Stripped (35 page)

“You might be surprised.”

“I’m sorry, Claire. If things were different, you know? But they’re not.”

“I understand.”

Claire used one fingertip to glide along Serena’s forearm with a silky touch. Serena was so on edge that she almost jumped.

“Are you going to catch Blake tonight?” Claire asked.

“If not tonight, then soon. Half the police in the city are looking for him. The valley isn’t so big. We’ll get him.”

Serena wanted to believe it.

“Don’t kill him,” Claire murmured.

She spoke so softly that Serena wasn’t sure she had heard her right. “What?”

“Don’t kill him, I said.”

“Why not?” Serena asked. “Why do you care?”

Claire looked down. Some of her blond hair fell across her face. “You really don’t know, do you? It’s so obvious to me.”

“What is?”

“Look at me,” she said, looking up, holding Serena’s stare again.

Serena did. “So?”

“Blake is my brother.”

“What?”

“I knew it as soon as I saw him,” Claire said. “I can’t believe you don’t see it Those eyes. There may be a lot of Amira in him, but that’s not all. It’s more than that. It’s Boni, too. Boni’s his father.”

Ten minutes to midnight
, Amanda thought.

She could have been home with Bobby. Making love to him the way she liked best, on their sides, face to face, rubbing together. Warm and safe under the blankets. Or they could have been in the Spyder right now, on the desert highway to California, leaving Las Vegas behind forever at a hundred miles an hour through the black night of Deatii Valley. A new life.

But no.

She sat alone in a Krispy Kreme doughnut shop a few blocks from downtown. Her coffee was getting cold, and she looked up every now and then, hypnotized, as rows of glistening doughnuts streamed along the conveyor belt, getting drenched in icing. There was a steady stream of late-night patrons in and out She was one of just a handful of people who waited inside, her back to the door, a newspaper in her hands, a half-eaten doughnut on a napkin in front of her. She had nursed it for an hour.

All right, it was actually her fourth.

The reality was that adrenaline was pumping through her veins, along with me sugar. It had taken her several hours to find this place, going from shop to shop in the city, before the little Asian man behind the counter here took the sketch and nodded vigorously.

“Yeah, sure, he come here. Day, night, couple times a day like. Always the same. Half a dozen original and Sprite.”

“You’re sure?” Amanda asked. “This guy changes his appearance a lot.”

“Oh yeah, he look different. Sometimes blond, sometimes beard, sometimes no beard, sometimes old, sometimes young. Order always the same, though. Half dozen original and Sprite. That him.”

“You didn’t think it was odd, him looking different all the time?”

The Asian man shrugged. “This Vegas.”

That was enough for Amanda.

She was waiting for Blake. The manager said he hadn’t been in yet tonight, so there was a good chance he’d arrive for a late-night fix. She sat so he couldn’t see her face, and she had a baseball cap on her head, with its brim pulled down. She didn’t know if he knew her face, but she had to assume he did. She wanted him in the store, in a confined space, not out on the street where he could run.

It was the most dangerous thing she had ever done, and she tried not to think about that. She radioed in that she was taking a break for an hour and then switched off her walkietalkie. She was all alone.

She knew she should have called for backup. That was procedure. They could have surrounded the place and mounted a stakeout, but Amanda wasn’t sure they’d let her inside the store, and that was where she wanted to be. She also thought Blake was savvy enough to spot a stakeout from six blocks away, and he would disappear and never come back to the store again. They only had one chance to get it right. Her, by herself

She could have called Stride, but he’d want to follow procedure. Never in a million years would he expose her to that danger alone. Or he’d want to be there with her, and she knew that Blake would spot him.

A part of her wanted to prove herself. Bring Blake in herself and then extend her middle finger as she walked out the door.

She put down her newspaper and picked up her coffee. Cold. She thought about getting a warmer-up, but she didn’t want to draw attention to herself. The Asian manager buzzed behind the counter, busily attending to the doughnuts. She had told him to be cool, not to betray any reaction, not to look at her when Blake came in. She hoped he could do it. She hadn’t told him that the man in the sketch was wanted for multiple homicides.

