False Positive (24 page)

Tuesday. Afternoon
.

The two women were working together?

Of course they were! Loflin herself had told him she was being groomed to take over from her mother. Then she'd shown up at his cabin with her whole “pity me” spiel, which ended up with her bringing him out here. On his own. With no backup. Even Lieutenant Hale had no idea where they were. No one did.

Devereaux couldn't believe he'd been so stupid as to leave Loflin alone with Ethan. If the boy died, it would be his fault. His only hope was that Loflin was dragging her feet, if this really was her first time. Devereaux stood up. He had to get back to Ethan's room…

“Stop!” The woman had produced an orange Taser gun from behind her back. “You know what one of these can do, don't you? You've probably used one yourself. So sit back down. And drink your damn beer.”

Devereaux sank back onto the bed. He moved the tray to his lap, then raised the glass. His hand was shaking. He lifted the drink almost to his lips. And spilled it. Beer ran down his chin and onto his chest. He cursed and grabbed the Clash T-shirt with his spare hand. He wadded it up. Made as if to use it to mop his face. Then he flung
the glass at the woman. He gripped the tray through the T-shirt. Held it in front of him like a shield. And charged forward.

The Taser darts deflected off the tray and buried themselves in the wall, away to Devereaux's right. He kept moving. Dropped the tray. Grabbed the woman by the arm. Spun her around. Pulled his handcuffs off his belt and snapped one around her wrist. He reached for her other arm. And felt something cold and hard pressing against the back of his skull.

“Let my mother go.”

Devereaux spun around, aiming to grab the gun, but Loflin had been expecting the move. She sprang back, out of his reach, and kept the weapon trained on his head.

“Stop!” Loflin's voice was loud and shrill, but far from panicky. “Now sit down. Near the wall. Cross your legs. Put your hands on your head. And keep them there.”

Devereaux took a moment to assess the situation. Loflin was clearly serious, so he slowly positioned himself on the smooth wood floor. The woman stepped toward her daughter, beaming with maternal pride.

“Darling, your timing's beautiful.” She held up her wrist with Devereaux's handcuffs dangling from it. “Have you got a key for this thing?”

“Mother, you sit down, too. This isn't what either of you think.”

Tuesday. Afternoon
.

The woman almost fell into Devereaux's lap.

She lowered herself to the ground and the loose handcuff banged into his knee. Her hand fluttered like a butterfly against his ankle, bringing home to him just how frail she was. It seemed incongruous to him that someone so tiny could be the cause of so much trouble, and like when her daughter shook his hand in Lieutenant Hale's office, three days ago, it made him feel clumsy.

“Jan?” Devereaux kept his eye on the gun. Loflin was holding it steady and aiming at a neutral point on the freshly painted wall, midway between his head and the woman's. “Let's remember why we came here. We need to think about Ethan. To make sure he's safe. That's the best way to help your mother.”

Loflin didn't respond.

“How is Ethan?” Devereaux was trying to make eye contact. “Did you give him anything to…put him to sleep?”

“Of course I didn't.” Loflin didn't move the gun. “He's fine. I disconnected the sedative and replaced it with saline. He'll be awake pretty soon.”

“That's fantastic, Jan. But we need to be sure. We need to call the paramedics, and—”

“I already called them. An ambulance is on its way. And two squad cars.”

“So why are we still here?”

“Because I'm looking to end this properly. I'm happy to take whatever consequences come my way. But I need a promise from each of you first.”

“Don't know if I can do that, Jan. You know how this works.”

“Hear me out, at least. Then decide. I need you to understand something about my mom.”

“What about her?”

“She's crazy. Literally insane.”

“You think?”

“Hey!” Loflin's mother stiffened.

“Mother, be quiet.” Loflin's voice was calm and controlled. “Let me help you. Cooper, what I need you to understand is that however awful the things my mom did were, she honestly believed she was helping. She was wrong, but she believed she was right. And she doesn't have much time left. I don't want her to spend what little she has in jails and courthouses. I don't want her story splashed across the tabloids. I don't want her to die as some kind of sideshow freak.”

