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"If we stand here arguing about it, that isn't going to happen, now is it?"
Twisting my mouth into a grimace I hoped he could see, I pushed past him.
"Follow me."
We were lucky that the door Michael found opened into a back hallway. Despite
the evidence of
Dorshak's raise, it seemed the police department never got that remodeling
money they d been begging tor since my days on the force. It took me three
seconds to remember the layout. I'd be more surprised at my ability for
recall, if it wasn't for the fact I spent most of my dream time still walking
these halls.
"This way," I told Michael. I slipped off my shoes and took off at a run. My
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pounding strides made a sharp slapping sound on the concrete floor. Over my
shoulder, I shouted, "Let's take this deeper into the station. It should be
deserted, what with most people trying to get out. Plus, it will give me a
second to hunt up some files. From there, I want to find ..."
The backup generator interrupted me. The machine groaned deep within the
station walls. The lights flickered, then sprang back to life. In the
brilliant electric flash, someone appeared in my path. I instantly recognized
his coppery, shoulder-length hair and handsome, arrogant features. He still
wore the Armani suit from this morning's escapade at the restaurant. A tiny
dab of mustard on his lapel was the only sign of his scuffle with Michael.
Otherwise, he looked impeccable.
"Morningstar." I slid to a stop. "Where the hell did you come from?"
"Exactly," he murmured with a laugh. It was a dry, feathery sound, decidedly
unpleasant. Turning to
Michael, he said, "You squandered the opportunity I gave you, Michael. I hope
you don't think that nullifies our deal."
"He's the one you made a deal with?" I jabbed my thumb in the direction of
Morningstar's chest. Michael didn't acknowledge me, but I could tell by the
fierce way he stared at Morningstar that it was true. "Oh, Michael."
Now I understood. It was no wonder Michael had been acting emotionally closed
off. He'd gone back to the "family." I only prayed, for Michael's sake, his
deal didn't involve another job with the Mafia.
Though his expression was impassive, Michael's eyes searched Morningstar's
face, "As long as Jibril is free."
"He proved much more decisive than you, dearest brother, albeit not as much of
a team player."
Morningstar smirked. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he added, "Jibril has
flown the coop. He's long gone."
Michael's jaw flexed. "Don't call me that."
"What? 'Brother'? We're made from the same stuff, Michael. You can hardly deny
that."
I felt absent from this conversation, almost invisible, yet totally absorbed,
just as I had at the restaurant.
Michael and Morningstar dominated whatever space they occupied. It was as
though the sheer power of their personalities muffled the very fabric of the
universe.
I made my living noticing things other people didn't, but I never even heard
the cops approaching until they were right in front of me. Even then, they had
to shout in order to get my attention.
"You there!"
I jumped at the sound. Two plainclothes stood at the end of the hall. Their
standard-issue guns already drawn, they stood like partners who'd been
together for a long time. The older one stayed slightly behind and a little to
the left, watching their backs, yet ready to cover the front.
Though they weren't in uniform, they might as well have been. They wore
similar suits in that same rumpled cop way so many longtime detectives had. I
didn't know their names, but I knew these guys.
Even their crew cuts were identical.
Raising my hands, I put on a charming smile. "Hey, boys . . ." A sudden wind
rushed past me. The gale ruffled my blouse and tugged at my hair. Behind me,
the emergency lights blew out one by one. Glass showered down, flying toward
the detectives. They raised their hands trying to ward off the shattered
bulbs.
The instant their guns pointed away from me, I was ready to run. I turned
around just in time to see
Michael and Morningstar draw their weapons. Michael grabbed for the battered
.45 with his right hand, as Morningstar reached for his weapon with his left.
Their arms unfurled in perfect unison. They looked like deadly mirror images.
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"No!" I screamed.
Explosions ripped through the tiny corridor. Searing heat pierced my shoulder,
followed by a scorching pain that seemed to illuminate every nerve ending.
Spun around by the momentum of the bullet, I
bounced clumsily against the wall. Darkness tickled the edge of my vision. I
groped at the wall and fought to remain standing. I clutched my shoulder,
trying to staunch the blood flow.
Michael's arms were on my waist, supporting me.
"You've been shot," he whispered.
I pressed my lips together. The silence of the hallway rang in my ears. I
turned my head, keeping my cheek to the cool plaster surface of the wall. The
two detectives lay on the floor; neither of then^ moved or made any sound. The
dark blue of their suits looked black against the gray tiles. My face
contorted to a grimace as I noticed their bodies were sprawled at awkward
angles. There was no blood.
"No blood?" I repeated out loud, my voice a harsh whisper. "No blood?"
"Untimely heart attack," Morningstar said, as though pleased.
"You bastard," I murmured, for somehow I sensed Morningstar was to blame for
their "heart attacks."
Michael lifted me off my feet and took me into his arms. I groaned as he pried [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]