Death Trap by Dreda Say Mitchell Page B

she realise that he was wearing overalls and the pole in his hand was in fact a rake and he’d been running it over the stones. Not her target.
    Shit.
    She leaned over the prone man and shouted, ‘I’m a police officer, have you seen a man up here, running?’
    Only when the bewildered workman began refocusing his eyes did Rio realise what a hopeless question it was to ask. She set off in pursuit again. But then she stopped, doubled back and picked up the man’s rake, ‘I need to borrow this . . .’
    Rio began to prowl the roof, unclear where she was going. There were too many windows and doors butting onto the roof to plug. She went over to the edge again and looked down. Strong’s car was crawling on the service road below in a low gear. That’s when she heard it: a knock, like a blunted hammer. A second knock, then a third. Gripping the rake Rio rushed off in the direction of the noise.
    Bang. Bang. Bang.
    She turned a corner. The gunman was in plain sight.
    He was using the butt of his pistol to try to knock off a padlock on an access door.
    She raised her rake like an axe at the same time the padlock hit the roof floor. Rio charged as he wrenched the heavy door open. The sound of her feet on the gravel alerted him; he swung around in her direction. The rake swung towards him and caught him a glancing blow on his arm. He toppled backwards, banging his back against the open door, slamming it shut again. His gun spun a few yards away. Rio flung down the rake and raced over to where the gun lay, bent over to swipe it up.
    The sound of a gun’s hammer made her freeze.
    ‘Leave it . . .’
    Slowly Rio straightened up and turned around. The man had a second gun – a smaller one, but no less deadly. Rio knew she had made a mistake by not beating him unconscious when she’d had the chance.
    ‘Back off,’ he growled.
    Rio eased back as he moved forwards. She watched as he picked up the fallen gun. He waved it, indicating that she was to back off. He picked up the other weapon, did the same to the rake. Rio quickly swung her body into a defensive position, but he was already on her. The wooden pole struck her head. The force and pain made her fall to her knees. She tumbled sideways.
    Another blow had her crying out as she instinctively folded her body into the foetal position. Then she was moving and realised that the man was dragging her by the collar. Blackness started to swallow her vision.
    Don’t black out.
    Don’t black out.
    She fought it, head swimming, body bursting with pain. But the blackness wouldn’t go away.
    DON’T BLACK OUT.
    Rio forced her eyes wide.
    The rail at the edge of the roof was above her and a pair of light brown eyes that seemed to be floating in a sea of material that obscured the rest of the man’s features.
    In a demonic whisper he said, ‘You’re not afraid of flying are you?’
    What? Only when he grasped Rio under the shoulders did she understand; he was going to push her under the rail and over the edge, five floors down to her death.
    Desperately she tried to fight back, but her muscles refused to work. Her body was sliding closer. Closer . . .
    ‘Help!’
    A man’s screeching voice lit up the air.
    ‘Murder! Help!’
    Strong? No.
    Rio almost blacked out again.
    Her vision came back and Rio’s gut clenched wildly as all she saw above her was endless grey sky. The world was the wrong way around. Her neck hurt. Her breathing collapsed inside her as she realised that her head was hanging over the edge. All he’d have to do was one more push.
    ‘Murder! Murder! Murder!’
    No, it wasn’t Strong, but the workman. Rio never knew where she got the strength from but she raised a foot and kicked the gun in the shin. It pushed him back. She heard feet crunching in the gravel.
    ‘DI Wray? Rio?’
    Strong. Jack bloody Strong.
    ‘Looks like your flight has been cancelled,’ the gunman said somewhere above her.
    Then Rio heard a crunch on the stones, and the rusty hinges