Stevie began to cry, and when he did, he moved just enough to make everyone gasp in fear.
“I need you to hold absolutely still,” Gizzy said to the boy. “Can you do that?”
The boy gave a nod, but he was beginning to shake.
Gizzy changed tactics. “Isn’t this fun?” Her voice was happy, full of adventure. “I love walking on roofs. But I guess you do too or you wouldn’t be sitting on the edge.”
The child stared at her in surprise—and his trembling slowed down.
“When I was your age I climbed on every roof there was. I scared my mother a lot.” Gizzy stopped as half a dozen tiles tumbled to the ground and loudly smashed into pieces. Through the ensuing noise, she kept her eyes on the boy and never lost her reassuring smile. When it was calm again, she held up the harness the men had made.
“Stevie, I’m going to slip this around you so the men in the window can pull us inside. How does that sound?”
The child nodded. There were tears glistening in his eyes, but he seemed stronger, more determined.
“I just need for you to sit very, very still. Don’t move your arms or your legs. Okay?”
Again he nodded as Gizzy slowly slipped the rope over his head and down to his waist. It was harder to get the bungee cord between his legs and fasten it. Twice Gizzy had to wait for falling tiles to settle. When the old gutter broke off and crashed to the ground, the gasp of the onlookers made the child throw his arms around her.
The unexpected weight almost made Gizzy lose her footing, but she balanced and managed to sit down.
—
Below them in the crowd were Mr. and Mrs. Johnson from Tucson, Arizona. They were one of the few remaining retired couples who could afford to spend their summers driving around in a gas-guzzling RV. Mrs. Johnson liked estate sales and had an eye for a bargain. She shipped lovely things back home to her sister, who sold them in her antiques shop. Mr. Johnson’s passion was photography, and the RV was fitted with deep drawers full of equipment. Right now he had his new Nikon Df equipped with a 200- to 400-mm lens, and he was recording the rescue. It was his wife who’d identified Tate Landers, while he loved Jack Worth’s movies. The Df didn’t have video, but it did contain a very fast 256GB memory card. Mr. Johnson put the camera on continuous shots and kept snapping.
—
Gizzy’s grip was strong, and she was able to hold on to the sturdy little boy and stand up.
Now that Stevie was with Gizzy, Jack began talking to her, his voice encouraging. “Just a few more steps, baby. I’m right here.” He was steadily pulling on the rope, taking up the slack as she came forward.
She was almost to the window when the tiles under her feet flew out from under her. Gizzy and the boy went down. Her arms stayed around him and she made no attempt to catch herself. She had absolute faith that Jack would hold her—and he did.
Tate grabbed the rope behind Jack and helped hold the weight of Gizzy and the boy.
Immediately, Casey saw what needed to be done. It was going to be impossible to pull Gizzy in with only the rope without removing a lot of her skin. The tiles were so loose that she’d never get a foothold. Casey ran to the door and shouted down the stairs for the deputy to come up: “We need you.” The big man was there in seconds, and he relieved Tate at his end of the rope.
Casey looked at him. They both knew what she had to do, and his eyes asked if she was willing. She nodded.
She pulled off her tennis shoes, then went to the open window, Tate behind her.
“I won’t let you fall. You know that, don’t you?”
“Just stop the electricity. For right now, don’t be a movie star in hiding.”
In an instant, Tate pulled off the cap, unfastened his hair, and tossed the mustache into a corner. “Better?”
“Yes,” she said as she climbed into the window, then put her hands down onto the roof. She was going out headfirst. Tate clasped her waist, and as she inched onto the roof, he slowly worked his way down her body to her knees.
“Somebody’s been working out,” he said.
Casey was looking at Gizzy, who was hanging by a rope around her waist, a heavy, frightened toddler clinging to her. “Can you believe that he’s flirting with me?”
“Yeah. He likes you.”
The sisters smiled, trying to reassure each other. Yes, Gizzy was a daredevil and seemed to be fearless, but Casey saw the worry in her eyes. The rope was around Gizzy’s waist and cutting into her with the pressure. She was bleeding in a dozen places and must have been in pain. It was clear that the boy was holding on so tightly that Gizzy could hardly breathe—but then, she was holding him just as tightly.
When Casey held out her hands, Gizzy clasped them hard, hands to wrists. “You ready?”