“What, you got a weakness for stern gray suits?”
He laughed. “Come now, we both know Albert Montgomery is incompetent. You were a police officer, Rainie, you know the importance of understanding your fellow officers’ strengths and weaknesses. I let Albert have Glenda. He really has such a deep-seated rage for anyone in law enforcement. I think it goes back to his father, a washed-up security guard. A little too strict, Albert’s father. He produced a son who desperately needed to prove himself better than his own dad, and yet despised himself all the more for following in his father’s footsteps. But that’s neither here nor there. Albert’s conflicted, Albert’s incompetent. Therefore, it stood to reason, Albert would fail.”
“You bet against your own pawn,” Rainie said.
“Of course, although it hardly matters. If Albert succeeded, Pierce would stand accused of Glenda’s shooting and would have to return to Virginia. If Albert failed, Pierce would need to question Albert and he’d have to return to Virginia for that. Either way, I win my game.”
“You lured Quincy back home so you could kill him.”
“No, I lured Quincy away, so I could kill you.”
“Oops, I’m sorry. But now that I’ve given it some thought, I don’t feel like dying today.” Rainie made another motion to Kimberly. The girl nodded, and headed straight for each window, cautiously raising the sash and inspecting the outdoor fire escape. Kimberly looked both up and down. When she was done, she left the windows open as they had planned, nodded to Rainie that the fire escape was clear, and headed for the bedroom to do the same with those windows there.
“Are you afraid of hell, Rainie?” the man asked. Rainie could hear static now. He was definitely calling from a cell phone, which meant he could be anywhere. Riding up the elevator. Creeping down the hall. He thought keeping her talking would keep her distracted. He would learn soon enough that talking was his mistake.
“I’m not afraid of hell,” she answered. “I pretty much figure that’s what life is for.”
“Suffering here on earth? Come now, surely you have some notion of spiritual reward and punishment. Given everything you’ve done, that must make you wonder where you will spend your end of days.”
“You’re one to talk. Your whole life is about punishing Quincy. To do that you’ve killed how many people? It therefore stands to reason,” she mocked him, “that you’re not one for religion, since your eternal punishment is gonna be one helluva long suntan session.”
Kimberly returned from the bedroom, shaking her head. So far, nothing on the fire escape. She started toward the door, but Rainie hastily waved her away. She’d read of people getting shot as they peered through the peephole. She didn’t know if that could really happen, and she didn’t want to find out. She gestured to the carpet. Kimberly got the hint and peered beneath the door instead. No sign of feet.
“Are you going to kill me, Rainie?” the man asked.
“I’m thinking about it.”
“Oh, thinking’s not good enough. You have to commit to the act, Rainie. Visualize the goal, imagine yourself as the victor.”
“Wonderful, Chicken Soup for the Serial Killer. Just once, I’d like to be attacked by a mute.”
Kimberly was looking at Rainie for new instructions. The girl was clearly nervous. Despite her cavalier tone, Rainie was increasingly nervous, too. He was close. He craved intimacy with his victims. He liked to be there for the kill.
“Is Kimberly with you?” the man asked.
“Why? I’m not good enough for you?” Rainie was desperately looking around the room. The fire escape was clear, the hotel-room door clear. Where else could he come from? What had they missed?
And then she got it. Simultaneously, she and Kimberly both looked up. Jesus Christ, there was the tip of a drill bit coming through their ceiling. How the hell had he done that?
“Go!” Rainie yelled.
Kimberly dashed for the front door just as the man said, “Thank you, Rainie. I’d love to come in.”
Too late, she realized her mistake. If he’d been actively drilling, they would’ve heard it, so it had to have been sometime earlier. And peering beneath the door was never foolproof. All the person had to do was stand to one side. Rainie shot to her feet.
But Kimberly had already flung open the door and his gun was already pointed at her chest.
“Carl Mitz,” Rainie snarled.
And Kimberly whispered shakily, “Oh my God—Dr. Andrews.”
“I’ll take your guns, please,” Dr. Andrews announced, stepping into the hotel room and kicking the door shut behind him. He was dressed plainly today. Tan chinos, white-collared shirt. He looked like anyone walking down the street, except that in addition to a large black canvas bag slung over his left shoulder, he also carried a 9mm semiautomatic. The barrel was now four inches from Kimberly’s heart. The girl couldn’t take her eyes off of it. Her face had gone bone-white.
