Final Sins (28 page)

Tess didn’t like it. The way Hauser was playing this thing made no sense.

Either Hauser was mishandling the arrest out of sheer overconfidence, or ...

Or what?

She didn’t know. But on the phone Abby had called Brody a rogue agent. Was it possible?

And if there was one rogue agent—could there be two?

She shook her head. Hauser was a veteran of the Bureau. He wouldn’t be involved in anything dirty.

Even so, she found herself slipping out from behind the trash bin and advancing slowly up the alley toward the gas station’s rear lot.

She would stay low, in the shadows, and use what concealment was offered by the overgrown oleander bushes along the fence.

Abby’s voice carried to her from a distance. “I just think we both need closure.”

“I already have closure,” Wyatt said. “I ended it, remember? I ended
us
.”

Apparently he had already broken things off with Abby. Tess hadn’t anticipated that. Somehow it made the whole situation more painful, more tragic and confused.

“Nothing’s ever final between us, Vic.”

“This time it is. Come on, you know it.”

“I guess I do. I just don’t want to admit it. Even if you hadn’t made your decision, I’d still be leaving town. And I won’t be coming back.”

“Why did you do it? Why’d you kill that man?”

“I had no choice. It was him or me.”

“Then why do you have to run?”

“Because no one will believe me. There was one person who I thought might listen to my side of the story. But it didn’t work out.”

Tess winced. She suddenly understood how much Abby had lost—her home, her career, her lover. And the one person she’d turned to, her last resort, had refused to hear her out.

She crept nearer. Hauser still hadn’t executed the takedown. What was he waiting for?

* * *

Sinclair was close enough now, but Wyatt was standing in front of her, blocking Hauser’s shot. If the cop would just move out of the way ...

“Just because one person wouldn’t listen,” Wyatt was saying, “doesn’t mean nobody will.”

“You don’t understand, Vic.”

“So explain it to me.”

“There’s no time. And it doesn’t matter. Remember last night? What I needed from you then?”

“You needed me to hold you.”

“I still do.”

They embraced.

Hauser gritted his teeth. No good going for a kill shot now. The two of them had to be apart in order to afford him a clear shot at Sinclair.

After a long moment they separated, but Wyatt, damn him, was still in the way.

“Abby,” Wyatt said, “I hope you can forgive me.”

Forgive him for what? Hauser had the bad feeling that the cop was going to say too much.

“There’s nothing I have to forgive you for.”

“Yes, there is. You shouldn’t be here.”

Hell. He was about to blow the whole thing. Hauser had to fire, but he still didn’t have a decent shot.

And then Wyatt turned aside from Sinclair, and there she was, totally exposed.

Hauser propelled himself out of hiding, the Beretta leading him, his voice booming in the stillness.

“FBI, you’re under arrest!”

His index finger drawing down on the trigger even as he spoke, the gun sighted on Sinclair’s chest, Sinclair reacting but too late, Wyatt spinning toward him, his eyes on the gun—

Hauser fired. The pistol bucked in his hand, a spasm of recoil vibrating through his forearm, the crack of the gunshot deafening him, and in the same instant he saw a bright bloom of blood.

Direct hit. A body falling.

But not Sinclair.

Wyatt.

* * *

Tess had seen it all.

She had drawn close enough to the fence at the rear of the lot to see all three of them—Hauser, Abby, and Wyatt.

Now she knew why Hauser had delayed action. He’d wanted a clear shot at Abby—and he’d taken it. A single shot, discharged a split second after he’d shouted his announcement. Discharged before Abby could possibly have reacted, before she could surrender, flee, or fight.

Hauser hadn’t wanted her to surrender. He’d wanted her dead.

Tess charged into the lot, where Wyatt lay on his side, Abby kneeling by him, Hauser with gun in hand. For just a moment Hauser straightened his right arm as if preparing to shoot again. Then he saw Tess, armed, her SIG Sauer aimed in his direction.

“Drop the gun, Ron,” she said.

Something like panic flickered across his face. He hadn’t expected her to be so close.

“You left your position,” he said. “That’s a direct violation of my orders.”

“I don’t give a shit about your orders. Drop the gun.”

“You can’t be serious.”

She steadied her pistol. “Try me.”

Slowly his hand opened, and the Beretta fell to the asphalt.

Abby had turned Wyatt on his back and was straddling him, performing CPR. She seemed oblivious to Hauser and Tess, to any possible danger. She had torn open Wyatt’s shirt and now had her hand over the wound, applying steady pressure. Her hair had swung over her face, and Tess couldn’t read her expression.

She pressed her radio’s talk button, telling both teams to report to the rendezvous site, but only after they had called a rescue ambulance. “We have a man down,
GSW
to the chest,”

Abby was still sealing Wyatt’s wound with her hand. Her face remained invisible.

The sky to the west was darker now, the sunset fading to the color of old blood.

