Phin and I ran for the lobby, at the center of the L. There was a Milwaukee police cruiser parked in front, and through the window I saw two uniforms talking to the desk clerk, who was shrugging and shaking his head.
“Four!” Phin yelled at me.
I looked at him, wondering if he had a golf club.
“‘Stairway to Heaven’ is on the album Led Zeppelin IV!”
Was it that easy? Was Lance in room four? I didn’t question it, I acted, yanking the gun out of my bouncing purse, running down the arm past rooms ten…nine…eight…seven…
Phin outpaced me, getting there first, slamming his shoulder into the door. It popped inward, Phin stumbling into the room, me coming in right after him, dropping to a knee, gun out, eyes and ears open.
The room was bright, every light on, someone in bed.
Lance.
He was naked, eyes wide, terrified. He screamed at me through his duct tape gag.
The pigstick was set up on the nightstand next to him, the shotgun shell held in place by a metal arm. I followed the wire to a timing device, realized I had no expertise at all to disarm it, and chose instead to simply point the contraption away from Lance.
Two seconds after I grabbed it, the charge went off.
The explosion was deafening, and the shock-coupled with the powerful vibration of the shot-made me drop the pigstick. I cast fearful eyes at the bed, expecting to see blood and guts and carnage.
The mattress had an ugly, ragged hole in it. Lance did not.
Phin said something that sounded like “Jesus,” but my ears were ringing, so I couldn’t be sure. I spun around, gun sweeping the room, then did a quick search, tugging open the closet and bathroom doors. No Alex.
“Please…”
Phin had removed the duct tape from Lance’s mouth, and stared down at him, frowning. I glanced between Lance’s legs and had to look away.
“Freeze! Police! Drop your weapons!”
The two Milwaukee cops were at the door, their guns drawn, their faces bright with urgency. I moved slow, deliberate, not wanting to spook them.
“We’re putting down our guns,” I said. “I’m the cop who called earlier. Lieutenant Jack Daniels, Chicago PD. My ID is in my purse. This man on the bed is David Strang. One of yours.”
I crouched, setting my gun on the floor, putting my hands up. Phin did the same. The cops moved in, putting Phin against the wall, frisking him, taking his gun. As I watched, I noticed something taped to the motel wall. A cell phone.
Alex was watching.
“This man needs an ambulance,” I said.
Neither cop said anything, but the taller one took his handcuffs out of his case.
“There’s no need to restrain him. He’s with me.”
“There’s a federal warrant out for his arrest,” the tall one said. “There’s one on you as well, Miss Daniels.”
A sound from Phin, either a soft snort or a loud sigh. “We just saved your man’s life.”
“I’m sure you’ll get all of this straightened out. Orders are orders. You understand.”
Phin tried to spin around, got a rabbit punch in the kidney by the shorter one. He dropped to his knees. So did I, picking up my Beretta. Just as Shorty pulled back for a second punch I fired into the ceiling.
“Hit him again,” I said through my teeth. “See what I do to you.”
Shorty opened up his fist and backed away from Phin.
“Guns. Drop them.”
The cops looked at each other, then complied.
“Now get on the goddamn radio and call a goddamn ambulance for your man.”
The taller one used his lapel mike. Phin stuck their guns in his waistband, retrieved his own, and jammed it into the neck of the cop who socked him.
I almost warned Phin not to do anything stupid, then remembered that I trusted him.
“I got a question,” Phin said. “Is it just you, or do all short guys hit like sissies?”
Shorty didn’t answer, which was probably wise.
I kept them covered and made my way to the cell phone, feeling for it on the wall and tugging it off. Held it to my ear.
“Alex?”
No answer. I powered it off and stuck it in my purse, then motioned for Phin to come over to the door.
“Your guns will be in one of the Dumpsters outside,” I told the cops, “which is more professional courtesy than you’ve shown me.”
“You sure you want to do this, lady?” Shorty said.
I frowned. Then in one fluid motion I tugged their guns out of Phin’s belt, stuck my fingers in the trigger guards, and whipped them around butt-first while smoothly pressing both ejector buttons. The full clips sailed out the bottom ports and bounced off each cop’s chest as they flinched.
“It’s not miss, and it’s not lady,” I said. “It’s Lieutenant.”
“She outranks you guys because you suck,” Phin offered.
I really couldn’t blame them too much for trying to arrest us-the order probably came from the top-but I did pass up two relatively clean Dumpsters before finding one stinky enough to ditch their pieces, buried under a pile of rotten food.
Then I crashed. Big-time. The adrenaline that had been keeping me going had vacated the premises, leaving me an empty shell. Sleep had always been a problem for me, but I probably could have gotten forty winks right there, curled up on the garbage pile.
Phin didn’t look much better. Long damn night.
“You okay?” I asked when we got back to the Bronco.
He nodded, but I noticed he was favoring his left arm.
“Elbow?”
“Yeah. One of them twisted it. I’ll be okay.”
Phin tried to start the truck using his left hand. I should have offered to drive, but I was lapsing into zombie mode and didn’t trust myself. My phone rang. Mine, not the one Alex gave me.
“Hiya, sis.” Long yawn from Harry, who must have been really concerned about us. “You save the day?”
“Lance lived. The police tried to arrest us. We disarmed them. Now Phin can’t turn the ignition.”
“Good, that’s good.” I don’t think he heard a word I said. “I’m in Deer Park. I’m going to catch some Zs, then look for the last cell phone in the daisy chain. I’ve got a tracking device that pinpoints RF frequencies. But even better, these cells are Bluetooth enabled, and Alex never disabled it. I’ve got a computer program that can scan for Bluetooth devices. When it finds one, I can have it download SIM card info. So I don’t even have to find the physical phone. I just have to get close enough to it.”
Turnabout was fair play, because I didn’t pro cess a single thing Harry said either. I yawned, then reached over and helped Phin start the truck. His hand covered mine, held it. He continued to hold it as we pulled out of the parking lot. I was too tired to protest, and his grip was warm on my cold fingers. Warm, and strangely comfortable.
“Jackie? You still there?”
“I’ll call you later, Harry. We’re going to crash someplace too. Find a motel on the edge of town.”
“One bed or two? Not that it’s my business.”
“You’re right. It’s not your business.”
“I agree. So one bed or two?”
“Good night, Harry.”
I hung up, cutting off his reply.
We drove for twenty minutes, silent, exhausted, and I felt every second of every minute of every hour I’d been awake-over thirty hours total. Phin found a chain hotel, dropped me off to check in while he parked the Bronco someplace inconspicuous. When he pulled away, my hand felt empty.
The employee at the front desk looked pert and freshly scrubbed, greeting me with a smile so wide it bared gums.
“Good morning.” Her voice was full of annoying morning cheer.
“Two rooms,” I muttered.
“Sorry.” Smile. “We’re all booked up.” She leaned closer, conspiratorially. “Wisconsin Mom of the Year Awards.” Smile. “It’s our best turnout yet.”