Amber light.
Ally saw the same light now, a red-orange luster highlighting the blonde tangle at the nape of Trish’s neck.
“Look out!”
Her cry and her lunge were simultaneous.
She pulled Trish downward, wrenching her head sideways.
Whip crack. Sand erupting in a gritty spume.
Behind them. He was right behind them.
No time to think, no time for calculation.
Trish thrust both hands over her head, elbows bending as she pointed the Glock upside down, the barrel grazing the rim of the pit, and she fired.
Recoil slammed into her wrists, forearms, shoulders, as she pumped the trigger again and again and again. She felt the multiple impacts vibrating through her teeth and the bones of her skull.
Her shots were blind. She ought to conserve ammunition. Ought to play it safe. But she couldn’t stop her finger from flexing, couldn’t stop the gun from spitting out round after round, couldn’t stop even though she was screaming, or was it Ally who screamed, or both of them together
The sudden silence when the slide locked back on an empty chamber was shocking somehow, like the unreal stillness at the eye of a storm.
Shaking, she lowered the gun, its last round expended.
Past the chiming in her ears she heard Ally sobbing.
Nothing else.
She leaned forward, head hanging, and let blood swim back into her brain. She had no idea how long she held that position, blinking at retinal flashes and hearing the ring of bells.
When her vision cleared and it seemed she would not pass out after all, she eased herself half upright and risked a look.
The man lay in the rushes twenty feet away. She saw his hands, ungloved, pale and limp, and his gun lying nearby, and she smelled the copper-penny odor of blood.
He was dead. No doubt of it.
She had killed a man. Maybe two men. Two lives taken. Two heartbeats stopped.
Sudden tremors hurried through her. She heard a low whimpering sound, the complaint of some wounded animal, but she was the one making the noise, and she couldn’t seem to stop.
On her shoulder, the light pressure of a touch. Ally’s hand.
“You had to,” Ally whispered. “You didn’t have any choice.”
Trish knew that. But the brittle logic of the argument made no headway against the reality of that ruined face … those bloody hollows where eyes and nose and mouth had been … the permanent erasure of a human being.
Slowly she laced her fingers through Ally’s.
“He wasn’t much older than you.” Her own voice surprised her-a stranger’s voice, throaty and aged “Maybe eighteen.”
“He would have killed us both.”
“Yes.”
“So … so that makes it okay. Doesn’t it Doesn’t it”
Trish gave no reply.
60
Cain heard the shots die away as he swung out of the van.
A distant fusillade. From the island. Had to be.
Turning in a full circle, he scanned the unlit parking lot, empty of vehicles save for the Chevy van and the battered Porsche. A plastic bag skated the asphalt, flitting from stripe to stripe like a game piece advancing on a giant board.
Tyler was nowhere in view. Tired of waiting, he must have taken up his position near the phones.
Of course, it was possible no ambush would be necessary. The last barrage of shots might have finished the job.
Cain unclipped his ProCom and activated channel one.
“Blair You nail ‘em”
No response. He tried channel three, the original frequency.
“Blair Come in, Blair.”
The radio startled Trish when it came alive with Cain’s voice. Apparently the unit was water-resistant. It had survived immersion in the lake.
“Don’t answer,” Ally said, fear in her eyes.
Shaking off shock and fatigue, Trish unclipped the radio. “Got to.” She cleared her throat. “I have an idea.”
“You read me, Blair”
Movement at Cain’s side. Lilith appeared, a dark angel materializing out of the night.
“Blair” he inquired for the last time, already having given up hope.
Then a crackle of static and a familiar voice-the last voice he wanted to hear.
“Sorry, Cain. I’m afraid Blair can’t come to the phone right now.”
Robinson.
“Surprised to hear from me” Trish asked the silent radio.
It was a challenge to hold her voice steady. She had never thought of herself as an actress, but if she could sound cool and cocky and defiantly unfazed right now, she would be eligible for an Academy Award.
After a brief pause Cain answered. “Sure am. It’s after ten o’clock, Robinson. Well past your bedtime, I’d think.”
“I get to stay up late on Saturdays. Ally, too. We’re having kind of a slumber party out here on the island.”
“Me and some friends may crash that party.”
“You’re not crashing anything. You know why It’s over. The good guys won.”
Ally blinked at her, baffled.
“Did you, Robinson” She could hear his controlled rage. “I must have missed that part.”
“Yeah, you’ve been missing a lot lately. I’ll fill you in. You can’t get near us without a boat. Even if you could, we’ve got the tactical advantage. You can ask Blair about that.” Another slow comber of dizziness rolled over her. She lowered her head briefly, then rallied. “This message getting through”
A beat. “Loud and clear.”
“We’re dug in where you can’t touch us. So you might as well pack your bags and go home. Or is there something I’ve overlooked”
Cain pursed his lips, fury compressing his mouth into a bloodless line. Then he pushed the talk button.
“No, Officer. There’s nothing you’ve overlooked.”
Lilith grabbed his shoulder. “We can’t let that bitch-“
Cain shook free of her grasp, hushed her with a frown.
He was thinking.
Robinson was right about her tactical position. If she stayed put, he would be helpless to reach her.
But he had not been quite truthful in his reply. There was one small item she’d forgotten.
Still on channel three, he keyed the transmit switch again. “Tyler, you catch that”
“Yeah, boss.”
“She’s got us where she wants us. We’re clearing out. No arguments.” He played his hole card. “But before we leave, we’re taking care of the hostages. All of them. Understood”
A pause as Tyler processed this news. Then, warily: “Understood.”
Cain clicked off. Lilith was staring at him.
“Kill the hostages,” she whispered, sardonic admiration in her gaze.
Smiling, Cain nodded. “That’s what I said.”
“You think he means it”
Ally was shaking all over, and Trish didn’t know how to reply.
“He could,” Trish whispered at last.
“But … why”
“Out of spite. He can’t hurt us directly, so he’ll do it through them.”
She didn’t add that Cain would have a better reason for killing Charles Kent, his employer or partner or whatever he was. With the operation a failure, Charles would be only a liability, a man obviously capable of betrayal, all too likely to use his skills and influence to cut a deal with the D.A.
And if Cain was going to take the time to kill Charles, why not Barbara and the Danforths also
Yes, it was possible. But on the other hand …
“It could be a trap,” Trish said. “A way to lure us off the island.”
Ally nodded. “What do you think the odds are”
Trish honestly couldn’t say. It was a coin toss. “Fifty-fifty, I guess.”