Tess stared at Hauser. “I saw it, Ron. I saw it all.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re—”

“Save it. You gave her no chance to submit to arrest. It was a hit, plain and simple. No more complicated than a gangland drive-by.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“You aimed right at her chest. You were going for the kill. Would’ve worked—if Wyatt hadn’t stepped into the line of fire and caught the round himself.”

“She was reaching for her weapon,” Hauser said. “In her purse.”

“She didn’t reach for anything, Ron. You didn’t give her time to reach.”

A Bureau car pulled up in the alley, braking at the rear entrance to the lot. Two agents Tess didn’t know got out.

“What the hell happened here?” one of them asked. His partner, with a first-aid kit in hand, knelt by Abby. Without speaking, she placed his hand on the wound to maintain pressure, then opened the kit and took out a large square bandage.

Tess didn’t try to explain. “We have a situation. I’m going to have to ask you to take Agent Hauser into custody.”

Abby applied the bandage to Wyatt’s chest, leaving the bottom of the square unsealed to create a flutter valve.

“She’s crazy,” Hauser said. “Loyalty to Sinclair has warped her judgment.”

“I’m not the one whose judgment is warped.” But Tess knew there was no reason for Hauser’s guys to take her word over his.

She was debating how to handle it when a second
Bucar
pulled into the rear lot. Another two men she didn’t know. Hauser’s men.

And in the middle of the scene, in the enveloping dark, Abby leaned over Wyatt, checking his respiration, taking his pulse, never looking up.

“Agent McCallum”—that was the man whose partner had supplied first aid—“maybe it would be better if you holstered your weapon.”

She made no move to comply. Her gun was still trained on Hauser.

“Let me tell you what just went down,” she said, keeping her voice unnaturally calm, aware that any sign of emotion would only weaken her case.

The agent kneeling by Abby interrupted. “Someone get us a blanket.” Like Abby, he was oblivious to the confrontation in progress.

One of the new arrivals retrieved a blanket from the car and draped it over Wyatt, leaving his face uncovered. When he stepped back, Tess tried again.

“Agent Hauser wasn’t interested in taking Abby Sinclair alive. He was trying to kill her. Instead he shot Lieutenant Wyatt, an off-duty officer of the LAPD who was assisting in the arrest.”

“It was an accident,” Hauser said. Tess was pleased to note the thin leading edge of hysteria in his voice. “Sinclair was reaching for her weapon. I had to fire in self-defense. Wyatt just got in the way.”

“Lieutenant Wyatt”—Tess stressed his rank—“deliberately intercepted the bullet meant for Abby Sinclair. Look at her. Is there a gun in her hand? Is there a gun anywhere in evidence?”

“It’s in her purse,” Hauser said. “She carries a Smith thirty-eight.”

“But she hadn’t drawn it. I’ll bet you’ll find the purse hasn’t even been opened.”

The purse lay discarded on the ground. The man who’d produced the blanket picked it up.

“Still clasped,” he said quietly.

“I had no way of knowing that.” Hauser was trying to sound reasonable, but he couldn’t quite pull it off. “I acted in my own defense.”

“No, he didn’t. Think about it. Why did he draw up the arrest scenario the way he did? Why did he position you guys so far from the scene? Did he tell you that he and I were going to take down Sinclair together?”

The man holding Abby’s purse nodded.

“That’s not how he arranged it with me. He positioned me down the alley, where I wouldn’t have a clear view of the action. He claimed he was going to conduct the arrest by himself. Why would he do that?”

“It’s a fair question,” the other new arrival said slowly. His eyes were moving from Hauser to Wyatt and back again.

Abby must have heard something worrisome in Wyatt’s breathing. She began to provide assisted ventilation, like a lifeguard trying to revive a drowning victim. In, out. In, out.

“You’re letting her manipulate you, for Christ’s sake.” Hauser was shaking. “She doesn’t even work out of L.A. She has no business here.”

“Agent McCallum has been to L.A. before,” the fourth man said. “She’s got a pretty good rep in this town.”

“Rep?” Hauser made a sound like laughter. “I’ll tell you about her rep. On her last two cases she was in league with Sinclair. They worked together. An SAC and a goddamn vigilante. A vigilante who killed Mark Brody in cold blood.”

The two agents who had helped Abby began to move away from Wyatt, approaching Hauser—whether to back him up or to make a move on him, Tess didn’t know.

“We worked together,” Tess acknowledged without raising her voice. “And when it looked like she’d gone bad, I helped bring her in. But I didn’t think I was setting her up to be killed.”

“This is ridiculous.” Hauser stooped, reaching for his firearm on the asphalt. “I’m through with this crap—”

“Sir.” It was the man who’d checked Abby’s purse. The note of command in his tone stopped Hauser cold. “Leave your weapon where it is, please.”

Hauser stared at him, then at the others. Slowly he straightened up, leaving the gun untouched.

“I’m disappointed,” he said. “In all of you.”

No one answered.

In the distance a siren wailed, growing louder. The ambulance.

And Abby, kneeling alone on the ground, continued to breathe for Wyatt. In. Out. In. Out.