“FOR CHRIST’S SAKE—” THEO banged her hand on the steering wheel. “Slow down, will you? Tell me what you know, not what you think. Tell me—”
Heedless of the contempt he saw so clearly in her face, he broke in: “What I know is that Martelli’s fucking us over, that’s what I know. And I know—I’m absolutely certain—that Bernhardt’s behind it. Bernhardt and Janice.”
“But what about John? Are you sure they’ve got him? Absolutely sure?”
“Al never leaves John alone. Never. So that means John’s with someone. If it were a friend—if it were innocent—Al would tell me. So it’s got to be Bernhardt. They’ve gotten to Al, probably bribed him, the bastard.”
“If they’ve taken John somewhere—anywhere—then it’s kidnapping. You could have them arrested.”
“Arrested—” Sharply, he shook his head. “Who would arrest them? Fowler? Is that what you want, for Fowler to find John? Jesus, Theo, use your head.”
“We’ve got to find John. Then you’ve got to take him away. Now. Right now.” As she spoke, she gripped his forearm, hard. Her eyes were on fire. The softness was gone from her face. It was a stranger’s face—a stranger’s voice. And a stranger’s grip on his arm. Suddenly a hostile stranger.
“But I—if I do that, take John, run, they’ll know I’ve got something to hide. They’ll know it.” His voice, he knew, was rising, thinning.
“Listen, Dennis—” The grip tightened, compelling him to meet her gaze. Ominously, her voice lowered: “You keep talking about what’ll happen to you. And I keep telling you that it’s us—you and me. Both of us.”
“It’s you, really.” His voice was hardly more than a whisper. His eyes fell away as he heard himself say, “You were coked out. You picked up the tongs. You hit her.”
She waited until he’d forced himself to raise his eyes to hers. Then, very softly, she said, “But only we know that, Dennis.” She let a beat pass before she said, “That makes this a partnership. What happened that night—the risk, the money—it’s all fifty-fifty. Especially—” She released his arm, measured her last words with great deliberation: “Especially the money. Whatever you get, we split. And then—” She smiled. It was a complex smile, an inscrutable signal. Now she raised her hand, touched his cheek. It was a grim evocation of other gestures, other places, other times, together. “And then we live happily ever after.” She said it as if she might be telling a joke. An intricate, obscene joke.
She let another beat pass, once more waiting for him to meet her eyes. Then she pointed to his pickup, parked in front of them on the shoulder of the road. The rifle was visible in the rack behind the driver’s seat. “Can you shoot that?”
“Yes—sure.”
“Okay—” She nodded, reached beneath the driver’s seat, withdrew a revolver.
“Jesus—careful, Theo.”
The casual contempt came back in her voice as she said, “I shot skeet with my second husband. He never won any trophies—but I did.” She thrust the revolver in her saddle-leather shoulder bag, took the keys from the Supra’s ignition, and swung open the door. “Come on. Let’s find John.”