He sucked in what air he could and saw an opportunity to break her hold. Yeah, it could work. Using the space between the bed and the dresser, Nathan rolled to his side and braced his feet against the bed. With his free right hand, he reached behind her back and grabbed the belt above her butt. With Grangeland still clinging to his back he began simultaneously pulling her jeans up while starting a crushing leg press. All 130 pounds of Special Agent Grangeland ended up pinned between himself and the dresser. He was hoping the intrusive distraction of her jeans, coupled with the pressure on her torso, would drive the air from her lungs. Feeling his mind begin to plummet into the void, he pushed his legs harder and yanked her jeans higher. In a desperate, last-ditch effort, he doubled his energy, giving it all he had.
It worked.
He felt a hiss of air escape her lungs on the back of his neck. Her arms loosened, giving him just enough room to wrench his head sideways. When her grip on his windpipe failed, he jerked his head free, and sucked in a precious lungful of air.
Red-faced and panting like a dog, he gasped, “Let’s call it a draw.” He managed to gain his hands and knees just before his Caesar salad came up in projectile fashion. When he finished vomiting his dinner, he wiped his mouth and half laughed. “Damn it, woman, that was some trick.”
She rolled onto her back, her legs bent at the knees. “You cheated giving me that wedgie. I had you.”
“The hell you did.”
“No doubt you enjoyed that little stunt.”
“You’ll never know.” They both looked up at the same instant. Harvey was pointing his Sig at a man who was pointing his Glock at Nathan’s head, the four of them frozen in time like waxwork figures.
“It’s good thing you showed up when you did,” Nathan said. “I might have killed her.”
Grangeland held up a hand. “Stand down, Agent Ferris. This isn’t what it looks like.”
Somewhat reluctantly, Ferris holstered his gun and looked at Harvey.
Harvey tucked his gun into the small of his back and looked at Nathan, then to the woman, then to the pool of vomit. “I see you two have been properly introduced.”
Still breathing heavily, Nathan said, “Special Agent Grangeland, meet Harvey Fontana.”
Harvey shook his head. “What is it with you, Nathan? Didn’t your mother hold you enough as a baby?”
“Hey, it was her idea.”
“Uh- huh.”
“Well?” Nathan asked her.
With a grimace, Grangeland sat up. “I guess we’ll keep the status quo.”
“Good choice,” Nathan said.
“Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” Ferris asked. He looked at the splintered door jamb then back to Nathan. “Looks like a clear case of breaking and entering to me.”
“Tell me about it,” Grangeland said. She staggered to her feet and limped bull-legged into the bathroom.
Nathan rubbed his throat. “She’ll be okay.” Even though Ferris was formidable looking, Nathan towered over him. In his mid-thirties, Ferris had the same intensity in his eyes that Henning had shown several nights ago. He was clean-cut, dressed in tan Docker-type slacks with a long-sleeved buttoned shirt. Nathan knew Ferris didn’t like the idea of his partner rolling around on the floor with a complete stranger.
“Sorry about the mess,” Nathan said. “Tell me something. Where’d she learn to wrestle like that?”
“Alternate for the 2000 Olympic team.”
“No kidding,” Nathan said. “You ever go a round with her?”
“Once.”
“And?” Nathan prompted.
“Got my ass kicked in ten seconds. She’s also holds black belts in three different forms of martial arts.”
“I’m in love,” Nathan said. He looked at the processed romaine lettuce on the carpet. “Want me to call housekeeping?”
Ferris just stared.
Harvey grabbed Nathan’s handgun from the bed. “Come on, Nathan, let’s get the hell out of here.” Harvey turned toward Ferris, then pointed at the electronic surveillance equipment. “This is bullshit.”
“Easy partner, don’t shoot the messenger.”
“Why not?” Harvey said. “We’ve been open and honest.” He waved a hand at the black boxes. “And this is the thanks we get?”
“It’s just business,” Nathan said.
Harvey grunted and walked out of the room.
Nathan addressed Ferris. “This doesn’t have to go any further than the four of us. We’ll let you save face with Lansing, but we’re onto you now. If you want to know what we’re up to, just ask.” Nathan joined Harv and closed the door behind him. Still rubbing his throat, he sat on the edge of the bed.
Harv was standing at the window, staring at the State Capitol Building. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.” He turned and smiled. “Your mother held you a lot, you were an only child.”
“No, you’re right, I acted childish in there. I didn’t have to spar with her. I could’ve said no.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Not sure. I’ll tell you what, she’s tough as nails.”
There was a soft knock at the door. They both turned at the same time. Half-expecting to see the hotel manager standing in the hall, Nathan went to the door and peered through the peephole. It was one of their own security guards. Nathan opened the door and the tech handed him a fax. It was from Dr. Fitzgerald at Fort Leavenworth.
“Let’s see what we’ve got.” Nathan sat down at the desk while Harv looked over his shoulder. The first piece of paper was a copy of the Pensacola police department’s incident report. Ernie Bridgestone had been going the speed limit, the skid marks on the road verified it. From what they could glean from the report, a woman had entered the street from between two parked cars. The right bumper of Ernie’s Camaro had clipped her, sending her head over heels. She died instantly from a broken neck. Her BAC, or blood-alcohol concentration, had been.35, over four times the legal limit of.08. Ernie’s BAC had been.10. Just as Amber Sheldon had said, he hadn’t been truly drunk, but he’d been over the legal limit and that’s all that mattered. The responding officer had written in his notes that Ernie had been extremely indignant, stating over and over that he wasn’t drunk and that it wasn’t his fault. He’d used profane and derogatory language about the dead victim’s ethnicity, which was Hispanic. Things quickly turned ugly. After resisting arrest, he’d been Tasered by a backup officer. Booked for felony drunk driving, his bail was set at 10,000 dollars.
The next documents in the file concerned Ernie’s civil-court matters. His driver’s license had been revoked for eighteen months and he’d been fined 2,000 dollars, the maximum allowed by law. Because Ernie had been in the military, Nathan knew his troubles were only beginning. As an active member of the United States armed forces, Ernie had been subject to the Uniform Code of Military Justice, no matter where the accident had happened. On or off base, it didn’t matter. He’d been surrendered to the military police of Pensacola Naval Air Station and placed in the brig. Notes from the transporting MP’s also indicated Ernie had been belligerent, profane, and generally uncooperative. In the court-martial that followed, the presiding military judge showed no leniency. Had Ernie possessed an outstanding military record with no prior offenses, things might have been different. But Ernie had a long history of insubordination. The bottom line: The Marine Corps made an example out of him, sentencing him to five years in the USDB at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. Basically, the Marine Corps version of good riddance, dirtbag. The final sheet of paper was a copy of a newspaper clipping, complete with a photograph of the victim. Nathan’s eyes grew as he stared at the low-resolution photocopy.