Mortal Pursuit

43

In the aftermath, a surreal stillness.

Tyler sat on his haunches on the grass, breathing hard, listening to the night. Somewhere in the distance a coyote bayed, the weird ululant cries like the wail of a ghost. An Arizona sound, stirring childhood memories that left him feeling briefly lost and old.

“God damn.” That was Gage, kneeling beside him. The kid’s mouth hung open, his jaw loose-hinged as a puppet’s.

Flakes of stucco began dropping off the side wall onto the grass. The exterior door listed, then fell with a thump.

Clap of gloved hands. Cain’s voice, brusquely businesslike: “That’s all she wrote.”

The four of them stood slowly. Tyler glanced at Lilith. Her lips wore a cold sheen; her eyes were dazed with pleasure. He wouldn’t be surprised if she’d had herself an orgasm-a little bang to complement the big one.

The police radio at her hip squawked madly as the dispatcher named Lou reported a burst of 911 calls. People in the foothills were phoning in news of a loud noise and a sharp jolt.

“Damn,” Gage muttered, addressing everyone and no one. “The cops’ll be on us now.”

“No, they won’t.” Cain shrugged. “Listen to what’s coming in.”

Lou was reading off the calls’ points of origin. “Dodson Lane … Hibiscus Terrace … East Pinewood Drive …”

“That covers a ten-mile radius,” Cain said with satisfaction. “It’ll take our friends in blue all night to pinpoint the source, if they ever do. Now let’s move.”

Gage obeyed, voicing no more objections.

On the doorstep Cain paused, coughing as curls of gray smoke scarfed his face. “Better put on your masks,” he said, plucking his own from his back pocket. “You’ll breathe easier.”

Tyler obeyed, donning his black ski mask, then followed Cain inside.

Just across the threshold, Tyler aimed the nozzle of his dry-chemical canister at the fuming remains of the cellar door, scattered on the floor like so much driftwood. Through his boots’ heavy soles he could feel the heat of the floor tiles, buckled and cracked, peeling back in scorched flaps.

“Shut off the extinguisher,” Lilith said abruptly.

“Hey, I’m just doing my-“

“Shut it off.”

Grudgingly he silenced the hiss of aerosolized powder, then turned to Lilith. She was frozen in a pose of listening, the police radio in her hand.

“Eight-one. Four-Adam-eight-one … you guys still code seven We need all available units…. Come in, four-Adam-eight-one …”

Cain swore. “Tremor probably set off every burglar alarm in town. Cops are running out of warm bodies to answer the calls.”

“What do we do” Lilith asked.

The gray eyes in the mask’s slits favored her with a cool stare. “You respond … Officer Robinson. I’ll tell you what to say. In the meantime-Tyler, Gage, make sure the closet’s secure. The prisoners will be going crazy. Try to quiet them down.”

With a nod, Tyler moved off, Gage at his back.

Quickly they made their way through the kitchen, circling around the fallen refrigerator and the strewn contents of the cabinets. Cain’s black duffel lay on the floor, flaps open, gear spilling out like drool from a panting mouth.

Remarkably little smoke in here. Most of it had already exited via the side doorway, fanned by the breeze from the kitchen window.

They cut through the dining area into the hall of the east wing. It had been lit by fluorescent panels, but the tubes had shattered, and the hallway was dark.

This part of the house lay directly above the main force of the blast. Damage was extensive. Horizontal cracks ran like jagged graphs through the walls. The doorway of Ally’s bedroom had collapsed, the lintel fallen, studs leaning drunkenly.

In the master suite, both bedside lamps had broken. The only illumination was a spill of light from the bathroom, where twin sconces over the sink remained intact. The furnishings had been tossed like laundry in a spin cycle, but there was a clear path to the closet.

Tyler and Gage crossed the suite. On the floor a telephone, jostled off the hook when a nightstand toppled, was shrieking like a wounded thing. Impatiently Gage ripped loose the handset and pitched it into a corner.

“Is somebody there” Philip Danforth’s voice, edgy with panic.

