Hauser propelled himself out of hiding, the Beretta leading him, his voice booming in the stillness.
“FBI, you’re under arrest!”
His index finger drawing down on the trigger even as he spoke, the gun sighted on Sinclair’s chest, Sinclair reacting but too late, Wyatt spinning toward him, his eyes on the gun—
Hauser fired. The pistol bucked in his hand, a spasm of recoil vibrating through his forearm, the crack of the gunshot deafening him, and in the same instant he saw a bright bloom of blood.
Direct hit. A body falling.
But not Sinclair.
Wyatt.
* * *
Tess had seen it all.
She had drawn close enough to the fence at the rear of the lot to see all three of them—Hauser, Abby, and Wyatt.
Now she knew why Hauser had delayed action. He’d wanted a clear shot at Abby—and he’d taken it. A single shot, discharged a split second after he’d shouted his announcement. Discharged before Abby could possibly have reacted, before she could surrender, flee, or fight.
Hauser hadn’t wanted her to surrender. He’d wanted her dead.
Tess charged into the lot, where Wyatt lay on his side, Abby kneeling by him, Hauser with gun in hand. For just a moment Hauser straightened his right arm as if preparing to shoot again. Then he saw Tess, armed, her SIG Sauer aimed in his direction.
“Drop the gun, Ron,” she said.
Something like panic flickered across his face. He hadn’t expected her to be so close.
“You left your position,” he said. “That’s a direct violation of my orders.”
“I don’t give a shit about your orders. Drop the gun.”
“You can’t be serious.”
She steadied her pistol. “Try me.”
Slowly his hand opened, and the Beretta fell to the asphalt.
Abby had turned Wyatt on his back and was straddling him, performing CPR. She seemed oblivious to Hauser and Tess, to any possible danger. She had torn open Wyatt’s shirt and now had her hand over the wound, applying steady pressure. Her hair had swung over her face, and Tess couldn’t read her expression.
She pressed her radio’s talk button, telling both teams to report to the rendezvous site, but only after they had called a rescue ambulance. “We have a man down, GSW to the chest,”
Abby was still sealing Wyatt’s wound with her hand. Her face remained invisible.
The sky to the west was darker now, the sunset fading to the color of old blood.
Tess stared at Hauser. “I saw it, Ron. I saw it all.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re—”
“Save it. You gave her no chance to submit to arrest. It was a hit, plain and simple. No more complicated than a gangland drive-by.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“You aimed right at her chest. You were going for the kill. Would’ve worked—if Wyatt hadn’t stepped into the line of fire and caught the round himself.”
“She was reaching for her weapon,” Hauser said. “In her purse.”
“She didn’t reach for anything, Ron. You didn’t give her time to reach.”
A Bureau car pulled up in the alley, braking at the rear entrance to the lot. Two agents Tess didn’t know got out.
“What the hell happened here?” one of them asked. His partner, with a first-aid kit in hand, knelt by Abby. Without speaking, she placed his hand on the wound to maintain pressure, then opened the kit and took out a large square bandage.
Tess didn’t try to explain. “We have a situation. I’m going to have to ask you to take Agent Hauser into custody.”
Abby applied the bandage to Wyatt’s chest, leaving the bottom of the square unsealed to create a flutter valve.
“She’s crazy,” Hauser said. “Loyalty to Sinclair has warped her judgment.”
“I’m not the one whose judgment is warped.” But Tess knew there was no reason for Hauser’s guys to take her word over his.
She was debating how to handle it when a second Bucar pulled into the rear lot. Another two men she didn’t know. Hauser’s men.
And in the middle of the scene, in the enveloping dark, Abby leaned over Wyatt, checking his respiration, taking his pulse, never looking up.
“Agent McCallum”—that was the man whose partner had supplied first aid—“maybe it would be better if you holstered your weapon.”
She made no move to comply. Her gun was still trained on Hauser.
