I tried to recall the office layout, seemed to remember there being a conference room with a long, mahogany table, several long-backed chairs and a speakerphone. I remembered Amanda's desk. There was a picture of us in a silver frame. I'd had it engraved for her. Only Happiness Lies Ahead.
I stood in the stairwell, moved closer to the door and pressed my ear up against it. The stairwell was painted gray, dirt coated the steps, and the metal was rusted. I glanced around, couldn't see any security camera, so I was fairly confident Roberts wasn't aware of my presence. I couldn't hear anything inside the office, but the metal was likely muffling all sounds. But it couldn't muffle a gunshot. And I didn't hear any cops storming the stairs. Roberts hadn't killed anybody. Yet.
I gripped the doorknob, turned it ever so gently just to see if it was locked. For a moment panic gripped me. If it was locked from the inside, I wouldn't be able to get in unless our friendly neighborhood rifleman decided to let me join the party. And I knew the cops wouldn't greet me with open arms if I slunk back downstairs. But the knob turned. I stopped for a moment.
The last time I barged through a closed door unannounced and unwanted, a cop ended up dead and I ended up on the run for my life.
I took three short, quick breaths, then three long deep ones and gripped the knob. It turned easily, and I eased it all the way to the left until it wouldn't go any farther. Then I listened.
Nothing.
I pushed the door slightly to make sure it moved inward.
It did.
I pushed it just enough to create a small crack between the door and the jamb. I peeked inside.
I could see an elevator. An unmanned receptionist desk with a tall, white orchid. Nothing else.
I pushed the door farther in, enough so that I could slip inside. There were no sounds, nobody in view.
I stuck my head in, did a quick sweep, then crept inside and tiptoed over and ducked behind the receptionist's desk.
I poked my head out the side. There was a door which I recalled as leading to the conference room. I couldn't see anything. No Roberts. No Amanda.
Nothing except for a quarter-sized circle of blood on the middle of the carpet. My heart raced. I couldn't see any bodies. Nobody was screaming or crying. But he was here.
Somewhere.
And when I felt the muzzle of the Winchester rifle press against the back of my neck, I knew for sure.
58
'You were watching the whole time,' I said as I stood up.
The gun followed me, the muzzle pressed against my flesh.
If my heart beat any faster, all I had to do was turn around and it would burst through my chest, killing Roberts. Might be worth a try.
'Yessir, I was,' he said. 'Everything's more exciting when you're being watched.'
'Sure it is. That's why you called the press before the cops could come,' I said. 'You wanted us on the scene to 'make things more exciting.''
'Yessir,' he said.
'If we got here first, the cops wouldn't be prepared. You knew I'd try to contact Amanda. You knew I'd try to get inside.'
'Yessir,' he said.
'Then you also know that this building is surrounded by more ammunition than every Schwarzenegger movie combined. And cops whose trigger fingers will get epilepsy the second they get you in their crosshairs.'
'Yessir, I do,' he said. Roberts didn't seem the least bit upset by this. His face was calm, serene even, like everything was playing out perfectly.
This was the first time I'd had a chance to study him from close up. No bandanna, no bonds holding me down. He was younger than I remembered. His short blond hair made him look like a young twenty-one. It must have been easy for him to pass through the city. Easy to get lost. He looked like anyone's brother. Son. His eyes didn't contain the hate or evil
I thought they would. They contained as much levity as mine.
What lay behind those eyes might have been pure evil, but the prism it shone through disguised it, altered it. He could have been anyone.
'Same time, you can plan all you want but never really be sure what's gonna happen.' Roberts clicked his tongue.
And if my eyes weren't deceiving me, even nodded his head in an appreciative way. 'Glad you're here, Parker. Glad you could make it.'
'Where's Amanda?'
'Safe,' he said. 'One thing I'll say, that's a strong female there. Didn't cry one bit. Didn't beg for help. She did say your name once, kinda like she expected you to come. Guess you two have some sort of telepathic link. That right? Can you read each other's minds?'
I shook my head. 'No,' I said softly.
'Come on,' Roberts said, his voice like a goading friend.
'You can tell me. You and Davies, you hear each other's thoughts. Complete each other's sentences. Do all those goopy things lovers do. I bet you even talk to her after you're done fucking. Don't just snooze off like most guys. Bet you talk to her about your feelings and shit.'
'What the hell are you talking about, you sick asshole?'
I said. Clearly that was the wrong thing to say, because the muzzle bit into my skin harder than before. I winced. Roberts sensed this. Dug in harder.
'I care because I want to know just how close you and Davies are. I need to know, man. I need to hear you say it.'
'Why?' I asked.
He walked around the side of the gun, eyed me, then lightning-quick, smashed me in the stomach. I doubled over, pain shooting through my abdomen. I coughed, felt a speck of blood hit my hand. Wiped it off. Stood back up.
Robert smiled. 'Come with me.'
He grabbed me by my jacket collar and pulled me into the main office. Aside from the smashed window, blood on the floor and an overturned chair, everything looked like business as usual. Except for the sprinkles of plaster on the floor. I looked up, saw the hole in the ceiling where Roberts must have fired the Winchester.
'I see you asserted your authority,' I said. 'Guess you needed to scare all these vicious not-for-profit workers.'
'I'm not a fan of violence,' Roberts said. He looked at me.
'You seem surprised.'
'Considering you've killed about ten people, yeah, I'm surprised.'
'Only killed those people because they needed to go. Same way you'd burn a tick, step on a spider. Doesn't mean you like to kill. Means you don't want vermin spreading disease.'
'So that's what Athena was doing,' I said. 'Spreading disease?'
'I'm not a killer,' Roberts said. 'I'm a liberator. You can't see it now. They couldn't see it with my great- grandfather, either.'
'Billy the Kid was no liberator,' I said. 'He was a butcher who killed twenty-one people. He should have died in the womb.'
Roberts laughed. 'You're fucking clueless, man. The country exists because of my great-grandfather. America, man. Cowboys and Indians. Outlaws and lawmen. The Old
West gave birth to the new world because of men like my grandfather. He killed the people who impeded
