"You're a little overdressed, ain't ya?" the buzz cut wondered, and laughed drunkenly.
The criminalist said nothing, just leaned against a mirrored wall and waited; Conroy would be here soon, and if Tera wanted to dance the time away, that was fine with her.
But Britney Spears had run out of protestations about her innocence, and as soon as the song finished, Tera stopped dancing, and smiled coolly at the guys. "More?" she asked them; she had numerous bills stuffed in the side of her g-string.
"What about your friend?" the buzz cut asked, nodding toward Catherine. "Get her to join in!"
That was enough: flashing her ID, Catherine walked over and said, "You two have had enough fun."
The two burly guys exchanged looks and decided she was right, and split, leaving Catherine and Tera alone, just as a new song came on.
"I'm working," Tera said, and flipped the green-backs at the side of her g-string with a red-nailed finger.
"Not at the moment, you aren't."
Tera put her weight on one leg and smirked humorlessly at Catherine. "I have to get ready to go on…. I promised a guy…"
"How much is a table dance?"
"Twenty-five."
Catherine took a twenty and a five from her purse and held them out.
Tera's full lips pursed in a smile. "I said one of you three cops would be gay…didn't think it was you, though…. What's your name again?"
"Catherine."
Swaying seductively to the music, Tera asked, "Are you on duty, Catherine?"
"No," Catherine lied. "I just…had to see you again."
Still undulating, keeping time with her body, Tera smiled, and danced closer and closer to Catherine. Speculative. Unaware, and drawing closer, Tera leaned in, her lips almost close enough to Catherine to kiss her. Through the doorless doorway, Catherine could see the ex-cop bartender pointing the way, and Conroy (Sara just behind her) barreling through the club, a hand going to the pistol on her hip.
Just before their lips seemed about to touch, Catherine said, over the din of the throbbing music, "I know you did it."
Tera's eyes popped open, and she froze.
"I found the jacket in the vent, the beard under the Vogue s."
The stripper took two quick steps back, like she'd been punched. "No…"
"Yes. Fibers on your jeans prove you were at Dream Dolls that night. It's over, Tera."
On cue, Debbie Harry stopped singing, while Conroy stepped into the mirrored room, reaching behind her to pull out her cuffs; Sara Sidle entered and stepped up alongside the detective. Catherine saw Tera's eyes narrow, sensed the woman was about to act, and reached out…
…but the stripper was too fast for Catherine, and whirled to grab Sara by the wrist, and-showing surprising strength-flung Sara into Conroy, knocking the two women into the wall behind them, smashing into one of the mirror panels, shattering the glass.
In the outer club, the bartender was rounding up patrons and herding them out into the parking lot.
Just as the mirror broke, Sara's head careened off the wall; then she fell forward to the floor in a semiconscious heap, the deadly glass falling behind her like sheets of barely melting ice. Conroy stayed on her feet somehow, and was trying to pull her pistol. Neither woman seemed to have been cut, some part of Catherine's brain noted, even as she got to her feet and whipped the pistol off her hip, filling her hand, pointing it at Tera, who swiftly, nimbly snatched up a long shard of glass.
As Conroy turned to face her, the stripper-clutching the shard like a knife, unafraid of cutting her own hand-jammed the jagged glass into the detective's shoulder, and reflexively Conroy dropped her gun. Pain etched itself on Conroy's face, as she slumped to the floor, clutching her bleeding shoulder.
Sara Sidle pushed herself up to her hands and knees, fragments of glass sliding off her back, and looked up to see Tera grabbing Conroy's pistol off the floor. Still battling the pain reverberating in her skull, Sara reached for the pistol on her belt. Just as her fingers touched it, she felt something cold and metallic against her temple.
"Freeze."
Her back to the open doorway, Tera clamped onto a handful of Sara's hair and pulled the CSI to her feet. Sara opened her eyes to see Catherine standing directly before them, her pistol drawn and aimed at a spot just past Sara's head. They had solved a murder, Sara told herself; they'd been so close to success and in just a few seconds, it had all gone so wrong….
That was when it dawned on Sara that these might be her last few seconds on Earth.
Catherine Willows pointed her automatic at the fierce-eyed woman holding Sara hostage. With Conroy in the way before, Catherine hadn't been able to drop the hammer on the dancer. And now…now…
"Easy or hard, Tera," Catherine said, as matter of factly as possible. "Your choice."
The stripper held Sara in front of her, only a sliver of her face showing from behind Sara's skull. For all the confidence she was projecting, Catherine knew she didn't have a prayer to make this shot.
"Drop the gun, Catherine," Tera said, "and let me walk out of here…or this skinny bitch dies."
"I can't do that." Catherine glanced at Conroy who was on her knees to Tera's left. The injured detective slumped slightly forward, her good hand digging under her coat.
Tera pressed the gun harder into Sara's temple. "They say the second time is easier than the first…and the first time? Wasn't hard at all."
Slowly Catherine shook her head. "You know we can't just let you walk out of here."
"Sure you can, Catherine." Those exotic eyes were unblinking, and very, very cold. "Drop the gun-now."
Catherine swallowed thickly, sighed, and said, "All right, all right…you win."
"I thought I might."
Bending at the knees, Catherine held the gun slack in her hand, leaning toward the floor, about to put the weapon down. That was when Conroy's hand came out of her coat and she shouted, "Tera!"
The stripper spun, roughly dragging Sara with her. When Tera saw something metallic in Conroy's hand, she fired-not at Sara, but at Conroy, the bullet striking the detective in the chest, sending her sprawling backward, her hideaway spare pistol tumbling from her hand.
At the same instant, Sara had ducked to her left, the pistol explosion deafening her, the muzzle flash practically blinding her. But as she went down, she managed to jam her elbow into Tera's ribs, breaking the stripper's grip on her, creating a slice of daylight between them.
Catherine's pistol spoke.
Tera made a brief, strange cry as the bullet entered her chest, mist erupting from her torso, the shot straightening her, momentarily, before collapse came. The murderer of Jenna Patrick was dead before she hit the floor, leaving Catherine Willows-with a gun in hand-to look at her own dazed reflection in the wall of mirrors opposite.
After kicking the pistol away from Tera, Sara reached down and sought a pulse, but found nothing. She turned to see Catherine bending over Conroy, and moved to join them.
The detective opened her eyes, closed them, opened them again. "Well, that hurt!"
Nodding, Catherine said, "You gave me a scare…didn't know you were wearing your vest."
Wincing in pain, Conroy's good hand went to her chest. "The suspect?"
"Dead."
"Good." Conroy, helped to her feet by Catherine, added, "Politically incorrect as it may be…I say she deserves what she got…Sara, you okay?"
Sara, helping Catherine guide Conroy to a chair, said, "Fine-thanks to you two. How's your shoulder?"
"Not so good," Conroy said, the cloth around the wound blood-soaked. "Fingers are numb. You wanna call an ambulance?"
"Why don't I do that," Sara said and disappeared.
Catherine brushed a strand of hair out of Conroy's face. "Just sit there-stay quiet. Ambulance will be here soon."