“Let me tell you what just went down,” she said, keeping her voice unnaturally calm, aware that any sign of emotion would only weaken her case.
The agent kneeling by Abby interrupted. “Someone get us a blanket.” Like Abby, he was oblivious to the confrontation in progress.
One of the new arrivals retrieved a blanket from the car and draped it over Wyatt, leaving his face uncovered. When he stepped back, Tess tried again.
“Agent Hauser wasn’t interested in taking Abby Sinclair alive. He was trying to kill her. Instead he shot Lieutenant Wyatt, an off-duty officer of the LAPD who was assisting in the arrest.”
“It was an accident,” Hauser said. Tess was pleased to note the thin leading edge of hysteria in his voice. “Sinclair was reaching for her weapon. I had to fire in self-defense. Wyatt just got in the way.”
“Lieutenant Wyatt”—Tess stressed his rank—“deliberately intercepted the bullet meant for Abby Sinclair. Look at her. Is there a gun in her hand? Is there a gun anywhere in evidence?”
“It’s in her purse,” Hauser said. “She carries a Smith thirty-eight.”
“But she hadn’t drawn it. I’ll bet you’ll find the purse hasn’t even been opened.”
The purse lay discarded on the ground. The man who’d produced the blanket picked it up.
“Still clasped,” he said quietly.
“I had no way of knowing that.” Hauser was trying to sound reasonable, but he couldn’t quite pull it off. “I acted in my own defense.”
“No, he didn’t. Think about it. Why did he draw up the arrest scenario the way he did? Why did he position you guys so far from the scene? Did he tell you that he and I were going to take down Sinclair together?”
The man holding Abby’s purse nodded.
“That’s not how he arranged it with me. He positioned me down the alley, where I wouldn’t have a clear view of the action. He claimed he was going to conduct the arrest by himself. Why would he do that?”
“It’s a fair question,” the other new arrival said slowly. His eyes were moving from Hauser to Wyatt and back again.
Abby must have heard something worrisome in Wyatt’s breathing. She began to provide assisted ventilation, like a lifeguard trying to revive a drowning victim. In, out. In, out.
“You’re letting her manipulate you, for Christ’s sake.” Hauser was shaking. “She doesn’t even work out of L.A. She has no business here.”
“Agent McCallum has been to L.A. before,” the fourth man said. “She’s got a pretty good rep in this town.”
“Rep?” Hauser made a sound like laughter. “I’ll tell you about her rep. On her last two cases she was in league with Sinclair. They worked together. An SAC and a goddamn vigilante. A vigilante who killed Mark Brody in cold blood.”
The two agents who had helped Abby began to move away from Wyatt, approaching Hauser—whether to back him up or to make a move on him, Tess didn’t know.
“We worked together,” Tess acknowledged without raising her voice. “And when it looked like she’d gone bad, I helped bring her in. But I didn’t think I was setting her up to be killed.”
“This is ridiculous.” Hauser stooped, reaching for his firearm on the asphalt. “I’m through with this crap—”
“Sir.” It was the man who’d checked Abby’s purse. The note of command in his tone stopped Hauser cold. “Leave your weapon where it is, please.”
Hauser stared at him, then at the others. Slowly he straightened up, leaving the gun untouched.
“I’m disapp
ointed,” he said. “In all of you.”
No one answered.
In the distance a siren wailed, growing louder. The ambulance.
And Abby, kneeling alone on the ground, continued to breathe for Wyatt. In. Out. In. Out.
39
Not long afterward, the paramedics arrived at the scene and took control of Wyatt’s care, and Tess eased Abby away. For the first time she saw Abby’s face, and it was like looking at a stranger. All expression had drained from her features; all light had vanished from her eyes. Her facial muscles were slack, and her gaze traveled everywhere without registering anything.
She had not said a word since the shooting, and she remained quiet as Tess assisted her into the passenger seat of one of the Bureau cars. Tess did not put her in handcuffs. She couldn’t make herself do that.
