the bastard he seemed since kidnapping me.
Then I realized he'd eased his grip on my back and was taking on a severe lean. His forehead dropped against my shoulder blade, and he panted so hard I could feel the pressure through my windbreaker. At this point, I calculated how solid he really was, or if a kick to the groin could level him.
He started shaking against me. "Bastard thinks I'm dead." He lifted his head, snickering. "Won't he be surprised when he sees my face again."
Laughing turned into a coughing spell, and he fisted the leaves as he tried
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