Chapter Fifty-three

Andy slowed her hurried stride into a calm saunter. No need to cause panic. She directed René to go right through the restaurant, while she went left. It took ten seconds to spot Wright, hiding behind a menu. She was three tables away from Kate and Kuznetsova, who were sitting where she and Isabelle had sat earlier that day.

There was no sign of Claire. Hopefully, René would locate her.

Wright spotted Andy at the same time Kuznetsova did. How Kuznetsova managed the setup so that Kate was sitting with her back to the room, Andy could only guess. Probably showed up first.

Kuznetsova’s face broke into an easy, fake smile. “Andy. How nice to see you? Where’s the redhead?” she called.

Andy smiled, waved.

Kate’s surprise turned into anger, then puzzlement as Andy slipped into Wright’s booth.

Andy felt the tightening coil of tension inside her stomach. She resisted the urge to feel for the butt of her gun, seeking the reassurance of the cold steel.

Wright was also supposed to die in this very same diner. Was tonight the night?

How could it not be the case?

Andy watched as René sat at an empty table not far from her, giving her a quiet, reassuring nod.

“Well, hello, Andy. Came to warn your mother?” Wright asked.

“No. You.”

Wright frowned.

“Remember what we told your earlier? About you being careful in diners? Well, this is it.” Andy motioned to the door. “Please come with me. It’s for your own safety, I promise you.”

“No way. You just want to get your mother out of here.”

“We can wait right outside. I’ll make sure Kate comes with you as soon as she’s done here. I promise you that.”

“Get the fuck out of my face. I have a warrant to arrest your mother on suspicion of murder.”

Andy wanted to drag Wright out of here but knew it wouldn’t happen without causing a scene. “Remember when you asked what Ma Soeur was, Jane?”

Wright’s face grew dark at the mention of her name.

“We dream the future,” Andy said, leaning across the table, her voice a whisper. “We try to stop bad things from happening. And Isabelle dreamt that you were going to die tonight in this very diner.”

Finally, she’d manage to capture Wright’s attention.

“What do you mean you dream the future?” Wright snapped.

From the corner of her eye, Andy saw the door swing open. It was Claire.

Fuck.

Claire spotted her immediately.

Her face told her everything she needed to know. Claire knew that Andy knew, that Ma Soeur knew, who killed Arlene Hampton, and she didn’t care. She had nowhere left to hide.

No. She didn’t want to hide any longer.

René had also spotted her. She got up from her table.

“Andy, I’m talking to you,” Wright said, then grew silent as she followed Andy’s gaze.

Claire changed direction to move through the set of tables next to the booth, trying to navigate a path between Andy and René. She bumped a girl’s arm as she was biting into a piece of pancake.

Was Wright still the target?

No. This was a different Claire, her anger redirected.

“Kate!” Andy turned around. “Watch out!”

Claire’s face tightened as if she was trapped. She pulled a gun from her pocket.

She was five, four paces from Kate and Kuznetsova.

A middle-aged couple saw the gun, jumped up, and screamed, blocking René’s path as she tried to get to Claire.

“Get Wright!” Andy called to her. She charged through the tables, diving at Claire.

Claire fired, kept on firing.

Andy felt the sting from two bullets in her vest. A third in her neck. An explosion of warmth flooded her skin.

She was on top of Claire, wrestling for the gun.

“You cheating whore,” Claire shouted at Kate.

She slipped from Andy’s grasp.

Andy felt lightheaded. Her actions slowed. She fell to her knees, the floor slippery with her blood. She was at Kate’s table. Kuznetsova was crouching under the surface, her face ashen.

Kate was slumped in her seat. Her eyes stared at Andy. Dead.

Claire got up. She sank to her knees when the sound of shots rang out again.

René was dragging Wright to the exit. She turned to fire one last round before she left.

Why wasn’t she aiming at Claire? What was she…? Andy blinked rapidly as she struggled to her feet again. She strained to look where René had been shooting.

She was firing at Tea Guy, Kuznetsova’s bodyguard who had been closing in from the other side of the diner. He must have shot at Claire. At her?

Andy was between him and Kuznetsova. He lifted his gun to fire again.

Her legs were too weak to hold her. She fell onto her back.

People were screaming, running out of the restaurant.

Andy lifted her head, her vision blurring. She closed her eyes. Felt the pop of another bullet in her chest, into the vest.

Isabelle’s words drifted to her from the edge of consciousness. “If you feel like sleeping, open your eyes and look up. Just do that for me. Promise?”

She opened her eyes. Stared straight at the single throwing knife stuck to the bottom of the booth’s table. She reached out and threw it at Tea Guy with every ounce of power she had left.

 

* * *

 

Isabelle ran into the diner as an elderly man came crawling out of the restaurant. Did Andy…was she…did she spot the knife Isabelle had left there this morning?

“Please, God,” she prayed. “Please.”

“Isabelle!” Marc yelled behind her. “You can’t go in there—”

She ignored him, the door slamming closed behind her.

It was quiet inside Roman’s Diner, the scent of blood hanging in the air, permeating her clothes, her skin. The fear was equally palpable, as if it had a life of its own. As if it was a living, breathing animal.

Behind her, the door opened then closed. Probably Marc. She didn’t look. She ran to where she knew Andy would be.

Outside, the sound of sirens was closing in.

“Andy! No!” She kneeled in the pool of blood and pressed two fingers to Andy’s neck wound.

How much blood had she lost?

She looked to her right. Kuznetsova’s bodyguard was dead, Andy’s knife in his chest. Beyond him lay Claire, motionless.

“You got him, baby,” she said. “Just like I knew you would.”

There was no response. She bent down to kiss Andy. Her lips were cold.

She was vaguely aware that Marc did a scan of the diner, René and Detective Wright in his wake.

She looked left. Natalya Kuznetsova stared at her from where she sat in the booth seat next to Kate, having abandoned all efforts to administer CPR. She shook her head in something like remorse.

So many people gone. Some many lives lost. She closed her eyes, unable to hold back the tears.

“Andy, sweetheart,” she whispered. “Please just hold on. Just two more seconds.”

Outside, the sirens came to a halt. René bent down next to her. “Ambulance is here. You called them earlier? Before all of this?”

“Yes.”

“Smart woman.”

Isabelle felt Andy’s pulse weaken under her fingers. How it slowed to a gentle, almost imperceptible thrum before René dragged her away to make room for the EMTs.