“I’m following the ambulance to the hospital,” she told the other agents as she stripped off her body armor and headset. “Abby will ride with me. She may need treatment for shock.”
“We’re supposed to take her to the field office,” one of them objected.
“First she needs medical attention. I’ll take responsibility. You hold on to her purse and her car. If there’s a gun in her purse, we’ll need a ballistics test to see if it matches the round that killed Agent Brody.”
“What about Agent Hauser?”
“He’s in your custody. Take him to the FO. I’ll brief the AD on my way to the hospital.”
She retrieved her laptop from Wyatt’s car, acting automatically, unwilling to let the data fall into the porous hands of the LAPD. When the ambulance pulled away, she followed close behind. The cell phone was already in her hand, though she hadn’t been conscious of picking it up. She hit redial, since the last number she had called was Michaelson’s office. This time the secretary put her through without a hassle. No doubt the Nose had been waiting to hear the outcome of the arrest.
“We have Abby in custody,” Tess said without being asked, “but there’s a problem.”
Michaelson sighed. “There always is when you’re involved.”
She ignored the dig. “Hauser shot the police officer who was assisting us. He was hit in the chest and looks”—she remembered Abby, seated beside her—“well, he doesn’t look too great. He’s en route to the hospital now, and I’m following.”
“Which hospital?”
“Paramedics said it was Olive View. It’s north of the Two-ten Freeway—”
“I know where it is. Who has custody of Sinclair?”
“I do. She’s with me.”
“Why? Is she hurt too?”
“She may be in shock. The cop was her friend.”
“In shock.” Michaelson snorted. “She’s malingering. Bring her to the field office.”
“She’s not malingering, and she’s going to the hospital,” Tess said firmly. “But that’s not what I need to discuss with you. Four members of Hauser’s squad are on their way to Westwood right now. They’re bringing in Hauser—in handcuffs.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Hauser shot the police officer. He was aiming for Abby. The shooting was totally unjustified. I saw it, and I will testify to that effect.”
“I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“Hauser is dirty, Richard.”
Silence buzzed on the other end of the line for a long moment. “You’d better be able to back up an accusation like that.”
“He was supervising Brody, and Brody was breaking all the rules. An illegal wiretap, for starters. I thought Hauser was just being lax in his oversight, but after what I witnessed tonight, I think he knew exactly what was going on. And I think he authorized Brody to kill Abby.”
“Kill her? He was placing her under arrest.”
“That’s not how Abby tells it. She says he intended to interrogate her and then kill her, and she had to shoot him in self-defense.”
“That’s ... absurd.”
“Is it? From what I’ve been able to gather, Brody didn’t exactly follow the rule book when he was stationed in Iraq. He took shortcuts, and the Bureau looked the other way. Maybe he got used to the idea. Maybe Hauser thought he could count on Brody to take Abby out. When the plan failed, Hauser decided to get rid of her on his own.”
She anticipated an indignant denial of the theory. Michaelson could be expected to protect his people. But when he spoke, his voice was soft and thoughtful. “I knew it was a mistake.”
“Mistake?”
“Allowing Hauser and Brody to work together. You’re right about the ... extralegal operations in Iraq. And when a person gets in the habit of breaking the law, it becomes hard to stop. I suppose your friend Sinclair could tell us something about that.”
Tess said quietly, “So you suspected something was wrong?”
“Not specifically. I had no evidence. I just worried about the ramifications of those two teaming up.”
“Did you ever raise your concerns with either of them?”
“I couldn’t. Not without some solid basis for suspicion. What I did was curtail Hauser’s responsibilities. I gave him lower-priority cases. I told him it was because I was disappointed in his handling of Medea. That was partly true, but mainly I was worried about his influence on Brody, or vice versa.”
She remembered Hauser’s words in the corridor outside Michaelson’s office. “By telling him he was paying for Medea, you gave him the impression his career had stalled out because of me—and Abby. He blamed us, Richard. And since he couldn’t go after me, he tried to take it out on her.”
