Mortal Faults

46

Tess and Crandall were checking out the crowded bistro down the street from the hotel, looking at every slender, dark-haired woman in the shadowy, buzzing hive, when Hauser’s voice came over their radios.

“LAPD’s responding to a nine-one-one from the Brayton. Some kind of disturbance, altercation between a man and a woman, and something about a gun.”

“Shit,” Crandall said.

Tess was already moving. She pushed her way out of the restaurant, nearly knocking over a waitress burdened by an overloaded tray, and then she was pounding down the sidewalk, Crandall not far behind.

Abby almost lunged for the gun, but instinct told her that if she did, Andrea would fire. At this range she couldn’t miss.

Instead she said quietly, “Andrea. No.”

Andrea held tight to the pistol and didn’t answer.

Across the lobby someone saw the gun and screamed.

Distantly Abby wondered where Andrea had gotten the gun. The revolver from the kitchen had been confiscated by the authorities.

“You’re not a killer,” Abby said in the tone she would have used to soothe a skittish animal. “You know that now.”

“I’m not.” Andrea’s words came through gritted teeth. “He is.”

Abby’s glance flicked to Reynolds. He stood unmoving, his face bare of expression. He wasn’t looking at the gun. His gaze was locked on Andrea’s face.

There was movement around the lobby, people ducking for cover, seeking exits or places to hide. If Reynolds had wanted anonymity in this meeting, he’d lost any hope of it now. He was on center stage, visible to everyone.

“I know what he is,” Abby said. “You don’t have to be like him.”

“Keep quiet, Abby.”

“Give me the gun.”

“ Keep quiet, I said! ”

Andrea shrieked the words, their echo volleying across the tiled floor. A child in a remote corner of the lobby started to cry.

Abby braced herself, expecting the violence of Andrea’s outburst to be punctuated by a blast from the gun. It didn’t happen.

“We’re leaving,” Andrea said, her voice lower, almost normal.

Abby nodded. “That’s a good idea. Let’s just go.”

“Not you and me. Me and him.”

Reynolds narrowed his eyes. “I’m not going with you.”

Andrea stepped forward and rammed the gun into the side of his neck, her face inches from his. “You are.”

Reynolds’ mouth worked slowly. “You goddamned crazy bitch.”

“If I’m crazy, you made me that way. Now walk.”

“Where?”

“Where’s your car?”

“Hotel garage. Level two.”

“To the elevator, then.”

“What about the money?”

“Leave it.”

“It’s fifty thousand dollars.”

“Leave it.”

He moved toward the elevators, Andrea staying close to him. Abby trailed behind.

“Go away, Abby,” Andrea said.

“This is a mistake.” Abby tried to find the right words. “You don’t need to do this. You can have justice now.”

“I don’t want justice. There is no justice. How could there be?”

“Then what’s the point of this?”

“He’s got to suffer.”

“We can do that to him. The law can do it.”

“Since when have you ever cared about the law?”

Abby had no answer to that.

They reached the elevator bank. The nearest doors parted as soon as Andrea pressed the Down button. The compartment was empty. She ushered Reynolds inside and pressed B-2.

Abby knew she ought to let them go. It might be suicide to follow. But the thing was, she’d always had this obstinate streak of responsibility. It would get her in trouble one of these days.

She stepped in before the doors closed.

Tess reached the hotel entrance and stopped running. The reflected sun gleamed off the glass doors, dazzling her. She squinted against the orange glare.

Whatever was going on inside, she had to enter the building the same way she would approach any other hostile environment. It had been years ago when she’d undergone her training in Hogan’s Alley, the fake town used by Bureau recruits at Quantico, but it came back to her now.

“I take the lead, you cover me,” she said to Crandall as he arrived at her side. His weapon was drawn and she was mildly surprised to find that hers was, too. “We clear the room in stages, staying close to the walls, never out in the open. Okay?”

“At least this time you’re not leaving me in the backyard,” Crandall said.

They went in together, moving fast across the tiled floor to a group of potted palms that offered cover. Tess scanned the lobby, saw people running here and there, clerks at the registration desk making frantic phone calls, security guards racing for the stairs.

