wild as — McBride moved into action, simultaneously grabbing his gun hand and stomping down on his right foot.
The Ghost howled, but wasn’t so easily dispatched. He made a quick turn and brought his free hand up, smashing the side of McBride’s face, sending her sprawling.
Pope hurled the flashlight at him, and leaped, taking him down with a hard tackle — but as they hit the floor, The Ghost brought a knee up into Pope’s groin and Pope felt his testicles implode, pain shooting up into his stomach as the wind was knocked out of him.
He rolled away, clutching himself, as The Ghost got to his feet and backed into the bathroom doorway, out of breath, his gun still in hand, pointed at Pope and McBride.
And make no mistake about it. He was angry.
Very angry.
“You know something, Danny? I don’t think I like you all that much any…”
He paused mid-sentence, his expression shifting, a startled look in his eyes. Then his fingers went slack and the gun fell to the floor, as he dropped to his knees and pitched forward, blood spreading across his back.
And standing in the doorway, knife in hand, was the man in the red baseball cap.
He spat on The Ghost, his voice full of disgust. “ Gadje scum.”
Anna’s jaw was on fire, but the pain abruptly disappeared as she pulled herself upright and saw Red Cap staring at her.
Where had he come from?
Had he followed them here?
Without another word, Red Cap stepped toward her and she fumbled for her Glock, only to remember that the man on the floor had taken it from her when he grabbed her.
And as Red Cap moved closer, she suddenly realized that there was something different about him. His face was different from the one she’d seen in her visions. The misshapen half was no longer a hideous mess. It was still malformed, yes, but not nearly as bad-as if he’d had some sort of corrective surgery.
“Not to worry, Chavi. I would not let him hurt you. Not before you give me what is mine.”
McBride tried to get to her feet, but stumbled back and found herself pressed against the hallway wall, her gaze on the knife in his hand. “What do you want from me?”
He seemed surprised by the question. “What I always want, my darling. What I always-”
Anna heard a shout and suddenly Pope flew through the air toward Red Cap, knocking him to the floor. The knife went flying as the two rolled across the carpet, Pope pounding at him with his fists, landing blows to his face and chest.
Red Cap brought an arm up, blocking the assault, as his other hand dipped into a pocket and brought out the stun gun, jabbing Pope in the side. Electricity snapped and Pope jerked back, spasming violently as Red Cap threw him off and stood, about to bring the stunner down again.
Then Anna lunged, grabbing his wrist, slamming him against the wall — but he was strong, abnormally strong, and he twisted away from her and flung her aside. He turned and started toward her again as she stumbled back, losing her footing, and hit the ground hard — and just as he was over her, a shot rang out and he screamed, dropping the stun gun, grabbing his shoulder.
“Freeze!” a voice shouted, and Anna heard Worthington pounding up the stairs.
Red Cap whirled, still clutching his shoulder, and threw himself toward the darkness of the bathroom as — Worthington fired again, the bullet gouging wood in the doorframe as Red Cap disappeared from sight.
Then Worthington was at the top of the stairs, weapon and flashlight in hand. Stepping over the body on the floor, he pointed both toward the bathroom doorway.
“No place to go, asshole. Come out here. Now!”
But he got no response. No sound coming from in there at all.
Anna got to her feet and moved to Pope, who was no longer spasming. But his face was pale and he didn’t seem fully coherent.
“What the fuck?” he groaned.
“It’s all right,” she said, rubbing his arm. “You’ll be all right in a minute.”
Worthington took another step toward the bathroom. “Get your ass out here right now, motherfucker, or I swear to Christ I’ll let you bleed to death.”
He swept the bathroom with the flashlight beam and frowned. Moving carefully toward the doorway, he hesitated at the threshold, then stepped inside.
“Shit,” Worthington said, his voice reverberating against the bathroom tiles. “I don’t fucking believe it. He did it again. The son of a bitch did it again.”
3 6
The bathroom window was hanging open, blood on the sill.
Anna stared at it, amazed by Red Cap’s agility. His ability to move so decisively in so short a time. And with a bullet in him, no less.
Her gaze shifted to her reflection in the mirror and she didn’t like what she saw. Her hair was a sweaty and matted mess, there were dark circles under her eyes, and her scar was inflamed. She looked at the tub and wished she could crawl in and soak for a couple hours.
Hell, a couple years.
Preferably in ice-cold water.
She heard pounding on the steps behind her and turned, moving into the hallway. Worthington coming back from outside.
He was out of breath.
“I looked up and down the block,” he said. “No sign of him anywhere-although I did find some blood on the sidewalk.”
“Will someone please wake me up?” Pope said. He was on the floor against the wall, looking as if he could use a long soak himself. “I’m really getting tired of this nightmare.”
“Aren’t we all,” Anna said.
Worthington gestured to the dead man near Pope. “Would one of you like to tell me who the hell he is?”
“The Ghost,” Pope said.
“The what?”
“One of Troy’s men. Just like the two you picked up this afternoon.” He sighed. “It’s a long story.”
“Well, it had better be a goddamned good one, because you’re gonna tell it to the Vegas PD when they get here.”
“You called them?”
“No, but after all the noise we made, I can guarantee the neighbors did.”
And then, as if on cue, a siren wailed in the distance.
The lead detective was commander of the LVMPD Homicide Division. Anna was surprised that such a high rank was running a crime scene, but maybe they did things differently out here in Vegas.
A couple of the responders knew Pope on a first-name basis, having worked with him in the past, but this one didn’t seem to know much beyond the headlines.
They were standing on the sidewalk in front of Pope’s house. The neighbors had gathered, the place quickly turning into the usual circus.
At the first mention of Troy’s name, the detective nodded to his car, a standard-issue Crown Vic. “Let’s talk in there.”
The all piled in, Worthington in front, Pope and Anna in back.
Starting the engine, the detective turned his air conditioner up full blast, then looked at Pope. “Okay, you got my attention. What do you know about Anderson Troy?”