“I had no way of anticipating that development,” Michaelson said, shifting instantly into defensive mode. “Anyway, we have yet to establish that your version of events is true.”
“But you will look into it?”
“Of course I’ll look into it. You think I would tolerate this kind of behavior from a subordinate? You think I would look the other way?”
“No, Richard. I really don’t. It’s no secret that I don’t like you. To be quite honest, I think you’re an asshole.”
“McCallum—”
“But,” she pressed on, “I don’t think you would tolerate corruption. In fact, I’m sure you wouldn’t.”
“Well ... thanks for the vote of confidence.” He said it with sarcasm, but she could tell he was secretly pleased. “Let me know how things work out at Olive View. And if Sinclair’s story is true, she’ll get a fair shake from me.”
They reached the hospital, set in the dusty foothills north of the freeway. Tess followed the ambulance to the ER entrance. She parked at a red curb, trusting the FBI seal emblazoned on the doors to prevent the sedan from being towed.
She opened the door, and the overhead light came on. In its glow, Tess saw that Abby’s face was streaked with silent tears.
“He’ll be all right,” she said gently. “He’ll pull through. You’ll see.”
Abby said nothing at all.
40
Tess showed her credentials to get her gun through the metal detector and into the ER. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t just left the gun in the car. Perhaps after seeing Wyatt shot, she felt the need to keep protection close at hand. She’d brought her laptop, too, though she was getting tired of lugging the damn thing around. She couldn’t risk letting it be stolen.
“We have to find you a doctor,” she said, steering Abby through a crowd of people, mostly indigent, filling every available seat in the cramped waiting room.
Abby’s voice was low. “I don’t need treatment for shock.”
“I’m not so sure. Those are the first words you’ve spoken since ... since it happened.”
“I just needed time to ... I just needed time. And I needed to be here, in the hospital. Don’t even think I’m going to leave until Vic’s ... until he’s okay.”
“It may not be possible for me to hold off a trip to the field office too long.”
Abby turned to face her. “If you try to take me out of here before I
know Vic’s condition,” she said softly, “I’ll kill you.”
“I’m armed, Abby. You’re not.”
“Do you really think that matters?” Her eyes were colder than any Tess had ever seen—colder than a serial killer’s eyes.
Wyatt had been taken into surgery. An orderly escorted them to a waiting room on another floor, outside the suite of operating rooms. This area was empty of people. A TV set, tuned to a cable news channel, babbled in a corner. They sat next to each other in two chairs with worn armrests.
“How soon until Wyatt’s shooting hits the news?” Abby asked when the orderly had gone. “Once the word is out, his fellow officers will be all over this place.”
“I doubt it’s been released yet. The Nose—I mean. Assistant Director Michaelson—isn’t going to want this going out until ... until he knows how to handle it.”
“How to spin it, you mean. How to cover it up.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” Abby stared at the wall for a long moment. “If Wyatt dies,” she said finally, “you’re next.”
Tess straightened her shoulders. “That’s the second time you’ve made a threat against my life. You do realize it’s a crime to threaten a federal agent?”
“Just giving you fair warning.”
“How seriously am I supposed to take these warnings?”
Her gaze was fixed in a thousand-yard stare. “Dead seriously. It’s your fault. You wouldn’t listen. I tried to tell you the whole story—about Brody and Hauser, all of it—and you blew me off.”
“Abby, try to see things my way—”
What happened next was very fast. Abby spun in her chair and grabbed her with one hand, and there was a sudden killing pressure on her throat, five fingers clamping down like hot irons, while with the other hand Abby secured Tess’s wrist so she couldn’t draw her gun.
“No. You try to see things my way for a change. I asked you to trust me, and you wouldn’t. And now Vic is in there with a bullet in his chest, and I don’t think he’s going to make it. Do you? Do you?”
“No,” Tess whispered. She had seen mortal wounds before.
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