Rock. Irene had listened to a copy in the car on the way to dinner. It was funny, really, hearing Ted work to trip up the old man.
“So, how do you explain the phone call from Travis Donovan?”
“I suppose he wanted to talk to me.”
“Did he?”
“Why don’t you tell me.”
“Look, Mr. Sinclair, it’s in your best interest to cooperate here.”
“Consider me the poster child of cooperation.”
“Fine. Did you speak to Travis Donovan?”
“I’m afraid our connection was broken.”
“So you didn’t speak to him?”
“If the connection was broken, how could I?”
“Please answer the question, sir. Yes or no.” The frustration in Greenberg’s voice jumped right out of the cassette. “Did you or did you not speak over the telephone with Travis Donovan?”
“That would be very difficult without a connection, don’t you think?” Equally obvious was the amusement in Sinclair’s voice.
And so it went, for forty-five minutes, with Harry Sinclair neither incriminating nor perjuring himself. It occurred to Irene that the old man would make a great politician. In all likelihood, the interview would have continued ad infinitum had Sinclair’s attorney not shown up and put a stop to it. He’d already talked an appellate judge into nullifying their warrant and slapping a stay on their wiretap, due to a lack of evidence.
What the hell? she told herself. It was a dead end, anyway.
She undressed quickly and clumsily, kicking off her shoes and wriggling out of her suit. She paused a minute to check a spaghetti spatter on the front of the blouse and made a mental note to send it out to the cleaners first thing tomorrow, before it had a chance to set. Next came her weapon, a black S amp;W. 40-caliber semiautomatic, which she unclipped from the waistband of her skirt and dropped with a thunk onto the dresser. In less than a minute, she was naked, ready to soak. On her way back toward the bathroom, she paused for a moment to view herself in the mirrored closet doors, first full-face, then profile.
“Not bad for forty-two,” she told herself. Then, to remember what she looked like at twenty-two, she sucked in her stomach until she couldn’t breathe. “It sucks to grow old,” she grumbled. Hearing the vernacular, she reminded herself how much she was beginning to sound like her kids.
I’ve got to call them, she thought. First thing tomorrow. It’s been two days. And two days alone with their father was more than anyone should be asked to endure.
By the time she finished brushing her teeth, the water level had reached the danger line, and she had to take care as she lowered herself into the steaming bath not to slosh anything over the sides. It was wonderful; better, even, than she’d hoped. In the oversize tub, the water came past her breasts, just high enough to tickle the underside of her chin. The tension and the worry drained away as she leaned her head back against the tile and closed her eyes. This was heaven. If only she’d thought to turn out the lights, she could’ve fallen asleep right there.
In fact, she’d nearly nodded off when she heard the bathroom door open.
“Don’t scream,” Jake warned as he took aim at Irene’s left eye. “In fact, don’t say anything. If you try to call for help, I’ll kill you.”
Irene didn’t move, other than to begin trembling in the scalding water.
“Do you believe I’ll kill you?” Jake asked.
The fugitive’s face was blank, yet his eyes remained warm. The contrast petrified her. She nodded. Yes, she believed him.
He nodded along with her. “Good.” He pulled a towel off the metal rack next to the sink and handed it to her. “Here,” he said. “Cover yourself up.”
She reached for the towel too quickly and caused a wave of water to arch over the porcelain edge and slap down onto the black and white tile floor. As she tucked the towel around her body, she realized with a shudder that she was staring down the barrel of her own gun. A humiliating end to a humiliating day.
“What do you want?” she demanded. The strength she heard in her voice surprised her.
“How’s my son?”
She glared at him, her fear dissolving quickly into anger. “Who do you think you are, charging into my hotel room-”
“You know who I am,” Jake interrupted. “And if you truly believe all the bullshit they say I’ve done, then you should be scared shitless right now. If you don’t believe it, then you should know just how angry and unstable I have a right to be.” He helped himself to a spot on the vanity and drew one knee up to help support the weight of the pistol. “Either way, it seems that you should think twice before pissing me off.”
She continued to glare. There was fear in his eyes now, and combined with the complex assortment of other emotions he projected, she didn’t know what to make of his stability. Perhaps it was, indeed, time to be careful.
He took a deep, shaky breath and tried again. “I’m not asking you for state secrets, Rivers. I’m a father whose son is sick. Now, please answer my question. How is he?”
The way she broke eye contact said more than her words ever could. His shoulders sagged.
“They say he’ll live,” she said softly. “But it’s too early to tell the full extent of the damage to his lungs.”
Jake felt the sadness return and closed his eyes. At least he’s alive, he told himself. This was a time to focus on the positive.
He heard movement in the water and his eyes snapped open, freezing Irene in midlunge. If her foot hadn’t slipped, she might have made it.
“Don’t!” he yelled, more loudly than was prudent this late at night. His finger was half a pull away from killing her, and she seemed to know it, her full attention focused on the barrel of the pistol. “Sit down!” he commanded sharply. “Dammit, Rivers, don’t do that to me!”
She did, indeed, sit back down, and she watched as Jake struggled with his emotions. Sure as hell he’d have killed her, and from all appearances, that fact scared him nearly as much as it scared her.
A full minute passed before anyone said anything. Then he asked, “Have you seen him? Travis, I mean?”
She nodded. “Yes, I’ve seen him. He seems to be resting comfortably. They’ve got him in pediatric ICU, and he’s on a respirator, but he doesn’t seem to be in any distress.”
He considered that, then nodded to himself. “That’s good,” he said. “It’s good he’s comfortable. We can handle anything as long as he’s alive.” Another long pause followed. “Do you have children, Rivers?”
The question made her uneasy, but there seemed to be no threat in it. “Uh-huh,” she said. “Two daughters.”
He nodded again, though she wasn’t at all sure he’d heard her answer. “Kids are a hoot, aren’t they? Nothing makes you laugh as hard or cry as hard as a kid.” Again, he seemed to disappear into a distant room in his mind.
“Why are you here, Donovan?” she said, interrupting his thoughts. “No offense, but for an intelligent guy like yourself, this is a stupid place to be.”
He looked up again and chuckled. “So I’ve heard. Well, I’ll admit it seemed a much better idea when I was planning it than it did once I got here. But sooner or later, I figured I had to trust someone. You’re it. What does that tell you about my available options?”
“How did you get in?” Get him talking about himself, she thought, remembering her hostage negotiation training. As long as he felt like he had a friend, he’d be less likely to harm the hostage. She must have skipped the lesson on what to do when the negotiator and the hostage were the same person.
“You’d be surprised how many master keys they’ve got lying around the Housekeeping Department at this hour,” he said.
“That’s smart,” she said. “I’m not sure I would have thought of that.”
The comment brought a smirk to Jake’s face, and then the smirk turned to a smile and the smile to a laugh.
“What?” Clearly, she didn’t like being laughed at.
“Why, Agent Rivers, I believe you’re trying to suck up to me. Is that one of the lessons in Hostage 101?” He