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THE STAIRWELL DOOR squeaked and thunked closed behind September. “Who are you talking to?”
She whirled and then hiccupped a relieved exhalation. “You scared the pee out of me.” She wiped sudden wet from her brow with a shaky hand. Her nerves were fried. “Did Teddy already call? It’s too soon.” He’d spoil everything.
Officer Leonard Pike peered past her into the kitchen proper, and scanned right and left. “Been waiting for you. Where’s Teddy?”
She stiffened. Nobody but Teddy knew she’d come home. Her breath quickened.
Pike examined the room. “I heard somebody else.”
“You did.” September spoke loudly in the small room. For once, please let Fish keep his big mouth shut. “The radio, it’s a call-in show. Trying to steady my nerves, you know? But never mind, I’ll turn it off.” She chattered on the way to the countertop, and pretended to mess with the radio. “There, it’s off, Officer Pike. No more noisy interruptions, we won’t hear a peep out of the radio from this point on.” That should be clear enough to Fish to go silent, just as they’d planned.
He limped further into the room. “I parked in the garage, but it’s too cold to wait out there so I came inside.” He smiled. “I told you the locks sucked.”
“You can’t be here, Officer. If they see the police, they said they’ll kill Steven.” She hesitated, her stomach an angry fist.
He rubbed his nose with a gloved hand. “Safer to let the police take it from here. You’ll just get yourself killed, too.” He limped toward her, his hand outstretched. “Give me the flash drive.”
She backed toward the breakfast nook, avoiding his reach. Pike wasn’t a detective. He was a beat cop, partnered with Combs. “Did Combs send you?” They could guess about a ransom. How did he know about the flash drive?
“Combs? He’s clueless. He still thinks you killed his mom.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” She sidled closer to the hidden phone, needing Fish’s audience to hear anything that transpired.
“The babysitter. That was Comb’s mom. But I can fix that, fix everything. You’re in over your head.” He took a step toward her. “When Dorfman, the kid from the mall, told me about Theodore Williams being a regular coffee customer, I figured you two hooked up, so I stayed mum and didn’t tell nobody else. Nobody else needed to know if you’d just stayed put. I could have come to you, collected the merchandise, no muss, no fuss.” He sighed. “That would have saved everyone lots of heartache.”
She couldn’t breathe. Wilma was Combs’s mother, and his partner Pike worked with Lizzie. She’d been out-flanked again. She eyeballed the kitchen table where Gerald’s gun sat next to the bitch mug in plain view.
“I’m all you got.” He tilted his head sideways, his tone persuasive. “You’ve done enough, September. There’s still time to get out clean. Give me the flash drive.” He held out his hand again.
Shit. “But you’re a cop.”
He stopped any attempt at pretense. “Steven’s safe. I delivered him to Lizzie myself.” He sounded so sane, so normal. “I can save you, too. Just hand it over.”
“You killed Freda at the Mall? Sonofabitch. How much did they pay? Murderer!” She screamed and picked up a ten-inch wooden pepper grinder, knowing Teddy would hear and call the cops as they’d planned. But it would take time for them to get here. September lobbed it at him. God, she was stupid, dumb to think Lizzie didn’t have someone on the inside when so much money was at stake.
He easily dodged the grinder. “I didn’t set out to hurt nobody. Didn’t take no money. Didn’t even shoot the damn dog when it bit me.” He held out both palms to her—cards on the table. “I’m a good guy, never did nothing sideways before. But I got a grandson. He’s like Steven, autistic, ya know? This is for him, for his future. Okay?” He advanced on her. “Amateurs get involved and it all turns to shit, and I won’t risk my grandson. You’ve got thirty seconds to hand over the flash drive and get the hell out of here. I got no way to protect you once Lizzie’s crew shows up.”
September was incredulous. “You turned your grandson over to those killers? You trust them to keep him safe? Do you even know what’s on the flash drive?” She hefted the matching salt cellar, and threw it at him. “Steven’s my responsibility. I won’t turn my back on him again. Do you think they’ll even let you out of here alive?”
He stopped short. Pike hadn’t considered that notion. “I can take care of myself.”
She fumbled open a cupboard, grabbed a crockery teapot and brandished it. “You sent those psychos after me, after my sister—after Steven.” She hurled it at him.
He batted it away. It crashed on the floor. “Dammit! I didn’t send nobody after you! I just protected Steven and got him back where he belonged, with his mom. Nobody was supposed to die. It’s about saving lives.” His face turned red. “We couldn’t afford the treatment. But your precious putz of a sister opened the door when she killed Pottinger.”
The words slammed the air. “That’s not true.” She took a half step toward the table. He hadn’t pulled out his own gun. Yet.
“Don’t make this any harder than it already is, September. Don’t make me hurt you. Give me the damn flash drive.” He lunged.
She dashed to the table. Snatched up the gun. Fumbled the grip when her numb fingers wouldn’t work.
Pike pounded after her. His wet shoes slid on the slate floor. But he reached her in four strides, gripping her hand and twisting her wrist.
September screamed. He wrenched her arm behind her back. The gun fell. Her cry rose to a shriek.
She ground her boot into his instep. He snarled, and loosened his grasp.
Once she started, September couldn’t stop the screams that burned her throat raw until she gasped for breath. She twisted, shimmied, and left Pike with the empty sleeves of her coat, and stumbled away.
He parachuted the coat at her.
It smothered her head in a damp snare. Stumbling, she fell against a chair and blindly shoved it toward where he’d been.
“Oof.” He grunted and fell.
She whipped the coat away from her face. It settled across the stained glass table.
His hand caught her ankle.
September yelled, kicked, kicked again, but was pulled on top of him. She rolled off. Pike came up with the pistol.
She scrabbled for something, anything, to pelt him. One hand found the plush toy in the coat’s pocket. She cocked and threw. Wished Mickey was a brick when it hit Pike on one ear, and rebounded harmlessly onto the table.
He didn’t pause. Struggling to rise, he lost his balance—one leg was injured, from the dog bite perhaps—he limped forward and pointed the gun at her.
September clambered to her feet. She threw the muffin saucer and dumped another chair in Pike’s path. Sobbing, she hop-scotched to the door, thankful she’d left it unlocked. She had to get away, stay out of reach, and keep the flash drive until Lizzie arrived so she could trade it for Steven. She was his only hope.
To catch Pike wasn’t enough. She needed Lizzie’s broadcast to the world. Needed that for April, for Pam, for Teddy’s friend Freda. And for Steven. And for herself, by damn. She’d lost too much to let those bastards get away with murder. Pike wouldn’t risk shooting her as long as he believed she had the flash drive. September spun the last chair at him, and dashed to escape.
The door swung open. She skidded to a stop.
“Hello. How nice to see you again.” Gerald smiled, and seized her throat.
