Free Hostage Taker by Stefanie Pintoff Page A

garden. It was washed by the rain and nicely landscaped with teak furniture and a propane grill that probably was illegal. The renter must pay a pretty penny for so much green in an urban jungle, Haddox decided.
    He scrambled up the second brick wall and found himself on a roof that was exactly the same size with exactly the same view but a completely different approach. Nothing there but asphalt and a single lawn chair and a small telescope. Someone’s simple urban retreat, just sky and stars.
    He stole a glance down the street. The six guys had split up. Three were in front of Bridget’s building. They’d be checking the side alleys soon. Which meant three would be headed to the roof.
    The fire escape down was right there. Haddox thought he had time to make it—assuming he hurried.
    Haddox wasn’t entirely wrong. He set foot on the ground in plenty of time, splashing into a puddle. But he couldn’t escape the back alley where the fire escape had taken him. One of the six was pacing by its entrance. Smoking. Moving like he was waiting for instructions.
    Or company.
    Haddox wasn’t a fighter—not in a traditional sense. He’d weathered the occasional barroom brawl without too much damage, but he didn’t fancy his odds against the six large men who worked for Jimmy Malone. But against one guy, and with the element of surprise, he’d take his chances.
    He made his way down the alley toward the street. He knew he’d have to be quick. He’d have one hit only—because a long battle would invite company.
    Hit the guy once and take off running. That was the plan. He rehearsed it in his head.
    He moved to the mouth of the alley. Saw his opponent was about two hundred fifty pounds of muscle.
    Kept moving forward. Out of the alley, into the open.
    When he was right where he wanted to be, he said, “Got a light?”
    The man turned as expected—but he had no time to formulate a plan.
    Haddox jerked forward and kicked the guy full-on in the groin.
    The move folded him in half.
    Just for good measure, Haddox followed with an elbow full of torque to his head. That brought him down into a heap.
    Haddox took off running. Past the three Explorers, around the corner. Saw Bridget’s yellow Mini with the racing stripe. Right where she’d parked it last night.
    He pulled out a small device the size of a cellphone. Wet, but still working.
    He ducked into a second alley—and sent the wireless signal.
    Most new cars today were just computers on wheels. And Haddox was in possession of a device—made of parts costing less than twenty bucks—that allowed him to seize control of a car’s internal network. Last night, he’d used the Mini’s Bluetooth connection to install the malware while Bridget was driving them home.
    The small device connected to the car’s controller area network. Haddox sent the signal to unlock the doors. Then started the car. And made a run for it.
    He leaped over a puddle.
    Heard footsteps running behind him—but not gaining.
    He had just enough time to slide into the driver’s seat and start moving.
    In fact, he’d have had plenty of time—except for one problem.
    Bridget Malone’s car wasn’t empty.
    Jimmy Malone was already sitting in the passenger seat with a gun with a silencer pointing right at Haddox through the window, looking plenty pissed off. Haddox backed away from the car. Five thugs filed behind him, forming a tight arc. They looked equally unhappy.
    “Shite,” he said.
    “Shite indeed,” bellowed Jimmy Malone. He muscled his three-hundred-pound frame out of the tiny car. “Feckin’ piece of shite. You skip-tracing bastard low-life scum, taking advantage of my daughter. Using her to find me.” He came around the front of the car, spread his meaty hands wide. “Well, you found me, you bastard. Happy now?”
    Five thugs were closing the arc behind Haddox. He was out of options.
    Someone snapped his head back. Haddox felt his spine turn to jelly. This was not going to go well.
    He