that.”
She started to say something, then stopped and shook her head.
“What?” I said.
“It’s just interesting timing. I get upset with you for this bizarre relationship we’ve developed, and then you decide you’re going to make a move for the first time? Damn, if I’d known that would’ve worked all along . . .”
“It wasn’t because you got upset.”
“I won’t debate that with you, but I could.”
“I know.”
Her gaze was intense. “So you were ready to make a courageous first move, and then you chose to abort the attempt.”
“Yeah, the news you had kind of killed that.”
“I’ll be kicking myself over that, of course.”
“Listen to her lie.”
“Truer words were never spoken, Lincoln.”
There was a comfortable silence for a few seconds, and then I leaned over and slid my hand behind her neck and pulled her in and kissed her. She returned it, gently but passionately, and then broke away. Her eyes could have been happy or sad. Probably somewhere in between.
“Now who’s not being fair?” she said.
I nodded. “It’s not fair. I understand that, Amy.”
Her face was inches from mine, her hair soft against my hand. “So stop it.”
“Okay,” I said, and then I kissed her again. She separated from me once, said, “Damn you, Lincoln,” and then we were back at it, twisting on the couch so that she was above me, her body resting lightly against mine, her hair hanging down against my face.
Her fingers slid over my shoulders and up to my neck, and when her hand moved on me a quick line of electricity seemed to dance along my spine. She pushed her hands through my hair, and when her fingers crossed over the lumps on the back of my skull, a surge of pain passed through, a momentary reminder of Alex Jefferson and Karen and Targent and a nameless man with a grudge and a gun. Then I was sliding that old sweatshirt off of her, my hands gliding over her small, smooth back, and the pain and the problems and all of the rest of it faded away.
Later, in my bedroom, she lay warm beside me, her leg hooked over my knee and her head nestled against my neck. Her breathing was slow and easy, moving toward sleep, but I was awake and alert, watching shadows slide across the ceiling as cars passed along the avenue.
“Remind me why we never did that before,” I said.
“I used to have standards,” she said, her breath hot on my neck, and then she bit my shoulder gently.
18
The phone rang, shrill and insistent. I lifted my head and blinked, searching for the phone in the darkness. Beside me, Amy stirred but didn’t wake, sleeping as if she had a winter’s hibernation ahead of her. I pushed myself up with the heel of my hand and reached over her and grabbed the phone from its base. Then I climbed out of the bed and walked into the hallway, squinting to make out the number in the display as it rang a third time. Karen’s house.
I answered the phone just as my eyes found the clock in the living room and saw that it was ten minutes to three.
“Karen, what’s wrong?”
“He called me, Lincoln. Just now.” Her voice was terse and frightened.
“Who did?”
“The man who killed my husband! He asked me how much money Matthew would have inherited. I started yelling at him, I was hysterical almost—”
“Slow down, Karen.” She was talking so fast I could hardly understand her.
“He told me I didn’t have to die,” she said, and this time the words were slow and clear.
“What else?”
“He said that all he wanted was whatever had been coming to Matthew, provided that it was reasonable. He actually said that. Provided that it was reasonable. Then he said that all further instructions were going to come through you.”
“
“He said I was supposed to tell you that you have a conference call coming on the phone in the gym. He told me to call you immediately and tell you that.”
I was standing in the kitchen now, the tile floor cold on my bare feet. “He told you I had a conference call coming on the phone in the gym.”
“Yes. Lincoln, what—”
“I’ll call you back, Karen.”
Amy was pushed up on one arm when I went back into the bedroom, her eyes bleary with sleep but concerned.
“Who was that?”
“Karen. My friend from the other night has apparently requested that I take a phone call in my gym.”
Now she sat all the way up, holding the sheet to her chest. “Lincoln, do you really think you should—”
“I’ve got to,” I said. “It’ll just be a phone call.
He doesn’t want to kill me.” He hadn’t the last time we’d met, at least, but of course I had spent the past twenty-four hours ignoring his instructions.
“I’m going down with you.”
“No, you’re
I went into the extra bedroom and got my Glock out and checked the load. When I stepped back into the hall, she was standing in the door of my bedroom, a pool of light from the street at her feet.
“It’ll be fine,” I said, and then I left.
I was still barefoot, and the pavement was hard and cold as I crossed to the gym, got the key in the lock, and opened the door. Everything was still, the way it should be at three in the morning. Standing with my back to the wall, I slid my hand around until I found the light switch and got the lights in the office turned on. Then I pivoted, keeping low, and pushed inside, sweeping the room with the barrel of my gun. Empty.
The overhead lights in the gym had been turned off by the last member to leave, but a ring of low-wattage emergency lamps around the room offered a dim glow. You never want a twenty-four-hour facility to be entirely dark, even when it’s empty.
I wanted to check the rest of the building, but I also wanted to remain close to the phone. The phone won out, and I sat down on the edge of the desk with the Glock in my hand, waiting.
When the phone out in the gym rang, I almost emptied my clip into the wall. I’d been ready for the desk phone, so having the sound come from someplace else caught me off guard. There’s a phone on the wall in the weight room for members to use, but it’s a separate number from the office line. It rang again, and I stood up and took a deep breath, rocking the gun in my hand.
“All right, asshole,” I said aloud. “I’m coming.”
I was halfway across the weight room when the front window exploded. Glass blew into the room, and with it came cold air and the staccato rattle of a semi-automatic weapon. I hit the ground and rolled to my left, trying to push myself behind the concrete pillar that stood in the middle of the room and supported the weight of the building. Bullets shredded the wall behind me, nicking off chunks of stone and shattering metal and glass. I got all the way behind the pillar, pressed my back against it, and ducked my head and put my forearms against my ears as
