Maggie was too far away to do a thing. She heard Mo speaking, and it sounded no louder than a whisper in her head.
“Tarla?” Mo said into the phone. “My dear, it’s Mo calling. Listen carefully. I wanted to congratulate you on destroying me and Dean. Job well done. I hope you’ll decide it was worth it, because the next sound you hear will be me putting a bullet into your son’s brain.”
Stride heard the explosion of the car bomb like a boom of thunder on the hillside above him. Black smoke rose in a thick column above the trees. He floored the accelerator, and his truck fishtailed as he sped up the Thompson Hill access road, which curved like the body of a snake.
He wheeled into the parking lot and jammed the brakes. With his gun in his hand, he dived out of the driver’s door and ran. His eyes took in the flaming hulk of Maggie’s yellow Avalanche turning black, its hood bent in half, its windows open shells with a few fragments of frosted glass. The melted tires gave off a burned rubber smell. The smoke in his face made him squint.
There were three people in the parking lot in front of him.
Maggie crawled, screaming Cab’s name. Cab lay motionless on his back, his face and hands streaked with blood. Mo Casperson had her slim arm outstretched with the barrel of a revolver pointed at Cab’s head.
“Freeze!” Stride shouted across the parking lot.
He stopped dead, raising his pistol and aiming it at the dead center of Mo’s back. He steadied his wrist with his other hand. There was no more than twenty feet between them. “Put the gun down!”
Mo’s arm was steady and straight. The hammer of her gun was cocked and ready, her finger on the trigger. Her head swiveled, and her honey hair swished. She stared at Stride with the disinterest of an A-lister bumping into an extra on the set.
“Too late, Lieutenant,” she said.
“Mo, put the gun down; you’re under arrest!”
“No, I don’t think so,” she replied.
She focused on Cab again. She was going to fire, so he fired first.
Stride pulled the trigger once, twice, three times, four times, five times, six times. Every bullet hit Mo Casperson. She jerked with each shot; her arm flew up; her finger yanked back and sent a wild shot into the trees. Her knees sagged beneath her, and she slid straight down like a building imploding. She sank into a pile of black leather and golden hair next to Cab on the ground, her gun spilling from her open fingers.
He ran to them and scooped up Mo’s gun and checked on Cab. The blond detective was unconscious, but his pulse was strong. Maggie, wobbling, staggered his way. He grabbed his phone to call for an ambulance, but he already could hear sirens below them on the southbound freeway.
Maggie steadied herself by taking hold of Stride’s arm.
“You should sit down,” he told her.
“I’m all right. How’s Cab?”
“He’s alive.”
She watched her Avalanche burn to a crisp. “I can’t believe that bitch blew up my truck.”
“Yeah.”
He stared down at Mo Casperson, whose eyes were wide open and fixed. Her blood made a lake under her body. She was already dead, but she stared back at him, as arrogant and condescending as ever. In his decades as a cop, he’d never taken a human life until that moment. The quality of the life didn’t matter. Neither did the fact that she’d given him no choice. He’d been the one to kill her. He’d been the one to pull the trigger.
Stride didn’t have to bother memorizing her face. She was never going to go away. Mo’s eyes would be in his dreams for years to come.
49
Cab opened his eyes. He was certain he was either dreaming or hallucinating.
“There you are, darling!” Tarla Bolton announced from the other side of the hospital room. “I’ve been here watching you sleep. I can’t tell you how relieved I am that you’re all right.”
“You and me both,” Cab replied. “What are you doing here, Mother?”
Tarla folded her arms across her chest with a look of annoyance. She was wearing skinny jeans and a red Duluth sweatshirt that was several sizes too large for her. Her long blond hair was pulled back and pinned behind her head, but several strands had made a break for freedom and spilled down her face. She looked perfect, as she always did.
“What, you didn’t think I would hop on a plane immediately? I will be with you night and day until you are one hundred percent. Plan on my being your constant companion.”
“Constant companion?” Cab asked. “Lucky me.”
“Yes, don’t worry; I have everything planned. The doctors say you should be out of here in another day or two, and then we can fly back to Florida together. I’ve already made arrangements to move some of my things into your house in Naples.”
“Into my house?”
Now he really hoped he was dreaming.
“Well, you’re not going to stay alone yet, obviously. I have everything I need to be with you for a month. After that, we’ll just take things as they come. Wawa offered to stay with you instead, but I told her I had everything under control.”
“Lala wanted to stay with me?” Cab asked.
He felt as if all he could do was repeat Tarla’s words with an increasing sense of disbelief.
“Yes, she’s worried sick about you. It’s sweet. I had a hard time convincing her that she didn’t need to come up here with me to drag you back to Florida. Winter is a terrible thing. How can people live in this icebox? It’s like the whole world is in hibernation. How I miss the palm trees.”
Cab sighed and studied the gray sky outside the hospital window. “You know, Mother, I feel guilty imposing on your time. If Lala’s willing to stay with me, that’s probably best. We have kind of a rhythm together.”
Tarla shook her head. She sat down beside the bed and grabbed a Starbucks Frappuccino from the metal tray where his hospital lunch sat untouched. She sucked on the drink through a straw. “Nonsense. I’ve cleared my calendar for you. Besides, all you and Wawa ever do is argue. That’s the last thing you need right now.”
“Because you and I never argue?” Cab asked.
“You argue, darling. I rise above it.”
Cab looked for the morphine drip, but the nurses had removed it. He had a headache, but he couldn’t blame it entirely on the concussion now that Tarla was here. He’d broken his left wrist in the fall after the explosion, and his back was a mass of cuts and bruises. Even so, he was impatient to get out and go home.
Tarla was right about one thing. He didn’t belong in Duluth.
“Where’s Maggie?” he asked.
“Your little China doll? I told her to go home and get some rest, since I have the situation handled. I promised her I would not leave your side. This is a very nice hospital, by the way. The doctors and nurses all love me. I’ve signed dozens of autographs.”
“Well, they’re probably mistaking you for Naomi Watts,” Cab said.
Tarla wagged her finger at him. “Wicked, wicked, wicked. I forgive you, but only because you’re injured.”
“And tired,” Cab added pointedly.
“Yes, of course; more sleep is what you need. Never fear, I will be right here when you wake up again.”
“I have no doubt.”
Cab closed his eyes. It took no time for him to fall sleep again. In his dreams, he was where he usually was, alone on the beach, watching the surf come and go in Naples. The waves were hypnotic. That went on for what felt like forever, but at some point Mo Casperson rose out of the water in front of him like a horrible mermaid. She pointed her gun at his head and said, “Bang.”