My pocket was hopping with flies. I was out of time. Had to get out of here before he looked down.
He stared at Maggie. Then at me. He had us and he knew it. I’d said too damn much, gave my whole game away. Idiot.
“His name is Bronson Carew.”
“Where does he live?”
“I don’t know. He’s been off the grid for months.”
He eyed me with intense suspicion. I happily took the heat. All that mattered now was that he kept his gaze above my belt. “Look him up yourself, you don’t believe me.”
He pulled out his phone. “Don’t think I won’t.”
I took the opportunity to move away, deeper into the darkness, my mini-swarm coming with, my heart rate red-fucking-lined.
I tried to ignore the flies, the thing in my pocket. I watched Rusedski call up a holo-head, black hair, eyes like wildfire. Bronson Carew.
My spine went to ice, visions of that face shifting into the stripe-faced man-eater, steel teeth dug into my flesh. The missing part of my arm tingled, a hollow kind of prickle. Unscratchable. Unsootheable. Unbearable.
I wanted out of these pants. Wanted out of this skin. Out of this nightmare of my own making.
Maggie kept her distance. The look on her face said I better get used to it. I told myself she couldn’t cut me out of her life. Shit like this sticks to you. It follows you around for the rest of your life and beyond. She and I were permanently linked. Shackled. Like me and Niki. Me and Paul.
You couldn’t ever cut the shackles loose. You just had to learn how to drag it all with you as you walked.
Rusedski put the phone in his pocket and stepped up to Maggie. “Here’s how it’s going to play. You’re going home to clean up and then you’re going in to work. You’ll sit at your desk until I catch Carew. Day, night, I don’t give a shit. You’ll stay there until we catch his ass.”
She nodded.
“And you’re going to keep this genie shit under wraps, absolutely no mention of Froelich or Wu’s involvement. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You be a good girl, and I’ll keep all this off your record.”
The status quo had been reestablished, my checkmate reduced to a draw. I could live with a draw. So could Maggie. But I had to find Carew first.
Or it was game over.
Twenty-seven
Rusedski turned his back on us and faced the small crowd of hommy dicks. “The cop killer’s name is Bronson Carew. Time for an old-fashioned manhunt. Listen carefully, this guy is dangerous. He killed your brothers in blue. Use any force necessary.”
Rusedski’s intent was clear. He didn’t want a trial, didn’t want the truth about his detectives’ involvement with the genie to come out. On that score we agreed. The genie had to stay bottled.
But Maggie and I had far more to lose if Carew’s story went public. Nobody could ever know that he was nowhere near this rooftop tonight. I couldn’t let Rusedski’s task force get Carew until I planted my evidence.
Questions came at Rusedski from several directions, his task force members seeking clarification. Maggie gave me a look and headed for the stairs. Good a time as any. I sucked in a deep breath and swept my hand over my pocket. Flies launched. I felt them bounce off my fingers, my shirt. I walked. They pelted me in the face. Buzzed in my ear.
I came out of the shadows, my eyes on Maggie’s back, my heart thumping like a pile driver. Flies followed, black dots streaking across my vision.
I moved as fast as I could without drawing attention. I stepped around a junk pile and took one last peek at my handiwork. Mota and Panama, blank eyes staring at the Big Sleep’s bleak sky.
I passed behind Rusedski. Flies darted into his circle and scribbled the air with humming flight patterns. I saw him shoo with his hand, as did the detective next to him. I put one foot in front of the other, the stairs only a few steps away. Don’t look. Don’t look.
Maggie was already on the stairs, me and my buzzing entourage approaching fast. I reached the stairs, took my first step down.
“Juno.” I stopped at the sound of my name. As did my heart. Slowly, I turned my head, but kept my body facing forward, flies zeroing in on my pocket.
Rusedski’s eyes were cold. My nerves turned frigid. “You stay out of our shit, you hear me? You’re not a cop anymore.”
I gave him the finger and hurried down the stairs.
I stood in the shower, hot water trickling from a caked showerhead. I’d scrubbed my skin clean three times over. Same with my hair, enduring the pain of a scalded scalp. I turned off the water and toweled, wet bandages feeling heavy on the end of my right arm.
I pulled on a fresh set of clothes and exited the bathroom. Two sealed plastic bags sat on the floor. One had my bloody clothes inside. The other leaked water onto the floor. I’d bought a nice piece of fish on ice around the block from the hotel, then found a bathroom, dumped the fish, and emptied the contents of my pocket into the bag of ice.
I suppressed a shiver. I was one demented bastard.
I checked the time. Deluski was supposed to be back by now. I went through the curtain, out to the hall and walked to his room, threw open the curtain.
The room was empty. Dammit. I needed to know what he’d found out about Carew. These last few hours were all the head start I had on Rusedski’s task force.
I leaned against the door frame. Time ticked past, every second adding another turn of the wrench that had hold of my gut.
When we’d first left the hotel, Maggie and I walked down the street together for a time. I’d said something stupid, something like, “Close call.”
I remembered the way she accelerated her pace. No relieved smile. No acknowledgment of my quick thinking skills. Nothing but double-timing legs trying to put distance between her and me.
The street had been crowded with cars and pedestrians, packed walkways and crammed sidewalk stands. Maggie carved a path for herself, legs pumping, me tagging along, saying things like, “Slow down,” and “Hold on a minute.”
I tried to tell her she couldn’t shut me out. We were partners. She needed to find a way to forgive me. But she wouldn’t look at me. Wouldn’t stop. Wouldn’t listen.
What else could I do but let her go? I had a lase-rifle to retrieve. I needed ice.
Deluski appeared at the end of the hall.
Finally. “What you got?”
He came my direction, with soft steps and worried eyes. “Not much. Nobody I talked to has seen Carew in months. His financials were interesting, though. He lives off a trust fund he got from a charity.”
“Let me guess. Hudson Samusaka is a donor.”
“And a board member. Carew made several big withdrawals starting about a year ago. The balance is almost zero.”
“Probably used most of it to pay the doctor for his work.”
He asked the big question: “What happened with Mota?”
“It’s done.” That was all the detail he’d ever get.
He blew out a breath. “It’s really over?”
“You’re clear. I want everything you got on Carew, then I want you to move back home. Get some sleep and
