Little Girl Gone (An Afton Tangler Thriller #1)(52)

Sponger heard her call out. He half turned, flapped his arms, and promptly fell down.

Afton renewed her efforts. “Stop!” she cried. “Minneapolis Police!”

Sponger struggled to his feet and headed directly for one of the old bridges that arched over the trail. When he disappeared into the shadows, Afton slowed her pace. She pulled out her cell phone and punched in Max’s number.

“Where are you?” His voice was urgent, angry.

“Down on that Midtown Greenway trail,” she told him. “Sponger just went under the Fremont Street bridge.” She fought to catch her breath. “I’ve been chasing him.”

“Keep an eye out,” Max said. “But do not try to apprehend him. SWAT’s on its way.”

“Hope so,” Afton murmured as she clicked off. She continued to walk slowly toward the bridge, shivering a little now. Her shot of adrenaline had worn off and the jitters had taken over. She stopped just short of the bridge and peered in, hoping to catch sight of him.

Damn, she couldn’t see Sponger lurking anywhere in the shadows. She crept under the bridge, where it was dark and the cold seemed even more brutal. Had he found a hidey-hole up among the stones and network of wrought iron? Or had he clambered all the way to the top of the embankment and found a sneaky way out of this old corridor?

Afton was debating what to do when she heard a low hiss, like an angry alligator. She spun around just in time to see Sponger pop out from behind a jagged hunk of stone.

“What do you want, girl?” Sponger snarled.

There was murder in his eye, and a hunting knife clutched in his right hand.

Afton felt her guts tighten. She backed away from him. “Take it easy. I’m not here to hurt you.”

Sponger turned the blade sideways and said, “I hurt you.”

Afton turned on her heels and ran. Without hesitation, she scrambled up the steep stone abutment that reinforced the old bridge. The stones were slippery and icy, but she moved carefully, knowing any misstep could cost her.

Hurry, hurry! Her brain beat out an urgent mantra as she heard him panting and scuttling noisily behind her.

When Afton was at the very top of the abutment, tucked way under the span of the bridge, she twisted around. Sponger was some twenty feet below her, doing his best to climb after her, but picking his way tentatively. Like some kind of crazy-ass pirate, he held his knife in his mouth as he clung to stones with his bare hands, pulling himself up, struggling and grunting to find basic toeholds.

Overhead, traffic rumbled on the bridge. Down here there was nobody around.

And Afton had no weapon.

Fear welled up inside her as she searched for something . . . anything to defend herself with. Her eyes caught sight of a narrow piece of rusted metal just above her. It was a bent piece of the bridge’s framework that stuck out about three feet.

Could she grab it in time? Could she even work it free?

Afton sidestepped her way across the narrow stone platform and grasped hold of the metal bar. One end was still loosely riveted to the struts of the old bridge. She jerked at the metal bar and pulled hard. Nothing doing. She glanced down and saw that Sponger was getting closer. She didn’t have much time. She could ditch out of here, try to slide down, and then make a run for it. Or she could stay here and make her stand.

Grasping the metal bar with both hands, she wiggled and seesawed it back and forth. It remained attached with only one loose weld. If she could just pop it free . . .

Sponger moved closer, growling, scrabbling upward, as Afton worked frantically. She had one eye on the metal bar that was bending much freer in her hands now. But Sponger had stuck a tentative foot on the cement shelf and was moving toward her, crab-stepping like a demonic circus performer in some high-wire act.

Metal flakes flew into her eyes as Afton gave the hunk of rusted metal one last tug. And it suddenly came loose!

Like Buster Posey swinging at a fastball, Afton whipped the metal bar at Sponger’s head. And connected hard. Hit him dead center in the forehead.

Thwock!

There was the sickening sound of ripping flesh, a light spray of blood, and then Sponger let loose a high-pitched scream as the knife flew out of his mouth and his eyes rolled back in his head. He dropped to his knees, managed a clumsy half twist, and then lost it completely. His fingernails fought for purchase, but it was too late. He went sliding down the bridge embankment on his belly, his chin bumping every rocky protrusion along the way. Thin, reedy cries shattered the silence. His knife clinked and clattered its way down the ragged stones alongside him. Then Sponger hit bottom and cartwheeled to a stop.

That’s when the cavalry finally showed up. The SWAT team was suddenly there in full force, garbed in black, wearing protective armor. They scrambled all over Sponger. They hoisted him up, shook him like a rag doll, and then forced him to his knees. One officer wrenched his hands behind his back, another bent over and picked up the knife.

“You okay up there?” one of the SWAT guys called to Afton.

She was crouched on her heels, trying to still her quaking heart and quiet her breathing. Yeah, she thought she was okay. But talk about your on-the-job training.

“I’m fine,” Afton called out. “I’m coming down.” She dropped into a crouch, lifted her heels, and bumped her way down on her backside.

Then Max was there, angry and apologetic all at once. “I had no idea,” he sputtered. “We should have gone in full force.”