Second finger went up. “He can hit the fence-escape.” Third finger. “Or he can submit and get fucked. Now, I gave you a fourth choice, help us out. Doesn’t look like it’s gonna solve your problem. So you’re left with three. But I didn’t tell you any of that. I find out you repeated it, and I hear you said it came from me, you and me will undergo some thump therapy in a dark cell. You get me?”
MacNally had an idea: he’d be beaten.
“I were you,” Voorhees said with a tug on his belt, “I’d grow a set of balls. Fast. As in five minutes after you walk outta here.”
MacNally shifted his feet. Now? Take care of this now?
“Don’t let yourself be a victim. Even if it doesn’t work out, you’ll feel better about yourself in the morning. Just be careful-guys make alliances, they look out for each other. You may think you’re taking on one guy, but suddenly you’re lookin’ at three.”
MacNally tried not to let the building anxiety register on his face. He squared his shoulders, nodded confidently, and said, “Okay.”
“You’re gonna need a weapon. A shank-a homemade knife. Be smart about it. And be efficient. Show no mercy, because they ain’t gonna show you any.”
Voorhees grabbed the doorknob. “Wait ten minutes, then get outta here.”
He left MacNally alone with his thoughts. That wasn’t the type of advice he’d been hoping for. Actually, he didn’t know what he was expecting. He was looking for a solution. Voorhees had no doubt gone the extra mile, probably with some risk, to give him an honest view of his situation.
But as he was now learning, the only true solutions to his problem-this one and those that would undoubtedly surface in the future-could not be found by talking to, or relying on, others.
The answers had to come from within.
35
Vail whipped out her Glock and threw it up in front of her, her forearms taut and her pupils dilated, taking in everything and anything. She swung the weapon left and right, looking at the room, her eyes scanning systematically from right to left. Clear.
Vail moved into the angled bathroom, grabbed the pocket door to the water closet and shoved it hard to the right, more forcefully than she should’ve because it bounced with a deep thud and started to close. She toed it back and, with her Glock in her right hand, grabbed the tall shower curtain and swung it to the side. Nothing-no one-in the bathtub.
She swung back around, then pulled her BlackBerry with her left hand and dialed Dixon. “Get back to the room. Someone’s been here. The offender.”
It was noisy in the background. Vail remembered she was in a bar.
“How do you know?” Dixon shouted into the phone.
“He left something. A key.”
“Did you clear the place?”
Vail’s eyes kept scouring the room. The bed. She hadn’t checked under the bed. “Working on it.”
“Be right there. Hang tight.”
Vail shoved the BlackBerry into her holster, then knelt down to inspect the king mattress. It was a platform bed, so no way could anyone be underneath it.
She moved to the closet and pulled open the door. Just her clothing.
Fuck. How did he find out where I was staying? She walked back toward the desk. Not impossible. But this asshole’s smart.
She wiped a layer of sweat from her face with a sleeve, and after one more glance around the room, double-locked the door and then settled into the web-backed office chair. She reholstered her weapon. Looked at the key. It was the same wide, unusual shape as most of the others they had found. He wants me to know, without a doubt, that he’s been in my room. Power. Definitely fucking with my head. Anything missing?
As she turned away to check her suitcase, she noticed something on the Hyatt pad beside the phone. A typed note, in large caps.
I KNOW WHAT YOU DID IN NY
A new wave of perspiration pimpled her forehead, scalp, and chest. New York. Not just New York. What I did in New York. How could he know about New York? There are only three people who know about that. Me, my confidential informant, and my former partner.
Vail hadn’t seen either one in years. Six or seven. Last she knew, Mike Hartman was still a special agent somewhere on the east coast. She thought it was New Jersey, but she wasn’t sure.
How is he connected to this? How’s he connected to the offender?
The informant…Eugenia Zachry… She had thought of her from time to time over the years, but had never initiated contact. Once she left the woman’s life, it was better to maintain distance.
Vail sat there staring at the note. Think, Karen. What should I do about this? Bring it to the office. Show it to Burden-no. I can’t. Tell Roxx? How can I do that? She’s a friend…but…shit.
How does this asshole know about it?
Minutes passed as she tried to clear her head and think this through. Just then there was a rapid series of knocks on the door.
Roxxann.
Vail’s heart jumped a beat as she looked at the note.
“Karen. Open up!”
36
MacNally looked around the ladder room. He wondered if Voorhees had chosen this place for a particular reason. Or was he reading into it?
He doubted inmates were permitted to be in here unsupervised. If caught, he could not disclose that Voorhees had suggested they meet for a counseling session. Per the officer’s orders, he had a few minutes before he could leave, so he set out to locate something he could use as a weapon.
There was nothing overtly obvious-no knives, no ice picks or awls, hammers-no tools of any sort, for that matter.
MacNally crouched down, then pressed his stomach flat against the floor and brought his eyes from the furthest left wall across to the- Wait… In the corner, something thin, oblong, and brown. He knelt in front of a tall, wooden ladder, reached under the bottom rung, and wiggled his fingers. He caught the item with a fingernail and flicked it toward him.
A rusted 3/8-inch bolt, roughly five or six inches in length.
It wasn’t sharp, but it definitely could serve as a weapon. He shoved it into his pocket, then gave one more look around the room. There were no other devices, utensils or hardware he could find. The bolt would have to do.
MacNally pulled the door open and walked out, then headed for A-Cellhouse to find Gormack and Wharton. He did not have to go far: both were in the yard having a smoke.
MacNally walked into the hot sunshine, then stopped. He needed to think this through. He had never attacked anyone-had never even had a bar fight-but he had seen a few. His observations told him that the victor wasn’t always the best brawler, but the one who hit hard and fast, aggressively, and unrelenting… The man who was possessed and who did not stop until forcibly yanked away.
He reached into his pocket and felt the ribbed threads of the thick screw, then approached his adversaries. Gormack was the bigger threat: the one to neutralize first.