The more Jane thought about it, the more it was better to do this alone. She’d figure out whoever was in charge and simply lay her cards on the table. The files, that is. They were safely in her tote bag, with the smoke-stenched footprint. Tuck was a no-show. Fine.
She pushed the door the rest of the way open, heard it huff over the thick pile of the interior carpeting. Took a step inside, pushed the heavy door closed behind her.
Strange. Jane expected a bustling office, or at least some sense of activity. But what looked like a reception desk-with a phone console and a guest book and a crystal vase of fiery chrysanthemums-was unstaffed. A long carpeted hallway stretched in front of her. She took in the glass-windowed doors, an occasional chair, and on one wall, a floor-to-ceiling gallery of framed photos.
Jane stood on the entryway’s circular oriental rug, alone, in the silence. The phone jangled. She stepped back, expecting someone to come answer it. It rang again, and again, and again. Then stopped. No one appeared.
Jane frowned, calculating. The front door had been unlocked, so the place was open. Only that one Mercedes in the lot, though. Still, it was Thursday, a weekday, and now past ten o’clock in the morning. So, open.
And hey. She’d knocked on doors before, looking for answers. She could knock on a few again. Since the place was open, someone had to be here. She headed down the hall, unzipping her black wool jacket, stuffing her gloves in her pocket. A light was on in the office at the end. She could see it through the window of the closed door.
All good.
Was Tucker Cameron the wrong girl? Jane was about to find out.
“So why were you at Lillian Finch’s house?” Jake asked.
Munson’s face had turned to stone, but Ardith Brannigan’s seemed about to crumble. Dolly Richards had indeed gotten the cab’s license number, but Alvarez in Records had reported the real cab driver could only describe a man and a woman, bundled in mufflers and winter coats, silent behind the cab’s thick plastic barrier. And he’d dropped them off on a side street. So score this one for Jake.
DeLuca pulled the framed photo from his inside jacket pocket, showed it to the unhappy couple. “Was this the motive? Jealousy? Revenge? Mrs. Brannigan? That your husband was-sleeping with-Lillian Finch?”
“What?” Ardith Brannigan paled, her eyes widening as one hand flew to her mouth.
“I said, not another word, Ardith.” Munson kept one arm around her, his hand clamped to her shoulder. With the other he reached into the pocket of his tweed jacket. Took out a gun. And rested it on Ardith’s right temple.
Jake and DeLuca went for their weapons at exactly the same time. Shit.
“Gentlemen, I wouldn’t do that,” Munson said. “You’re going to let us go. If you touch your weapons, I’ll shoot her. If you interfere, I’ll shoot her. If you follow us, I’ll shoot her. I’m sure you can tell I’m dead serious.”
Great. There were people in that office. Jane could tell as she walked closer to it. The wooden door had a four-part glass insert, and though the glass was frosted and faceted, it showed signs of people inside. Even down the hall, she could see colors moving, and indistinct shapes. Three people, maybe. Four.
Someone in there would know something. All she had to do was knock.
“Collins.” Ardith Brannigan’s voice was a whisper. She was looking at something over Jake’s shoulder, it seemed, but Jake couldn’t risk turning around.
He’d mentally raced through all the possibilities and the result was zero. Munson had Ardith at gunpoint, both standing behind a huge glass desk. No way for him or D to get close. In time, at least.
“How do you plan to-” The guy was nuts. Jake could almost smell the crazy.
“Shut up.” Munson moved his gun. Jake saw the woman wince as he pushed it against her forehead. “You two. On the couch.”
“Mrs. Brannigan, we can help you,” Jake said. Calm. Compassionate. Rule one. Keep the victim on your side. “You can see this is a doomed proposition. You can see how much Mr. Munson cares about you. He’s decided to use you as a hostage.”
“True love,” DeLuca said.
“DO it!” Munson yelled.
Jake perched on the edge of the black leather and aluminum couch. D beside him. Ready to move the instant there was a chance.
“Lillian was going to ruin the Brannigan,” the woman said. She was still looking over Jake’s shoulder, not at him. Not at Munson. “Collins told me she’d-”
“Shut. Up.” Munson pointed at DeLuca. “You. Put the cuffs on your friend. Cuff him to the armrest. Both hands. Do it.”
Shit. “Munson. Look. There’s no way-”
“DO it!” Munson yelled.
He didn’t want to break concentration on Munson to look at DeLuca, but he knew his partner was making the same calculations.
Munson, Ardith, desk, gun.
Whoa. It sounded like they were having some hell of a meeting. Fine, she’d knock, they’d stop yelling. Jane couldn’t really hear all they were saying, but if they were in a meeting, they were in a meeting. People yelled in meetings, no biggie. It wasn’t like it was life or death.
She rapped the wooden door, once. No answer.
Again.
“We’re busy!” someone yelled.
Well, that was pleasant. Must be some meeting.
“We’re busy!” Munson yelled again, without taking his eyes off the officers.
D unsnapped his cuffs. Flipped one over Jake’s wrist, then the other, then around the metal armrest. There was no way to communicate, but Jake knew he was assessing how to fake it. Fool the moron into thinking he was cuffed. Whoever was outside the door-he hoped they left. Fast. If they didn’t, they were certain to be in the line of fire. Do not endanger additional victims.
“Stand back.” Munson pointed DeLuca away, then walked Ardith, gun to head, closer to them. One step at a time. Jake calculated as the man approached. Not close enough. Assess risk-benefit. Do not take unnecessary chances.
“Show me. Show me the cuffs.”
Jake did. Damn it.
“Now. Take his gun and radio.” He pointed to a file cabinet across the room. “Put them in that drawer.”
“Screw you,” DeLuca muttered. “You’re only making this wor-”
“No, sir,” Jake said. Never give up your weapon. “That’s not how this is gonna work.”
Okey dokey, then, Jane thought. Guess they don’t want to be interrupted. She moved away from the door and took a few steps down the hall, zipping up her jacket and fingering her cell phone. She should call Tuck. And Alex again. Unlikely anyone would bother her in the hall. Plus, she needed to get answers. These people had them. Maybe she could sit in one of those chairs in the hallway, stall until the meeting was over. They’d never know she was the one who’d knocked.
“You want to see how this is going to work?” Munson clasped Ardith closer. His voice was a hiss, a whisper. “I don’t want to shoot her. Or you. But you know I will.”
Jake and DeLuca exchanged glances. Protect the hostage. D took Jake’s gun, then his radio, and put them into the drawer.