Zucchini?
He looked at Anna again, saw her looking back. She was pale. Paler than the cold explained. Could it have been something from the phone call? She put the other hand on her stomach, winced.
“You okay, baby?”
“I’m feeling a little queasy.”
Halden turned to study her. “Nerves, probably. But you’re doing the right thing.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s not that. It’s-” She looked at Tom again.
Could it have been coincidence, her using their old code word, the one that signaled she needed a rescue? He stared at her. Something in her demeanor seemed almost to be pleading. Her hands moved on her belly again, and all of a sudden he knew what she needed.
“It’s morning sickness,” he said. The words strange on his tongue. Words he’d once looked forward to saying. The kind of phrase that marked a whole new phase of life.
“You’re pregnant?” The detective seemed surprised.
“Yes,” she said, trembling. Something terrible was happening.
“I don’t know why they call it morning sickness,” Tom said, remembering one of the half-dozen books they’d read. “Happens all day long.” He stepped forward, put a hand on her shoulder. “The bathrooms might be open.” Turned to Halden. “Do you mind? It’ll just be a minute.”
Halden shook his head. “Of course not.”
“Thanks,” Anna said, her face contorting again. She started walking, and Tom moved with her, his hands supporting her weight. They passed the food counter, metal shutters drawn, and turned the corner to the back, toward the bathroom. His thoughts pounded and tumbled, trying to imagine what could possibly have made her tell this particular lie.
HALDEN WATCHED THEM GO, Tom supporting her as they hurried past the concession building. When they rounded the corner, he turned and stared out at the lake. Smelled the air, listened to the rush of water, watched waves roll in. Savored the slow smile.
Goddamn, but he was one hell of a detective.
This would make him. Closing the Shooting Star case single-handed? He’d get the works: the press, the commendation, the immunity from shit work, the patrons up the ladder, the pay-grade jump. Be able to retire with a fat pension. Buy that cabin and spend the rest of his life reading and walking through the woods, far from the city and the shitheads that lived here.
He reached into his pocket, took out the cigarettes. Normally he limited himself to two a day, but a victory cigarette didn’t count. He fired it, dragged hard. The sound of gulls merged with a car engine heading away.
Anna being pregnant explained some things. He’d wondered why they’d taken the money, been a little pissed about it, in fact. It was dumb, tempting or not. He’d tried to tell them that, the day they’d sat drinking coffee at the kitchen table. But people did crazy things for their children. Funny, though, that she hadn’t mentioned being pregnant before, not even when she was talking about Jack breaking into their house, slapping her around. You’d have thought that would have been the first thing she’d think of, the health of her baby. And wasn’t coffee one of the things you were supposed to avoid when you were pregnant?
On the other hand, shitty parenting wasn’t something he was exactly unfamiliar with, his line of work. He’d seen many a mother suck the grocery money through a crack pipe.
Still. He turned away from the waterline. The bathroom entrances were on the other side of the concession building. And past that, a hundred yards or so, was the parking lot.
Halden threw the half-smoked cigarette in the sand, started forward, a walk that grew quicker with each step, dress shoes ringing off the concrete. He rounded the corner of the building, headed for the bathroom.
The door was closed. A heavy padlock dangled from the latch.
“No, no, no,” Halden said, turning fast, staring at the parking lot, remembering the sound of the engine driving away.
He felt a terrible heaviness settle on him. It was over. Forget bringing them in himself. Forget being the guy with all the answers, the hero cop that saved the day. They were on the run now, probably on their way out of town. It was time to call in the cavalry. And suffer all the consequences that came with that. He sighed, rubbed at his forehead.
What had happened to spook the two of them? Tom had been nervous about the lawyer question, but Halden couldn’t imagine them running for that. And Anna, she’d been on the phone with her-
Wait.
He sprinted for the car, thinking of the folder Lawrence Tully had given him at the steakhouse, all the personal information he’d collected on the Reeds. Bank statements, bills, credit history. Addresses and family members.
Fuck the cavalry. He could still pull this off.
“PLEASE,” the sister said. “Please, he’s scared.” Even by the murky light filtering through the closed blinds, he could see her eyes, wide as a girl in those Japanese comics.
Jack felt for her, he really did. No way he was going to hurt a baby, but she didn’t know that, and he couldn’t imagine what was going on in her head, the raw-veined panic of it. Still, this was the job, and sometimes the job was ugly. He set the phone down. “That was good,” he said. “You did good.”
There was a clatter from the other room, a crash like pans falling to the floor. He heard Marshall curse.
The woman winced. “Please,” she said, and took a step forward. Raised an arm, the fingers shaking. Her skin was pale, and he could smell her from here, the fear sweat. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“He’s only. He’s. Please. My son.”
Jack looked down at the baby cradled in his left arm. A cute kid, all cheeks and wide, curious eyes. “Don’t worry,” he said. “This will all be over soon.” He looked back up at her. “I promise.”
20
TOM HAD BEEN DOWN THIS STREET more times than he could count, but everything looked different now. Brighter and in sharper focus. He could see the detail in every leaf as though each was on a distinct and brilliant plane. It was almost overwhelming, all that clarity.
“You have the key?” Anna clenched the steering wheel at ten and two. Tom patted his pocket, stopped his knee from rocking.
They’d fled south on Lake Shore, and every moment he’d expected blue lights behind. He had seen the effort it cost her not to put the gas to the floor, to stay at the same five-miles-over everyone else was maintaining.
“I’ll do it,” he’d said. “I’ll bring it to him.”
“No. Both of us.”
He knew that tone, hadn’t argued. Instead, he’d just quietly made a plan: After they picked up the money, he’d hop in the car, lock the doors, and leave her behind. No point both of them strolling up like sheep.
But then Anna came up with a better idea. It was simple, it was elegant, and it protected Sara and Julian. Downside, it left the two of them screwed. But there were things worth fighting for. Worth dying for, if need be. It was funny, though. With everything else stripped away, life came down to just the two of them. They would make it through together or they would go down together. Not long ago, all he’d wanted was for them to get back to the place where they stood two against the world.
Careful what you wish for. “There’s a spot,” he said.
She nodded, pulled the Pontiac to the side, threw it in reverse, and parallel parked. The location was good, halfway down the block from Sara’s house, far enough for their purposes.
Anna turned off the engine, and it was like that triggered some gland in his head, got the chemicals flowing. His fingers tingled and his armpits were suddenly swamped. He took steady breaths, wanting to be ready but not so deep in fight-or-flight that he was nothing but jangling nerves. Anna opened her cell, then closed it again. She set it in the cup holder, then looked at the clock. The shrubs outside. A Cubs flag fluttering from a porch. Everywhere but at him.