Drawn Together (28 page)

Ethan climbed carefully from one slick branch to another holding a Parker Hale M85

sniper rifle carefully. He leaped down the last six feet or so, skidding and slipping slightly on the wet earth but catching himself before he fell. Rene sighed and came out from behind the tree where he’d taken cover.

“I thought you’d gone,” he said, blowing out the breath he’d been holding. “I see you’ve been playing with my toys.”

Ethan looked amused. “Well, you did leave the trunk of your patrol car unlocked.”

“The hell I did,” Rene shot back.

“Well, I might have had to…jiggle it a little.” He tossed a crowbar on the ground and handed over the rifle. “You wouldn’t have lasted one day on the force in Jersey.”

“It may surprise you to know that I lasted awhile as a Navy SEAL,” said Rene, stung.

“That doesn’t surprise me. I’m the information king, remember? What does surprise me is that you let Rory get shot out there.”

“He ran right into my line of fire, I couldn’t get a shot off before she did.”

“I saw your little red dot, by the way. So did Rory. Those things cause more trouble than they’re worth. I hate surprises. I knew she’d pull one, but I didn’t know it would be dressing like the old woman. That threw me for a second.” Drawn Together

169

“It was hard to see in the rain,” said Rene. “Both sides were counting on that.”

“She had uncanny instincts.”

“I’d better see to Rory.”

The two men walked together back to the front of the house where Anthony was kneeling over an inert form.

“Rory.” Anthony had torn open Rory’s shirt and started pulling on the Velcro that held on his Kevlar vest, pulling it away from where the two bullets had struck his chest. “There’s no blood,” he practically shouted with relief.

“Ow,” said Rory when he tried to move. “Shit.”

“Hurts, huh?” said Rene, walking up with Ethan. “I’ll get you some ice. Anthony, did you call for an ambulance?”

“Yes.” Anthony slipped the wig off his head. “I couldn’t stop him, sir; he just took off.”

“That’s okay, son,” said Rene. “No one expected Amelia to dress up like Miss Euphonia.”

“I know. That was one hell of a shock.”

“I should have known,” rasped Rory. “If it were Grandmère, she would have been on the porch when we drove up. Somehow, she always knows when I’m coming home.”

“Don’t move, Rory. You might have a broken rib. I want you checked out carefully.” Rene squatted down and touched his bruised chest lightly. “You did good, son. Anthony, could you get the umbrella so Rory can have some shelter here?”

“Sure thing, I wasn’t thinking.” Anthony moved away to pick it up.

Ethan stared down at Amelia, whose face looked perfectly composed except for a hole between her eyebrows. “I didn’t think I’d be the one…” Rene heard him mutter.

“All around, it was a pretty crappy plan anyway. Life is so much easier when you can just kill people who need killing.”

Ethan’s brows went up. “Are you sure this town isn’t way too quiet for you?”

“I’m sure,” Rene replied. “I like it that way.”

“Well, it’s been a blast. How are you going to explain the angle of the shot?”

“Grassy knoll, magic bullet. Who cares?” Rene frowned. “Is anything going to come back at me from her family?”

“Nah,” said Ethan. “Her family’s gone. Everyone else knows she was heading this way.” He seemed kind of sad. “I wonder if I could have done anything differently.”

“It’s all on her, Ethan.”

“Yeah, I guess.” He shook Rene’s hand and started walking to the road. “I’m off now. I hope I never see you in a professional capacity again.” 170

Z. A. Maxfield

“Me too. I’ve already got a buttload of explaining to do over this.” Rene lifted his hand.

He had to step over Amelia’s body to go through the front door of Euphonia and Claude’s small home. He hated tracking in dirt, but getting ice for Rory seemed more important.

When he returned he found Rory and Anthony talking quietly together. He noticed neither man would look directly at the porch where Amelia lay.

“Is she really dead?” asked Rory as Rene placed a bag of frozen diced vegetables on his chest. “You’re sure it’s her?”

“Yes, I’m sure on both counts,” said Rene. “Just relax. You’ll be fine, but we’re taking every precaution here. I’m really sorry, Rory; I said I wouldn’t let her hurt you.”

“You tried. That was messed up, dressing like Grandmère. I just didn’t think. I saw the red dot on her forehead, and I thought… I guess I thought it was Amelia trying to kill her. It doesn’t make any sense now.”