“You don’t surrender your weapon,” Kimberly told him in an unnatural tone of voice. “An officer should never surrender her weapon!”
“Hand over the gun, Kimberly,” Rainie told her tersely. “For Christ’s sake, this isn’t the police academy’s final exam and you’re not bullet-proof!”
“One of us will live,” Kimberly insisted in that same tone of voice. “He’ll fire, but he can’t kill us both.”
“Kimberly—”
“It’s all my fault. Look at him. Don’t you get it? It’s all my fault!”
Dr. Andrews smiled. He let the large canvas bag slide from his shoulder. It landed heavily on the floor. “Very good, Kimberly. I was wondering when you were going to figure that out. After all, I did tell you that I wouldn’t be a stranger.”
“But my anxiety attacks—”
“I tailed you. Just because I was willing to confess that you would know your own killer, didn’t mean I wanted you to know that you’d already met him. Frankly, didn’t it ever occur to you that you hardly saw me after your sister’s funeral? You thought I was giving you time off to recover. But I was really buying myself time to destroy your family. We all have our priorities.” He gestured to his sharply pressed pants and white linen shirt. “What do you think of my new look, by the way? The right wig, nicely tailored clothes, contact lenses . . . I wasn’t always such a wreck as a professor, you know. I just thought you’d find me more comforting in tweed. So over the years, I became more and more dowdy, and you became more and more trusting. Interesting that for your mom and Mandy, I had to reverse the process. Now drop your gun and kick it over to me slowly.”
“I thought you were my friend! My mentor! I told you so much about my family. My father, my mother, my sister . . . And all along . . . All along . . .” Kimberly’s body convulsed. She looked like she was going to be physically ill, yet she still didn’t lower her Glock.
“Kimberly,” Rainie growled. She was sweating profusely, reluctant to let go of her own pistol and feeling the situation spinning dangerously out of control.
Andrews looked at her. Kimberly noticed the change in his gaze and followed his eyes toward Rainie. No, Rainie started to yell, but she was too late. The instant Kimberly’s focus left Andrews, he chopped his left hand down hard on her right forearm. The girl cried out, her gun slipping from nerveless fingers onto the floor. Rainie jerked up her own pistol, but found Andrews’s weapon already trained at her body.
“I trust you’ll be more reasonable,” he said, twisting Kimberly’s arm behind her back and positioning her as a human shield.
Rainie nodded. Slowly, she lowered her gun to the carpet, her gaze falling on the black canvas bag. Why such a big bag? What would he bring with him?
“Now, kick the firearm toward me.”
Rainie complied, jabbing at her Glock .40 with her toe but not putting much effort into it. The heavy pistol stopped three feet away, under the glass coffee table. She made a show of shrugging helplessly, and waited to see if Andrews would push the issue. He frowned at her, but with his hands alr
eady full with one female, seemed content to let it go.
Rainie took a deep breath. Remain calm, she instructed herself, though her hands had begun to shake and her heart hammered in her chest. She’d kept him on the phone for a decent interval. Now if she and Kimberly could stall him just a minute or two more. The open windows. The unwatched fire escape with easy access to their room. Come on, cavalry. . . .
What was in that bag?
Kimberly was weeping. Trapped against Andrews, her shoulders had slumped, her spine was bowed. She didn’t seem to have much fight left.
“Perfect,” Andrews said. “Now that everyone is feeling more agreeable, we have a lot of work to do, ladies. Bombs to build, detonating devices to wire to telephones. Your father is going to call at precisely one-fifteen, Kimberly. I don’t want to miss the opportunity for him to blow his own daughter and his lady love into tiny little bits.”
Oh shit, that was what was in that bag. Rainie closed her eyes. Andrews had brought all the ingredients for a homemade bomb. God knows it wouldn’t take much to blow up a room this size and who cares if Andrews took out a fair portion of the hotel and other unsuspecting guests with him? It would be the ultimate triumph for him. Restraining Kimberly and Rainie. Then rigging a bomb to the telephone, so that the first ring triggered the blast. Quincy would not only lose the only family he had left, but when the first forensics report came in, he’d get to learn that he’d basically pulled the trigger. He’d killed his own daughter. He’d murdered Rainie. Oh, Quincy. Oh, poor, poor Quincy.
