'One of us will be dead,' Win said.
She nodded numbly. She couldn't stop shaking. Both men were still pointing the guns at one another.
'You know the drill?' Aaron asked.
'Of course.'
Still holding the guns, both men placed their hand on the floor. At the same time, they twisted their weapons so that the barrel was no longer pointing at the other man. They both released their weapons at the same time. They both stood at the same time. They both kicked the weapons into a corner at the same time.
Aaron grinned. 'It's done,' he said.
Win nodded.
They approached each other slowly. Aaron's grin spread into something fully maniacal. He got into some weird fighting position – dragon or grasshopper or something – and beckoned with his left hand. His body was sleek, all muscle. He towered over Win. 'You forgot the basic premise of the martial arts,' Aaron said.
'What's that?' Win asked.
'A good big man will always beat a good little man.'
'And you forgot the basic premise of Windsor Horne Lockwood III.'
'Oh?'
'He always carries two guns.'
Almost nonchalantly, Win reached into his leg holster, took out his gun, and fired. Aaron ducked, but the bullet still hit him in the head. The second bullet also hit Aaron's head. So too, Jessica guessed, did the third.
The big man fell to the ground. Win walked over and studied the still figure, tilting his head from side to side like a dog hearing a strange sound.
Jessica watched him in silence.
'Are you okay?' he asked.
'Yes.'
Win continued to look down. He shook his head and made a
'What is it?' she asked.
Win turned to her, an almost shy smile toying with his lips. He gave a half-shrug. 'I guess I'm not much for fair fights.'
He looked back down at the body and started to laugh.
Chapter 36
Jessica didn't want to talk about it. She wanted to make love. Myron understood. Death and violence do that to a person. The fine line. There was definitely something to that ''reaffirming life' stuff after facing down the Grim Reaper.
When they were spent, Jessica lay her head on his chest, her hair a wonderful fan. For a long time she didn't say anything. Myron stroked her back. Finally she spoke. 'He enjoys it, doesn't he?'
Myron knew she meant Win. 'Yes.'
'Do you?' she asked.
'Not like Win.'
She lifted her head and looked at him. 'That sounded a tad evasive.'
'Part of me hates it more than you can imagine.'
'And another part of you?' she prompted.
'It's the ultimate test. There's an undeniable rush to that. But it's not like what happens with Win. He craves it. He needs it.'
'And you don't?'
'I like to think I loathe it.'
'But do you?'
'I don't know,' Myron said.
'It was scary,' she said. 'Win was scary.'
'He also saved your life.'
'Yes.'
'It's what Win does. He's good at it – the best I've ever seen. Everything with him is black and white. He has no moral ambiguities. If you cross the line, there is no reprieve, no mercy, no chance to talk your way out of it. You're dead. Period. Those men came to harm you. Win wasn't interested in rehabilitating them. They made their choice. The moment they entered your apartment they were doomed.'
'It sounds like the theory of massive retaliation,' she said. 'You kill one of ours, we kill ten of yours.'
'Colder,' Myron said. 'Win's not interested in teaching a lesson. He sees it as extermination. They're no more than pestering fleas to him.'
'And you agree with that?'
'Not always. But I understand it. Win's moral code is not mine. We've both known that for a long time. But he's my best friend and I'd trust him with my life.'
'Or mine,' she said.
'Right.'
'So what is your moral code?' she asked.
'It's flexible. Let's leave it at that.'
Jessica nodded. She lay her head back down on his chest The warmth of her felt good against his heartbeat. 'Their heads,' she said. 'They just exploded like melons.'
'Win doctors the bullets to maximize impact.'
'Where did he take the bodies?' she asked.
'I don't know.'
'Will they be found?'
'Only if he wants them to be.'
A few minutes later Jessica's eyes closed and her breathing grew deep. Myron watched her drift into a sound sleep. She cuddled closer to him, looking small and frail. He knew what would happen tomorrow. She'd still be in some form of shock – not a dazed shock as much as a denial. She'd go about her day as though nothing had happened, straining extra-hard for normalcy but falling just short of achieving it. Everything would be just a little different than yesterday. Nothing drastic, just the little things. Her food would taste a little different. The air would smell a little different. Colors would have an almost indiscernibly different hue.
At six in the morning, Myron got out of bed and showered. When he came back she was sitting up. 'Where are you going?' she asked.
'To see Pavel Menansi.'
'This early?'
'They'll think Aaron took care of the problem last night. I might catch them off guard.'
She pulled the covers over her. 'I've been thinking about what you said last night at dinner. About the connection to the Alexander Cross murder.'
'And?'
'Suppose you're right. Suppose something else happened that night six years ago.'
'Like?'
She sat upright, leaning against the headboard. 'Suppose Errol Swade didn't kill Alexander Cross,' she said.
'Uh-huh.'
'Well, suppose Valerie saw what really happened to Alexander Cross. And suppose that whatever she saw pushed her already battered psyche over the edge. She had already been weakened by what Pavel Menansi did to her. But now suppose whatever she saw was the ultimate cause of her breakdown.'
Myron nodded. 'Go on.'
'And now suppose years pass. Valerie gets stronger. She makes a remarkable recovery. She even wants to play tennis again. But most of all, she wants to face up to her darkest fear: the truth of what really happened that night'
He saw where she was going with this. 'She'd have to be silenced,' he said.
'Yes.'
Myron slipped a pair of pants on. Over the past few months his clothes had begun a slow migration to Jess's loft. About a third of his wardrobe now resided here. 'If you're right,' he said, 'we now have two people who want to silence Valerie: Pavel Menansi and whoever killed Alexander Cross.'
'Or someone who wants to protect those two.'
He finished dressing. Jess hated his tie and told him to change it. He complied. When he was ready to leave, Myron said, 'You'll be safe this morning, but I want to move you someplace out of town for a little while.'
'For how long?' she asked.
'I don't know. Few days. Maybe longer. Just until I can get this situation under control.'
'I see,' she said.
'Are you going to fight me on this?'
She got out of bed and pattered across the room. She wore no clothes. Myron's mouth went a little dry. He stared. He could stare all day. She walked with the ease of a panther. Every movement was supple and marvelous and rawly sensual. She slipped into a silk robe. 'I know this is the part where I'm supposed to get all indignant and say that I'm not going to change my life,' she said. 'But I'm scared. I'm also a writer who could use a few days of solitude. So I'll go. No arguments.'
