vertigo through her skull.
She knew he was right about the hospital. It wasn't the inhalation of gas that worried her as much as the head trauma she'd suffered when Hickle knocked her out. She still had a raging headache centered behind her eyes, pain that she could no longer attribute entirely to the gas.
She was less steady on her feet than she ought to be, and the nausea in her belly had not completely vanished even after she'd started breathing fresh air.
So, yes, she would go to a hospital, but not until she had tied up a few loose ends. The police-by which she meant officers of the law other than Vie Wyatt-would arrive before long to check out Hickle's apartment and look in on his immediate neighbors. This was standard investigative procedure, and it would be triggered by Hickle's attack on Kris Barwood.
Abby knew there had been an attack. On the phone she'd heard Travis yell an order to a driver. Kris's voice had been briefly audible, asking what was wrong.
Then, gunfire. The shotgun, from the sound of it. Several shots, Kris screaming, Travis yelling at her to get down-And silence. The connection had been lost.
Anything could have happened after that. Desperate to know, Abby had redialed Travis's cell phone twice. No answer. She'd considered phoning 911 before remembering that TPS had stationed security agents at the beach house. They must have heard the shots, as had Kris's neighbors.
So the police were definitely involved. Whatever the outcome of the attack, there would be a thorough investigation.
The Hollywood side of the case would focus on Hickle's apartment. Nice men in suits would be banging on every door on the fourth floor very soon. But by then she would be gone.
She made her way somewhat unsteadily into the kitchen and took out a pair of rubber gloves. As she was pulling them on, she heard Wyatt's low-top boots on the linoleum floor.
'I'm not sure I want to know what those are for,' he said wryly.
She saw a frown of disapproval pinching his mouth.
'Then you'd better not follow me when I go into Hickle's apartment.'
'His apartment?' The frown deepened, and he folded his arms across his chest, the blue sleeves of his jacket straining taut.
'Sounds like tampering with a crime scene.'
'Going to arrest me. Sergeant?' His silence was an eloquent reply.
'Okay, then.'
Taking her cell phone in case Travis called back, she hustled into the bedroom, where she picked up the padlock and chain. Then she climbed onto the fire escape and lifted herself into Hickle's bedroom window.
'You took a blow to the back of the head,' Wyatt said from behind her.
His voice surprised her. He had followed her so silently that she hadn't been aware of his presence. She paused, straddling the windowsill.
'Yeah, Hickle clipped me,' she admitted, self-consciously fingering the bump he had seen. There was no laceration, no bleeding, only a large, swollen knob, tender to the touch.
Wyatt leaned close and patted-the injury also, drawing a wince from her.
'How?' he asked, worry in his eyes.
'What did he use, his fist or a weapon?'
'I don't, know. I've got a little memory gap. I remember fighting him then coming to.'
'You lost consciousness from the blow? Hell, Abby, you've suffered a grade three concussion. We have to get you to an ER. You need a neurologic exam-'
'I need to take care of business. The ER can wait.'
She tried to complete her unlawful entry into Hickle's apartment. Wyatt grabbed her hand to stop her.
'You have any idea how serious a major concussion can be?'
She raised her head and met his eyes, experiencing another swoon of vertigo.
'I think I do. Let's see, when my brain sloshed forward, I could have suffered a cont recoup injury-contusion of the frontal and temporal lobes. Or I could have ruptured some blood vessels, in which case I have a nice little subdural hematoma building up pressure in my skull.
Maybe I've formed a blood clot, and if I receive another blow it'll be jarred loose and I'll have a stroke, possibly fatal. So yes. Vie, I have a vague idea of how serious a concussion can be, and the sooner you let me do what I have to do, the sooner I can get medical attention.
Okay?'
She shook free of his grip and finished climbing through the window.
She knew she had been sharp with him. Irritability was one symptom of head trauma.
The air in Hickle's apartment was clean. He hadn't set a similar death trap in his own place.
'Don't touch anything,' she instructed Wyatt when he followed her inside.
'You were never here.'
She wiped off the padlock and chain, tossing both items on the bedroom floor, and proceeded into the living room. The first thing she saw was that Hickle had pulled down the smoke detector. Scanning the carpet, she discovered the camera's crushed remnants.
She put them in her pocket.
'What was that?' Wyatt asked.
'Surveillance camera. In pieces, but the crime scene guys would still be able to identify it.'
'Camera? One of yours?'
'It's just a tool of the trade, no big deal, except it's illegal.'
'Yeah, except for that.'
Abby retrieved the infinity transmitter from the smashed telephone, then found the bug in the oven's ventilation hood, which Hickle had overlooked. She returned to the bedroom. The place was a mess.
Hickle had torn down most of the photos; they littered the floor like a drift of faces. Abby wondered if Wyatt noticed that the subject of every photograph was Kris Barwood. If so, he didn't mention it.
As she was groping underneath the drawers of Hickle's nightstand to recover the other microphone, she heard Wyatt say, 'You think you can disappear, is that it?'
'Possibly. I've done it before.'
'You mean when you were Emanuel Earth's housekeeper?'
'How'd you guess?'
'I didn't, until Sam Cahill gave me the details. He's the detective who handled the case and put Earth away the second time.'
She looked at him.
'You talked with a detective about me?'
'Your name never came up.'
'Even so, you must've raised his suspicions.'
'Sam's a friend. He'll be discreet. You can trust him.'
'I don't seem to have a choice,' she snapped.
'You know, for someone who just cheated death, you're in a pretty foul mood.'
Abby found a smile.
'Sorry. I just don't like people knowing my secrets, that's all.'
'Even me?'
'Even you. Vie. Even though you saved my life. It may be irrational, but that's the way I am. Anyway, you're right about the Earth case. I was Connie Hammond.'
'And you disappeared.'
'It was easy enough. Nobody was looking very hard for Connie. This time there are complications.
Hickle knows the truth about me. Someone else may know also. If either of them ends up in custody and wants to talk, I could have some explaining to do.' She pocketed the second mike, then picked up her microcassette recorder, which Hickle had left on the bed.
'Sounds like you're in a lot of trouble, Abby.'
'No, I was in a lot of trouble. Now I'm fine, thanks to you. And I do mean thanks. I was wrong, you know,
