"A kid killer. You're nuts." Lombardi groaned. "Both of you are fucking nuts."
"Who told you that? Chris?" James asked.
"Judith told me, but if that's not good enough, it's in Chris's file. Get yourself a copy, why don't you?" She cupped her left hand by his. "Now, give me the keys."
He glanced at her in the rearview mirror and then pulled the keys from the ignition and handed them to her.
"Weapons," she demanded. "One at a time."
Lombardi brought his out first, handing it to her muzzle to the ground. She took the magazine and unloaded the shells into her hand. "Gun, James."
James gave her his gun and she emptied it, too.
She nodded. "And your cell phone."
He motioned to the glove compartment. "It's in there."
Alex turned the gun back toward Lombardi. "Get it. Nice and slow."
The detective opened the glove compartment and handed Alex the cellular phone.
"Radio," Alex said.
James pulled out the handset on the radio, and with a quick jerk, she yanked it free. She opened the car door and started to get out.
"You may not believe this, either of you, but as far as I know, I haven't done anything wrong. And I'm going to prove it to you." She slammed the door and headed for her car.
Halfway there, she turned around and pointed the gun.
Lombardi ducked but James didn't move, his stare piercing her.
Alex pulled the magazine from the gun and held it out for him to see. "Empty," she yelled. She stared at James and shook her head. "I'm sorry, James. I really am."
Alex darted through traffic to her hotel. She parked in the loading zone and rushed to her room, her pulse frantic. In a mad rush, she packed up her things and left, refusing to allow herself to think about what she'd just done to her brother and a man she'd once hoped to work for.
She needed to dump her car and find herself another hotel. She had wanted to stay at the Red Roof Inn, but now she couldn't risk that James would break Greg and find out where she was. Even a new hotel room wasn't a guarantee that they wouldn't find her.
Back on the road, she kept a constant eye on the rearview mirror as she headed to the San Francisco airport. She found a space in long-term parking and entered the departure area. After taking out money at an ATM machine on the departures deck, she went downstairs to arrivals. At the hotel information desk, she found a listing for the Hyatt and called for reservations under the name Carmen Hayes. She picked a more upscale hotel than she normally would have, knowing that James would look for her at the cheaper places first.
If the police were searching for her, they would know she'd have to get rid of her car. And cabs would be the first place they'd look. She changed clothes in the bathroom, pulled her hair into a bun, and put a baseball cap over it.
Then, hurrying back outside, she went to wait for the Hyatt shuttle, doing her best not to fidget. When it arrived, she took a seat in the back of the crowded van. Her luggage in her lap, she pretended to sleep like an exhausted grad student.
The room she had been checked into was on the eleventh floor. She would have liked to have a room on a lower floor, but she had not wanted to draw attention. As she rode up in the elevator, she focused on her duffel bag, her hands clenched, her knuckles white.
She'd paid for two nights, knowing the following day was Sunday and would bring her no good news. Without Greg to count on, she was on her own, without a single lead. She had nothing to work with but what was in her head.
She considered ordering room service but didn't want to risk anyone seeing her. Instead, she opened the mini-bar and pulled out a small tin of twelve-dollar peanuts.
As she lay back in bed, hungry and tired, she considered what a mess she had created. She would be lucky if she didn't spend the rest of her life in jail.
Breaking and entering, assault, assault with a deadly weapon, assault and battery of a police officer, kidnapping, reckless endangerment, burglary, robbery, resisting arrest, involving a minor in a criminal act—and she was sure there were others she hadn't thought of yet.
Desperate for an outlet for her energy and not willing to risk venturing out, Alex worked out on the hotel-room floor. She did reps of twenty-five push-ups, fifty sit-ups, one hundred leg lifts on each side, then her tae bo moves—roundhouse, front and back kicks, and punching an imaginary speed bag—until she was dripping with sweat and could feel her muscles like pounding fists beneath her skin.
With her energy burned off, she lay down on the bed. As she let her heavy eyelids fall closed, she felt strong and solid. She could beat him. Now all she had to do was find him.
Chapter 27
The officers stood above her, dark uniforms making them look like a pack of monsters waiting to descend. Their voices echoed in her head, a cacophony she couldn't block out, tones she couldn't separate. Images whirled in her brain like water down a faucet, and she felt dizzy and nauseated.
She pulled her knees to her chest and held herself tight, rocking slowly on the chair. As the men moved and spoke around her, their badges caught the light, creating tiny blasts of white in the darkness.
One of them leaned over her again, faceless, nameless. Why were there so many?
"Okay, Alexandra, tell us one more time. How did you get the gun?"
She pictured the long blond hair that had tickled her skin. "Don't be afraid, honey," the voice had said, a melodic murmur to a frightened child's ears.
"Alexandra?" the officer asked.
"An angel," she repeated and rolled her eyes. Why didn't they understand?
As she glanced up, he gave her a smile and she shivered. He backed away and she caught fragments of the conversation that followed.
"She's confused," one said.
She pulled her knees tighter, tucking her chin to her chest.
"A fucking angel?" another asked, his voice angry.
She rocked harder, humming to herself.
