“Um, okay,” Gamble said, unsure. “I’ll let you know what’s going on later.”
Nick started up the Porsche and eased it down the exit ramp. He felt a desperate urge to get away. He needed to break something, destroy it into a million little pieces. Then again, did it really matter? Another day or two, and he was going to be dead anyway.
A final glance into the rearview mirror showed the two fed cars on either side of Jackie, who stood with her small fists balled up on her hips watching his car vanish down the exit-ramp tunnel.
Chapter 48
She watched the red taillights of Nick’s Porsche vanish into the exit tunnel. “Where the hell is he going?”
“Didn’t want to stay,” Gamble said. “He sounded a little bit pissed, and to be honest, I really don’t want to fuck with that guy. We can call him later for a statement.”
Jackie glared at Gamble. “Fucking wimp. His best friend is buried down there in that pile of metal, and he’s just going to leave.”
Gamble shrugged. “I wouldn’t blame him, Jack. Who wants a last memory like that?”
“You know what? Be on my side for a change here.” Gamble was right, but still. It was wrong to leave. How could Nick just leave?
“Okay. So go over there later and kick his ass. Get a statement for me while you’re at it. It’ll save me some time.”
Jackie walked around to the passenger side of his car. “I like you better when you aren’t an asshole.”
Gamble chuckled. “Nice to have you back, Jack.”
On the way down he informed her about Nick’s claim that Drake would not be there. She started to refute until she remembered that he had done it once already. He could cross over at will, according to Nick. The notion of leaving occurred to her then. She was tired, frayed, but the thought of going home to her apartment didn’t sound appealing. In the back of her mind, the thought of Cornelius Drake popping into her bedroom unannounced had her just a little nervous.
Fire crews were already arriving on the scene by the time they drove back down and parked again. The stench of burning fuel and rubber assailed her the moment she stepped out of the car. The Escalade had landed mostly on its back and slightly to the driver’s side. There would be no chance of surviving the crash, much less the fire. While the last of the flames were being doused by the streams of water, Belgerman arrived, sleepy-eyed and looking none too pleased with the turn of events.
He gave her a curious glance upon walking up. “You look halfway human again.”
Vampire voodoo, baby. “I got some sleep,” she said.
He reached up to move the hair off the lump on her head, and Jackie stepped back. “You need more. You got, what, six or seven hours maybe?”
“Enough for now, John. I want to see if Drake’s in there.”
Belgerman turned and looked at the wreckage. “You don’t think he is?”
“Nick said he won’t be.”
“Ah.” Belgerman nodded. “Like before then. This could pose a serious problem.”
“Yes, sir,” Jackie said, not trying hard to hide the sarcasm. “It does.”
It took another twenty minutes for the flames to end, and by that time, Jackie was in the mood for a couple shots. The more she lingered on it, the more she got pissed at Nick. One did not walk away from a scene until the situation was under control, and watching three people tumble off the top of a parking structure and burst into flames at the bottom didn’t fall into that category. Then again, Nick Anderson was not part of the investigation. He was a civilian, helping them find a killer. He could come and go as he pleased. Then why was she feeling like he had just left her behind? The notion merely added more fuel to her frustrations.
There were television crews at either end of the scene now, and the entire block was lit up with blinking, swirling lights. Jackie realized her headache was starting to come back, and the lights were not helping one bit. Gamble walked over to the fire chief and got the okay to inspect the wreckage. He stood up from the crushed driver’s-side window before Jackie could even make it over.
“Son of a bitch,” he said in disbelief.
“No Drake?” Jackie said and stooped down next to him to look for herself.
“No nothing,” Gamble said. “They’re all fucking gone. What the hell?”
Jackie peered into the melted, dripping cabin, still steaming from the heat. The bodies should have been burned to a crisp, not even recognizable, but the telltale smell of burned flesh was noticeably missing.
“And Mr. Anderson just left the scene?” Belgerman squatted down beside Jackie to verify for himself the impossible. “That’s curious.”
“I think you should go have a little chat with your vampire and see if he can clue us in,” Gamble said.
“He’s not my goddamn vampire,” Jackie said far more adamantly than she intended.
Belgerman laid a hand on her shoulder. “Jack, go talk to him. Gamble, you go with her just in case, and call it in if anything even slightly suspicious seems to be going on.”
“This entire mess is suspicious,” Gamble complained but followed Jackie as she stomped off toward his car. “I’m driving!” he called after her.
Chapter 49
It was as good a day to die as any. After so many false starts, Nick had come to realize that it could be any day, and every day was available to him. All he had to do was let go, and the door would open, pulling him through. It had been so tempting, and Nick realized now that even if he had taken the low road and done just that, Cornelius likely awaited him on the other side, too. Alive or dead, he would face the man, and, given the option, he had at least a remote chance of success if he was alive.
After parking the Porsche, he walked directly up to the loft, opening the door to his room of memories. Nick walked slow and purposeful toward the back, stopping every so often to pick up something, one of Agatha’s dolls, or a coin from Joshua’s collection. He brought up their images, getting dusty and faded with age, recalling the times long past, far simpler times, when the world was a vast, wide-open place, and justice came in the form of a badge and a pair of six-shooters.
Nick picked up the box of matches next to an antique brass candleholder on the small, quilt-covered table and lit a candle for Gwen, staring for a long moment at his painting of her until he could hear her dying voice fresh in his mind once again. He then picked up the painting and moved it away from the wall, revealing a polished, wooden trunk behind it set against the wall. He did the combination on the lock and opened the chest to reveal that which he had stored away for this particular time.
From inside the chest, Nick pulled out the beaten and dusty leather overcoat he would wear riding the range on those cool, fall Wyoming days when the wind would be sharp enough to sting your face. Beside that lay his hat, and Nick had the absurd notion that it would be too small now, shrunken with age, but it fit snug to his scalp, and he took a moment to roll the brim between his fingers, setting its angles and curves to just the proper position. Beneath those lay the oak case carrying his old six-shooters, and Nick laid it down gently on the table beside the candle, breaking the wax seal with his pocketknife and smiling when he saw them, the cherry handles still gleaming with polish, and the metal still shiny with oil from the last time he had removed them to ensure they were still in working order.
He grabbed the leather belt from the bottom of the chest and strapped the guns on, feeling for a brief second like the man he was of old. At least if Drake showed up now, Nick could go down like he had once already, six-shooters blazing in an abysmal, stormy downpour of water and blood. At least this time there was nothing else left for Drake to take.
“Just me this time, you miserable old bastard,” Nick said and walked out of the room.
After making a pot of coffee, Nick took his mug out onto the deck and sat in his chair, polishing the old guns and sipping the hot brew until it was gone. He was covered in a fine mist by then, the night skies growing more saturated by the hour. It would be a nice, solid rain before long, he figured.