Rainie’s eyes came open. She felt the breeze from the open window on her face, but she no longer knew if they had enough time to wait. She and Kimberly could not let Andrews build that bomb. Under no circumstances could they let Andrews take out half a hotel simply to spite Quincy.
Rainie looked at Kimberly, trying to catch the girl’s gaze. They needed some kind of plan. Maybe Kimberly could get the professor talking, keep him focused on exchanging banalities with his former student so Rainie might ease her way toward her Glock. Three feet. That wasn’t much. Right?
Kimberly, however, had her head down. Her slender figure appeared despondent. She was so young, after all. And under such terrible stress.
“I blamed my father,” Kimberly whispered, maybe to herself, maybe to Andrews. “All along, I blamed my father, but in reality, I’m the one who betrayed my family.” Another thought seemed to strike her. Her head jolted up, her eyes suddenly growing wide. “Oh my God, the Sanchez case. I’ve been going over it and over it, thinking there was more of a connection. Of course. Dr. Andrews’s research work at San Quentin.” She twisted toward Andrews, straining to see his face. “You knew Sanchez! You’re the connection! How could I be so blind? Dammit!”
“You failed to ask the right question in the very beginning,” Andrews said matter-of-factly, yanking Kimberly’s arm more savagely to quell her movements. Rainie saw her chance. She eased forward an inch.
“If this was revenge, why now?” Andrews postulated for his former student. “You could theorize that it was a felon who finally got out of prison, but I trust you already explored that option and found it to be a dead end. Then you could look at family of felons but again, why, after all this time? Interestingly enough, I think Quincy was finally getting on the right track, that it wasn’t a past FBI case at all. So if it was from his pre-FBI days, then truly, why now?”
“Because you found me!” Kimberly spat at her captor.
“Because you fell into my fucking lap!” Andrews roared. “Nearly twenty years after that man took my own daughters from me, and here you are! Beautiful, smart, poised to become everything a father could want for his girl. Why should he be so lucky? Why should he have everything that I deserved? Goddamn interfering shrink!”
His gaze suddenly shot back to Rainie. She froze, having made it two steps closer to her gun, and wanting that to be progress, while knowing it wasn’t enough. Andrews was frowning at her. Had he figured out that she’d cut the distance to her discarded handgun? He studied her hard.
“You were one of Quincy’s patients,” Rainie said quickly, seeking to distract him again, and holding perfectly still now that his attention was back upon her.
“I was not!” Andrews replied indignantly. “My stupid ex-wife was. She went to him for help. She had all sorts of outlandish stories that I was an unfit father and that my children were terrified of me.”
“You abused your kids?” Your turn, Kimberly, she thought frantically. I’ll keep him talking, you think of something brilliant.
“I did not, I did not, I did not. They were my girls! I loved them, I wanted what was best for them. It was their mother who could not appreciate their potential. She wanted to coddle them, give them time to play, give them time to grow. For God’s sake, you do not get anywhere in life by playing!”
“Quincy testified against you in the custody hearing, didn’t he?” Rainie persisted. “His opinion helped sway the judge.” Come on, Kimberly. We have to do something here. Fast.
“He told the judge that I suffered from severe personality disorder! He told people that in his professional opinion I was manipulative, egocentric, and totally lacking in genuine ability to empathize. In short, I exhibited psychopathic tendencies, I used my children as pawns to get what I wanted, and should they ever try to exert their own personalities, he couldn’t vouch for their safety. And I never saw my children again. Do you realize what that does to someone? One day, I’m a highly respected family man. The next, I’m a name on a restraining order! If I so much as said boo, they would’ve taken my license from me. I would’ve been totally ruined!”
“You haven’t done too badly since then.” Rainie shrugged dismissively, working on prolonging Andrews’s diatribe.
