Ashes to Ashes

“I want in on that,” Liska said with determination.

“You should. A case like this makes careers.” And breaks them, Kate thought, wondering just how much trouble she was making for herself springing Angie DiMarco—and how much trouble she would be making for Liska.

The end justifies the means. She thought of Quinn. At least her goal was noble rather than self-serving manipulation.

Rationalization: the key to a clear conscience.

“Are the cameras rolling?” Liska asked.

“Even as we speak.” Kate watched out of the corner of her eye as her client palmed a Bic lighter someone had left on the table and slipped it into her coat pocket. Christ. A kid and a kleptomaniac. “Seems like a good time to split.”

“Run for it while you can,” Liska advised. “You're a double bonus today. I hear your name attached to a certain act of heroic lunacy at the government center this morning. If the newsies don't nail you for one thing, they'll nail you for another.”

“My life is much too exciting.”

“Where are you taking me?” Angie demanded as she came to the door, slinging her backpack over one shoulder.

“Dinner. I'm starving, and you look like you've been starving for a while.”

“But your boss said—”

“Screw him. I want to see somebody lock Ted Sabin in a room for a day or two. Maybe he'd develop a little empathy. Let's go.”

Angie shot one last glance at Liska and scooted out the door, hiking her backpack up as she hurried after Kate.

“Will you get in trouble?”

“Do you care?”

“It's not my problem if you get fired.”

“That's the spirit. Listen, we've got to go up to my office. If anyone stops me on the way, do us both a favor and pretend we're not together. I don't want the media putting two and two together, and you don't want them knowing who you are. Trust me on that one.”

Angie gave her a sly look. “Could I get on Hard Copy? I hear they pay.”

“You fuck this up for Sabin and he'll get you on America's Most Wanted. That is if our friendly neighborhood serial killer doesn't put you on Unsolved Mysteries first. If you don't hear anything else I tell you, kiddo, hear this. You do not want to be on television, you do not want your picture in a newspaper.”

“Are you trying to scare me?”

“I'm just telling you how it is,” she said as they entered the concourse to the government center.

Kate put on her don't-fuck-with-me face and walked as quickly as she could, considering the aches and stiffness from her morning wrestling match were beginning to sink in deep. Time was a-wasting. If the politicians took John's advice and somehow managed to contain themselves, the press conference would break up fast. Some of the reporters would dog Chief Greer, but most would split between the mayor and Ted Sabin, liking their odds better with elected officials than with a cop. Any minute now the concourse could be swarming with them.

If they followed Sabin into the concourse and caught sight of her, if someone called her name or pointed her out within earshot of the ravenous pack, she was bound to get cornered about the government center gunman. Eventually someone might make the mental leap and connect her to rumors of a witness in the latest homicide, and then the last few hours would truly deserve listing in the annals of all-time shitty days. Somewhere on the lower third of the list, she figured, leaving plenty of room above for the string of rotten days to come.

But luck was with her for once today. Only three people tried to intercept her on their way to the twenty- second floor. All making clever comments on Kate's morning heroics. She brushed them off with a wry look and a smart remark, and never broke stride.

“What's that about?” Angie asked as they got off the elevator, her curiosity overcoming her show of indifference.

“Nothing.”

“He called you the Terminator. What'd you do? Kill somebody?” The question came with a look that mixed disbelief with wariness with a small, grudging flicker of admiration.

“Nothing that dramatic. Not that I haven't been tempted today.” Kate keyed the access code into the security panel beside the door to the legal services department. She unlocked the door to her own office and motioned Angie inside.

“You know, you don't have to take me anywhere,” the girl said, flopping into the spare chair. “I can take care of myself. It's a free country and I'm not a criminal . . . or a kid,” she added belatedly.

“Let's not even touch on that subject for the moment,” Kate suggested, glancing through her unopened mail. “You know what the situation is here, Angie. You need a safe place to stay.”

“I can stay with my friend Michele—”

“I thought her name was Molly.”

Angie pressed her mouth into a line and narrowed her eyes.

“Don't even try to bullshit me,” Kate advised—for all the good it would do. “There is no friend, and you don't have a place to crash in the Phillips neighborhood. That was a nice touch, though, picking a rotten neighborhood. Who would claim they lived there if they didn't?”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“I think you've got your own agenda,” Kate said calmly, her attention on a memo that read: Talked w/Sabin. Wit to Phoenix House—RM. Permission. Odd Rob hadn't mentioned this in the mayor's office. The note was in a receptionist's hand. No time notation. The decision had probably come just before the press conference. All that subterfuge on her part for nothing. Oh, well.

“An agenda that probably centers on staying out of jail or a juvenile facility,” she went on.

“I'm not a—”

“Save it.”

She hit the message button on her phone and listened to the voices of the impatient and the forlorn who had tried to reach her during the afternoon. Reporters hot on the trail of the government center shootout heroine. She hit fast forward through each of them. Mixed in with the news hounds was the usual assortment. David Willis, her current pain-in-the-butt client. A coordinator of a victims' rights group. The husband of a woman who had allegedly been assaulted, though Kate had the gut feeling it was a scam, that the couple was looking to score reparation money. The husband had a string of petty drug arrests on his record.

“Kate.” The gruff male voice coming from the machine made her flinch. “It's Quinn—um—John. I, ah, I'm staying at the Radisson.”

As if he expected her to call. Just like that.

“Who's that?” Angie asked. “Boyfriend?”

“No, um, no,” Kate said, scrambling to pull her composure together. “Let's get out of here. I'm starving.”

She drew in a long breath and released it as she pushed to her feet, feeling caught off guard, something she had always worked studiously to avoid. Another offense to add to the list against Quinn. She couldn't let him get to her. He'd be here and gone. A couple of days at most, she figured. The Bureau had sent him because Peter Bondurant had friends in high places. It was a show of good faith or ass kissing, depending on your point of view.

He didn't need to be here. He wouldn't be here long. She didn't have to have any contact with him while he was here. She wasn't with the Bureau anymore. She wasn't a part of this task force. He had no power over her.

God, Kate, you sound like you're afraid of him, she thought with disgust as she turned her Toyota 4Runner out of the parking ramp onto Fourth Avenue. Quinn was past history and she was a