“I'm not turning a blind eye, Jan. I'm not letting her walk away.”

“I'm not asking you to. But when you're writing up what happened, I want you to remember what I said. Be balanced with the facts. Don't go for the jugular. Take the middle road. Can you do that?”

Devereaux took a moment to weigh her words.

“I'll do my best to see she gets what's fair.”

“Good enough. Thank you. Now, Mom. You heard what Detective Devereaux just said. He was reasonable, right? And all the things you told me about him? All the things you said he'd done in that dossier, which were supposed to prove how he was just like his father? To convince me to bring him here? They're not true. I've talked to him. Watched him in person. Worked with him. Is he perfect? No. Does he have flaws? Yes. Make mistakes? Sure. But his heart's in the right place. Look how he busted his ass to save little Ethan—which is the same thing you thought you were doing.”

“What's your point?”

“I want you to drop this whole Devil-in-the-blood thing. It stops here. No one else needs to die. I want your word on that.”

“OK.” The woman raised herself up onto her knees. “I give you my word. Detective?”

The woman reached out toward Devereaux as if to shake on it, then dropped her hand to his leg. She pulled the backup weapon from his ankle holster and threw herself sideways, toward the door. Loflin fired at her. A bullet smashed into the wall, to the side of Devereaux's elbow. The woman loosed off three shots in rapid succession, still scrabbling for a way out. Loflin fired again, and the woman shrieked with pain. Blood blossomed from her upper arm. She was knocked off balance. She righted herself. And loosed off two more shots.

Devereaux grabbed the woman's feet. He spun her onto her back, dived on top of her, and knocked the gun out of her hand. Eight feet away Loflin dropped her gun, too. Then she crashed to the ground. She was clutching her side. Blood was oozing out between her fingers. Devereaux scrambled forward. He picked up the Clash T-shirt from where he'd dropped it earlier and pressed it against her, trying to stem the bleeding.

“Stop her.” Loflin's voice was weak, and she struggled to raise a hand to point at the door.

The woman had disappeared.

“Keep up the pressure on that wound.” Devereaux jumped to his feet. “I'll be right back.”

The corridor was empty. Devereaux had no way of knowing which way the woman had gone. Down the stairs, to fight another day? Or to Ethan's room, to finish the job Loflin had interrupted?

Devereaux wasn't in the mood to take chances. He headed to Ethan's room. The boy was on his own, still in his Buzz Lightyear costume. He was starting to stir, and the line had become detached from his sleeve. Outside, Devereaux heard a car engine roar into life. He shook his head. Picked Ethan up. And went back to check on Loflin. Clearly she was crazy, too, but at least she'd done the right thing with the boy.

The blood was still flowing, mixing a sharp metallic tang that caught in Devereaux's throat with the harsh residue of cordite in the air. Devereaux checked Ethan's breathing then set him down on the bed, took a fresh T-shirt from the rail, and used it to add more pressure to Loflin's side.

“Where's my mom?” Her voice was barely audible.

“She got away. But don't worry. The uniforms will pick her up. And if they don't, we've got plenty of time. We'll find her. She can't get up to too much harm, right? She's hurt. She's sick. And there can't be too many kids like Ethan out there for her to
save
.”

Loflin tried to struggle into a sitting position, but Devereaux gently eased her back onto the floor.

“We've got to stop her.” Loflin's fingernails dug into Devereaux's forearm. “Right now.”

“Why? What's the rush?”

“I know where she's going.”

“Great. Tell me.”

“Not great, Cooper. Terrible. She's going after your daughter.”

Tuesday. Afternoon
.

“What are you talking about? I don't have a daughter. I don't have any kids at all.” Devereaux tried to get Loflin to lie down so that he could increase the pressure on her wound.

“But you do!” Loflin fought against him. “My mom found out about her when she was building her file on you.”

“No way. This is bullshit, Jan. Just some other line your mother spun to make me look bad. There's no way on earth I'd abandon a kid, if I had one.”