Almost midnight.

The bell on the door signaled another customer. She took a bite of doughnut and picked up her paper. She didn’t glance at whoever passed by, just listened to heavy footsteps and knew it was a man. Whoever it was beat a steady path to the counter.

Amanda heard the Asian manager. “Hey, boss.” Then he added, “Same as usual, huh? Half dozen original and Sprite?”

Mistake. She hoped Blake didn’t recognize the tip-off.

Amanda put down the paper and reached for her coffee at the same time, with the barest glance at the counter. The man wasn’t looking at her. She saw blond hair. The height wasright, and so was the lean and strong physique.

She watched the manager use a straw to pick hot doughnuts off the assembly line and put them in a box. He didn’t look at her. He filled the box, then opened the refrigerator and pulled out a plastic bottle of soda.

“Here you go, boss.”

“Thanks,” the man said.

Was that the voice she had heard through the static on Stride’s cell phone?

He was paying now. She had to be ready when he turned around, with her gun already in her hand, pointed, set to fire.
He’s lightning fast
, Stride had told her. She thought about Sawhill:
If you’ve got the shot, take the shot, and make the shot

Amanda reached behind her, taking the butt of her Glock in her grip, wishing there were no sweat on her palm. She silently extracted it and kept it in her lap under the table.

Her eyes never left Blake. If it was Blake.

“You got eleven cents?”

“No.”

“Okay, boss.”

The little Asian man counted out change. He extended a palm to the man at the counter.

Time began to freeze.

The man reached for his change, but then he slid his arm past the register, took the Asian man by the throat, and in an instant yanked him up bodily by the neck and catapulted him over the counter. Coins sprinkled across the floor. Amanda’s mouth fell open in shock. She bolted back in her seat, the chair tumbling behind her. She sprang up, swinging her gun.

“Police! Don’t move!”

She took aim, but Blake already had the Asian man suspended in front of him. Blake’s pistol was at the man’s head. The manager’s eyes bulged with fright, and he wet himself, urine dripping from his pant leg as Blake held him in the air.

Amanda and Blake stared at each other. He had a beard again. Fuller cheekbones. Glasses. But it was him. His lips curled into a smile.

“Very nice, Detective,” he said. “I wondered if my doughnut addiction would get me into trouble eventually. But they are so good, aren’t they?”

“Put the gun down, and let him go. The building is surrounded, Blake. You’re not going anywhere. Let’s end this thing without more violence, okay?”

Blake shook his head. “There’s no one out there, Amanda.”

He knew her name. It was scary.

“We held back until you showed up. As soon as you came in, I gave them the signal on the radio. There’s no way out.”

Blake nodded. “Excellent. Signal on the radio. That’s a nice touch, Amanda. But I’ve spent years working with military personnel trained far better than any police force. There was no one in the area. It’s just you and me. I’ve been watching you drink your coffee and make your way through five doughnuts for the past hour.”

“It was four doughnuts,” Amanda said. “Put the gun down.”

“Don’t follow me, and you stay alive,” Blake said. “So does this nice man here.”

He began backing down the corridor that led to the restrooms and the crash door that led outside. Amanda had checked out the exit earlier. It led to a vacant lot, strewn with glass, backing up near Eighth Street.

Amanda followed cautiously, keeping her gun trained on him. She wished she had called for backup now. She knew there was no one on the other side of the door, and if Blake got away, he would disappear through the downtown streets. Slip through their fingers sagain.

Take the shot Make the shot.

She couldn’t. She didn’t have it. And she couldn’t risk that Blake would get off a shot first and kill the manager.

Blake was almost to the door. “The two of us are leaving now. Don’t make me kill him. Stay where you are.”

“Go through that door and they’ll split your head open like a watermelon, Blake.” Bravado. Lies. They both knew it.

She was six feet away from him. Blake’s back was at the crash door. He waited there, hesitating, and she wasn’t sure why. Did he believe her? Was he wondering if there really was a SWAT team poised out back?

