dug the muzzle of the Blackhawk into Dulac’s temple.
Dulac’s head rolled to the side.
“For the love of fuck,” Hazard muttered. He studied Dulac for another moment, and then he holstered the Blackhawk and patted Dulac down. No weapons; nothing hidden on him. The younger man was wearing athletic shorts and a tee. Low on his neck, almost where it joined his shoulder, Hazard found a nasty puncture wound.
Realizations came in like a flood:
Dulac wasn’t asleep; he was drugged.
Dulac hadn’t abducted Mitchell and Nico and disappeared; Dulac had been kidnapped himself.
Dulac wasn’t the Keeper.
The disappointment was mixed with a shocking amount of relief.
For a moment, Hazard did the mental equivalent of a doggie paddle, just trying to stay afloat as his assumptions about the case shifted again. He tried to think back to the video footage, tried to remember if there had been any hint that Nico or Mitchell might have been in Rasmussen’s car too. Then he realized he was wasting precious time. He rolled Dulac onto his side, squatted, and dragged Dulac’s weight forward. He was adjusting the younger man over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry when he heard steps upstairs.
Rasmussen was home.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
JULY 5
FRIDAY
3:11 PM
A FOOTSTEP SOUNDED above Hazard, and then another. Regular, even steps as Rasmussen moved through the house. Then the noises stopped, and he knew she had realized something was wrong. Hazard rolled Dulac back onto the bed, unholstered the Blackhawk, and dragged out his phone. It was still off, so he powered it back on: the dull illumination of the screen, then the manufacturer’s logo, then, finally, the lock screen. From upstairs, he still heard nothing. He called 911, set the call to speaker, and tossed the phone on the bed. When the dispatcher came on the line, Hazard said someone was in the house trying to shoot him, gave Rasmussen’s address, and lowered the volume on the call. He hoped the dispatcher would stay on the line, in case Rasmussen said anything incriminating, but he didn’t want the dispatcher’s voice to give him away.
Then he moved toward the door. It still stood open, and he strained to hear anything that might give away Rasmussen’s position. The floorboards, which had creaked and groaned every time Hazard moved, were now silent. Another minute ticked by. Then another. Then the clock gonged, and music played softly, just a short snatch of sound marking the half hour.
From the stairs came the soft click and whiz of someone spinning a revolver’s cylinder. Hazard didn’t bother with quiet; he grabbed the empty twin bed and shoved it in front of the door; it coasted easily over the linoleum, and as soon as it was in place, Hazard grabbed Dulac and dragged the younger man to the floor. Hazard dropped down next to him, both of them lying flat, Hazard on his belly with the Blackhawk aimed at the door.
The door rattled in its frame; she was jiggling the handle. Then it opened an inch, caught up against the bed, and stopped. A sliver of light showed from the room beyond.
“Son,” Rasmussen said in the same rough-and-tough voice Hazard remembered from the hospital, “you are fucked.”
“I’ve already called the police. They’re on their way.”
Rasmussen sighed. “I bet you’ve got a gun in there with you, don’t you?”
Hazard settled lower onto the floor, his chin grinding against particles of dust on the linoleum.
“And what are the police going to think when they get here?” Rasmussen said. “I live here; what’s your excuse?”
Hazard tried to pin down where she was standing. Directly behind the door? It seemed unlikely she’d make such a poor tactical decision, but then, she was a nurse, not a soldier. Maybe she wasn’t as cool as she sounded. Maybe she was panicked. Her voice sounded like it was coming from directly behind the door, so Hazard lined up the shot and waited.
“The way I see it,” she said, “you broke in here, you and your buddy looking for dope. You knew I was a nurse, so you thought maybe I’d have something around the house. Your buddy shot up just before I got home, and you lost your mind. Barricaded yourself in here and threatened to kill me. I’m a single woman; I live alone. Of course I’ve got the means to protect myself, officer. I just never thought I’d have to use it. I’ll tell them you were coming out of the room, of course. I’ll tell them I feared for my life.”
“They’ll be here in