"...a lot... stress," a softer voice said.
"Maybe someone... angel."
"Impossible," the angry one spoke again.
She covered her ears, humming louder.
Another knelt next to her. His touch was like the angel's, so light it was almost imaginary. "Alex? People call you Alex, right? Not Alexandra."
She looked at him, watched his eyes as he spoke. It was the man with the soft voice. She nodded.
"I know this is hard, but we're grown-up people. We're not as good as kids at understanding things. Can you help me?"
She stopped rocking and nodded.
"Thanks, Alex. Now, can you describe the angel for us?"
"It was an angel," she insisted.
He nodded. "I believe you. Is there any way we could talk to this angel?"
She frowned. "Don't you know? You can't talk to angels. They come down to help and then they leave."
He thought a minute like little kids did when they didn't understand something. "Where do they go?"
"Fucking waste of time," the angry man said in the background.
The quiet one looked back and stared at him like her mother stared at her when she'd been bad. Alex stared at the angry man, too.
He leaned over and spoke again. "Sorry, Alex. Now, where do the angels go?"
"They go back to heaven—like my dad."
The man hesitated and then moved closer.
Alex scooted against the bars of the chair. She didn't want anyone near her ever again.
The man moved back immediately. "Was this angel your daddy?"
Alex thought a moment and smiled. Her daddy. "My daddy," she repeated.
"Was it your daddy?"
Her daddy was the only angel she knew. She nodded. She'd finally met her daddy. Boy, where James and Brittany going to be jealous.
"What does your daddy look like? Like the angel?"
She shook her head. "He looks like my dad. I have a picture on the table by my bed. I can show it to you if you want."
"And this an
gel that you saw looked like your dad?"
"No. The angel looked like an angel," she said, tired of explaining. "With long blond hair and wings."
"Wings?"
She nodded.
The man stood up and she could hear them whispering.
Alex closed her eyes and rocked again, her knees warm and strong against her. She was cold and she wished the angel were there now. The angel would tell them. She had to pull the trigger. She had to or she and Billy and Marcus would have died.
Over her shoulder, she could see another officer talking to the boys. The officer motioned to her and the boys shook their heads. She looked back at the floor. They hadn't seen the angel. They had been blindfolded. Plus, the angel had picked her to talk to, not them. The boys didn't hear. They weren't close enough.
She closed her eyes and tried to picture the angel's face, but she'd never seen it. The angel seemed smaller now, like a cupid in comparison to the big police. She wished she could see the angel's face. Then, she could tell them what it was like.
The voices raised again, the mean cop yelling at the others. She rocked and covered her ears.
"What the fuck. She's crazy."
"Stop," she whispered, rocking harder.
There were more murmurs. She couldn't hear them.
She raised her voice. "Stop. Stop." She yelled. "Stop!"
A hand touched her arm and she jumped.
Alex bolted up, her face damp with sweat. Her hand shook as she flipped the light on. She blinked hard and looked around. The room was empty. The bright green numbers on the clock read four-thirty. She'd hardly been asleep five hours.
Flashes of a dream came back to her, and a face appeared in her mind like an image through a camera's lens. She tried to focus on it, to clear the blurring. Something clicked, and like a shutter closing, the image was gone.
Propping the pillows behind her back, she focused on the fleeting image of an angel. What did it mean? Nothing but the word "angel" remained in her memory.
Deep in the recesses of her mind, it was all there. She thought about Judith. Maybe she would hypnotize Alex into remembering everything. She stared at the phone and shook her head. Surely James had contacted Judith by now. James would have thought of everything. She was truly on her own.
Tim came to mind and she wondered if the caller had contacted him again. Did he know where she was staying now? Was the kid on his way here with another roll of film?
Frustrated, she lay back down, feeling more tired now than she ever had from insomnia. She imagined herself taking a bath in her lion's-foot tub and wondered how long it would be until she would again, if ever.
Before she went back to Berkeley and guaranteed her own arrest, she had to ask all the questions she could come up with here. A part of her knew it was dumb to leave the hotel room today. She would sit tight and wait to make sure the dust had settled with James, but she didn't have the time to waste. The answers weren't going to come to her there.
At least she knew where she was going. There was only one person she could think of who she prayed would be able to help.
Alex showered and tucked her hair under her cap and dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. Out the window, she spotted a Kentucky Fried Chicken. Her stomach protested at the thought of another hour without food, but she ignored the temptation and reached for the phone book. She found a number and dialed.
"Yellow Cab," the voice answered with all the briskness of a New Yorker.
"I need a cab at Kentucky Fried Chicken on Willow Pass Road."
"Across from the Veterans Hospital?"
Alex looked around and spotted the thick gray building. "Yes."
"Got it."
"How long will that be?" she interjected as he started to hang up.
"Five to ten minutes."
The click informed her the conversation was over. "Charming," she mumbled. Tucking some cash and her police I.D. in her pocket, Alex set the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door and left.
The stairwell was silent except for the clatter of ancient water pipes working overtime. She jogged down the stairs, not allowing herself to stop until she'd reached the bottom. There, she took thirty seconds to slow her pulse and then headed out into the lobby.
