to the floor, I let go of the slide, which snaps into place. With the gun loaded and ready to fire, I’m afraid to put it back in my pocket lest I accidentally shoot myself in the leg or foot. After looking around frantically, I slide it under the pillow on my bed with the barrel pointing toward the headboard.
“What the hell?” I whip around and see Colbert standing in the doorway of the room with a suspicious look on his face and his gun drawn. Had he seen me shove the gun under the pillow?
Thinking fast, I hold my hand to my forehead like some swooning damsel in distress. “Sorry, I just got very dizzy all of a sudden and nearly fell. I knocked the lamp over trying to catch myself.”
Colbert stares at me with cold, calculating eyes and an utter lack of concern for my condition. His gun is still in his hand, though it’s pointed at the floor. “You know, don’t you?” he says, moving closer. “Somehow you figured it out.”
Though there is no doubt in my mind what he’s referring to, I opt for playing dumb, hoping it might settle him down or at least buy me some time.
“What do you mean?”
For a few seconds I dare to hope because I see doubt in Colbert’s expression. But then his eyes narrow with decisive resignation and I know I’m done for. A second later I find myself staring down the barrel of his 9 mm.
“Colbert, what are you doing? Please don’t point your gun at me like that. It scares me.” I make a move as if I’m trying to lean out of his line of fire and slide my hand closer to the pillow in the process. But Colbert stops me cold by closing the distance between us and shoving the barrel of his gun against my forehead. “Move again and I pull the trigger.”
I squeeze my eyes closed and hold my breath, keenly aware that his finger is inside the trigger guard of the gun at my head and one false move on my part—or his—will leave my brains splattered all over the comforter.
“How’d you figure it out?” Colbert asks.
I don’t say a word. My mind is incapable of answering his question; it’s too busy envisioning my body spread out on Izzy’s autopsy table.
Sensing that my fear has paralyzed me, Colbert takes the gun barrel away from my head. I slowly open my eyes, only to find that the gun is still aimed in my direction, but at my chest instead of my head. And Colbert’s finger is still on the trigger.
“Tell me how you figured it out!” Colbert yells.
Every nerve in my body wants to flinch at his tone but miraculously I don’t. I briefly consider trying to play dumb a little longer but I realize it’s futile. Colbert has gone too far and there’s no way to fix things at this point.
“I never told anyone about the Taser,” I tell him. “Yet you knew. And you’re left-handed and short, two traits that Izzy identified for the person who stabbed Callie.” I know I’ve managed to prick his ego a little when he straightens up and stands taller. It’s a bittersweet victory.
“Clever girl, aren’t you?” he says with a grudging nod.
I shrug.
“But not as clever as you think. I admit I was worried when you got away from me the other night and then disappeared. But then I got a text from Smith a few hours ago letting me know you were in Chicago.” He shakes his head and
I’m shocked by this tidbit of information and at first I don’t believe it. But then I remember how Smith put his hand on my shoulder as I was leaving the office. I reach up and feel underneath the collar of my jacket and sure enough, there’s a tiny disc of some sort stuck to the underside of it. I peel it off and toss it on the floor.
Colbert watches me and smiles. “We don’t need it anymore anyway,” he says. “You were dumb enough to come back to me.”
I glare at him, angry that he so successfully duped me, and angry with myself for playing into his hands. “So what’s next, Colbert?”
“The plan is to kidnap you and stash you somewhere until we can figure out a way to kill you that will point to Hurley. Having you show up in Smith’s office threw him a bit. His text said he was going to plant the bug on you and follow you when you left. He didn’t want to do anything in his office because Trina was there. He got in his car and started tracking you, but when he found you, he saw Trina handing you some papers and knew the dumb bitch was betraying him. He’s been suspicious about her for a while now. He drove around the block and by the time he came back, you were gone. When he saw Trina walking along the sidewalk, he did what he had to do to silence her, figuring we could find you later with the tracking device.”
“She’s still alive,” I tell him, but if I’m hoping this news will rattle him, I’m sorely mistaken.
“Doesn’t matter,” he says. “Smith will find a way to dispatch her while she’s in the hospital. He has a lot of connections.”
“Who hired you? Dilles or Ackerman?”
“What difference does it make?” he says with a shrug. “You’re going to be dead either way.”
Tears burn at my eyes and I struggle to keep them at bay. “Why are you doing this?”
“
This news comes as a shock. I was convinced one of the men had to be behind all this but I had no idea it was both of them. “What motives?” I ask.
Colbert considers my question a moment before answering. I can only guess that he’s debating the wisdom of revealing this information.
“Come on,” I coax. “What harm can it do to tell me if you’re going to kill me anyway?”
Colbert considers this and apparently agrees—not a good sign for me.
“Good point,” he says. “The way I understand it, Ackerman wanted to get rid of that Dunkirk woman and make sure he wouldn’t be implicated in any way. Apparently she got pregnant by him and was pressuring him about child support. He paid it for a while but he has no money of his own to speak of. It all comes from his wife. He was having trouble hiding the payments and he couldn’t afford to have his wife find out about his affair for fear she’d divorce him and cut him off. He knew about Dunkirk’s history with Hurley, so he did a little investigative work and uncovered the history between Dilles and Hurley. Once he learned how much Dilles hated Hurley, he came up with a plan that would take care of his little problem and also give Dilles a chance to get revenge.”
“How did you get involved?”
“I’ve known Connor Smith since I was a kid. Both of my parents were drug dealers and they had more than a few dealings with Smith because they got caught several times. Smith managed to get them off with light sentences the first few times, but eventually justice caught up to them. When I was thirteen they both ended up with convictions that led to twenty-year sentences. My father was killed by another inmate a year later, and my mother died of cancer two years after that. I ended up a ward of the state and did the foster home parade for a number of years, and got involved with a gang. After I got nailed and did time in juvie for a couple of robberies, Smith found me and made me an offer. He needed someone to carry out a plan for him and the men behind it had enough money to make it well worth my while. So he had one of his past clients create a new identity for me, pulled some strings, and got me into the police academy. Fortunately the Sorenson Police Department isn’t high on anyone’s list when it comes to job opportunities, and they always have openings. So it was pretty easy to get hired.”
“But why would Smith do that? Why risk his reputation and his freedom to help the likes of Ackerman and Dilles?”
“Two reasons. One, the same motivation I had: money. While Ackerman’s purse strings are tightly controlled, Dilles’s aren’t. The man has shitloads of money that’s of little use to him now, so he’s willing to use it to get the revenge he wants on Hurley. The other reason is that Ackerman somehow figured out that Smith was the man Dilles’s wife was having an affair with before she was killed. So he basically threatened to reveal that fact if Smith didn’t do what he wanted. The fact that Smith defended Dilles—unsuccessfully, no less—after boffing the man’s wife is an egregious violation of ethics. If it became known, Smith would lose his license, his community standing, his money, everything. Not only that, it might make him look like an alternative suspect and give Dilles cause for a new trial. And I think Smith knows that if Dilles found out the truth, he’d kill him.”
“A very clever plan,” I say.
“Yes, it is. Or at least it was until you screwed things up.” To my relief, Colbert takes his finger off the