“You’ve been living in fear for a while now, looking over your shoulder, hiding, and running. It’s hard not to react,” said Anthony.

“You’ve been awfully nice. Am I way worse off than you’re telling me or something?”

“No. It’s the job. If I met you in a bar when I was off duty, I’d still probably put your head through a door or something.”

“Now, children,” Rene warned. “I hear your ride, Rory.” He stood up when the ambulance approached. Rory was picked up carefully and moved to a stretcher, loaded onto a gurney, and rolled into an ambulance, and all the while Anthony held the umbrella over his face so it wouldn’t get wet.

“Thanks,” said Rory.

Anthony smiled. “Do I get to keep the pretty dress?”

“Hell no,” said Rory, smiling back. “Listen. You’ve got to go get Yamane.” He told Anthony where Yamane could be found. “Please,” he whispered. “Tell him he doesn’t have to be afraid anymore.”

* * * * *

Yamane was in the bathroom when he heard Tucker call his name.

“What?” he asked irritably, coming through the door, still trying to loop a rubber band around the end of his braid. He’d done little more than pee and wash his hands, then dragged a comb through his hair as an afterthought. He caught up his messenger bag and key card and was halfway to the door. “Let’s go.”

“Didn’t you just ask me about St. Antoine’s Parish?” Tucker asked.

Yamane looked back. “Yes, why?”

“You need to see this.” Tucker raised the volume on the television, and Yamane’s head snapped around to watch when he heard the familiar name of Rory’s hometown.

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“The people of tiny St. Antoine’s Parish are reeling from shock today as news spread that they had a suspected murderer hiding in their midst. It seems that Amelia Gianfranco, a New York woman suspected of the grisly murders of three men in a local hotel, had been hiding out in the home of Claude Delaplaines and his wife, Euphonia. Gianfranco, who as recently as a week ago resided in a mental institution as the result of an incident in which she stalked and terrorized a friend of the Delaplaines’s grandson, is said to have gotten off two shots before she was shot and killed by police. Preliminary reports indicate that she attempted to kill the couple’s grandson in the driveway of the couple’s home. The Delaplaines’s grandson has been taken to the hospital for medical treatment. It remains unclear at this time whether he was injured by gunfire. Sources at the hospital say he’s in stable condition.”

Yamane gaped at Tucker. His head swam.

“What can I do?” Tucker asked.

“Where was he taken?” Yamane demanded. “Did they say? Is it on the other news channels?”

“I don’t know.” Tucker handed the remote control to Yamane. “I can call around; I’m familiar with the area and the hospitals around here. I have contacts in my planner from a number of them.”

“You would do that?”

Tucker gazed at him sadly. “Of course.”

Yamane was already flipping through the news channels when it hit him.

Amelia was dead.

Amelia Gianfranco was dead, and he was still alive.

Yamane’s heart started rocketing around in his chest as he tried to comprehend a world in which he never again had to look over his shoulder to see if Amelia was behind him. He stood frozen, remembering every inconvenience, every threat, every painful encounter. He remembered the way Rory had looked after he’d been beaten. He remembered his dog, Daiki. He felt suddenly weightless, as though a tremendous burden was lifted from him, but found he was no less angry.

Tucker was trying to get his attention, and he realized he’d dropped the remote to the lushly carpeted floor. As Tucker picked it up, it seemed that he was a long way away, smiling, saying something about never having to worry about Gianfranco again when Yamane thought, I’m free.

Tucker’s words finally penetrated. “Your friend is fine. I finally tried calling the office of St. Antoine’s sheriff, and eventually, I spoke with the sheriff himself. Rory was wearing body armor. It was all part of a plan. We can go straight to the hospital to see him, if you’d like.” Yamane froze. Tucker looked at him uncertainly. “I’ll take you there, if you want to go.”

172

Z. A. Maxfield

The truth swept through Yamane’s body like a drug. It was part of a plan?

A PLAN?

* * * * *

Morning brought a visit from Anthony and a slight break in the seemingly endless sheets of rain. “Hey there,” said Anthony as he came through the door, throwing his baseball cap onto the visitor’s chair. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got shot twice in the chest,” said Rory, carefully sitting up. “My abs are killing me, and I’m black-and-blue.”

“Yep, but you’re alive.”

“What did Yamane say when you told him Amelia was dead?” Rory asked the question that was burning in his heart. “Is he here?”

“Rory, I…” said Anthony, looking grave. “I don’t know how to tell you this. Ran Yamane wasn’t there.”