“I know you wouldn't, Cooper. Her mother kept it from you, I guess.”

“Who's her mother supposed to be?”

“I don't know her name. My mom didn't tell me, and I didn't think to ask. An old girlfriend?”

“I haven't had a girlfriend in years. How old is this kid supposed to be?”

“Seven.”

“I wasn't with anyone seven years ago.”

“And the year before, Cooper? Babies take time to grow.”

“I'd have been with Alexandra Cunningham.”

“The girl you told me about? The lawyer?”

“Right. We broke up right after Thanksgiving that year.”

Loflin waited for Devereaux to do the math.

“You think she was pregnant
when
we broke up?”

“I think you guys broke up
because
she was pregnant. You said she cut you off? No explanation? And she wouldn't even see you? I think she didn't want you to know, because she didn't want you in the baby's life.”

Devereaux let the blood-soaked T-shirt fall to the floor. His head was suddenly swimming. His whole life—ever since he was six years old—he'd dreamed of having his father back. He'd have done anything to be reunited with him. His absence had been the driving force behind everything he'd done, good and bad. It had cast a shadow over every chapter of his life. And now, to think that he had a daughter who'd been deprived of her father, not by a murderer's bullet—or a cop's bullet, as it now appeared—but by her mother's whim? Her judgment that Devereaux would be an unsuitable parent? Her decision to cut him off, as if he were dead? Devereaux was struggling to comprehend.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Devereaux forced himself to focus. He got up, fetched a clean T-shirt, and pressed it into place. “When we were talking. At the cabin.”

“I didn't know if I could trust you, back then.” Loflin winced. “My mother had convinced me you were some kind of monster. It was natural to believe the girl's mother wouldn't want you in her kid's life. And I was focused on saving Ethan. Would you have still helped me, if you'd known your daughter was at risk, too?”

“Of course I would. By stopping your mother.”

“Stopping her how?”

Devereaux didn't answer.

“Exactly. I couldn't hand my mother to you on a platter. And I didn't get the danger your daughter was in. I'd never been here, then, remember. I didn't know what my mother was doing to the kids. Not exactly.”

“You didn't know what she was doing? What did you think? She was throwing tea parties for them?”

“Maybe I didn't want to know. How did you feel, when you found out your father was a murderer? Did you welcome it? Did you rejoice?
Relive all the terrible things he'd done, in your head? At least my mom thought she was helping the kids.”

Devereaux was silent for a moment. The truth was, he actually had felt a morbid compulsion to learn about Raymond Kerr's crimes. And that was long before he'd known they were father and son.

“Did your mother say where my kid lives?” He eased the pressure on Loflin's side.

“No.” Loflin looked down to assess the bleeding. “In Birmingham somewhere, I guess. She never mentioned a specific address.”

Devereaux took another shirt from the rack and tossed it to Loflin.

“The blood loss is slowing, but you need to keep the pressure on. I'm heading back to the city. I'll call Hale on the way. And I'll tell her to send more paramedics. Can you watch Ethan till they get here?”

“Sure.”

“Good. And Jan—do you even know my kid's name?”

Loflin shook her head. “I'm so sorry, Cooper. I hope you find her before my mom does.”

The woman didn't have time to change vehicles.

She only had one more car available, and it was too far away. Not that she was guilty of poor planning. The location she'd chosen to hide it was entirely logical, in view of her overall scheme. The problem was that she'd positioned it before snatching Ethan. Before her daughter had turned traitor. Before she'd been seduced by that devil, Devereaux.

The woman could no longer trust her daughter to keep quiet. She knew about Devereaux's progeny. There was too high a likelihood she'd tell him. Devereaux himself was temporarily marooned but he had a phone, no doubt. He'd seen the Mercedes. He would undoubtedly call his people and put them on alert. They'd be looking for her. Trying to head her off before she could reach the girl. But the woman wasn't worried. Because there were two things she knew that the police didn't.

There were four spare sets of license plates in her trunk, each from a different state.

And she knew exactly where the girl was.