“After I moved from California to New York and started all over again,” Andrews countered. “All alone. With no one. Having nothing. You know, I might have had a second chance with Mary Olsen. She was pregnant with my child, maybe we could’ve been happy. But Pierce fucked even that up for me. Forced me to kill her before I ever knew.” Andrews’s voice changed. “Son of a bitch. Everything I ever wanted, he’s taken from me. No more! I’m the one calling the shots, I’m the one in control. He wants an expert opinion? I’ll give him an expert opinion. An expert in explosives. Goddammit, it’s time!” He suddenly yanked on Kimberly’s right arm. The girl had just raised her foot to stomp down on his instep. Now her foot fell to the floor harmlessly as he jerked her off balance. She grimaced and sagged despondently against him. Rainie grimaced along with her, her gaze going longingly to her Glock, so visible beneath the glass tabletop, and yet still so far out of reach.
They had to do something. No more time. Think, think. Come on, come on . . .
“Oh thank God! Luke!”
Rainie jerked her eyes to the space behind Andrews. It was a desperate act, a stupid gamble. Andrews twisted around, feeling the breeze for the first time and thinking he’d left himself vulnerable to a flank attack. No time for digging around under the coffee table for a gun. Rainie darted left and grabbed the best weapon she could find. One of the metal kitchen chairs.
“What the . . . ?”
“Kimberly, now!”
The girl dug her elbow into Andrews’s exposed side and lashed out with her foot. Twisted and off balance, Andrews released his hold on her instinctively, struggling to bring his gun up and around. Rainie whipped the metal chair into Andrews’s neck and shoulder. He howled as his gun and the chair both went flying and he realized too late he’d been duped by the oldest trick in the book.
“Bitch!” he roared.
“Kimberly,” Rainie cried out again. “Gun, now!” They needed to find a weapon. Now, now, now.
Her Glock, under the coffee table. Rainie scurried over on all fours. Andrews saw her movement, and cut her off with a brutal kick to her chin. Her jaw cracked. She collapsed on her back, seeing stars. Dimly she was aware of Kimberly diving across the room reaching for Andrews’s fallen gun.
Andrews saw her. He had the chair. Raising it over his head, towering above Kimberly.
The chair slammed down. Kimberly made a heavy, wet sound Rainie had never heard before.
Andrews smiled in triumph. Then he flung down the chair and crouched for the 9mm Rainie could now see it lying just inches from Kimberly’s body. The girl had been so close . . .
One last chance. Rainie flipped onto her side, looking, looking, looking. The Glock, there against the brass leg of the table. Come on, Rainie. Dying is not preferable to living. Dying is not preferable to living! Damn, she’d be an optimist in the end. Reach!
The startling sound of a cartridge being ratcheted into a gun chamber. The sound of death.
“Bye-bye, Rainie,” Andrews said.
And Quincy said, “Hey Andrews. Get your fucking hands off my daughter.”
Virginia
Albert Montgomery was still feeling calm and controlled fifteen minutes later when Quincy returned to the dimly lit interrogation room. Four thirty-one P.M. The agent probably had just confirmed his daughter’s death. Albert wondered if he’d get to see him cry. He would like that.
His interrogator stopped in front of him.
“Howdy Albert,” the man said in a crystal-clear voice Albert had never heard before. “It’s my turn to tell you some things you don’t know. One, I’m sure Kimberly is just fine. And two, I’m not Pierce Quincy.” The man reached up and ripped off the salt-and-pepper wig it had taken Glenda and an FBI makeup expert two hours to apply. Then he stepped out of special shoes with two-inch lifts. And he removed his navy blue suit jacket, custom-tailored to mirror Quincy’s taller, broad-shouldered build. “The name is Luke Hayes,” the stranger said calmly. “And I’m a friend of Rainie’s.”
Portland
Andrews’s face paled. He snapped around toward the bedroom door, the gun in his right hand dipping down toward the carpet, but his left hand still on Kimberly’s shoulder. “Who? How? But you’re in Virginia!”
Quincy stepped into the living room from the adjoining bedroom. He had his 10mm out, but down at his side. His gaze was locked on Andrews. He’d wasted fifteen minutes relentlessly searching the lobby for a man talking on a cell phone before he’d realized his mistake. The man was already upstairs. The man was already in his daughter’s room. Plan B had always been the fire escape. Six floors up, rung over rung. Quincy should be tired. He should be exhausted.