By the time they reached the ground floor, her hand was sweaty against the banister. They emerged from the building, into the gloom of an impending storm. From the Atlantic, black clouds were roiling in, and the very air smelled of brine and violence.
Adam glanced up and down Bolton Street, his gaze quickly surveying the shabby buildings, the windblown sidewalks. Across the street, a man emerged from a bar, hugged his coat, and trudged away. At the intersection, a car stood idling, music booming from its radio. So far there was no sign of danger. Still, she was glad when Adam reached for her hand; the warmth of his grasp was enough to steady her nerves.
They started up the street. Her car was right around the corner, on Radisson. As they reached it, the first fat drops of rain were beginning to fall.
M. J. pulled out her keys; Adam reached over and took them out of her hand. "I'll drive," he said. "You look shaken up."
Their gazes met. She was shaken up, and there he was, to steady her. Unlike any man she'd ever known.
She nodded. "Thanks."
He unlocked the passenger door and helped her in. Then he circled around and slid into the driver's seat, bringing in with him the comforting scents of damp wool, of skin-warmed after-shave. He pulled the door shut. "We'll get this over with," he said, "and then I'm taking you home."
She looked at him. "I think I'd like that," she said softly. "I'd like that very much."
They smiled at each other. He reached down to put the key in the ignition. Her gaze was still focused on his face. Only vaguely did she register the shadow moving alongside the car, closing in on her window. She glanced to her right just as the door was yanked open.
A blast of chilly air swept across her face; colder still was the icy gun barrel pressed against her temple.
M. J. jerked taut. "No! Vince-"
"Not a muscle," growled Shradick. "Got that, Quantrell?"
Adam sat frozen behind the wheel, his gaze locked on M. J. "Don't," he said, panic seeping into his voice. "Don't hurt her."
"Into the back seat," Shradick ordered. "Move it, Novak."
On wobbly legs, M. J. stepped out of the car and climbed through the rear door into the back seat. Shradick slid in beside her and slammed the door shut. The gun barrel was still pressed to her head.
"Okay," said Shradick. "Drive."
Adam turned to look at them. "Leave her alone! There's no reason for this-"
"She knows. So do you."
"So does the DA!"
"He doesn't know crap. Far as he's concerned, it's a nuisance case. And his ex-wife's a pain." Shradick clicked back the gun hammer. "Which she is."
"No!" cried Adam. "Please-"
"Then drive."
"Where?"
"Up Radisson."
Adam threw M. J. a desperate look. He had no choice. Then he turned and started the engine. As they pulled into traffic, she could see his knuckles were white on the steering wheel. There was nothing he could do; one false move and Shradick would blow her away.
She said, "They'll figure it out, Vince. Ed knows you were Ben Fuller's partner. He's already wondering what really happened to Fuller. How could you do it to your own partner?"
"He wasn't a good sport."
"Meaning what? He wouldn't play along? Wouldn't take the payoffs?"
"Goddamn Boy Scout. God, honor, country. That stuff doesn't pay the bills. Ben and I, we just never came to an understanding. No common ground, see."
"Not like you and Peggy Sue Barnett," said Adam.
"Hey, Peggy Sue, I could sorta understand. Bitch saw an opportunity, she grabbed it. Trouble is, she started getting greedy. More money, always more."
"So you had Esterhaus pass along some poison. Something you thought couldn't be identified," said Adam.
Shradick gave a grunt of surprise. "He talked?"
"He didn't have to," said M. J. "We knew about his arrest. You were Fuller's partner at the time, weren't you? You would've heard all about Esterhaus. And his troubles."
"Yeah. Those Miami boys." Shradick laughed. "He was scared to death of them."
"So you two cut a deal. He got you the drug. And you didn't call Miami."
"Hey, it worked."
"Except for one detail, Vince. Zestron-L killed a few too many victims. One body, the ME might overlook. But four? That was a trend."
They pulled to a stop at a red light. Shradick glanced at the street sign. "Turn right," he said.
"Where are we going?" asked Adam.
"The docks."
Adam flashed M. J. a backward glance. Keep your cool, it said. I'llget us out of this somehow .
He turned right.
Three blocks east took them to the wharf. The rainswept docks were deserted. A series of piers jutted out, most of them long since abandoned to disuse. A single fishing trawler rocked in the gray water, straining at its moorings.
"That warehouse up ahead," said Shradick. "Drive there."
"The pier won't hold the weight," said Adam.
"Yes it will. Go."
Adam pulled off the pavement and slowly guided the car onto the pier. They could hear the wood creak under the weight, could feel the thump of the tires over the boards. At the warehouse entrance, they rolled to a stop.
"Okay," said Shradick. "Out of the car."
M. J. stepped out. The wind whipped her hair and lashed her face with sea spray. She stood with the gun shoved against her back, her heart pounding.
"Quantrell! Open the warehouse door," ordered Shradick.
"Two more murders," said Adam. "What's it going to get you, Vince?"
"My freedom, maybe? Open the door."
Adam reluctantly set his shoulder against the sliding panel. "You killed Fuller," he grunted, pushing against the door. "And Esterhaus. And Peggy Sue Barnett." Slowly the panel slid open, revealing a seemingly impenetrable darkness. "Where's it going to end?"
"With you two." Shradick waved the gun. "Inside."
There was no arguing with a bullet. They stepped out of the wind's assault, into the gloom. The darkness smelled of dust and sea rot.
"Beamis will figure it out," said Adam. "He'll find us-"
"Not for a while. See, this particular warehouse belongs to Vito Scalisi. And his sentence runs till 2003. By the time they open the building again, the rats'll have taken care of things. If you catch my drift."
Meaning our bodies , thought M. J. with a rush of nausea. Quickly she glanced around and saw, through the shadows, a jumble of old crates, wooden pallets. Overhead, ropes dangled from a catwalk. And high above, rainwater dripped steadily through a hole in the roof. There were no other exits, no way out.
Adam was still trying to buy time. "People saw you at the burial, Vince-"
"I was there in the line of duty."
"They saw us, too! They'll put it together-know you followed us-"
"Me? I went home to bed. This damn virus, you see." He raised his gun. "Both of you, against the wall. Don't want to have to drag you. Not with my bad back."
Adam moved close to M. J. and wrapped his arms around her. She felt his breath warm her hair, felt his lips brush the top of her head. "Get ready," he whispered. "When I move, you run."
In bewilderment she stared up at him, and saw the unbending command in his gaze: Don't argue. Just do it.
"Skip the tender farewells, okay?" barked Shradick. "Against the wall."
There are so many things I want to tell you , she thought, still gazing up at Adam. And now I'll never have the chance.
He pressed one last kiss to her forehead. Then, with a nudge, he pushed her away, placing himself between her and Shradick. Calmly, he turned to face the gun.