She worked her body around so that she was nearly upside down. Taking the knife, she started hacking at the plastic but couldn’t find traction as the blade just skidded off the smooth surface. She turned back around so that she was sitting up in the box and looked around. She grabbed a portable shelf off the doorframe and pointed the knife into the floor, then put her foot on top of the handle and pushed down with as much force as she could, lifting her butt off the interior floor and pressing her back against the top of the box to provide more leverage. Twice the knife slipped out, but the third time she felt it bite into the plastic and stick there. She took the shelf and started whacking the butt of the knife with it. She didn’t have much room to operate, so the swings were shortened, but after a few minutes she could see that the blade was now two inches deep in the plastic floor. She raised herself up, put her foot on top of the handle, and steadily pushed down, her back flat against the ceiling of the fridge to give her additional downward force. The knife slowly pushed through the floor. When it hit the hilt of the blade it stopped.

Mace moved her foot away and with much effort she flipped over and started to saw away at the floor, the blade moving centimeters as it cut into the hard plastic. She withdrew the blade and, using the same stick and pound method, made similar cuts in four other spots. When that was done she slipped the knife back in the belt clasp, rose up again, and started stomping in the middle of all the cuts, her back so tight against the ceiling of the fridge that she felt her spine would snap.

She wasn’t sure how long it took, but she felt the floor finally give. A few seconds later the plastic cracked in one spot and then another. A minute later a whole section of it tilted upward. She threw her weight at the spot opposite this and the entire floor broke away and heaved up like a sheet of ice. She fell through this opening and gasped as a jagged edge of hard plastic ripped into her thigh; now warm blood flowed into the cool interior.

She carefully worked her body downward, keeping as far away from the torn edges of the plastic as she could. Her feet hit the freezer door and she kicked it open. She kept sliding downward until she cleared the floor of the fridge unit and her head and torso were in the freezer compartment. Then her feet were out on the concrete floor and soon the rest of her was too.

She sat there for a minute, her head and lungs pounding and her stomach churning. Then she rose on shaky legs and looked around. She slipped out her precious knife and held it in a defensive position. She doubted whoever had stuck her in the death box was waiting around for the finale, because she’d made so much noise he would’ve come running to finish her off. Yet after her narrow escape she was leaving nothing to chance. After she saw the blood pooling on the floor she found a rag and made a crude bandage for her leg wound. Then she found her phone where it had been tossed, and called Roy. He was already on his way downtown because she’d never shown up at Altman’s.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he said after listening to her woozy account. “Call the cops right now.”

This time Mace did exactly what he told her to. Within three minutes two patrol officers had kicked open the door to the fourth floor calling out her name. Three more cops joined them a few seconds later. Two minutes after that Beth Perry came flying up the stairs. She walked directly over to her sister and wrapped her arms around her.

Mace felt the tears slide down her cheeks as she hugged her sister back, as hard as she could. It was like she was twelve years old again. She had been wrong. She still needed to be held sometimes. Not often, but sometimes. Just like everybody else.

Beth called out to her officers, “Is this floor secure?”

“Yes, Chief.”

“Then search the rest of the building. Leave a man posted to this door. I’ll stay with her. And call an ambulance.”

The men headed out.

Mace felt her legs start to give out. Beth seemed to sense this too and half carried her over to a plastic crate turned upside down and sat her down. She knelt in front of her, her gaze switching to the remains of the fridge and then back at Mace. The tears started trickling down Beth’s face as she gripped her sister’s hand.

“Damn it, Mace,” she said, her voice cracking.

“I know. I know. I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t see who did it?”

She shook her head. “Happened too fast.”

“We need to get you to a hospital.”

“I’m okay, Beth.”

“You’re getting checked out. You’ve got a knot the size of a golf ball on your head. And your right leg is covered in blood.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll go.”

“And on the ride over you’re going to tell me exactly what is going on.”

Moments later Roy came bursting through the door, the officer posted at the door tightly gripping his shoulder.

“Mace!” yelled Roy. He tried to rush to her but the cop held him back.

“It’s okay,” said Beth. “I know him.”

The man let Roy go and he sprinted across the room and put his arm around Mace. “Are you okay? Tell me you’re okay.”

Beth rose and took a step back.

“I’m all right, Roy,” said Mace.

“But we’re still taking her to the hospital,” said Beth. “And you can ride with us, Kingman. I know you’re up to your wingtips in this too. And I want to hear everything.”

She grabbed his shoulder and spun him around to stare at the trashed Amana.

“Too close, Kingman. Way too damn close.”

CHAPTER 100

AN HOUR LATER it was determined that Mace did not have a cracked skull.

“Your head must be extremely hard,” said the emergency room doctor.

“It is,” Beth and Roy said simultaneously.

Her leg stitched up, a bandage on her head, and a prescription for pain meds written, they left the hospital in the early morning hours. Roy and Mace had told Beth some of what had been going on during the ride over, but now she insisted on driving them back to Abe Altman’s so they could tell her the rest. Mace’s Ducati had been picked up by a police flatbed and also driven over to Altman’s.

In the guesthouse, they spent another hour bringing the police chief up to speed on their findings.

“We’ll get a BOLO out on Ned Armstrong right now,” said Beth, and she took a moment to make this call. After she’d relayed the order, she said, “He may have been the one who attacked you.”

“If so, I look forward to returning the favor,” said Mace as she lay on couch with a baggie of ice on her head.

Roy said, “He’s probably long gone by now.”

“How do you figure?” asked Beth.

“If he did put Mace in that fridge he probably hung around for a while to watch the building. He would have seen the police and Mace walking out alive.”

Beth shook her head. “We can’t take that chance. Ned is obviously not working this alone. So you two are getting round-the-clock protection.”

“I’ve got a case to try,” said Roy.

Mace sat up. “And I’ve got a fat asshole to catch, among lots of others.”

“You can leave that to the police now. You should’ve left it to us from the get-go.”

“Hey, I’ve done a lot of the heavy lifting already,” objected Mace.

“And what, you think I’m going to do an end run and take all the credit if we do break this thing?”

“Damn it, Beth, we had this talk. I’m going to keep working this.”

“Why don’t you start learning that the rules do apply to you?”

“I would, except they always seem to be stacked against me!”

“That’s just a pitiful excuse.”

“I need to do this, Beth,” Mace yelled, jumping off the couch. The baggie of ice slid to the floor. For a moment it looked like blows might be launched.

Roy stepped in between them, one hand on each of their shoulders.