“Out,” Mitchell said.
The tape continued to spin; the speakers kept up their staticky hiss.
Tim raised his eyes to Dray’s, and they stared at each other, the world seeming to screech to a halt. There were just her bangs, damp-pasted to her forehead, the heat in his face, the pain-no, agony-in her eyes that he knew mirrored his. She cracked open her dry lips but took a moment to speak. When she did, the sound seemed to shatter the hypnotic spell of the whispering spool.
“You asked Dumone what they had to gain by killing Ginny,” she said. “The answer’s simple-you.”
The door to the garage opened. Dray quickly hit the “stop” button on the tape deck and flipped the file shut, hiding the photo of Kindell. Mac came in, wrench hooked through a belt loop, T-shirt stretched tight across his chest. A stalactite of sweat stained the front collar just so, as if a wardrobe stylist had sprayed it on. He looked up and froze.
Tim nodded at him.
“Rack, you can’t be here, man. People are…they’re looking for you.”
“I’m leaving.”
“You’re putting Dray at risk.” His eyes shifted to Dray. “And what are you thinking?”
Dray’s head went on warning tilt. “Mac-”
“You’re an active deputy.”
“Mac, don’t push this,” Dray said. “Leave us alone.”
“No, I’m not gonna leave you alone. He’s a wanted-”
“I’m asking you to give us a minute.”
“This is idiotic, Dray. You can’t harbor a suspect in your house.”
Dray’s eyes seemed to contract to shiny dark points. “Look, Mac. I appreciate your being here for me. But I’m talking to my husband right now, and I think it might be time for you to leave.”
Mac’s face loosened, his mouth hanging slightly ajar in post-slap shock. In his indignation his features had arranged themselves somehow more gracefully, providing a window into some private reserve of dignity.
He nodded once, slowly, then eased from the room with a near weightlessness, light and forward on his feet. A moment later his car turned over in the driveway and the whine of his engine rose and faded away.
Dray sighed, digging the heel of her hand into her forehead. “Well, if I know one thing about Mac, it’s that he wouldn’t sell you out. He’s loyal to a fault.”
“He has no reason to be loyal to me.”
Her eyes picked over his face. “To me, Timothy.”
Tim pulled the tape from the deck and tapped it against his palm. Mac’s brief intrusion had forced them both to recover their composure; Tim was scared to open the file again, to see the photo of his daughter’s blood smeared across pale thighs. His mind drifted to Robert’s frenzied charge down the basement stairs at Debuffier’s. Robert’s agitated words back at Rayner’s afterward: People fuck up sometimes. No matter what happens, an operation can spin out of control. We’ve all had that happen.
“It was a mission that went to shit,” he said. “They were gonna bust in, shoot Kindell, and play the big heroes to me. I can hear the sales pitch-here’s a guy who was gonna rape and kill your daughter, skated on three priors due to loopholes in the law. The guy was your neighbor, in a school zone, no one monitoring him. Except us. We saved your daughter’s life, kept her from being raped. Not the law. Come see what we’re about. We have a plan that’s gonna open your eyes.”
“Those animals,” Dray said softly. “Even if it had gone right, can you imagine what it would have done to Ginny? Being kidnapped? Being held? Having a man shot before her eyes?” Steam was curling from the cup of coffee to her side, and she ran her hand through it. “No decency. There’s just not a fucking ounce of decency in men who would take those risks with a little girl’s life.”
“No,” Tim said. “There’s not.” He pulled a chair out and sat down heavily. It felt as if it had been months since he’d been off his feet. “They’ve been torturing me all this time, holding the case over my head, the accomplice. They knew all along. Having Kindell kidnap Ginny was just part of some…psychological equation Rayner was evolving to get me to join the Commission. And it worked.”
“You’ll find them,” Dray said. “You’ll make them pay for this.”
“Yes,” Tim said. “Yes.”
She nodded at his face, the bandage’s bulge under his T-shirt. “You’re okay?”
He touched his shoulder gingerly. “Yeah, it was nothing.”
She looked away, but not before he saw her relief. “Your face doesn’t look like nothing.”
“I wasn’t planning on getting by on my looks.”
Her lips pursed but did not form a smile. “At least you’re realistic.”
“I want you carrying all the time. Even in the house.”
Dray raised her sweatshirt to reveal the Beretta tucked into her waistband. “I hope to hell they do come after me. But I have a feeling they’re not gonna make it that easy.”
“Probably not.”
She hooked her hair back behind her ear, then stood and fingered the blinds. “You shouldn’t have come here. You’re too smart to pull this move.”
“Let’s be grateful they think so, too.”
“They’ve been out there feigning competence since yesterday morning. I told them we don’t talk anymore, but I think they knew I was lying.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “Not all men lack perception.”
Tim handed her the tape. “Not a bad piece of leverage. A little creative editing by Rayner and it could hang all his accomplices.”
“Or at least keep them in line.” She took the tape and set it down quickly on the table, as if she didn’t want it touching her flesh.
“I shouldn’t stay long. I don’t want to put you at risk. I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I…I need that money.”
“Of course. I pulled out a couple grand for you this morning. It’s in the gun safe.”
“Thank you.”
They sat quietly, unsure of what needed to be said, hesitant because the next words would likely signal Tim’s departure.
“I see you got a new coffee table. The box is, uh, in Ginny’s…”
“I can’t respect that room as hallowed ground forever. Living here, it puts you on a different timeline, maybe. At least for some things.” She looked away quickly, and he saw her face set, mad and little-girl stubborn. He remembered that he didn’t miss all parts of her. “You wouldn’t know.”
He let the remark skip off into inconsequentiality. “How’s security on Dobbins?”
“No way they’re getting at him. His hospital room is like Fort Knox. Where’s Bowrick?”
Bowrick’s confidential hold ending at midnight was another concern to add to his list. “They won’t find him.”
She took a sip of coffee, grimaced against the heat. “Why would the Mastersons stay here where everyone’s looking?”
“They hate L.A. because their sister was killed here, they hate L.A. cops because they handled their sister’s case poorly, and they hate the system here because the L.A. courts turned her killer free.”
“Where’s her killer now?”
“Shot to death.”
“Hefty coincidence.”
“That it is.” Tim cracked his knuckles. “They have a plan for the city. They have strong contacts here, know their way around. Plus the case files they stole-all L.A.”
“Now their motive for killing Rayner is a lot clearer,” Dray said. “Tying up loose ends. Keeping eyewitnesses off the books.” Her chest expanded, and then she sighed deep and hard, as if expelling something from her body.
“Yeah. They know there’s no hard evidence or charges would’ve been brought. They’re mopping up.”
Dray pulled her head back, as if she’d been struck. Exasperation and intensity colored her smooth cheeks. She spoke slowly, as if she were still trying to catch up to her thoughts. “There’s another loose end they’re gonna have to tie up.”
Tim felt his mouth go dry, instantly. An ocean rushing in his ears. Realization. Alarm. Stress.
He was on his feet, down the hall.