Turning, she looked toward the edge of the encampment where it met the carnival grounds-a hundred yards or so away. A row of canvas arcade tents formed the border between them.
Nothing there.
She was about to turn away when she saw movement in the shadows beneath one of the canopies. A dark figure, hard to see in the early-morning light, but the shape was unmistakably a man.
Was he watching her?
She couldn’t be sure.
He stood there a moment, facing her direction, then suddenly turned and started walking away, moving deeper into the carnival grounds.
And as he stepped out of the shadows, dread flooded through Anna, a dread so deep that it took everything she had to remain standing, an image from one of her visions blossoming in her mind.
And the feeling she’d had earlier, the one she’d felt so strongly while standing in the hotel hallway-that this was all somehow connected to her visions-came back to her with undeniable force.
This wasn’t just any man. She was sure of it.
He was wearing a baseball cap.
A red baseball cap.
1 5
They were on the elevator, somewhere between the first and second floors, when Pope made his move.
The twins had gone ahead to get the car, leaving Sharkey and Arturo to escort Pope out of the building, Sharkey ragging on him the entire ride down from the fourteenth floor.
“You gotta be the biggest fuckin’ fool I ever met. How long you been hanging around this dump, you don’t know what kind of hair-trigger the boss has?”
“Long enough,” Pope said.
“Damn straight. And bringing some FBI snatch into the building? That’s just plain stupid.”
Pope didn’t disagree.
But his stupidity wasn’t the issue at the moment. What mattered right now was extricating himself from this situation as quickly as possible-a feat not easily accomplished when the two men flanking you are skilled professionals.
Not that Pope himself was any slouch. There was a time when he had regularly tortured the speed bag and popped a few curls before heading into the office every morning. Always something of a natural athlete, he’d even taken the LVMPD up on its offer for self-defense training. And while nearly two years of debauchery had undoubtedly softened him, he felt confident that he still had some skills of his own.
Of course, none of this had taught him how to handle two thugs in an elevator, especially when your gut and left kidney felt as if they’d been assaulted by a jackhammer. But in the end, it was the elevator itself that saved him.
As Sharkey blathered on, Pope stood watching the numbers light up on the panel above the door-8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3-wondering when and if he should make his move. Then the elevator made it for him by suddenly jerking to a halt, stalling just before it reached the first floor.
That jerk was enough to throw all three of them off-balance. Taking advantage of the moment, Pope brought his elbow up quick, cracking Arturo’s nose with an audible snap.
The move was so uncharacteristic and unexpected that Arturo hadn’t seen it coming. He shrieked and grabbed for the damage, blood spurting between his fingers as Pope spun toward Sharkey and brought a knee up hard into his crotch.
Sharkey grunted and doubled over, sinking to his knees on the elevator’s well-worn carpet.
While all of this was happening, the car lurched into motion again, continuing its descent, and a moment later the door slid open at the ground floor, inviting Pope to flee.
Hands grabbed at him before he was able to clear the threshold. He jerked an elbow back again, half-expecting to feel the heat of Arturo’s knife sinking into his ribs. But the hands had a fairly good grip on him now and spun him around until he was face-to-face with Sharkey, who was still struggling to breathe.
As Pope tried to pull away, Sharkey slammed him back against the door’s rubber bumper and pinned him there, wheezily sucking air.
“Don’t… even… try,” he said between breaths, then reached around and jabbed the emergency stop button.
Pope stopped struggling, resigned to the fact that he had pretty much shot his wad. So much for all that time in the gym. It was only then that he glanced down at the floor and saw Arturo lying in a heap, out cold, blood pooling around his now-broken nose.
Pope knew he’d caused some damage, but this?
“Jesus. Did I do that?”
“Hardly,” Sharkey said. “I wanted some alone time.”
Apparently past the worst of his pain now, Sharkey released Pope, who considered bolting, but didn’t figure he’d get far.
“I should shoot you just for the knee to the ’nads,” Sharkey continued, “but I’ve never killed a civilian, and I don’t intend to start now. Especially one as pathetic as you.”
Pope looked at him. Civilian?
“Am I missing something here?”
“I could fill a warehouse with the things you miss.”
“So what exactly is going on?”
“What do you think?” Sharkey said. “I’m letting you go.”
Pope was flabbergasted. “Why the hell would you do that?”
“Does it look like we have time for a detailed conversation? Rumpelstiltskin here isn’t gonna sleep forever, and he damn sure won’t be happy when he wakes up. Let’s just say I’m not who you think I am.”
Pope ran that little morsel of information through his head for a moment, completely stymied.
Then it hit him. “Holy shit. You’re a cop?”
It was the only thing that made any sense.
“Just know this,” Sharkey said. “Our mutual benefactor is gonna be pissed when he finds out you’re on the loose. So you need to get low and stay low, because I can damn well guarantee he’ll be sending us after you. And God save you if he unleashes The Ghost.”
“What about you? Will you be okay?”
“I’ll tell him you hypnotized me.”
Pope smiled. “How do you know I didn’t?”
“Ha-ha,” Sharkey said. “Now get out of here, and don’t say a goddamn word to your FBI friend. I don’t want two and a half years of hard work blown because of some second-rate lounge performer.”
Pope patted his shoulder. “Thanks, Shark. Sorry about the balls.”
He was about to head down the hallway toward the rear exit when he suddenly realized he’d forgotten something. Turning, he went for the stairwell instead.
Sharkey said, “Are you outta your mind? What are you doing? I said get out of here.”
“The kid,” Pope told him. “I almost forgot the kid.”
Less than a minute later, he was pushing open his hotel room door. Evan was still fast asleep on the bed, but Kelly was curled up in the armchair, Pope’s pipe and lighter in hand, glazed eyes staring at the miniature Metamorphosis disco ball that sat spinning on the table next to her.
“These things really trip me out,” she said, then looked up at Pope, offering him the pipe and lighter. “You want a hit?”
Pope immediately crossed the room and snatched them away from her. “What the hell is wrong with you? There’s a kid in the room.”
“He’s asleep and I was bored,” she said. “You ever heard of cable? Books maybe? Magazines?”
She was twenty-four years old and all woman, but sometimes acted as if she were still sixteen. She’d never made a secret of the fact that she was attracted to Pope, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to close the deal. It just didn’t feel right.
“First,” he told her, “a kid’s a kid, asleep or otherwise. Second, you shouldn’t be rummaging around in my personal stuff. And third, I need to borrow your car.”
The last one threw her for a loop. “What?”
“Your car. Right now.”
“You’re kidding, right? You haven’t left this place in-what? Like a year?”
“Things change. And I’m in a hurry.”
“What about your car?”
“I signed it over to Troy, remember?”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re an idiot.”
“Hey, what can I tell you? I like breathing.”