Fatigue, jangled nerves, and a loaded handgun made for a lethal combination.
Tiel could strangle Cain for goading him. In her opinion, the FBI would be better off without Agent Cain. "Ronnie, how about allowing us a bathroom break?" she suggested. "It's been hours for all of us. It may help everyone relax until we hear back from Galloway. What do you say?"
He thought it over. "You ladies. One at a time. Not the men. If they have to go, they can do it out here."
Donna excused herself first. Then Gladys. Tiel went last. While in the rest room, she rewound the audiotape in her pocket recorder and spot-checked it. Sabra's voice came through, muffled but distinct enough, saying about her father, "That's the kind of person he is. He hates to be crossed." She fast-forwarded, stopped it again, depressed the Play button, and heard Doc's gritty baritone. "… at everybody. At everything. Goddamn cancer. My own inadequacy.
"
Yes! She'd been afraid the tape had run out before that confidential conversation. He would be a fantastic guest to have on Nine Live. If she could persuade him to do it.
She would just have to, that's all. She would begin the program with file footage of his travails following his wife's death, then ask for an updated viewpoint on those unhappy events that had reshaped his life. They could segue into a discussion about destroyed dreams. A psychologist, possibly a clergyman, could join them to expand on that theme: What happens to one's spirit when one's world falls apart?
Excited by the prospect, she replaced the recorder in her pocket, used the toilet, and washed her face and hands. By the time she came out, Vern was headed toward the men's room to empty the bucket the men had used.
As Vern passed Cain, he asked Ronnie, "What about him?"
"No. Unless you're volunteering to unzip him and do the honors."
Vern snorted and continued on his way. "Looks like you're gonna have to wet yourself, G-man."
The Mexican men, catching the gist of the exchange, snorted with ridicule.
Tiel rejoined Doc, whose gaze was fixed on the two men seated near the refrigerated cabinet with the shattered glass door. Tiel followed the direction of his thoughtful stare. "I wonder about that," he murmured.
"What?"
"The two of them." 'Juan and Two?"
"Pardon?"
"I nicknamed the short one Juan. The taller one-"
"Two. I get it."
He turned away and resumed his spot near Sabra. Tiel looked at him quizzically as she sat down beside him.
"What's bothering you about them?"
He raised one shoulder in a shrug. "Something's out of joint."
"Like what?"
"I can't put my finger on it. I noticed them when they first came into the store. They were acting weird even then."
"In what way?"
"They were heating up food in the microwave, but I got the impression they weren't really here for a snack. It was like they were killing time. Waiting on something. Or someone."
"Hmm."
"I picked up this… I don't know… bad vibe." He chuckled with self-deprecation. "I was leery of them, but never in a million years would I have looked twice at Ronnie Davison. Just goes to show how misleading first impressions can be."
"Oh, I'm not so sure about that. I noticed you when you came into the store."
Inquisitively, he arched an eyebrow.
The directness of his stare was both exciting and unsettling.
It caused a fluttering in her tummy. "You cast an imposing silhouette, Doc, especially with your hat on."
"Oh. Yeah. I've always been tall for my age."
It was meant as a joke, and it worked to the extent that Tiel was able to resume breathing.
Then he said, "Thanks for honoring my request not to be on camera."
Conscience was more than a twinge this time. It was a jabbing needle and much harder to ignore. She mumbled an appropriate response, then, eager to change the subject, gestured toward Sabra. "Any change?"
"Bleeding's increased again. Not as bad as before. I should get her to nurse the baby again. It's been over an hour, but I hate to disturb her while she's sleeping."
"They're probably already watching that video. Maybe she'll be in a hospital soon."
"She's a trooper. But she's exhausted."
"So is Ronnie. I see signs of disintegration. I wish I hadn't watched all those dramas about hostage situations -fiction and non. The longer something like this drags on, the more excitable everyone becomes. Nerves snap. Tempers flare."
"Then guns."
"Don't even say it." She shuddered. "For an instant there, I was afraid that Ronnie's concern about sharpshooters was valid. What if Galloway had buffaloed me?
Agreeing to do the video could have been a setup in which Kip, Gully, and I were pawns."
Adjusting himself into a more comfortable position, he asked, "Who's this Gully?"
She described their working relationship. "He's a real character. I'll bet he's giving them fits out there," she said with a smile.
"And who's Joe?"
The unexpected question pulled the plug on her smile.
"Nobody."
"Somebody. Boyfriend?"
"A wannabe."
"A wanna-be boyfriend?"
Piqued by his persistence, she was about to tell him to mind his own business and to stop eavesdropping on her private conversations. But in view of the audiocassette in her possession, she rethought her reaction. A good way to win his confidence would be to confide in him.
'Joseph and I had several dates. Joseph was on his way to earning the official designation of 'boyfriend,' but
Joseph failed to mention that he was another woman's husband. I made that rude discovery this very afternoon."
"Hmm. Mad?"
"You betcha. Furious."
"Regrets?"
"Over him? No. None at all. Over being such a gullible goose, yes." She hammered her fist into her palm as though it were a judge's gavel. "From now on, all future dates are required to tender no less than three notarized character references."
"What about your ex?"
Score two for Doc. He had a real knack for instantly deflating her smiles with an abrupt and sobering question.
"What about him?"
"Is he a consideration?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure."
"No lingering-"
"No."
He frowned doubtfully. "You looked awfully funny when I mentioned him."
Inwardly she was pleading with him not to put her through this. By the same token, telling the story would serve him right for being so nosy.
'John Malone. Great TV name, huh? With a face and a voice to go with it. We met through work and fell hopelessly in love. The first few months were bliss. Then shortly after we were married, he was hired by one of the networks to be a foreign correspondent."
"Ah. I see."
"No, you don't," she retorted. "Not at all. Professional jealousy didn't factor in. It was a fantastic opportunity for John, and I was foursquare in favor of it. The thought of living abroad was enticing. I envisioned Paris or London or Rome. But his choice came down to either South America or Bosnia. This was before most Americans had even heard of Bosnia. The struggle there was just beginning."
Absently she picked at a loose thread on the hem of the T-shirt. "Naturally, I urged him to take the safer choice- Rio. Where, incidentally, I could go with him. I didn't relish the thought of my groom leaving me Stateside and going into a war zone, particularly one where boundaries were imprecise and everyone was still choosing up sides.
"He opted for the more thrilling of the two. He wanted to be where the action was, where he would be guaranteed more airtime. We argued about it. Virulently. Finally I said, 'All right, John, fine. Go. Get yourself killed.' "
Raising her head, she met Doc's eyes directly. "And that's what he did."