The mirror was cracked from side to side, in a single fracture, and two of himself stood in the bedroom.
He walked into a kitchen. Dishes were stacked in the sink. A forgotten glass stood on the tile countertop, a swallow of soda puddled at the bottom. Next to it, a container of aluminum wrap lay open, a strip of foil dangling free in a jagged tear. As though she’d just stepped away to run an errand or answer the phone.
He went through the kitchen and into her den. The barrel of a gun eased against the back of his head.
‘Freeze,’ a voice hissed.
NINE
‘Her office is gone,’ Groote yelled into his phone. He stood at the end of Palace Avenue, watching the burning building.
‘Gone?’ Hurley spoke as if he didn’t understand the word.
‘Destroyed, burning like a goddamned torch,’ Groote said. ‘There’s a crowd, I heard people say there’d been an explosion.’ He’d driven down from the hospital to Vance’s office, stopped as the traffic snarl formed, left his car when he saw her building consumed in flames and smoke. ‘What the hell is going on?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t understand.’ He sounded dazed. ‘Allison’s office is on fire?’
‘Someone’s screwing us over hard,’ Groote said. And screwing with medicine that could help my kid, and God help them when I find them. ‘This isn’t coincidence – a patient Allison Vance worked with breaks loose and her office gets incinerated. Did you find the guy?’
‘No. His name is Ruiz. He’s violent, dangerous.’
Christ, Groote thought. He’d been in town barely an hour and the entire operation he’d been sent here to protect was collapsing. ‘I suppose we can’t call the cops.’
‘Um, we’d prefer not to.’ Hurley cleared his throat. ‘If Allison’s dead, hopefully the research files were blown up with her. That means we can’t be exposed.’
‘I don’t like it,’ Groote said. ‘Suppose she wasn’t at her office. Where does Allison live?’
TEN
‘Hands on top of head, palms up,’ the voice ordered. ‘Now, asshole.’
‘I understand,’ Miles said. ‘No problem. Calm down.’ He tensed his arms, his legs, thinking, He gets his arm close, I can yank the gun past my head, before he reacts. But if Allison was a captive, fighting might endanger her; and he couldn’t escape and leave her behind.
‘Allison!’ he yelled.
‘On your knees, prisoner,’ the voice ordered.
Prisoner? Miles sank to the brick floor, thinking, Some head shots are survivable, but not where he has the gun, right in my temple. He knew how much it hurt to be shot, the blinding pain.
Fingers probed for his wallet. ‘Michael Raymond,’ the voice said.
‘Yeah.’
‘You’ll give complete answers to every question.’ Trying to sound commanding but the tone betrayed inexperience. He’s just as scared as I am. But scared was not good. Scared meant nerves pulled tauter than wire, with a finger tightening on a trigger of a gun aimed at Miles’s head.
He forced calm into his voice. ‘I’m looking for Allison Vance. Put the gun down.’
‘You with the other guy?’
‘Other guy.’
‘The first guy who came.’
‘I don’t know what you mean…’
Hands hauled Miles to his feet, steered him into the bathroom. Sorenson lay in the tub, a wicked, bloody bruise on the side of his head, his feet and arms bound with a sheet. Miles could see Sorenson breathing shallowly; he was unconscious.
‘This man blew up Allison’s office,’ Miles said.
‘What?’
‘Her office is burning down…’
‘You’re lying.’
‘No, it’s the truth. I’m a patient of hers. I had an appointment with her tonight. I can prove it. Put the gun down, please.’
‘You’re not even a good liar. Her patients are all at Sangriaville.’
‘What’s Sangriaville?’
The voice ignored him. ‘You said her office was burning.’
‘Look at my face. My hands. I was in her office parking lot. There was an explosion-’
‘No.’ Sharp, short, shot with shock. ‘No, no, no…’
‘She was in trouble. She asked me for help. This guy was in her office earlier today, I think he planted a bomb. Why is he here?’
The voice trembled. ‘He came in the back door… I hit him.’
‘He was empty-handed?’ If he’s blown up her office, why not her house too? Miles thought.
‘Yes.’
‘Let me wake him up.’
‘Get away from him.’ The guy pulled Miles away from the bathroom, shoved him hard onto the tile of the den floor. ‘Leave him alone; I don’t need to be outnumbered. What have you done to Allison?’
‘Nothing.’ Miles kept his voice steady and calm. ‘Her office burning isn’t the kind of lie that works for long. I’m not sure you can see from here, but if you walk down Cerro Gordo you can see the glow from the fire.’
The man’s hand shook, making the gun against Miles’s head tremble. Keep him calm, Miles thought.
‘Stand up,’ the voice ordered, and Miles got to his feet. The man pushed him along, keeping the barrel of the gun nestled in Miles’s hair.
Miles pushed open the drapes. Opened the balcony window, which faced onto the sideways spill of the hillside down to Cerro Gordo.
In the quiet, the sound of sirens carried on the wind.
The man behind him made a choked noise in his throat. ‘They got to her. They killed her.’
‘Who’s they? Sorenson?’
Silence from the man. The barrel of the gun pressed hard against his scalp, as though a decision had been reached.
Miles’s guts turned to water. ‘I promised to help her,’ he said. ‘I have a note from her. Asking for my help.’
‘Sure.’
‘Right pocket. Pill bottle. Read it for yourself.’
‘I can read it once you’re dead.’
‘Then you’ll have made a terrible mistake.’
The guy jammed the barrel hard against Miles’s ear, found the vial, popped it open, read the note in the dim light that bled in from the bedroom.
‘It’s her handwriting,’ Miles said.
Seconds stretched into eternity. Miles waited for the shot. Finally the guy said, ‘Allison – was at her office tonight. She told me to wait for her. She would be here soon.’
‘Okay, then, we’re on the same side.’ Miles found his voice. ‘Take the gun off me, please.’
‘No one can know I was here. They’ll stick me back on the top floor.’
‘I won’t tell,’ Miles said, unsure of what the man meant. ‘I promise. Put the gun down. I can help you hide.’
