Last Breath

58

“You can survive this, Adam.”

“Sure I can.”

Her words and his, two voices floating in the dark.

“They’ll negotiate,” she said. “That’s why Walsh called you. They want to talk.”

“Talk me into surrendering-so I can spend the rest of my life in jail.”

“They can work something out. A deal.”

“Bullshit. He said he and his friends were outside. Tell me what that means, C.J. You’re a cop. What’s standard procedure here?”

“Standard procedure is to negotiate-”

“And if I won’t cooperate?”

“They’ll be patient. They won’t force anything.”

“Suppose I force something.”

“What do you mean?”

“A gunshot-that would get their attention, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“They hear a shot fired, they come in, right?”

“Yes.”

“How? Who are they?”

She swallowed. “SWAT, probably.”

She was thinking of another warehouse, another hostage situation. Harbor Division. Long Beach. Family killed in the cross fire. Mother, father, two kids, all dead. Casualties of urban war. The first civilian deaths she’d seen on the job. Now she might die the same way, killed by friendly fire.

“SWAT team’s outside?” Adam said, his voice ragged.

“I think so.”

His phone buzzed again. He ignored it. “How many cops would that be?”

“Five or seven, depending.”

“Depending on what?”

“Whether a sniper team’s attached.”

“Sniper team. Jesus. How will they get in? The window?”

“Or the doors.”

“Doors are padlocked.”

“They can breach the doors with Magnum slugs.”

“And they come in wearing body armor, helmets, all that crap?”

“All that crap. Yes.”

“Submachine guns?”

“Yes.”

“Grenades?”

“Flash-bangs. Diversion devices. Tear gas.”

“Fuck.”

The phone was still ringing. “You have to negotiate, Adam.”

“I don’t have to do any goddamned thing. Shut up.”

She could smell the reek of his sweat.

“So there’s no way I can outgun them,” he said finally.

It was not a question, but she answered it anyway. “No.”

“It’s surrender or die.”

“I guess it is.”

“Christ.” His voice broke, and she heard a stifled sob. “It was supposed to work out better than this.”

“Things don’t always work out the way we want.”

“You’re telling me, bitch. Our marriage is exhibit number one in that department.”

“It’s not worth dying for,” she said quietly, unsure whether she meant the marriage or its failure or the rage he carried with him.

“I don’t know.” Another sob, then a noise like laughter. “I thought it was worth killing for, didn’t I? Kill and die, two sides of the coin. Kill and die…”

The phone stopped ringing.

“Sounds like they’re not as patient as you thought,” Adam said.

“They’ll try again. Or they’ll use a bullhorn. They won’t do anything rash.”

“No? You told me at the coffee shop that a SWAT raid can turn into a bloodbath. That’s your word, C.J. Bloodbath. That’s why you went in to save that kid all alone. Didn’t want a bloodbath, you said.”

“I was just… talking.”

“Sure you were. So how about it, darling? How about a bloodbath right now?”

“Adam, no-”

She tasted metal.

The gun barrel, in her mouth.

“Suck hard, bitch. You’re good at that. I remember.”

She grabbed his arm, trying to push him away, but he only forced the gun in deeper.

“Don’t fight it. It’s over-for both of us. You go bang. Then your friends swarm in and take me out. Suicide by cop-isn’t that what it’s called? Appropriate, huh?”

She held on to his arm, waiting for the shot she would never feel.

“It’s come full circle. You wearing a uniform is what killed our marriage. Now some other uniforms get to kill me.”

She felt the muscles of his forearm tighten, knew he was applying pressure to the trigger.

“Good-bye, C.J.,” Adam whispered.

Gunshot.

Her head snapped back, thumping on the concrete floor.

Blood in her mouth. Bitter taste. Copper pennies.

He’d shot her-blown off the back of her skull-so why was she alive?

More blood. On her face, in her eyes. Blood everywhere, and the alarm again, shrieking Not the alarm.

Adam.

She was still holding his arm, and she felt wetness coating her hands and realized the gun was not in her mouth any longer, and not in his hand either.

His hand, which flapped limply on a stalk of pulverized bone. His hand shattered at the wrist and spurting blood.

From across the room, a booming fusillade. Parts of the walls fell away as dark figures streamed through.

Adam screaming.

Blood.

Hands on her face, her throat-“No!” she shouted, sure the hands were Adam’s. “Get off me, get off!”

“It’s okay, Killer.” A familiar voice in her ear. “You’re okay.”

Lights came on. The drifting beams of flashlights. Men in flak jackets toting rifles. They seized Adam and wrestled him away as his screams subsided into hiccupping sobs.

Beside her, kneeling, Rick Tanner. Touching her face.

“His blood or yours?” Tanner asked.

She read concern in his eyes as he peered down at her, lit by his own flashlight. Concern and something more. Tenderness.

“C.J.-is it his blood or yours?”

The question got through this time. “His. I think.”

The SWAT team members were bandaging Adam’s wrist, ordering him to hold still, while he whimpered in pain.

“What happened?” C.J. asked, sitting up slowly.

“I had to take the shot. Wasn’t supposed to, but he didn’t leave me any choice.”

“Talk slower. Explain.”

