She didn't remember how she had reacted or even what Hickle had hit her with. She didn't remember the moment of impact at all.
"You're'hurting," Wyatt said when she emerged from the bathroom. He had been watching her.
"It's nothing a little fresh air and exercise won't cure." She'took the trash bag from him and stuffed it with the wrecked video cassette and audio reels, as well as the Maidenform briefs, which she sure as hell wasn't going to wear again.
Wyatt grunted.
"Maybe. But you're still going to the ER, if I have to drag you there by your hair."
"How Neanderthal of you. But entirely unnecessary."
She added the camera, microphones, and transmitters to the bag, along with the rubber gloves.
"I'm going of my own volition. See?" She held up the trash bag.
"All packed."
In the living room she picked up her purse and checked to confirm that her gun was still there. She put her micro recorder and cell phone inside, pausing as she wondered if she should try Travis's number again.
Wyatt saw her hesitate.
"He still hasn't called back-whoever you reported to."
"Maybe he can't. Maybe the alert came too late.
Maybe"-she hated to say it-"maybe he's dead, and the client too."
"Kris Barwood," Wyatt said. So he had noticed the photos.
Abby nodded. This time her head did not reel from the effort, and she took some comfort from that.
They left the apartment together and rode the elevator to ground level.
Wyatt said he would drive her in his squad car, and she said, "Yes, of course." In her present state she was unfit to sit behind the wheel of an automobile. If she had suffered any serious cranio- cerebral trauma, she could black out at any time.
"But," she added, "we have to move my Dodge out of the parking lot so your pals in blue don't find it."
"Why?"
"So if I'm interviewed, I can say I drove myself to the hospital." As he walked her to the Dodge, she explained more fully. Talking was good.
It kept her alert.
"See, I'm trying to keep all my options open until I know how things work out. I'd prefer to have Abby Gallagher disappear forever, like Connie Hammond.
But if Hickle or someone else identifies me to the police, I'll have to come clean. At least, reasonably clean."
"How clean exactly?"
"I won't admit to any illegalities. No electronic surveillance, no breaking and entering. I was hired to move in next door to Hickle and keep an eye on him, that's all. He found me out and attacked me. When I came to, I was confused and disoriented. I drove myself to the hospital in a daze and didn't remember my obligation to talk to the cops until my memories came back at a convenient time."
"Weak."
"But un disprovable
"That's not a word."
"It is now."
"Hickle will tell them about the bugs in his apartment.
How are you going to explain that?"
"Explain what? The paranoid ravings of a homicidal stalker?"
"And if Hickle is never caught and your cover isn't blown?"
"Then farewell, Abby Gallagher, wherever you are."
He looked at her with admiration.
"You've got it all worked out, haven't you?"
"This is nothing. You should see me in action when my brain hasn't been batted around like a beach ball."
Wyatt moved the Dodge to a side street, then escorted her to-his cruiser. He asked which hospital she wanted. She ran through the options in her mind and decided that on a Friday night any emergency room in this part of town would be a war zone.
"I don't suppose you could chauffeur me all the way to Cedars Sinai she said. It was in West Hollywood, a better neighborhood.
"No problem."
"It might be a problem for you if the watch commander starts to wonder where you've been for so long."
"I'll tell him I stopped at a donut shop. That's always plausible for a cop, right?"
Abby smiled.
"No comment."
Three blocks from the Gainford Arms, Wyatt detoured into an alley and discarded the trash bag in a Dumpster. As he pulled onto Santa Monica Boulevard, heading west, Abby fished her cell phone out of her purse and speed-dialed Travis's number. Still no answer.
"It'll be all right," Wyatt said quietly.
"Sure. I know. The good guys always win, don't they?" She sank back wearily in the passenger seat and shut her eyes, repeating the words as a mantra.
"The good guys always win."
Are you really him?" Hickle breathed.
"Are you Jackbnimble?"
"I'm him. You still thinking about using that twelve gauge The tension eased out of Hickle in a shaky expulsion of breath.
"Guess not."
"Glad to hear it." Travis stepped back, lowering the Walther.
"You can turn around. No reason we can't talk face to face. We're partners, after all."
Hickle turned, the water rippling around him. Overhead a burst of crosstalk sounded from the squad car's radio, the volume high. The flashlight winked on again, and, the spotlight resumed probing the creek waters. The two cops had returned to their task.
"We're both trapped in here now," Hickle whispered.
"No, I'll get us out. You'll go inland while I distract the two Smokies on the bridge."
"Distract them how?"
"Don't worry about that. We have a lot to discuss and not much time.
Do you know who I am?"
Hickle studied him in the gloom. Travis took the opportunity to assess Hickle's face. He had never seen the man in person. He had small, suspicious eyes, a rodent's eyes. His skin was pasty, his hair greasy and wild. He belonged here under the bridge in the fetid water, amid the flotsam of fast-food containers and cigarette packs.
"No," Hickle said finally.
"Should I?"
"I think so, if you've watched the news." Travis allowed himself a brief smile.
"And I know you never miss the news."
The small eyes narrowed. The bloodless line of Hickle's mouth pinched in a frown.
"Hey," he whispered, "you run the security firm. You're Paul Travis.
You're famous in this town."
Hickle seemed almost honored to be meeting a celebrity, even if the encounter had to take place in a dark creek during a police pursuit.
And why not?
Fame was his obsession.
"You're the one who's famous now," Travis said.
"In a few hours your name will be all over the newspapers and the TV, radio-everywhere."
Hickle nearly brightened, then twisted his mouth in a pout.
"As a failure."
"For the moment." Travis sighed.
"You know, you really should've killed her when you had the chance."
"Don't you go blaming me for that. It was the car, the Lincoln. It was bulletproof-"
"That's not what I meant. I'm talking about Abby."
"Abby?" A beat of silence as Hickle took this in.
"She's-she's still alive?"
"Unfortunately, yes. But she doesn't have to be."
Travis's words returned in a wave of echoes.
"What do you mean?" Hickle's voice, very soft, produced no echo at all.
"I know a way for you to get Abby, really get her this time, no mistakes. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
The glimmer in Hickle's eyes was pure malice.
"I'd like Kris more."
"She'll come later. Abby first. It only makes sense.
Security around Kris will be tight for a few days. Not just TPS security-police protection too. But Abby won't have any protection at all."
Hickle processed this, then nodded.
"How do I do it?"
"I can tell you where she lives. Her permanent address, not the apartment she rented next door to you.