It was quiet. She had expected it would be. Judging from the people she had ridden from the airport with, the Hyatt's business seemed to come primarily from conventions and conferences. Generally, there were very few weekend patrons in such hotels before Sunday evenings. No one even glanced at her as she made her way through the lobby, her dark glasses pushed close to her face.
She jogged toward the KFC. The cab pulled to the curb as Alex arrived and she hopped in.
"Noah's Bagels on University," she said.
A gray-haired black man sat in the front seat, casting a quick glance at her. "Picked up at Kentucky Fried to go get a bagel, eh?"
She gave him a quick smile. "My car broke down about three blocks up."
He looked in the mirror again and then dismissed it, though she didn't think he believed her. Thankfully, the address she had given him was three blocks from where she was actually going. Even if he told someone, it would take them a while to find her. That was the best she could hope for now—a little extra time.
When he stopped at Noah's, she paid him and paused, taking a moment to scan the area carefully for signs of local police or James before getting out. She entered Noah's, bought three plain bagels, a small container of plain cream cheese, a cranberry juice, and a large coffee, and then left again. She found a bench on the side of the block, away from traffic, and ate one bagel with cream cheese and drank the coffee.
When she was done, she circled the block and watched her back before heading to Nader's. Cutting down a side street, she walked the three blocks until she could see his house. Even from the end of the block, the yellow crime scene tape was brightly visible, swaying like a flag of surrender in the morning wind.
Except for the crime scene tape, though, Nader's house looked the same as it had the first time she arrived. No one appeared to be keeping watch, but she didn't dare chance it.
Instead of heading down Ramona, Alex walked to the next block and counted houses until she was at the one directly behind Nader's. The streets were clear. After surveying her surroundings, she cut between the houses to Nader's. A quick glance confirmed nothing was happening at his house. She pushed off the momentary urge she felt to go back inside and search for other clues.
Turning, she approached his neighbor's door and knocked. She prayed the woman she had seen in the window yesterday would be home.
The sound of a bolt latch came from the inside. The slide of metal against metal and the clink of a chain followed.
"Hello?" Alex called when the door didn't open.
"Who is it?" a shaky, shrill voice called.
Alex realized the woman had not unlocked the door but locked it. "It's Alexandra Michaels."
"Who?"
"I'm a detective, ma'am," she lied. "Here to ask you a few more questions about your neighbor." She was certain the police had already questioned her.
The door remained closed. "I've already answered all your questions. What else do you need to know?"
"I apologize, ma'am. I know this is an inconvenience. Do you have just another quick minute?"
"No such thing as a quick minute," she snapped.
Alex continued to press. "It's very important. I wouldn't be bothering you otherwise."
"The officer that was here told me the police would call if they had more questions."
"Yes, that's usually the case. I came back by to take some track prints on Mr. Nader's car." She was getting pretty decent at the lies. "I just thought of a few other things I'd like to ask."
"Oh, good Lord."
"I promise it won't take more than a few minutes."
Silence followed. Alex strained to listen for motion. Was the woman leaving? Going to the phone?
At the click of the bolt releasing, Alex exhaled.<
br />
A thin woman with wisps of blue-gray hair and high cheekbones opened the door, wearing a housedress with small blue and pink flowers over a pair of light blue polyester pants and white slippers. She furrowed a wiry brow and stared.
Alex made no move to get closer, and the woman made no move to let her inside.
The exposure to the street made fear twist in Alex's gut, but she held her composure.
"You were here that day—with the boy."
She nodded. "The boy brought me here."
The woman scowled and mumbled something Alex couldn't hear. Her eyes appraised each inch of Alex as though the woman had X-ray vision that would warn her if Alex was good or evil. At any moment, the alarms might sound in her head. The door shut again, and metal squeaked as the chain was released. The door then opened slightly wider. "You can come in," the woman said, "but make it fast."
"Yes, ma'am." Alex surveyed the room carefully as she stepped inside.
The woman made a beeline for the closest chair in the small den and sat.
Something cracked as she did, but Alex wasn't sure if it was the woman or the chair. They appeared to be about the same age.
"What could you possibly ask me that they didn't already ask?"
It was a good question. And since Alex didn't know what had already been asked, she avoided it. "I was wondering if you know about a security company your neighbor might have hired."
For a split second, the woman's eyes darted across the tabletops. They snapped back to Alex's as she shook her head. "I didn't talk much to him. He wasn't around much. I think he worked a ways from here. And weird hours."
As the woman answered, Alex took inventory of the tables. A plastic container surrounded by different sized jars of medication seemed to be the only thing out. Alex read the name "Louisa Carter" from the closest one.
"So I wouldn't know who he had working for him," she added.
Alex looked back at the woman, who was watching her suspiciously. "You seem to keep a good eye out the window. I noticed when I was here the other day. May I ask why?"
The woman's eyes narrowed. "I'm an old lady. I don't have any children, my husband's dead, my friends are all in Florida or dead. There's not much to do, Officer. Is there something wrong with watching out the window?"
Ruthless Game (A Captivating Suspense Novel) Page 24