Final Breath

'Why didn't you tell me all this two months ago?' she asked. 'I would have stayed, Joe. I would have stuck by you.'

He nodded. 'I know you would have. That's why I didn't tell you. That's why I hit you and kicked you out. I needed you and Eli far away so you wouldn't be in any danger.'

Sydney sighed. She was thinking how pointless Joe's sacrifice had been. She and Eli were still in danger. Joe's corrupt cohorts may have given up once she'd taken Eli and moved to Seattle. But this madman who had made a game out of murdering heroes was relentless. He'd gone to Portland, New York, and Chicago to kill in her name.

And Sydney had every reason to believe he was here now--maybe even in the hotel.

She squeezed Joe's hand again. 'Could you stay with me--at least, until I've changed rooms?'

Joe called the front desk to arrange the room switch while she packed. He stayed with her until she was settled in a new room on the third floor. It looked exactly like the other room--with the same color scheme--only there was no outside access, and no strangers walking past her window. She actually did feel a little safer.

'I'll call you in the morning,' Joe told her, before opening the door to leave.

'Thanks, Joe,' she said.

He gently kissed her on the cheek. Sydney touched his face for a moment.

'Aren't you going to ask me about the other morning?' he said.

'You mean when I called you and some woman picked up the phone?'

He nodded. 'Yeah, I was in the shower. When I came out of the bathroom, she said I'd had a hang-up. So I star-sixty-nined it. Remember Carla?'

Sydney remembered her. She was a fellow cop who had a crush on Joe. He appreciated the attention, but had made it clear to Carla that he was happily married. 'So--that was Carla yesterday morning?' Sydney asked.

He nodded again.

'That's why I didn't want to ask you about it,' she said in a shaky voice. 'I was afraid your answer would be something like this.'

He sighed. 'Ever since word got around that you'd left me and moved to Seattle, Carla's been-- campaigning. I was lonely night before last, and got myself drunk, and got up the nerve to take her home.'

Sydney bit her lip. 'And to our bedroom...'

'I couldn't go through with it, honey,' he said. 'Carla was so hurt--and upset. And I felt like a shit. I spent the night cuddling with her, and didn't sleep a wink. I was disgusted with myself the whole time. It was the longest, most excruciating night of my life.' He shrugged. 'It was the price I paid for this stupid, feeble attempt to forget you.'

His eyes searched hers. 'But I couldn't forget you, honey. I'm more in love with you now than I ever have been. I don't expect you to forgive me now, but well....' He quickly kissed her on the mouth. 'Sleep on it, okay?'

Touching her lips, Sydney just stared at him and nodded.

Then Joe ducked outside, and she triple-locked the door after him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

For a moment--as the clock radio went off, blasting her favorite Windy City oldies station--Sydney thought she was home on Spaulding Avenue again. She still smelled Joe on her skin. His face and the sound of his voice were recharged in her memory. Sydney almost expected Joe to roll over, kiss her shoulder, and murmur, 'Morning, babe.' But she was alone in bed in her jade, taupe, and salmon room at this Red Lion by the airport.

Carly Simon's 'Anticipation' serenaded her as she staggered out of bed. She wore an oversized T-shirt. On her way to the bathroom, something caught her eye. An envelope had been shoved under her door. It was probably just the hotel bill, but Sydney retrieved it anyway. The legal-size envelope had been lying on the carpet with the flap side up. Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she turned it over--and all of a sudden, she was wide awake. It was as if someone had punched her in the stomach.

Scrawled across the front of the envelope were the words: BITCH SYDNEY.

Her hands trembling, she tore open the envelope. It seemed empty at first. But then she shook out a small piece of paper about the size of a credit card. It fluttered toward the floor, but Sydney grabbed the paper in midair. It was a pass ticket for the Chicago El.

Pushing the hair back from her face, Sydney studied the ticket. It took her a few moments to understand. Joe rode the El to work every morning. And years ago, Joe had become a hero when he'd saved all those people from a deranged gunman on the El train.

All of the murdered Movers & Shakers heroes had met the same type of death from which they'd rescued other people. Joe had been one of her first subjects, and he was about to be gunned down on the El--unless it had already happened.

Frantic, Sydney checked the digital clock radio on her night-table: 7:32. Joe caught the Brown Line at 7:35 every weekday morning.

Sydney grabbed the phone and called his cell. It rang twice, and then a recording clicked on: 'Hi, it's Joe. You've reached my cell. Leave a message. Thanks.' But this was followed by a prerecorded voice reciting different options for leaving a message: 'To page this person, press one. To leave a message for this person...'

Sydney anxiously paced around the hotel room, waiting for the beep. Finally, it sounded: 'Hello, Joe?' she practically screamed into the phone. 'Listen, this hero-killer, I think he's after you, Joe. He's going to shoot you on the El. Whatever you do, don't get on the El train this morning! I'm at the hotel. Call me when you get this.'

She clicked off the line, certain that Joe wouldn't understand what she was talking about. She called him again to try the paging option. But Joe picked up this time. 'Honey, did you just call me?' She could hear traffic noise in the background.

'Yes,' she said. 'Did you get my message? Are you on the El?'

'Not yet,' Joe replied. 'I'm standing here on the platform. I can see the train coming--'

'Oh, God, don't get on it, Joe!' she cried. 'This hero-killer left a message under my door. He's going to shoot you on the El--'

'Sydney? Sydney, you're breaking up. I can't--'

For a moment, the line seemed to go dead, but then he came back on. 'You still there? I can't hear you. The train's coming...' The roar of the El train began to drown him out.

'Don't get on that train!' she screamed again. 'Joe, listen to me...'

'You're still breaking up. I'll call you back.'

'No!'

Then she heard the shot.

Joe almost dropped the phone.

The second shot hit a streetlight directly above him. There was an explosion of glass, and one piece grazed his cheek. Past the sound of the train wheels churning and clanking, he heard a third shot.

About a dozen people were standing on the platform, glancing around for the source of the loud pops.

'Everyone, take cover!' Joe yelled, scurrying behind a trash can. 'Get down!'

Suddenly, they scattered around the train platform--ducking behind billboards and streetlight poles. A few women were screaming. One woman hovered over her young daughter, shielding her. Two older teenagers, who looked like gang members, had almost tripped over their low-riding jeans as they scurried for cover behind a brick partition.

Three more shots rang out. One bullet just missed Joe. He heard it hiss past his right ear.

He realized the gunman must have made himself a sniper's nest in a nearby building.

Its engine roaring, the train rolled into the station. Then the brakes let out a loud, surrendering squeal. The doors whooshed open. 'Don't move!' Joe yelled. 'Don't get out! There's a sniper shooting at us!'