This much activity wouldn’t be going on if an armed confrontation was still in progress. She stepped into view and grabbed the first person who came sprinting past, a bellman.

“Where’s the individual with the gun?”

“The woman? She took the guy into the elevator. They went down.”

“What’s below this level?”

“Parking garage. It’s two stories.”

“Was there one woman-or two?”

“Two. And the guy they took-someone said they recognized him from TV.”

“Who is he?”

“A congressman, they said. From around here, I think.”

Tess let him go.

“ Two women,” Crandall said.

She nodded. “Yes. Two.” She turned away. “Damn it, Abby. Damn it to hell.”

“I told you to go away,” Andrea said as the elevator descended.

Abby faced her. “I’m not leaving you.”

“You should. You don’t know what I might do. I might kill you, too. I might kill both of you, then myself.”

In the brassy lights of the elevator car, Reynolds’ skin was shiny with sweat.

“Why would you do that?” Abby asked.

“I don’t know why. Why does anybody do anything? Nothing happens for a reason. Nothing makes any sense.”

“You aren’t yourself, Andrea.”

“So who am I?” Andrea released a brief, disconcerting little laugh. “Tell me that, Abby. Who am I?”

The elevator doors opened on level two of the underground garage.

“Out,” Andrea said.

The order was unnecessary. Reynolds was already stepping out of the compartment, the gun still riding his neck.

Abby had several options. She could draw her gun from her purse, but if she did, Andrea would kill Reynolds, and Abby would have to kill or wound her. Or she could jump Andrea and wrest the gun away. She was a trained fighter, and Andrea was not. But the struggle would leave Reynolds unattended, and there was a chance he was armed, as well. If he was, he wouldn’t miss an opportunity to take out both women.

The remaining option was to talk Andrea down. It hadn’t worked so far, but it still seemed to be her best move.

“Why don’t you let me take it from here?” she asked softly.

Andrea didn’t answer. To Reynolds she said, “Which way is your car?”

“Over there. End of the line. The blue Mustang coupe.”

“Walk.”

Reynolds hesitated. “You’re not going to kill me.”

“I’m not?”

“If you were, you’d have done it by now.”

“You think so?”

“I know you. You can’t pull the trigger.” He studied her and nodded. “You won’t.”

Andrea snapped her arm down and fired once into Reynolds’ thigh.

Reynolds didn’t scream. He merely dropped to a kneeling position, his pants leg blooming with a maroon flower of blood.

Andrea pivoted, faster than Abby could have expected, and pointed the gun at her. “Don’t try to stop me.”

Abby slowly released her hand from the clasp of her purse.

“I’ll kill you both,” Andrea said. “I’ll kill anybody. I swear I will. A person can only take so much.” She swung the gun toward Reynolds again. “Get up.”

“You shot me,” Reynolds said, as if this were new information.

“Get up!”

He struggled to his feet. His pants leg clung to his skin, some of the material actually blown inward by the gunshot, glued to the wound.

“Walk to your car.”

With pain, Reynolds obeyed. Abby started to follow. Andrea waved her off with the pistol.

“No farther.”

“I can’t let you go,” Abby said.

“You don’t have a choice.”

“Andrea-”

“You’re not part of this, Abby. You never were. It’s me and him. That’s all it’s ever been.” Andrea’s voice hardened. “If you follow, I’ll shoot you.”

Abby stayed where she was. She watched as Reynolds led Andrea to the Mustang.

“Keys,” Andrea said.

“They’re in my side pocket.”

“Just get them.”

He reached into his pocket, fumbled briefly, and produced a key ring.

“Open the passenger door and get in. Then slide over. You’re driving. I’m sitting next to you.”

“I’m losing blood. I might pass out at the wheel.”

“If you do, we’ll both die. We’re probably going to die together, anyway. Isn’t that the way it should be, Jack?”

Reynolds looked back at Abby, yards away, his glance a silent plea.

Abby shook her head. She couldn’t help him. Andrea was in control of this situation. Andrea, who had been in control of nothing in her life for the past twenty years.

Reynolds slipped into the car, groaning as he maneuvered into the driver’s seat. Andrea slid in beside him, shutting the door.

The headlights and engine came on, and the Mustang backed out of its slot and sped away.