I stared straight ahead at the house and beyond it. Inadvertently, I wiped my palms against my jeans. My heart wouldn’t stop hammering, my hand wouldn’t stop shaking. The finger that had touched her cheek was still on fire, tingling with the taste of her skin.
The moment stretched itself thin. I could sense Lien-hua’s heart beating, pulsing someplace beside me, finding its own rhythm again, its own unique tempo. Neither of us looked at each other.
“I’m sorry, Lien-hua.”
“Stop.” Then she took a deep breath that might have been a sigh. I couldn’t tell. “Please.”
I peered out the passenger-side window but couldn’t seem to find anything to focus my eyes on. I shook my cup. I’d finished my coffee a long time ago-just coffee grounds left. Nothing worth drinking. I didn’t feel like drinking any anyway. I felt more like shooting myself in the head.
Somewhere between us lurked a forest of unspoken words. Tension still hung in the air, but the words were going to remain unsaid for now. Because just then, the door to the house eased open and Vanessa stepped outside.
“There she is,” I said, leaning forward. Never in my life had I been so relieved and so disappointed to see a stakeout come to an end.
Vanessa glanced up and down the street, pausing for a moment. Her eyes seemed to rest on our car. Then she hurried over to her Corvette, slipped inside, and started the engine.
“She didn’t see us, did she?” Lien-hua whispered.
“No,” I said as confidently as I could. But she might have. Maybe she did.
Vanessa backed out of her driveway.
“All right,” I said. I was glad to be in control of my words again, of my thoughts again. “Time to move.”
56
I snatched up my walkie-talkie. “Subject is mobile. Heading eastbound toward highway 240. Unit one in pursuit. Please advise.”
“Unit two here,” Brent replied. “I’m close. I’ll back you up. Over.”
Vanessa cruised down Merrimon Avenue and then turned onto East Chestnut.
Lien-hua was keeping her distance, staying just close enough so we wouldn’t lose her, sliding and gliding through traffic like a pro.
Suddenly, Vanessa made a sharp left, racing through a red light. Lien-hua screeched the tires, pulling into the left lane and roaring into the intersection toward an oncoming truck. I was sure he was going to slam into us-into me-but Lien-hua swung the car over the rise of the curb, across someone’s no-longer-quite-so-immaculate-lawn, whipped past the truck, and bounced us back onto the road.
“You drive with an attitude,” I said.
“Comes from having two older brothers with ATVs.”
We’d both taken the events of the stakeout and slid them away into a silent drawer. Closed it tight. Nothing happened. Life was back to normal.
No. It wasn’t.
I radioed Brent Tucker. “Subject turned left onto Charlotte. She might have seen us.”
“Got her,” Tucker’s voice came back. “I’m right behind her.”
Lien-hua made the turn, and we saw the taillights of Tucker’s sedan slide out of sight a quarter mile ahead of us.
“She’s really moving,” I said.
Lien-hua slammed her foot to the floor, and we swooped around the bend.
“She’s entering the Stratford Golf Course,” Tucker called. “I’ve got the east entrance. Go north, cut off the northbound exit.”
Ahead of us the road split.
“Which way?” shouted Lien-hua. “Right or left?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Decide!”
I scanned the streets, tree lines, layout of the neighborhood. “Right.”
She spun the wheel, and we jolted into the right lane. It led us along a narrow strip of county road and deposited us at the north entrance of the golf course.
“How did you know?” she asked as we jumped out of the car, grabbing our walkie-talkies.
“Travel theory. Urban design. I’ll explain later-”
“Male suspect.” It was Tucker’s voice. “In pursuit.”
“Male?” said Lien-hua. “Grolin?”
“Unknown,” came the reply.
Lien-hua and I sprinted across the fairway toward hole 17. I started wishing maybe we’d chosen those mic patches.
“Vanessa’s on foot!” yelled Tucker. “Heading for the clubhouse.”
“Go east,” I said to Lien-hua. “Flare out and see if we can find Grolin before he finds her.” Lien-hua bolted out of sight to the left, and I darted through the trees to the right, up and over a sand trap.
I could see a figure about fifty meters in front of me, crouched low and sneaking toward the clubhouse. I hit the button on the walkie-talkie. “Tucker, where are you?”
“West of the clubhouse.”
“I think I see him,” I said.
“Where?”
“By the golf carts on the south side of the-”
The figure stepped forward, floated into the shadows. Disappeared.
“Wait! I just lost him,” I yelled. I raced forward, pulling my gun out of its holster in midstride. “He’s gotta be close to you.”
“He’s by the west entrance,” came Tucker’s reply. “I’m going in.”
“Wait for Lien-hua!” I yelled.
The Illusionist slipped through the shadows along the tree line and up to the clubhouse. He’d had to change his plans for tonight, adapt, but he was confident it would all work out in the end.
Oh, it would work out beautifully.
Look in this hand while I hide the coin in the other.
I remembered the explosion from earlier in the day. Is this another trap?
“Wait for backup,” I told Brent through my walkie-talkie.
“We’ve got this guy,” Tucker responded. “Let’s take him down.” Before I could say another word, Tucker eased through the shadows like a knife and disappeared through a slit in the fence.
Too many people on the scene… poor communication… someone’s going to get hurt.
“Pull back!” I said. “Contain the area!”
The Illusionist unholstered his weapon. Sat in the shadows. Waited.
I heard the glisten of breaking glass and rounded the corner. An alarm began to howl. “He’s inside. I repeat, he’s inside.”
I ran forward, stepped through the shattered window. Listened. “Tucker?”
A gunshot.
No!
The emergency lights burst on, red-filtered, coating the room in pulsing scarlet. The alarm siren throbbed through the night. It felt like I was inside a beating heart.
Brum, brum. Brum, brum… Brum, brum. Brum, brum…
I flew around the corner.
Brum, brum. Brum, brum…
The killer. He’s here.
Then movement woven into the shadows. “Who’s there?” I yelled. I snapped on my Maglite and swept the room, flashlight in my left hand, gun in my right. “Who is it?”
Brum, brum…
Deep grunts. A fight. Two figures in the corner, in the dark. Movement blurring movement.
Blurring movement.
One of them was a woman. Lien-hua. I saw her spin and kick someone. He fell to the floor. She whipped out her weapon, crouched low, ready to move in.
Then a gunshot. She flew for cover.
I ducked into the shadows. “Lien-hua!” I yelled.
Another shot. From the next room.
My adrenaline was going through the roof. “Lien-hua, are you all right?”
“I’m OK!”
“Tucker, where are you?”
Brum, brum. Brum, brum…
Then the person Lien-hua had been fighting was standing up, waving two guns, one in each hand, rushing toward me. Everything was a blur, a red blur. “Drop your weapons,” I screamed, swinging my gun into position. It was too dark to see him clearly; all I could see was his outline against the window. Muffled sounds. “Now. Drop them!”
No reply. He was aiming the guns toward me, coming fast- Take him down, Pat, or you’re dead.
Before I could pull the trigger I heard two rapid gunshots from my left, and the figure jerked backward into the air and crashed to the ground.
Suddenly the lights were on and Tucker was rushing through the door, waving his gun. “I got him,” he cried. “I got Grolin.” Red light still pulsing.