It was rare and wonderful to hear Mallory's laugh, even if it was slightly evil, and Riker smiled as he followed the sound of her laughter through the door. Hennessey was right behind them when he met up with the immovable obstacle of Detective Janos.

Mallory's tan sedan took a corner and took his breath away. The car hung on two wheels for exactly four of Riker's heartbeats. Tonight, she had grudgingly used the siren and the portable turret light, thus giving civilian motorists fair warning before she climbed up their tails and scared them out of their minds.

"It was a great plan," she said. "Almost flawless."

Riker hefted the weight of the drill in one hand. "You know he'll be out on the street an hour after we book him." He watched the cityscape flying past the passenger window of Mallory's tan rocket.

"I promise you, we'll nail Zachary," she said. "But it was a good plan. The feds were always looking for some sick, twitchy law-and-order freak hiding in a dark room. But there he was, hiding right out in the open."

"And we'll never make a case against him. He'll never do any time for murder."

"We'll nail him cold."

"You mean – in the act, right? With Jo for bait."

"That was the doctor's plan," said Mallory.

Riker turned up the radio and Jo's voice saying, "Did I do the right thing? No, and I regret my errors every day. All those – "

Mallory reached out and turned down the volume. "What do you think she's doing? She's calling him out. He's rattled enough to go after her right now, but he won't. First, he'll want to set up an alibi. Maybe he'll try to use the feds to – "

The car stopped short of the curb, slinging Riker's body forward as his partner ripped open his suit jacket to expose the empty shoulder holster.

"Why aren't you wearing your gun?" She dug her nails into his arm. "Your gun, Riker! Where is it?"

And only now did he realize that Mallory, for all her crimes, was not the concerned thief who had made off with his weapon. "So you didn't pick the lock on my desk drawer?"

"Well, yeah, I did. But I didn't take your revolver."

His eyes closed as he recalled his lecture on the stopping power of a smaller caliber firearm than his own. "Aw, Jo. It had to be her. She's got my damn gun." He handed Mallory the drill. "She's planning to shoot that bastard, and she wants to do a proper job of it. You go. I'll wait here and cover the entrance."

Mallory had not expected that, not from him. Her hand froze on the door's handle and her eyes narrowed, so suspicious, unable to come up with any logical scenario where he would volunteer to remain behind, gun or no gun. Mallory did not trust him anymore, yet she opened the door. She had no choice but to leave him here. Upstairs in that building, there was a gun in play, and she was the only cop who knew about it. Time was precious; bullets traveled so fast. She broke off this conversation of the eyes and ran for the door.

When she had disappeared into the radio station, he slid into the driver's seat and put her car in gear. As he nosed it out into the street, he turned up the volume on the radio, confirming his suspicions. Words chopped off at the end of one segment were now repeated in the next, and this was the mark of an amateur at the switch. He watched the radio station recede in his rearview mirror.

At best, he could only count on ten minutes of lead time. It would not take long for Mallory to discover that she had been scammed. He headed the car toward the Chelsea Hotel, then glanced at the clock on the dashboard as he listened to Jo's prerecorded voice taunting a serial killer, calling him out for a showdown. There was no other way to read her intentions.

Calling for backup was not an option. Neither feds nor local cops would approve of Riker's plans for their material witness, Johanna Apollo. He intended to grab that woman, to rip his stolen revolver from her hands, then run with Jo to Mexico. No baggage, just her very life was all he wanted, all he needed. But first he must have his gun back so that no one would ever make it past him to get to her – not even Mallory.

Chapter 21

THE OUTNUMBERED FBI AGENTS HAD BEEN CONTAINED on the floor below, and Lieutenant Coffey stood outside the door to Ian Zachary's studio. He had lost his satisfied smile. According to Mallory, there was a lethal weapon in play, and the game plan had radically changed. The narrow corridor was crowded with police, and yet the only sound was the tap of Mallory's foot.

Special Crimes Unit had never used the lower ranks for cannon fodder, and so they waited for a uniformed officer to fetch two bulletproof vests, one for the lieutenant and one for his detective. With a wave of his hand, Jack Coffey motioned the remaining uniforms to move back down the hall. The metal studio door was thick enough to offer protection from a.45-caliber bullet, but the surrounding wall might not. Prescient Mallory had known that this arrest would not go down nicely. She had brought her own drill to the party, and she handled it like a gun. In her other hand was a wiring diagram of the electronic door lock.

Coffey stared at the power tool. "You're sure you can't electrocute yourself with that thing?"

"No electricity," she said. "The lock has its own circuit breaker." Her voice was testy. She obviously resented having to play this out by the book and respond to silly questions. "The body armor should have been here by now."

"Maybe we shouldn't bore out the studio lock." Ian Zachary's door could only be opened from an interior control panel. The doors to the booths had locks made to open with keys, but they had both been fused shut with a glue that had hardened to the temperance of steel. The studio door was Mallory's own preference for the first strike. The lieutenant was not yet convinced. "Zachary might not hear the drill if we go through one of these side doors. They've both got windows on the studio."

"And the glass is four inches thick, unbreakable." Mallory looked up from her reading to glance at the ruined lock on one of the flanking doors. "You know why those locks are glued shut. One of them doesn't want any witnesses – probably Dr. Apollo. We can't wait for the body armor."

"Lieutenant?" A uniformed officer was monitoring Zachary's show on a pocket radio. As he walked toward them, he removed his earpiece and turned up the volume on the noise of violent breakage. "It sounds like he's taking the place apart."

Without waiting on orders, Mallory put the drill to the lock, knowing that the sound would alert the people inside. Jack Coffey stayed her hand before she could power up the tool and give them away.

"Cover me," he said. "I'll drill the lock."

"It's my drill." She held it tightly in both hands.

The lieutenant could only stare at her. What a hell of a time for this silly kid stunt. However, it was her drill, her case – her show all the way. Jack Coffey removed his hand from the tool. Stepping back, he drew his gun, demoting himself to Mallory's backup, then waved the uniforms farther down the hall. "Okay, Mallory, nowl"

He had not expected so much noise. The loud squeal of metal grinding on metal made all his nerve endings stand at attention. Zachary and Dr. Apollo would know they were coming, but which of them would be holding the gun when the door opened? He trained his own gun on the door, ready to kill whoever pointed a weapon at Mallory. She was halfway through the lock, and a death might be only seconds away.

His detective looked up from her work, saying, "We'll never make a case if you shoot my corroborating witness."

"Mallory, later you can remind me to fire your ass." He turned to the sound of footfalls pounding down the hall at his back. Two uniformed officers came on the run. Instead of the requested flak jackets, they carried two large bulletproof shields.