Rage Against the Dying - By Becky Masterman Page 0,39

I’ve been able to come to describing it is to say I drained out of myself. With hands that were now rock steady I opened the compartment next to my desk where the extra keyboard and broken monitor were kept. I reached way in the back behind the useless monitor and pulled out a box about ten inches long by six inches wide by three inches high. I opened the box and removed the FBI special, Smith and Wesson Model 27 with a three-inch barrel, from its foam casing.

The ammunition was kept in a drawer on the right side of the desk, the one with all my pens and what have you. This smaller box was also hidden toward the back, a box that had originally contained staples. One by one, without a tremble I pulled out six shells and loaded them into the weapon. I placed the weapon on the desk.

Now I was in control.

Fifteen

Or thought I was in control until a knock at the door made me jump a little. There had never been closed doors and knocking until this moment. There had never been jumping. “Not now,” I said loudly enough to be heard through the door, then afraid I had spoken too harshly, added, “Perfesser Darling.”

“It’s your cell phone, Honey. It’s buzzing.”

Everything normal. I got up, opened the door and smiled.

“Sorry, just thinking hard.” I really did feel sorry, because at that moment there was something invisible yet more impermeable than a Kevlar vest slipping between me and Carlo. A lie wide enough to divide us. This is what I had tried so desperately, risked everything, to keep from happening, but it was happening just the same. Even in the stress of the moment, bigger-picture things like danger and death, there was this little pinch in my heart. Maybe that’s what they mean when they talk about hearts breaking.

So far Carlo didn’t seem to notice the difference. “That business you’re involved with?”

“Uh-huh, that.”

As Carlo handed me the phone, his eyes drifted over my shoulder and stopped. That would be where I left my Smith on the desk. We both pretended it wasn’t there.

I smiled my reassurance again and he turned away to let me answer the phone.

“Brigid,” the voice said.

“Hello, Coleman.”

“So, what do you think? Did you look at the video?” She sounded a little disappointed, as if she already knew the answer to that.

I forced my thoughts to something I temporarily couldn’t give a shit about. “No, not yet. I’ve been a little preoccupied with some personal business.”

“That’s where…” She sighed, knowing she’d gone over all that already. “I was thinking I’d go see Lynch’s father out in Benson tomorrow. We didn’t take the time to interview him and he’s so close.”

“That’s premature. You need to develop an interview plan.”

“You think I didn’t already do that?”

In my distracted state I’d forgotten this was cross-the-t Coleman I was talking to. “So, go.”

“Come with.”

“No,” I started, then thought about my being attacked in the wash two days after I got reinvolved with the Route 66 case. Visiting Lynch’s father might not be such a bad idea. “Okay, why not. When do you want to go?”

“Swing by my office first thing in the morning since it’s on the way. I’ll drive from there.”

I hung up (I don’t care what they call it these days) the phone and sat for a while, wondering if I should hide the gun or keep it handy. I covered it with the manila envelope. Then I threw the backpack into the washing machine with the other clothes and made a mental note to wash them again, but for now I let the exhaustion wash back over me. I spent the rest of the day pretending not to brood while I made my plan for finding out who wanted me dead.

“You know what?” I said, going into the kitchen in the late afternoon where Carlo had just poured himself a glass of Chianti and put some Triscuits and a hunk of smoked Gouda in a plastic bowl. “I think I’m in the mood for a drink. I guess that fall stunned me more than I want to admit.”

“Shall I fix one for you?” Carlo makes a good vodka martini, loads the glass with olives, making it more of a salad than a drink so I feel less like a lush.

I watched Carlo with the shaker while thinking of having, for the first time in my life, someone close enough to me to be in