“No,” Sugimori said defiantly. “No doubt you’ll tell me.”
“It means if you’re responsible for the death of Federal Agent Varga, you get the death penalty too. But if you help us save the life of the remaining agent, that could go a long way toward making a difference to what happens to you.” That wasn’t exactly accurate, but it was close enough for their purposes.
Sugimori seemed to struggle internally. Her face worked. She said, “I have nothing to do with anyone’s death.”
“Bullshit.”
“How dare you? How dare you come into my home and accuse me of these things?”
“There’s an easy way to solve this,” Wray said, a voice of calm in the high seas. “Mrs. Sugimori, we’d like to ask you to voluntarily come downtown to take part in a lineup.”
Sugimori froze. She said finally, “I’m not going anywhere with you people. I’m calling my lawyer!”
* * * * *
Taylor’s fingers brushed the butt of the pistol as Yuki landed on top of him, knocking the wind out of his lungs, sending the pistol skittering. He heaved the younger man off, crawled for the gun. They were in a large open room and not far from away was a sliding glass door. And beyond the sliding glass door was…nothing. Empty sky and then the vast blue stretch of ocean.
The house perched precariously on a hillside that was being steadily eaten away by the waves below. The yard, the deck, the steps — all gone into the ocean.
No wonder Alexandra had been so confident no one would ever find him.
Yuki tackled him around the waist, and they both rolled away from the gun. Taylor head butted Yuki, and as Yuki’s grip relaxed, he wriggled free and stretched for the pistol again.
Yuki grabbed his waistband, dragging him back, and Taylor flipped over and kicked him in the chest as hard as he could. Yuki stumbled back and crashed through the glass doors, dropping from sight with a scream.
Trembling, gulping for breath, Taylor lay on the floor, staring at the man-sized hole in the shattered glass, at the gaping hole in the sky. He half expected Yuki’s bloody hands to appear over the jagged glass in the door track, see Yuki drag himself back, invincible like those villains in movies.
Nothing happened. He could hear the thunder of the surf, feel the pound of it hitting the rocks below. The chill, salty air gusted in through the broken door and cooled his sweating face. He could hear the cries of the gulls wheeling outside the glass door.
He rested his forehead on the cement.
At last he pushed to his feet, picked up the fallen pistol, and went over to the broken door. He looked down at a dizzying sheer drop of rocks and swirling water. There was no sign of Yuki. If he’d missed the rocks and knew how to swim, he might have survived the fall. Probably not. Taylor hoped not. That one had been for Varga.
Far out on the blue, diamond-dazzled water, he could see sailboats beneath the bright yellow sun. He remembered the card Will had given him for his birthday. Abruptly all the strength seemed to drain out of him. He sat down slowly, carefully, as though he were a thousand years old.
* * * * *
Alexandra Sugimori was tougher than she looked. From some hidden reserve of strength, she found the will to ignore their threats and reject their bargains. Finally she refused to answer at all, sitting and staring into space, her face as remote as one of those Shinto goddesses.
“We can’t continue to deny her access to her lawyer,” Wray warned Will in an undervoice as they took a break from hammering at their suspect’s walls. “Even if you are the federal government.”
“No way does that bitch phone anyone without us knowing exactly who and what instructions she’s giving.”
Wray opened her mouth, but her phone rang. She moved away to answer it. Will glanced at her and then glanced at Sugimori. She was staring at him with cold hatred. He stared back.
Wray suddenly let out a disconcertingly girlie squeal. “You got a partial print from the fuse? Yeah?” Her eyes met Will’s. “Yukishige Sugimori. The brother.”
At the same time Will’s phone rang. He grabbed it. Unknown Caller. If this was some moron trying to sell him something, he was going to be slapped with a federal charge so fast, his head would spin.
“Brandt.”
“It’s me,” Taylor’s faraway voice said.
Will’s heart seemed to stop cold, then bounded like a deer. “Are you all right? Christ. I thought — Where are you?”
“I’m not sure.” Taylor’s voice was muffled as he turned away to speak to someone. An equally muffled voice answered. Taylor came back on the line. “I’m on the coast road between Surf Beach and Casmalia. At an abandoned roadhouse called Richardson’s. You can’t miss it. It’s the one surrounded by cop cars.” He sounded very tired. “I’m okay, Brandt. Can you come and get me?”
“I’m on the way.”
Taylor said quickly, “Brandt? Swear out a warrant for Alexandra Sugimori.”
“Done.” His voice softened; he couldn’t help it. “Hold on, MacAllister.”
“I’m holding,” Taylor said and disconnected.
Chapter Twelve
The sun was setting when Will pulled up in front of Richardson’s Roadhouse.
There were cop cars parked by the rusted gas pumps, a red peeling sign with the words RICH…R…AD… The roadhouse itself was boarded up. The faded paint had an appropriately queasy green cast to it.
Taylor walked out from between the gas pumps, and Will got out of his car. He went around the front and didn’t care who was watching as Taylor walked into his arms.
They hugged, drew apart, and Will said, “Whoa. You have been through the wars.”
“I know. I stink.”
“I’m not complaining.”
“That’s because you haven’t