Tyler reached the closet, checked the hinges. “Yeah, it’s okay, it’s okay.” He used the same tone of reassurance that had worked on Gage when the kid was losing control.

The technique was less effective this time. “What the hell happened” Philip yelled.

“Just a minor accident.”

Judy Danforth spoke up. “You mean it wasn’t a quake”

Quake. Too bad he hadn’t thought of that. “No, but it sure did feel like one, huh Some explosive charges of ours went off by mistake, is all.”

“Went off by mistake” Philip again. “Listen, we heard gunshots earlier. Now a bomb. What in God’s name is going on”

“Gunshots You must’ve imagined that.” The closet doorframe had been slightly warped, but the hinges were still intact, the padlock and chain undamaged. “Things have been real quiet here, except for this little incident.”

“Where’s Ally” The feverish cry was Barbara Kent’s. The closet doors thumped with hammering fists.

“Don’t fret, ma’am, your daughter’s fine.” He glanced at Gage, now at his side. “Chopped fine,” he whispered through the mask.

The kid giggled.

“Where is she Bring her here, let me see her, please, let me talk to her!”

Tyler figured a Ouija board would be necessary for that conversation. “We’ll, uh, collect her shortly.”

Collect. That was rich.

The woman’s screams and pleas continued unacknowledged as Tyler and Gage left the suite.

“Four-Adam-eight-one, come in. Eight-one …”

Cain listened to the crackling radio in the twilight dimness of the living room. He had moved in here with Lilith so they could escape the smoke and lift their masks.

“Ready” he asked tensely.

She answered in Trish Robinson’s voice. “That’s a roger.”

The mimicry was excellent.

Cain thumbed the transmit button and held the radio close to her face.

“Eight-one,” Lilith said, reciting the words he’d taught her. “Go.”

“Hey, eight-one”-Lou’s raspy voice was sweetened by relief-“it sure took long enough to raise you.”

Like trying to raise the dead, Cain thought.

“Sorry for the delay.” Lilith spoke briskly, her lisp gone. “We were code seven. Grabbing some chow.”

“Yeah, well, I kind of let that code seven slide. It’s been an hour.” Irritation was replacing relief. “Look, what’s your location”

“Hospers Road, west of the highway.” He’d told her to say that. There was a strip of fast-food franchises out that way, a likely place for two cops to scarf down a meal.

“Okay,” Lou said, “we got a ten-thirty-three at the Cracker Barrel on Johnson.” A ringing alarm, just as Cain had thought. “You back in service or what”

“Ten-four, we’ll take it.”

Lou signed off. “Twenty-one twenty-five.”

Cain lowered the radio, and Lilith gulped a breath.

“Think she bought the story” Her lisp had returned.

“Hell, yes.”

“How long before they figure it out”

“I’d guess at least twenty minutes before they realize the unit’s disappeared. After that, a half hour or more until they think of sending a car here.”

“That should be long enough. But … but I was okay I sounded like her”

“You were perfect.” He kissed her lightly on the mouth. “You were her.”

A shy smile. “I can talk like Trish anytime.”

“Even in bed”

“Sure.” She twirled her finger lazily against his neck. “Too bad we don’t have time to do it right now.”

“Sorry. Got to save myself for Mrs. Kent.”

“You bastard.”

But she shivered with a thrill of expectation, and he understood that she looked forward to having him inside her after he’d taken Barbara Kent-as if Barbara’s death would linger on him and excite her with its residue.

He knew her mind so well. And he did love her. Though occasionally he toyed with sweet things like Ally, they were of no lasting significance. He and Lilith were soul mates. Or perhaps, he sometimes thought, it was nearer to the truth to say they had no souls.

The idea did not displease him. A soul was a conscience, and conscience was weakness. He and Lilith were predators, sleek as sharks, primitive and deadly. Her lisp and her round angelic face were the camouflage that hid her gleaming fangs.

“Come on.” He clapped his hands. “We need to see the bodies.”

“And then … Barbara Kent”

Lilith stared up at him, a child anxious for the arrival of Santa Claus, terrified the magic sleigh would miss one special roof.

“Then Barbara,” Cain promised. “She’ll be joining her little girl real soon.”