Shadow Man

I tune them out. Callie has a voracious interest in what makes others tick. She always has.

This is the schedule. The way it goes. And not just here. Everyone is still working back at the office. Everyone shares the burden and the responsibility. Everyone will share the guilt if he kills again before we catch him. Bob's voice crackles in my ear, pulling me away from my boredom and musings. 'Male, about six feet tall with dark hair, entering the building. Dressed in some kind of uniform. I can't make it out.'

'Copy that,' the guy at the elevator--Dylan--replies. I look around at Callie and Agents Decker and McCullough. They nod, letting me know they've heard. Moments pass.

'Male matching that description just exited the elevator, heading toward the apartment,' Dylan reports. 'I confirm uniform, say again, I confirm he is in the uniform of a pest-extermination company.'

'Copy that,' I say. My heart pounds, and the dragon stirs, excited.

'Stay where you are to block possible escape, Dylan.'

'Copy that.'

'Bob, I'll let you know if he gets past us. I may call on you to take a shot.'

'Copy that. I'm cocked and locked.'

I look at Leona. 'It's him.'

She nods. She looks excited, wired. She doesn't, I notice, look afraid. A knock comes on the door. I motion to Leona. She walks up to the door and looks through the peephole, one last double-check. Turns to me and shakes her head. She doesn't know him. I give her a nod.

'Who is it?' she asks.

'ABC Exterminators, ma'am. Sorry for the late hour, but the building owner called us out on an emergency basis. Something about rats. I need to come in and check out your place. It'll only take a few minutes.'

'Um . . . okay. Hold on a moment.'

She looks back at me. I motion her into her bedroom. I pull my weapon, as do Callie, Decker, and McCullough. I hold up a hand, giving a three-count on my fingers. One . . . two . . . on three, I throw the door open wide.

'FBI!' I yell. 'FREEZE!'

My gun is about two feet from his face. I get a good look at his eyes and see the emptiness I'd been imagining. He drops the clipboard he was carrying and raises his hands above his head.

'Don't shoot!' he says. He sounds startled, the way you should with a gun in your face, but something in me feels uneasy, because his eyes aren't startled at all. They are busy. Looking, weighing, thinking.

'Do not move,' I say. 'Put your hands behind your head, and get down on your knees!'

He fixes his gaze on me, licks his lips. 'Whatever you say . . . Smoky.'

I have a millisecond to be alarmed at his use of my name. He moves like a savage wind, stepping first to one side and then straight into me. His hands move in separate directions, one pushing my gun aside, the other slamming into my face. I am flying backward, seeing stars, and the millisecond passes.

I land on my back on the floor and struggle to get up. I've managed to hold on to my gun.

He is still moving, some kind of ultrapractical form of martial arts, all power and uniformly devastating. As with me, he moves into his targets, and all his punches and kicks are short and brutal. It's not flowery, but it's effective. I watch as Agent Decker gets elbowed in the jaw, note with dizzy interest that two of his teeth don't just fall out, they shoot out, like two bullets, and then I hear Callie, cold as ice, saying, 'Move, and I'll fucking kill you.'

Everything that had been in motion becomes still. Suspended. Because Callie now has her gun at his forehead. His eyes dart around in rage and then he is being body-tackled by Agent McCullough, and by Dylan as well, who's arrived from the elevator lobby to join in on the fun.

I register that I am bleeding, and that I am dizzy. Very dizzy.

'Honey-love, are you all right?'

I stand up, staggering. 'I'm fine--'

And then I fall back down. I don't pass out, but I sit straight down on my ass.

The perp is screaming at me. 'You stupid whore! Useless cow! You think this means anything? This means nothing! Nothing! I'll still--'

'Jesus Christ!' I yell. 'Shut up--or I'll shoot you in the leg. Dylan, McCullough. Book him and gag him, please.'

Dylan grins at me but slaps the cuffs on our guy and takes him out into the hallway to search him and read him his rights.

'How are you now?' Callie asks, concerned.

I shake my head, testing. 'Not dizzy anymore. Okay, I think. How's my face look?'

'He did a number on your lips, honey-love. You have that 'I don't use collagen, I just beat my face against a wall' look.'

This makes me jump to my feet, alarmed. 'Decker!'

'Over here. I'm okay.'

I see him standing. He's using a wall for support. He has a handkerchief against his mouth, which is soaked through with blood.

'Whoa,' I say. 'You need to see a doctor.'

'I need to see a dentist,' he moans. 'Fucker knocked out two of my teeth.'

'Callie.'

She flips open her cell phone. 'Calling the EMTs now, honey-love.'

The door to Leona's bedroom opens, just a crack. 'Is it safe to come out?' she asks, voice quavering. 'Is everyone all right?'

I look around at her living room, taking in Decker and his bleeding mouth, the splintered coffee table, and it hits me. Adrenaline doesn't just shoot through me, it explodes.

'WE GOT HIM!' I yell.

Callie and Decker both jump and stare at me. Callie grins. Decker tries to.

'Everything is fine, Leona,' I say. I look toward the doorway. 'Everything is just great.'

I crack my knuckles. My lips ache.

But the dragon is thrashing, roaring, and gnashing her teeth. Feed me, she's hissing. Let me crunch on his bones. I lick my upper lip and taste my own blood. That should keep her satisfied for now.

44

I'M ON MY way into the FBI building with Callie. We'd left a policeman with Leona, and our suspect is being taken to the Wilshire police station for booking. I came here to get Alan and to plan out our interrogation strategy. I have just punched the up elevator button when my cell phone rings.

'Smoky!'

I go on instant alert. It's Elaina, and she sounds terrified. 'What's wrong, Elaina?'

'There are three men sneaking around outside the house. In the backyard. Young-looking.'

A thrill of terror shoots through me. I think of Ronnie Barnes. Is this related? Did Jack Jr. create himself a little psycho army? Or am I just being paranoid?

Paranoid? With Jack Jr.? No way.

I think about what I had said to Alan, about how Elaina wasn't in any physical danger, and I am sick at the possible consequences of this misestimation.

I break into a run, forgoing the elevator, rushing up the stairs. Callie follows. 'Elaina, what about the agents out front?'

Silence.

'Their car is there. I don't see them.'

'Do you have a weapon in the house? A gun?'

'Yes. Upstairs, in the closet.'