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SEPTEMBER CLAWED THE gloved hand at her throat. She stared into Gerald’s pale visage—nobody home—and staggered backwards into the laundry room. Squeaky shoes on snow announced Lizzie before she was framed by the open door.
“Did you miss me?” Gerald squeezed harder.
“Careful, Gerald.” Lizzie caught his arm. “She has the flash drive.”
Dark sparkles floated before September’s eyes. She struggled to draw breath, but no air moved in or out. She forced herself to go limp before she passed out. And when Gerald juggled to balance her sudden shift in weight, she stabbed her clenched knuckles into his windpipe.
He gagged, thrust her away and clutched the injury.
“Gerald. Honey-pie, are you okay?” Lizzie bustled into the room.
September wheezed. She fell hard against the clothes dryer, and her palm slammed against the “start” button. The stink of scorched fabric sparked a smile-worthy idea. She swallowed, and then swallowed again to soothe the ache. Her mouth was West Texas in August, drier than stubbled field corn. “Where’s Steven?” She barely croaked the question.
“Locked in the car with his father.” Lizzie turned as Pike limped into view. “Good job delivering Childress. Did he give you any trouble?”
Pike shook his head. “He just wanted to see his son, was grateful for my help.” Pike glowered at September. “Not like some people.” He adjusted his glasses. “Don’t worry, Childress won’t wake up for a while. That headlock restraint puts ‘em lullaby every time.”
Lizzie straightened, and she nodded at September. “Bring her back inside.” She shivered elaborately. “And shut the door, Gerald, you’re letting out the heat.”
Gerald bared his teeth, but the smile didn’t reach his faded eyes. “I will enjoy this.” He swung the door shut but didn’t notice that it caught in the jamb and didn’t latch. “Show time, my dear.” He gripped her arm.
Her stomach was knotted with butterflies. She was outnumbered, but her plan was still in play. Show time, indeed.
Gerald shoved her, and she crashed into the kitchen table, skinning her palms on the mosaic glass surface. He stood sentry behind her so she couldn’t retreat. Lizzie blocked the stairway, and Pike stood before the gate to her office. She was trapped.
“Where is it?” Lizzie leaned toward her, the table between them. She noticed Steven’s pill bottles, and pocketed them with a smile. “Time’s up. Where is it?” Her whispers were more threatening than shouted demands.
September looked toward the hidden phone and away. Lizzie’s soft words might not be picked up by the phone. She had to get them to incriminate themselves, put it all out there for Fish’s audience to hear. Lizzie would clam up if she suspected anyone could hear beyond this intimate group. “Your cop lapdog, Leonard Pike, mugged me around so much, I can’t hear so well. Say again?” She spoke with exaggerated volume.
Pike scowled. “She’s up to something.” He aimed the pistol. “Only the kids matter. So give Lizzie the damn flash drive.”
September took a breath, ready to play the game. Keep them off balance. Keep them guessing. “Show me Steven. Or there’s no deal.” It wouldn’t work if she gave in too quickly. Besides, she had to give the police time to arrive.
Lizzie dimpled a smile at Gerald. “Perhaps your special persuasive skills will do the trick.”
“As you wish.” Murderous intent shined in his expression.
“Wait.” Her voice jumped an octave. “I’ll tell you.” This was it, no more delay. “I hid it. There, in the canister.” She pointed and was gratified when Lizzie strutted to the counter, well within range of the hidden cell phone. “I never would have believed Steven’s therapist would sell him out. You’re a bitch, Lizbeth Baumgarten, and your son Gerald is a damn killer.” She let the vitriol pour forth, unedited. “And you, Officer Pike, selling out for some pie-in-the-sky dream-cure. Don’t you dare justify it helps kids.” Fish damn-well better hear.
Gerald strode forward and grabbed her hair. He heaved her into the table, and she landed across the cat’s tattered toy and barely caught the #1-Bitch coffee mug before it crashed to the floor. September grabbed and hugged Mickey like a magical shield. They’d kill her now. But she’d named them for all the radio-world to hear. She smiled; satisfied that Steven and the other kids would be safe.
Lizzie’s double chins jiggled with rage. “Help her up, Gerald. I taught you better manners.” She dumped flour over the counter, and finger-sifted for the hidden flash drive.
September grasped one of the toppled chairs and pulled herself upright. She didn’t want Gerald to touch her.
Pike looked with contempt at the remodeled kitchen. “You have any idea what a cop salary is? Don’t judge me.”
Lizzie looked up. “You can’t put a price on a miracle, the chance for normalcy. A real life.” Pride added inches to her height. “Gerald was the first. And now he’s a doctor, spreads the cure to other children.” Joy lit her face. “Rebirth Gathering will give hope to two hundred children and their parents.”
The woman believed her own sales pitch. “Psycho kids aren’t my idea of a miracle.” September deliberately picked at Lizzie’s weak spot. “If he was the first, you should have stopped while you were behind.”
Gerald shrugged. “No reason to second-guess a miracle over a few bad reactions.”
Pike was worse than the others, selling out his own honor and his grandson’s health for empty promises. “Did they tell you about the risk of your grandson going psycho?”
Pike turned away. He crossed his arms and leaned against the refrigerator.
Lizzie glowered. “You don’t understand, being childless and all.” She returned to the counter, combed through the last of the white powder. The drive wasn’t there. “Which canister, September?” She dumped the next and hand-stirred the sugar. Nothing. Lizzie picked up the cat treat jar and shattered it on the tile. She mixed the morsels with her foot.
September thought she heard a bark. Wishful thinking.
Pike stepped forward, but his injured leg wobbled. “Can’t you see, she don’t got it? She lied the whole time, just to get the boy back. Hell, it’s what I’d do.” He braced himself against the refrigerator, and held the gun steady.
Macy roused from his perch atop the appliance. The cat yawned and stretched. Sniffed, and gave a silent hiss at the smoke gathering high in the ceiling space.
“But even if she don’t have the flash drive, she’ll tell. And that will spoil everything for my grandson, Lenny. For all the other kids.”
September saw the cat’s focus as Macy stared down at Pike. His ears turned sideways, furry airplane wings of disapproval. The cat’s coffee-strudel tail twitched.
The spark of an idea flared. “I understand about your grandson, Lenny, is it? Here, I’ve got it, you can have it. It’s here.” Her shaky left hand pulled out the lanyard chain from beneath her collar. “Don’t shoot. Here, take it.” She held her other hand palm outward toward Pike, but the signal was meant for the cat perched above him.
He smiled with sadness, his voice gruff with what needed to be done. “That won’t stop a bullet.”
September’s palm signal steadied and didn’t waver. The cat’s attention left Pike and followed the hand with intensity. She closed her outstretched hand into a deliberate fist around the drive.
Macy sat.
September hid her elation. She thanked heaven for all the foolish tricks she’d practiced with the cat. Maybe God answered prayers after all.
Green cat eyes monitored the lanyard’s pendulum swing, tail twitched in a syncopated rhythm. Macy waited, forward pointed ears and whiskers eager with interest. Macy wanted the game to begin.
