But he was no coward. He’d killed people and watched the light die in their eyes. He wasn’t going to run now.
Not many people could summon up the wherewithal to kill. He was one of them. He could look in someone’s eyes and kill them—and enjoy it.
He got up slowly. His Ruger .44 was in the locked drawer of his desk. He got the key out and wriggled it into the lock. Had trouble with it. Felt the first stirrings of panic. His hands weren’t shaking, exactly, just a little tremor —
The door burst open.
Of course he hadn’t locked it.
And there was Jaimie—her face a white fright mask, mascara running down her cheeks. Looking like she’d been unearthed out of a fresh grave. Like a zombie. His sister, the zombie.
All these thoughts ribboned through his mind, and he saw the black hole of a very-large-caliber gun. Pointed right at his face.
And he saw the man behind the gun. The man who held Jaimie as if she were a rag doll. The man was strong, brutish, and stupid.
Stupid.
Like a guy who fell off the proverbial turnip truck.
An ox.
A rancher type, the kind Jaimie fucked. Blue work shirt. White straw cowboy hat. Round face. Sunburn. Blue eyes. Local yokel grin. Graying blond hair.
Except his eyes were like blue marbles. Cold.
Suddenly, it occurred to him that he might have underestimated the man.
He understood that when the man shoved Jaimie facedown on the desk and pushed the gun muzzle into her hair.
Smiling as he did it.
“Here’s how it’s gonna go, friend.”
He was the cowboy he’d seen outside the general store. The Okie.
“I’m gonna kill her right in front of you. It’s gonna make a big mess. This is a large-caliber weapon. She’ll blow chunks and so will you. She’s gonna mess up the nice finish on your desk. All that blood’ll soak into the grain. Now I know you’re not afraid of blood or killing. But you’re gonna see her close up, and then, being human nature and all, you’ll picture what
Michael steeled himself. “Go ahead and kill her.”
“Look, bud, all I want is you to wire that money to my account. You can do it in two minutes tops. Don’t you care about your sister at all?”
“No.”
He shook his head. “Okay, then.”
And he pulled the trigger.
CHAPTER 54
Tess checked the kitchen door—unlocked. She said, “I’ll go low right. You go high left, okay?”
“Roger.”
They took their positions on either side of the door, weapons at the ready. Moran’s pointing to the left, Tess’s to the right. Moran turned the knob and pushed the door open with his foot.
Nothing greeted them.
The shot had come from the right. Moran went left, Tess went right, and they cleared the rooms immediately in front of them. Tess, the kitchen, Moran, the parlor. They zeroed in on the room where they’d heard the shot.
Noise—a commotion—someone banging into furniture, the screech of wood against tile, and then the loud shock of something repeatedly hitting the floor.
Michael’s study.
The sound of a gourd breaking. Again and again.
The door was open and Tess could see a woman’s body sprawled facedown over the desk, blood oozing out from under her head, a clot of it burrowed into her slightly upturned cheek.
Long dark hair with blonde highlights.
Jaimie.
But the horror was so much worse. Michael DeKoven was crawling on his hands and knees, his head a bloody mess. A man in Wrangler jeans and a blue denim shirt bent over him, slamming his head repeatedly into the floor.
Poole.
“Police! Hands behind your head! Do it now!”
Tess heard her own voice, but it sounded foreign in her ears.
“Do it now!” yelled Deputy Moran. His voice strong and loud in the room.
Poole kept pounding DeKoven’s head into the floor. “How do you like
Blood spraying—a red mist. A solid chunk of DeKoven’s head smashing into the floor once more before Moran was able to get hold of one of Poole’s blood-slippery arms in his, wrenching it behind the man’s back.
Michael DeKoven’s body slumped, then caved.
Tess thought he was dead. He
Tess had to hopscotch over Michael’s body to give Moran a hand. Poole was staggering, bellowing like a maddened bull, trying to twist around and head butt Moran. “I’ll show you, you prissy little fucker!” he yelled at DeKoven’s corpse. “I’ll show you who’s boss!”
Tess latched on. He roared and shook her off, swung his head back and forth, blood flying like an oscillating lawn sprinkler.
Enraged. His eyes red rimmed. She latched onto him again. It took both of them to restrain him.
Abruptly, he stopped struggling.
All three of them huffing like freight trains.
Blood snared his mouth and dripped to the bottom of his nose and splashed on the tile.
Suddenly he dropped to his knees, almost pulling Tess and Moran with him. Tess stumbled and went to one knee just to stay up.
Poole shook himself like a big dog and blood flew. He raised his face to the ceiling and howled. He howled like a wolf.
Moran looked at Tess. “What the—?”
The howling morphed into laughter. Jagged, manic, loud.
It went on and on and on.
CHAPTER 55
Jurisdictional hell.
Everyone wanted a piece of Wade Poole.
Pima County Sheriff’s got the nod—they had the best case. Fortunately, Tess and Danny would sit in on the interrogation, along with Cheryl Tedesco of TPD.
They’d need a bigger interview room.
While they cooled their heels at the Pima County Sheriff’s Adult Detention Center on Silverlake Road, Danny made a call to his wife.
Tess listened as they talked, overheard him crooning a lullaby to his new little girl. How his voice softened. How his face changed. Tess found herself wishing that she had a family like that, had that dimension to her life.
