Velocity (Karen Vail #3)(124)

She felt a surge of adrenaline as the wind rippled through her clothing.

“The brake is wrapped around you,” DeSantos said. “When you’re ready, move your right arm out to the side, a couple inches at a time, and that’ll release the brake.”

“Got it. Then I kick off, away from the Huey.”

“Yes, and then you’ll be in freefall. If you do it right, you’ll only brake once, about ten feet before you hit the ground. At about ten feet, pull the rope back toward you, into the top of your ass—the small of your back. That’ll bring you to a stop.”

Vail looked at the rope, at her hand, and then at DeSantos. “Check.” She glanced down again. Robby’s down there. Okay, let’s do it. I’m ready. She nodded.

“Remember, it’ll be a pretty fast descent. “We’re about seventy-five feet above the high-rise now.” He looked her square in the eyes. “You still with me?”

“I’m with you,” she said.

“What are you going to do once you’re down?” DeSantos asked.

“Unclip the carabiner from the rope.”

“Good. Expect some sway from the wind.” He set a hand on her shoulder. “Last chance to back out. No one will think any less of you.”

Vail narrowed her eyes. “Am I the kind of person who backs out of anything?”

DeSantos smiled. “Hell no. But in case all goes to shit, I had to know I tried.” He wiggled his fingers and Vail removed the headset and slipped on the helmet.

The pounding bleat of the rotors was intense without the noise-suppressing effect of the headphones. Vail gave him a thumbs-up. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but she could’ve sworn his lips mouthed, “Bombs away.”

He smiled and gave her a playful thump on the top of her helmet. Vail took a deep breath, flexed her gloved hands on the rope, then squatted into an L-shape. The downdraft was strong, slamming against the back of her neck like a persistent drumbeat.

With a gloved hand, Vail pushed down on top of the helmet to seat it, shifted her feet on the skids, then kicked away.

She slid down the rope—feeling the burn in her palms, despite the gloves—then moved her right hand back to slow her fall. But the cable swayed more than she’d thought it would, and she was concentrating on the trajectory of the windblown arc.

She started to brake but not fast enough.

The wind blew her past the edge of the roof, and she missed the building’s edge. Fuck! She yanked her arm behind her and braked, hard, now hanging in midair.

But that wasn’t the worst of it. She was now below the top of the tower, which shielded her from the wind. She swung back hard, and the last thing she saw as she hurtled through the air was the thick, black panes of the Vdara’s penthouse glass windows.



ROBBY KNELT ON THE FLOOR beside Diego Ortega’s body. His friend’s cell phone was open, to the left of his ankle. Robby was reaching out to snag it when suddenly something slammed into the living room window.

“What the hell—” Villarreal flinched and hit the floor as the image of a black-jacketed individual scraped across the glass, then disappeared from view.

“Federales!” Escobar said. He turned and headed out the door.

Robby, realizing he might never have another chance, lowered his shoulder and ran forward, ramming into Villarreal’s abdomen. Villarreal’s hip struck the bottom window sill and his neck snapped back violently, cracking his head against the glass. The expansive pane rattled but did not break.

The black figure again slammed against the window fifteen feet to their left, then disappeared into the darkness.

Villarreal, stunned and disoriented, clumsily threw a punch that connected with air. Robby kneed him hard in the groin then searched the writhing Villareal and the surrounding area for a handgun.

Moans from Villarreal.

Get out now, Robby.

No weapon—but he found Diego’s cell phone a few feet away. Robby scooped it up, then scrabbled over to Quintero to search his pockets for a handcuff key. He found one in the man’s jacket and, after a quick check of Villarreal—still in pain but fighting to get to his feet—Robby ran out of the condo’s open door before another of the man’s lieutenants appeared. Two or three mercenaries against an unarmed cop were worse odds than what he had now.

Down the hall, he pressed the elevator button, then went about removing the handcuffs. He had some difficulty, but slowed his efforts and finally freed his wrists.

He tossed the cuffs to the floor as the doors slid apart.



VAIL BOUNCED OFF, then slapped back against the windows, scraping along the surface when suddenly she was pulled up. Clar must’ve brought the Huey higher.

She spun in a dizzying twirl, holding on and hoping she did not slam against the building again. It didn’t feel good the first two times, it sure as hell would not feel any better a third.

Vail rose above the rooftop, then swung back over it. That was her cue—before the wind blew her away again. She brought her arm out slowly, lowered her body to the surface, then braked. Unhooked the carabiner and undid the cable. It retracted and the helicopter moved off, presumably to drop Dixon, Mann, and DeSantos onto the grounds somewhere below.

Vail found the roof exit and pulled open the metal door. Clanked down the stairs and came out on the fifty-seventh floor.