The bell on the front door clanged again. A new customer entered the shop. Amanda flinched, and Blake threw the Asian manager at her, his body wildly flying through the air and tumbling both of them to the ground like bowling pins. As Amanda fell, she heard the crash door bang as Blake spun through and vanished. She cursed, disentangled herself from the manager, and scrambled back to her feet.

She charged down the corridor.

At the door, she froze.

Was Blake running or waiting?

Amanda raised her gun and kicked the door open, watching it hurtle around to the opposite wall of the building.

When the door swung open, banging against the wall, Blake knew she was smart.

He recoiled and almost fired. His finger twitched on the trigger, instinct taking over, and he realized at the last instant that she wasn’t coming through the door. She wanted him to fire, betraying his position.

His bullet, then her bullet, and he would be dead. A nice ruse.

He knew enough to respect his enemy.

He didn’t fire. She didn’t know where he was. Now, he knew, she had to choose.

Damn. He didn’t fire.

Left or right
, she thought.

She had to make a choice. Either he was on the left side of the door or the right. Or he was running, getting away, and each second she hesitated gave him more time to escape.

She would roll through, pivot, and fire. Make the right choice and it was even odds for both of them, gun to gun, man to… woman.

Make the wrong choice, and she was dead. Simple as that. Left or right.

Left was the only direction that made sense. The door opened left. On the right, he was exposed. To the left, the door gave him cover, blocked her view for a crucial millisecond, gave him an advantage. She had the edge if he was on the right—and he knew it.

Unless he could see into her head and anticipate what she was thinking and realize that being on the right gave him the edge if she went to the left first, offering him her back. A gamble. A risk. Vegas.

She couldn’t overthink. She was up against a tactician. He’d give himself the maximum odds for survival. That meant he was waiting for her on the left.

Or running.

She needed to move.

Amanda thought about Bobby. She could taste his last kiss.

Then she kicked the door a second time, and as the light spilled out, she dove and rolled onto the pavement and came up in a crouch to her left with her gun aimed. She had just enough time for the image to reach her brain, to see the empty stretch of wall behind the door, to realize her mistake. She reacted instantly. Didn’t fire. Began to twist, turn, duck, shift.

Fast Blindingly fast. But not fast enough.

He waited for her on the right, his gun poised. She had to go left, because all her training told her to go left, and cops were creatures of training. There was no surprise, no pleasure, no sadness, when she did. In every fight there was a winner and a loser, and it was no disgrace to lose with dignity.

She was very fast. He was impressed.

Most cops would have frozen, hesitated, but she turned seamlessly, recovering from her mistake and spinning back the other way. If she had gone right, she might well have gotten the first shot.

But no.

Blake pulled the trigger.

It was such a short moment, but it felt so long.

Amanda was on a precipice, a slim tower of rock. Around her were other peaks, a chessboard of granite kings, many of them grand, cloud-swept mountains climbing into the sky. She stood on the edge and looked down, but there was no bottom to the world, no emerald earth, just mist. She knew she could fly.

When she glanced behind her, Bobby was there, tears streaming down his face, and she didn’t understand how he could be so sad when there was such joy to be had here.

Amanda smiled at him and blew him a kiss. Then, with her arms spread wide, she stepped into the air.

Blake ran. The night gave him cover. He sprinted through the empty lot, feeling broken glass crunch and scatter under his feet. When he reached Eighth Street, he headed northeast, toward the downscale neighborhood surrounding the overpass for Highway 95. He slowed to a walk as he crossed Stewart Avenue, then ran again when he was beyond the glare of lights from the street.

He abandoned his car, which was parked three blocks in the opposite direction, but it was stolen, and he could readily steal another. His apartment was only half a mile away, and it was safer now to get there on foot.

There were a handful of strangers around him. It was after midnight, and they were mostly ducking the law themselves, selling drugs or using drugs. They glanced in his direction as he ran, to make sure there were no cops in hot pursuit, but otherwise they didn’t care about him. The deeper he penetrated into the neighborhood, the fewer people he saw, until he was alone. He walked again.