image of his wife and three daughters veered across his mind until, he
pushed it back out. He needed to concentrate.
He was finally close enough. He prayed his accelerated breathing would
not betray him. He leveled his pistol at the broad back.
“Freeze! I’m a police officer.”
The man did indeed stop all motion.
“Lay the gun down, butt first. I don’t want to see your finger anywhere
near the trigger or I’m gonna put a hole right in the back of your head.
Do it. Now!”
The gun slowly went toward the floor. Frank watched its progression,
inch by inch. Then his vision became blurry.
Frank’s head pounded, he staggered and then he slumped to the floor.
At the sound, Collin slowly looked around to see Bill Burton standing
there, holding his pistol by the barrel. He looked down at Frank.
“Let’s go, Tim.”
Collin shakily got to his feet, looked at the fallen officer and put his
gun to Frank’s head. Burton’s massive hand stopped him.
“He’s a cop. We don’t kill cops. We’re not killing anybody else, Tim.”
Burton stared down at his colleague. Discomforting thoughts flickered in
and out of Burton’s head at the calm and accepting manner in which the
younger man had stepped into the role of conscienceless assassin.
Collin shrugged, put his gun away.
Burton took the box, looked down at the detective and then over at the
other crumpled mass of humanity. He shook his head disdainfully and
looked reproachfully at his partner.
Several minutes after they were gone, Seth Frank let out a loud groan,
tried to rise and then floated back into unconsciousness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
KATE LAY IN BED BUT WAS AS FAR FROM SLEEP AS SHE COULD possibly be. The
ceiling of her bedroom had been replaced with a torrent of images, each
one more terrifying than its predecessor. She looked across at the small
clock on the nightstand. Three o’clock in the morning. Her window shade
was open enough to reveal the pitch-black darkness outside.
She could hear the raindrops on the windowpane. Normally comforting, now
they simply added to the relentless pounding in her head.
When the phone rang, at first, she didn’t move. Her limbs seemed too
heavy for her to even attempt to budge, as if each had simultaneously
lost all circulation. For one terrible moment she thought she had
suffered a stroke. Finally, on the fifth ring she managed to lift the
receiver.
“Hello?” Her voice was shaky, one step from oblivion; her nerves
completely spent.
“Kate. I need some help.”
FOUR HOURS LATER THEY SAT IN THE FRONT OF THE LnMX DELI at Founder’s
Park, the site of their initial rendezvous after so many years apart.
The weather had worsened into a hard, pelting snow that had made driving
nearly impossible and walking only for the irrationally daring.
Jack looked across at her. The hooded parka was off, but a ski cap, a
few days’ worth of beard and a pair of thick glasses obscured his
features to such a degree that Kate had to look twice before she
recognized him.
“You’re-sure no one followed you?” He looked anxiously at her. A cup of
steaming coffee partially clouded her line of vision, but she could see
the strain on his face. It was clear he was near the breaking point.
“I did what you said. The subway, two cabs and a bus. If anyone kept up
with me in this weather, they’re not human.”
Jack put his coffee down. “From what I’ve seen, they might not be.”
He had not specifically identified the meeting place on the phone. He
now assumed that they were listening to everything, to anyone connected
to him. He had only mentioned the “usual” place, confident that Kate
would understand, and she had. He looked out the window. Every passing
face was a threat. He slid a copy of the Post across to her. The front
page was revealing. Jack had shaken with anger when he had first read
it.
Seth Frank was in stable condition at George Washington University
Hospital with a concussion. The homeless man, as yet unidentified, had
not been so fortunate. And smack in the middle of the story was Jack