Final Option

see Carl Savage. The sight of the figure in the stocking mask made me gasp. In the darkness I picked out a sweatshirt, black and hooded, and an arm raised, holding something that looked like a length of pipe, raised to strike. In an instant fueled by adrenaline I calculated that the odds were against flight— instinctively I understood that in the darkness of an unfamiliar place my attacker held the advantage. Instead, I dropped to the ground and rolled—propelling myself into his legs, grabbing for his ankles, hoping to gain something by surprise.
    He grunted as he hit the ground. I scrambled to my feet, grasping the handle of my briefcase with two hands and swung its hard frame with vengeance. It hit home with a sickening thud. I heard a muffled curse and the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. I hoped it was the pipe. I took my briefcase back for a second swing, hoping to land another blow before he got back up onto his feet. He caught it in mid-swing, and for a fraction of a second we stood there, breathing in each other’s faces, each hanging on to one end of my briefcase like two-year-olds fighting over the same toy.
    I ducked my head quickly and lunged into him, bringing the back of my head up fast and hard under his chin. I heard his jaw snap shut on impact, heard his startled exclamation of pain. His grip on the briefcase slackened for an instant. I yanked it away from him and made one last, ferocious swing at his head. I felt the satisfaction of impact before I turned and pelted toward the exit sign.
    Frantically, I stabbed at the elevator button, then whirled around, desperately searching for a fire door or other means of escape. I found a door in a dark corner, but it was locked tight. I hammered on it with my fists, weak with frustration at my predicament. I stepped back toward the elevator and flattened myself against the wall opposite the doors, hoping that if he came after me, he’d go to the elevator and I’d be able to ambush him from behind. I listened for footsteps over the sound of my own breathing, rough and loud. I knew that he’d be coming after me, once he’d caught his breath and found the pipe.
    My nerves were all over the place. Riding my body’s tide of adrenaline, I willed the elevator to come. I imagined its halting progress, stopping at every floor, and my stomach cramped with fear. Stress dragged the seconds into what seemed like an age. When I finally heard the high ding of the bell, I jumped. My heart pounded in my ears as I frantically searched the darkness for a sign of my attacker. In the light from the open elevator doors I would be visible and therefore vulnerable. My heart was in my mouth as the doors slid apart silently in an ever-expanding sliver of light. I took a deep breath and hurled myself into the brightness of the car, straight into the arms of an astonished Elliott Abelman.
     

CHAPTER 21
     
    I clung to Elliott as the elevator doors slid shut behind me, gasping for air and babbling. He pulled me close to his chest.
    “What’s the matter, Kate?” he demanded in surprise. “You’re bleeding!”
    I struggled for control of my breathing. My entire body was shaking as if I’d been suddenly plunged into icy water. I wanted to explain, but for the longest time no words would come out.
    The elevator deposited us on the ground floor, and Elliott led me out into the bustling lobby of the exchange. I let the reassurance of the workday crowd envelop me. My chest was pounding. Taking stock of myself, I realized that my skirt was tom, my stockings were in shreds, and my hair trailed wildly in places. I patted it gingerly. My head was sore where I’d butted my assailant, and my hair was damp with blood. Fortunately it wasn’t mine. Good, I remember thinking. I hope he bleeds to death.
    Elliott dragged me into a relatively quiet corner, an alcove for the Federal Express box. He took me by the shoulder, and slowly I managed a fragmented account of the attack. Once I’d convinced him that I was shaken but unhurt, he vanished to notify building security.
    “They’ve sent some men up to the seventh floor to look around,” reported Elliott, who’d only been gone a minute, “but I’m sure whoever it was is long gone by now.”
    “What are you doing here?” I finally managed to blurt.
    “I came to your office but I must have just missed you. The receptionist said you’d gone to a meeting. She was panicked because she gave you money for the cab there,