“No shit,” Paul said. “Mitch? Are you—”
“Get me outta here.” Mitch reached up, touched his fingers to the bare bone of his skull. He stared at Lena. She couldn’t read his expression. Either he was terrified or impressed. She still wasn’t sure when he told her, “You gotta fuckin’ death wish.”
“Come on.” Paul folded Mitch’s scalp back into place like it was a piece of cloth. “Can you stand up?”
Mitch tried, but Paul did most of the lifting, telling Lena, “Branson’s five minutes out.”
Lena felt something tickle her neck. She put her fingers to the spot and rubbed away the grit of Sid Waller’s brain. Flashlight beams came from the other end of the basement. Lena guessed most of the team had come down the stairs when they heard the gunshot.
She shouted, “Jesus Christ, get out of here! Why do I have to keep reminding everybody that this is an active crime scene?”
There were grumbles of protest, but no one challenged the order.
Paul told her, “IA is gonna be all over this.”
Lena didn’t answer. She was no stranger to Internal Affairs.
“I’ll talk to Keith, make sure he’s on board.” Paul looped Mitch’s arm around his shoulders. He asked Lena, “You got your story straight?”
“Just get Mitch upstairs.”
Paul practically lifted Mitch’s feet off the ground as they staggered toward the basement stairs. The climb was cumbersome, but a couple of men had obviously disobeyed Lena’s orders and stuck around to help Paul carry Mitch out. She heard them walk clumsily through the kitchen, then they were finally gone.
The house was silent. The wood creaked and flexed as the temperature started to change. The sun was coming up fast. There was a hint of white light seeping around the edges of the boarded-up windows.
All of Lena’s energy had drained. Her vision was still hazy. The room felt off-kilter. A sense of separateness took hold. The aloneness turned lonely. She wanted Jared. She wanted him to rush into the room and put his arms around her. If she thought about it hard enough, she could almost feel his hands rubbing her back, hear his calming voice in her ear.
Lena wiped away tears. Why did she ache for Jared so much when he wasn’t there, yet every time he was standing in front of her, all she could think about was how much she wanted him to leave?
She looked down. Her hand had gone to her stomach again. Her palm flat to her belly.
Lena shook her head, tried to make herself focus because Paul was right about one thing: the minute Branson got down here, she’d want a clear story. Three men had been murdered in the night while the cops were sitting in a surveillance truck less than five hundred yards away. Keith was probably still shitting himself from having a gun jammed into his neck. Mitch had almost been scalped. Sid Waller was dead by his own hand.
What could Lena say? That part of her had been hoping Sid Waller would kill her? That just about everybody in Lena’s life would be better off if he had?
No. She would tell Branson that she had followed her training. You didn’t leave a hostage with a madman. You didn’t let them go to a second location. You took your shot when you could.
Or, you let the bad guy take his shot.
She turned her flashlight on Sid Waller. His mouth was open. She could see the titanium cap on his front tooth. There was a skull and crossbones etched into it. Lena had seen it enough times during interrogations to draw it from memory. Waller would sit at the table with his legs spread wide like his balls needed the extra room. He barely looked at Lena, but when he did, he conveyed such a sense of disgust that she felt dirty just being near him. Even with his lawyer there, he would sneer at her, spit at her, call her a stupid cunt. It drove Paul insane, but Lena just let it slide. Waller wanted a reaction. He wanted her to lunge at him so he could laugh in her face. You didn’t have to be a genius to recognize a man who hated women. The bastard would rather kill himself than be taken in by one.
She trained the flashlight on the gleaming wet hole where the side of Waller’s head used to be.
Wish granted.
Lena turned away from the body, shining the light into the suitcase. She’d been wrong about that—there were more fifties than hundreds. Maybe half a million dollars. Denise Branson would have to fill her chest with all her ribbons and commendations again for when they put her picture in the paper. The fact that two seasoned cops had let the bad guy get the drop on them wouldn’t be part of the story.
Lena wanted the question answered, though. Mitch and Keith were better than this. At least she thought they were. She scanned the room with her Maglite, trying to figure out what had happened. There was a piece of paneling hanging crookedly off the wall. She craned her neck to see behind it. Waller’s hiding place. The earth was dug out around the foundation. Like rats in a trap, Keith and Mitch had gone straight to the money, and Sid Waller had sprung out from behind the wall and taken them both down before they could make a squeak.
Mitch first, probably brained with the muzzle of the Sig. Then the next thing Keith knows, the Sig is jammed in his throat. Much more frightening than the thought of getting shot in the head. You get shot in the neck, you might live. You might never walk again, you might breathe through a tube or piss in a bag for the rest of your life, but you’d live.
Someone was on the stairs. Lena waited for Denise Branson to pick her way through the filthy basement.
“Adams? What the hell happened here?” Denise yelled. “You’re gonna be damn lucky if Chief Gray doesn’t bust your ass over this.”
Lena had heard the threat before, and from people a lot scarier than Denise Branson. She answered, “Waller took Keith hostage. He pointed the gun at me. I pointed my gun at him. He made a choice.”
Denise scowled at Waller’s dead body. She looked mad enough to spit. “Who do you think is gonna give us Big Whitey now?”
Lena was so sick and tired of hearing that fucking name. “Denise, I really don’t give a shit.”
“You best check that attitude before I—”
She stopped.
There was a sound. They both heard it. Waller’s hiding place. There was something else behind the wall.
Lena’s Glock was in her hand. She couldn’t even remember pulling it.
Denise moved more slowly. She stepped back, drew her side-arm.
The sound came again. Lena moved to the right, tried to use her flashlight to see behind the panel. Just like before, she had her shoulder to the wall. She knelt down, angling the light. The whole left side of the hole was obscured. All Lena saw was wet, black earth and a filthy, wadded-up athletic sock.
Lena stood back up. The two women stared at each other. Predictably, Denise nodded for Lena to take lead.
Lena waited for the numbness to come back, the autopilot to take over. It didn’t—or wouldn’t. All the bravado from before had evaporated away. Her body didn’t want to move. Five minutes ago, she’d had a death wish, but now that the opportunity had presented itself again, she found herself unwilling.
Denise made a hissing sound between her teeth. Lena turned to look at her. The major was waiting, gun pointed low, finger resting on the trigger guard. Her eyes went wide. Her lips parted, showing her teeth.
Lena turned back around. She looked at the dirty, wet sock, the dark hole Sid Waller had crawled out of.