If we didn’t do it, someone else would have…
“All right,” Allie said. “We’ll go home first.” She turned around and nodded at him. “Let’s go.”
He turned on the engine and U-turned down the street.
He drove for half an hour, sticking to the speed limit. He didn’t say a word, and neither did Allie in the front passenger seat next to him. He hadn’t asked Allie where they were going, but he guessed it didn’t matter as long as they were out of the city. Iris sat quietly in the back, smiling to herself as she stared out the window, as if everything was new to her and she couldn’t (and never wanted to) get enough of it.
If we didn’t do it, someone else would have, Reese told himself for the tenth time in as many minutes.
He slowed down as they hit a stoplight and parked behind a beat-up Chevy with a Baby on Board sticker in the rear windshield.
“What’s next for you?” he asked.
“I take that list of addresses you gave me, and I give it to the authorities,” Allie said. “Then I go find Faith.”
“I thought you said the Feds were slow dinosaurs.”
“They are, but I can’t go around shooting up buildings like this the rest of my life. After today, after this hits the news wires, they won’t have any choice but to act on what I give them. If they don’t, I know a few people in the press I can call.”
He chuckled. “You mean blackmail the Feds?”
She didn’t answer.
“Damn,” he said. “Dwight was right. Remind me never to cross you.”
She still didn’t say anything.
“Listen, I was thinking, after this—” he started to say, when he caught a flurry of movement out of the corner of his right eye and thought, Shit!
Reese jerked his head back just in time, and the first shot buzzed! past his face, so close he could feel the heat of the projectile going by, and smashed the driver-side window. He struck out and hit her gun hand, and she squeezed off a second shot, this one sending a round into the front windshield and spiderwebbing it.
The wound in his side screamed from the sudden movements and pain lanced through him, but it was better than getting shot again. Reese reached blindly for the door lever with his left hand, by some miracle located it, and jerked it back while at the same time throwing himself out just as she fired again and the round zipped! over his head.
He landed in a pile on the cold pavement, then rolled and bumped into the tires of a gray sedan. A car door creaked open, and Reese, flat on his stomach against the road, looked underneath the truck and saw Allie’s feet hurrying down from the front passenger side—
He scrambled up and staggered down the street, partially bent over at the waist in some pathetic attempt to lessen the pain coursing through him. He went down the street, toward the back bumper, because he knew she would take the fastest route to him, which meant circling the hood. His side burned, and he couldn’t decide whether to reach for his gun or grab at the wound to keep the stitches from busting.
He reached for the gray sedan’s radio antenna to stop himself from falling headfirst to the street and nearly snapped it in two. He grabbed as much of the car’s trunk as he could and went around it. An old couple in a white station wagon five feet away stared wide-eyed at him as he darted in front of their vehicle and onto the other side of the lane.
Bang! as a round sailed over his head and hit a sign in the middle divider.
Reese summoned every bit of speed he could muster even as moving traffic threatened to run him over. Horns blared, but he ignored them (Bleeding man running for his life here! he wanted to shout and laugh) and made it to the other side of the street without having to dodge another bullet.
A half dozen people on the sidewalk scattered at the sight of him, and Reese threw himself into their midst to use them as shields. He took a moment to glance back and saw Allie looking after him before she turned and hurried into the driver-side of the truck and drove off.
He couldn’t help himself and smiled after her even as he felt the wetness against his hand. He was bleeding again, but that was okay. He watched the truck make a right turn and disappear and briefly wondered if Allie would turn around and try to finish him off.
That was unlikely, but he didn’t completely put it past her. She was, after all, one of a kind. He’d known that when he first saw her, and the last two days hadn’t changed his mind whatsoever. If anything, they’d only reinforced it.
Allie, or Alice, or whatever she called herself, was a hell of a woman, even if she had tried to kill him.
Twice, now.
“Hey, mister, you all right?” a man with a ball cap asked.
“Yeah, yeah,” Reese said, and grinned back at the guy. “Lover’s quarrel. Nothing we can’t get past.”
“You serious, man? You’re bleeding!”
“Tell me something I don’t already know,” Reese said, and hobbled off.
Somewhere up the street he heard police sirens, but Reese ignored them and slipped into an alleyway.
He was bleeding badly and dripping blood on the pavement as he limped his way toward the end. He fumbled with the bottle in his jacket and popped two pills into his mouth, and that seemed to alleviate some of the pain almost immediately. Of course, that wasn’t really possible, but Reese had found that he could trick his mind into believing just about anything if he tried hard enough.
I’ll see you around, Allie.
I’ll see you around…
Twenty-Three
She knew about the process that took place between the brokers and the johns, and how the girls were moved from place to place in order to maximize revenue. Most of the information she gleaned herself in the early days of the investigation, while various people — some more voluntary than others — filled in the rest.
It took her almost a full week to isolate where her target would be. It was a four-star hotel, and the man was inside one of the building’s two bars, ordering drinks, when she slid onto the stool next to him. His eyes, predictably, went first to her generously exposed cleavage before settling on her face.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” she said back. The wig itched, but she was used to discomfort and brushed at a blonde strand to let him know she was interested.
He smiled. He wasn’t bad-looking. Late thirties, with streaks of gray around the temples. He was dressed appropriately for the environment.
“I’m Glen,” he said.
“Gwen.”
“Hey, two Gs in a bar.”
She smiled. “I don’t get it.”
“Dumb joke,” he said. “What’re you having?”
She told him, and he ordered it, then a second one about thirteen minutes later. He was waiting for someone, he told her, but the guy hadn’t shown up yet, though he was expecting the man any minute, which meant he might have to go at any time.
“You’re attending the convention?” he asked her.
She laughed. “Do I look like I’m attending a convention, Glen?”
“Guess not.” Another smile before he glanced down at his watch. “You know, I think this guy’s a no-show.”
“Stood you up, huh?”
“I think so.” He let out an exaggerated sigh and took a sip of his cocktail. “You wanna grab some dinner with me?”
“You paying?” she asked, and gave him a mischievous look.
“Absolutely,” he said, and smiled widely. “But what I meant was, you wanna grab some dinner with me in my suite?”