For a long moment, Jack just stared. Then he shrugged, stepped back inside the house. “Come on in.”
Stale light filtered through the closed blinds, making the familiarseem sinister. The air was thick with the smell of baby powder and something else, a faintly burned tang he couldn’t identify. Jack gestured toward the closed bedroom door. “In there.”
Tom walked ahead, back tingling with the knowledge that Jack was behind him. Easy. It’s working. There’s no reason for him to jump you. He knows Anna will call the police if he does, knows they’ll respond fast if she tells them who he is. So just do this and get out. Every step forward is one away from this house.
He put his hand on the bedroom door and pushed it open. The light was faint and dusty, and the smells stronger. He stood for a moment to let his eyes adjust, vague shapes resolving into a bed, the armoire he remembered hauling, the crib in the corner. He could see the outline of Julian lying within it.
A pair of legs stuck out from beside the bed.
Tom took the three steps to them without realizing he was moving. Sara lay facedown amid a pile of junk, postcards and books from the night table drawer yanked out of the frame. In the dim light, the mess of blood and tissue that used to be her back looked almost black.
Behind him, he heard the snick of metal against leather, the gun coming out, and then Jack said, “It was a nice plan, Tom. But I’ve got a different one in mind.”
ANNA HATED being helpless.
Sunlight danced on the dashboard. She watched Tom on the porch, saw Jack lean out the door, look in her direction. Fought the urge to duck lower, knowing the motion would catch his eye.
When she was a child, she’d pretended her eyes were laser beams, that they could cut and shear everything she saw. Now, pressed against the seat, powerless to do anything but wait and watch, she wished for those laser eyes. Imagined them blasting through the window, spearing into Jack, a beam of light that tore him open, cut him in half.
Her mind raced, thinking of all the ways this could fail. She had the windows half-open, but the porch was too far away for her to hear what Tom was saying. She stared, watched him rest his good hand against his thigh. After a long pause, he walked forward into the house.
She let herself breathe again. Good. They had agreed that if Jack pulled the gun, Tom would signal. The fact that he was walking in on his own meant it was working.
Still, this would be the worst part. Her palms were sweaty and her heart banged and her head hurt. A moment passed, then another. Tom wouldn’t dally, but he might have to calm Sara down, make sure she understood not to call the police. It could be a couple of minutes. On the other hand, if things were going wrong, every second she didn’t call was one more he might be getting hurt. She counted breaths, her thumb on the button.
She was just about to press it when there was a knock on her window, and she turned to stare down the barrel of a gun.
FOR A MOMENT, the world was just visual, nothing but images flashing against his eyes. The slippery ruin of Sara’s body, wet tissue exposed, the smell rising, an animal smell, copper and worse, and then he remembered the way she used to laugh, throwing her head back, and how she gave the best hugs, her arms tight around his back, and thought of what that would feel like now, and his stomach seized up. Something awful and bitter slid up his throat, in his mouth and nostrils, and he fought the urge to vomit. His eyes cataloged details he didn’t want: the pool of blood spilled across the cheap carpet, the wood of the drawer splintered and torn, a flash of metal, something shiny he couldn’t make out just beneath the bed.
“It’s hard, isn’t?” Jack spoke from behind. “To see what we really are. You can go your whole life knowing somebody, and then.” He sucked air through his teeth. “I’d say I’m sorry, but then, it’s not my fault, is it?”
Sara. Oh God, poor Sara. Then another thought hit, and he whirled, took a step toward the crib. Julian lay on his back. His eyes were open. Tom’s whole being shook, something inside him gathering itself into a howl that made no sound.
And then the boy blinked and gurgled, staring up at Tom.
“The kid is fine,” Jack said. “Your sister-in-law, well, she tried to run. Chose the wrong direction.”
Tom turned, started forward. He was going to beat this fucker to death with his bare hands if he had to, for what he’d done to Sara, to their lives.
Jack raised the gun faster than Tom would have thought possible, leveling it square on his forehead. Against his will, he froze. His good hand balled into a trembling fist. When he spoke, his voice came in tatters. “Anna is calling 911 right now.”
Jack shook his head, smiled. “I’m afraid not.”
ADRENALINE LIT HER UP, and she yelped, not quite a scream, more startled than anything else.
Halden stood outside the car door with his gun pointed at her, the same gun that had caught her eye every time she’d seen him, the one she’d wondered what it would be like to lift and hold and point, only now it was aimed at her.
“Set down the phone and get out of the car,” he said.
She stared, swallowed, blinked. “You don’t-”
“Get the fuck out of the car.” His voice was commanding, and she found herself reaching for the door handle. He stepped back, the gun level. “Slowly.”
“Detective, this. Tom, he’s inside that house, with – you have to get out of sight. If he sees you-”
“Get out of the car, turn around, and put your hands on your head.”
“But-”
“Now.”
She stared into eyes gone cold and professional, realized that all he saw was a criminal, someone tied up in the death of a cop. Worse, a woman who had lied to him, embarrassed him. The thought made her heart sink in her chest. There was nothing more stubborn than a man humiliated. Somehow she had to calm him down, explain what was going on in the house. Tom could be bringing Jack out any minute. If he saw a cop here, everything would fall apart.
The best thing would be to go along, put him at ease. She opened the door, stepped out, keeping her hands at chest height. “I’m not going to do anything. You don’t need the gun.”
“Turn around and put your hands on your head.”
Her mind raced. Tom was depending on her. “Listen to me. Jack Witkowski is in that house” – she nodded with her head – “that was him that called me. I’m sorry we ran, but he has my sister.”
He shook his head. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to cuff you, and then I’m going to cuff Tom. Then you two are going to tell me where the money is. I’m going to walk into the station with you in one arm, Tom in the other, and that cash slung on my back.”
“Didn’t you hear me?” She stared at Halden, realizing that it wasn’t just a professional distance in his eyes. He had the same fixity of vision she’d only recently overthrown. For her the blindness had centered on the money; for him it was something else, maybe, but the intensity was the same. She had to reach him. “Listen to me. Jack is here. He’s here now.”
The cop said, “Turn around and put your hands on your head.”
Then there was a sound, a strangely familiar shhk-chhk sound, loud and to her left.
That got Halden’s attention, his eyes widening as he spun fast, the gun leading the way, and she turned in the same direction, saw a figure, a man, oh Jesus, the other guy from the mall, a shotgun pointing right at her.
The blast was louder than she would ever have imagined.
A ROAR CAME FROM OUTSIDE, loud and sharp and close. A gunshot, and then another.
Anna. She was out there alone. And she didn’t have a gun.