“We landed a chopper right outside-the alarm covered the sound of our arrival. Once we were on the ground, we killed the power to the alarm so we could negotiate. We were ready to talk all night. But when I took up my position in the alley, I heard him threatening you. Got to the window in time to see him put the gun in your mouth.”

“Saw him how? It’s pitch-dark.”

He pulled down goggles, covering his eyes. “Night vision. Swiped it out of the SWAT squad’s gear when we deplaned.”

She saw herself reflected in the lenses. “It looks good on you. Better than those sunglasses of yours.”

He raised the goggles. “Shades are more my style. Anyway, I didn’t want to risk the shot from that distance, so I came inside and got close.”

“Contrary to procedure…”

“Yeah, well, I got news for you, Killer. You’re not the only one who can climb through a window in a hostage-barricade situation to face a crazy man with a gun.”

She had to smile. “Never said I was.”

“Anyhow, I was only five feet away when I unloaded. Blew the gun out of his hand. Was afraid if I went for a head shot, he might squeeze the trigger in a death spasm.”

“You could have called for an invasive entry.”

“Then he would have killed you for sure. Besides, you know what they say about those SWAT raids. They have a way of going wrong sometimes.”

“So I’ve heard,” C.J. said, and she squeezed his hand.

“Now come on. Let’s get you to a hospital.”

“I’m okay.”

“Like hell you are. You’re getting a complete physical, Killer.”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“Tonight it seems appropriate.” He glanced at Adam and smiled. “You took Mr. Nolan for an E-ticket ride.”

She couldn’t argue.

Adam had been subdued now. He lay on his back, hands cuffed over his stomach, a wad of bandages on his wrist. The bandages were already soaking through with blood.

“We need to evac this asshole right now,” one of the SWAT guys was saying. “He’s got a spurting wound. We wait too long, he’ll bleed out.”

“Load him up,” another man ordered.

Tanner led her past Adam, who gazed up at her from the floor. She expected to see hatred in his gaze, but there was only exhaustion.

“You’ve got to admit,” he whispered, “it was one hell of a last dance.”

She just looked at him. “Try not to die, Adam.”

“Why? You thinking we could get back together?” At least he said it with a smile.

“I’m thinking,” she answered, “how much I’ll enjoy testifying against you.”

He laughed. A bubble of blood leaked out of his broken nose.

“You really are a bitch, C.J.” He shut his eyes, still laughing silently. “God damn, I wish I’d killed you.”

“Better luck next time,” she said, walking away.

Tanner whistled. “That’s what I call a love-hate relationship.”

“Heavy on the hate.”

“But it was love once?”

“I don’t know what it was.”

“What’d he mean by that crack about the dance?”

“Nothing. Never mind.” She glanced at Tanner. “You happen to like Emmylou Harris?”

Tanner took a moment to reply. “I can pretend to.”

“Good enough. Friday night, a club in the Valley? Chicken wings and beer?”

“Sounds good, Killer.” He held up a hand before she could protest. “C.J., I mean. See how fast I learn?”

She thought about Adam, her three years wasted with him, and the year of loneliness since. “Faster than I do, I hope.”

Then they were outside, under the bright stars and the setting moon, and a rumpled man in a rumpled jacket was reaching out to take her arm. “Officer Osborn, I’m Detective Walsh.”

She recognized his voice. “You interviewed Adam.”

“Not my finest hour. He snowed me.”

“He’s good at that. Got me to marry him.”

“At least I didn’t go that far.”

The SWAT team moved past, carrying Adam on a gurney. They put him aboard the big chopper that sat not far from the warehouse, its rotor blades glinting like the wings of some fantastic insect.

“How’d you find me?” C.J. asked. “Where is this place?”

“Foothills near San Dimas. As for how we got here-you know the old joke that goes, ‘We’re from the federal government, and we’re here to help you’?”

“Yes?”

“This time it was no joke.” Walsh turned serious. “Listen, I hate to tell you this, but your problems aren’t over. There’s someone else who may be after you.”

“The Hourglass Killer,” C.J. said.

“You know?”

“I know. God, I have the worst luck with men.”

Walsh smiled, but there was no humor in his voice. “This wasn’t luck. He selected you deliberately. There seems to be a history.”

C.J. stopped.

“What?” she breathed.

“Did something happen to you as a child? Were you ever threatened, menaced? Because this man…” Walsh let his words trail off, and C.J. knew he could read the answer in her face.

“The boogeyman,” she whispered so softly that only Tanner, standing beside her, could hear.

“What was that?” Walsh asked.

She shook her head. “How close are you to nabbing him?”

“We were close,” Walsh began, “but-”

“He outmaneuvered us.” Tanner picked up the thought. “It was my operation, C.J. I let him slip away. I’m sorry.”

She was barely listening. Part of her was in the crawl space of her parents’ ranch house, gripping a kitchen knife while a stranger’s tread vibrated through the floorboards.

“This isn’t the time for pointing fingers,” Walsh said. “Bottom line is, he’s been killing for years-decades. He has some kind of fixation on you. And as Deputy Tanner indicated, he’s still at large.”

C.J. hugged herself against a chill, but when she spoke, there was no tremor in her voice.

“Not for long.”