“What? What do you mean wasn’t there?”

“His things were all gone; we had the desk clerk open the room. It was totally empty.”

“He must have changed rooms or changed motels,” said Rory. “What about Skeeter, did you see him?”

“I did. I’m really sorry, Rory. Yamane got a ride with someone and left.”

“No,” said Rory. “That can’t be. He wouldn’t leave without… He wouldn’t, without saying anything.” He started to get out of the bed. “Anthony, get the side down, I’ve got to go.” Anthony tried to stop him, but Rory ignored him and started to climb down.

“Rory, you’re in no shape to go anywhere.” Anthony caught Rory as he practically fell to the ground.

“I’m going to look for Yamane. I have to find him. Maybe he’s scared, Anthony. Maybe he thinks I failed and Amelia will be after him.”

“Rory --” Anthony began.

“If he’s scared, I’ll find him.” Rory put on his jeans. “I know him; sometimes he hides.” He pulled on his shirt, wincing in pain.

“Look, it’s my day off. I’ll drive you. Let’s talk to the doctor; then we’ll go together,” said Anthony. “I’m telling you, I looked everywhere. He wasn’t there.”

“No.” Rory walked past Anthony so fast Anthony had to trot to keep up with him. “No.

I have to find him. I have to tell him Amelia’s dead so he doesn’t have to be afraid anymore.” Drawn Together

173

Chapter Twentyeight

Rory used his key and burst into the room he’d shared with Yamane. He looked around, but it was empty. He checked the closet, the drawers, and the bathroom. He looked under the bed, which was on a wooden platform anchored to the floor, and under the small dining table. It was totally devoid of anything personal. He turned around in a circle, at last catching sight of himself in the mirror above the dresser. He’d made love to Yamane looking in that mirror. He stood still, as if in shock.

“He’s not here; I told you. I looked for a note, anything, but there was nothing here.” Anthony followed Rory back outside. “Rory, do you want to go home now?”

“I’m going to talk to Skeeter.” Rory walked through the parking lot to the small barbecue eatery adjacent to the motel. Skeeter was tending the smoker outside when they walked up. He led them into the tiny restaurant and got beer out of the refrigerator. Rory looked at his as if he didn’t know what to do with it. Skeeter reached over and twisted off the cap for him.

“Skeeter?”

Skeeter sighed. “Your little friend left right after lunch yesterday.”

“That soon?” asked Rory incredulously.

“Yep,” said Skeeter. “He came in here with his eyes all red like he’d been crying for weeks, and he ate a sandwich. This man came in, I think his name was Tucker, and he starts talking to Yamane, you know, and gives him his phone. Next thing I see, they’re leaving in this guy’s car. I’m sorry, man.”

“It’s all right,” said Rory, lifting the beer bottle to his lips. “I’m the one --” Skeeter didn’t seem to know what to say. “You’re hungry, right? You can’t go hungry at my place, son.”

174

Z. A. Maxfield

“Not today, thank you. I don’t feel so good.” He sipped his beer mechanically.

“Okay, then you just sit here, and if you change your mind, you be sure and let me know, okay?”

“Sure thing.” Rory gave him a weak smile.

Anthony finally spoke. “Are you sure you should be drinking? Aren’t you taking pain meds?”

“It’s only a beer. I’ll go home and sleep it off, Officer Anthony.”

“Rory, I’m off duty. It’s okay for me to knock your head off. Do you want me to do that?”

Rory swallowed hard. “Yeah.” His eyes glistened. “Yeah, I think I do.”

* * * * *

Yamane woke up in his hotel bed, his fluffy white robe still belted at the waist. He was covered with sheets and blankets as though a loving parent had tucked him in. He had no memory of how he got there. He looked through the door that led from his hotel bedroom to the sitting area beyond. Tucker was asleep on the couch, fully clothed minus his shoes, jacket, and tie. Yamane sighed with relief that he hadn’t woken up with the man. He hadn’t known what to do with his rage, so for the second time that same day he’d gotten drunk and said to hell with it. Now there was only dehydration and regret, and he found, to his horror, his rage was still as acute as ever.

“Yamane?” said Tucker sleepily, looking around. “If I’m going to be falling asleep here like this, I need extra clothes and a toothbrush.” He sipped at a bottle of water.

“Call the desk. I’m sure they have toothbrushes they can send up.”

“How long are you going to sulk here?”