Last Breath (33 page)

She took a step toward the fireglow dimly visible in the window on the opposite side of the warehouse, and then there was silence, slamming down like a hammer.

The alarm had shut off.

She stopped, aware that Adam could hear her footsteps if she moved.

The glow in the window died away. The last light in the room vanished.

No sound. No light. Utter stillness.

She waited, suspended in an ocean of darkness, with only the contact between her sneakers and the floor to convince her that she was still part of physical reality.

Then Adam’s voice, echoing around her. “You can’t hide, C.J. I can hear you breathing. I can hear the pounding of your goddamned heart.”

He was trying to goad her into answering or running. Either way she would reveal her position.

But she couldn’t just stand here.

She still had to get to the window—if she could find it with no light to guide her.

She crouched, untied her sneakers, pulled them off, and tied them by the laces to a belt loop on her cargo shorts. Her socks came off next; they were slippery, and she needed traction on the smooth floor. She wadded them up, stuffed them in her pocket. Then stood.

The floor was cold against the soles of her feet. She took an experimental step, then another.

He couldn’t hear her. Couldn’t see her.

She froze. Heard something.

Footsteps. The click of hard soles on stone.

Unlike her, he hadn’t taken off his shoes.

How close was he?

Couldn’t tell. But she could judge the direction. He was on her left.

Click. Click.

Coming closer.

Did he know where she was? Could he really hear her breathing, her heartbeat, as he’d claimed?

She untied one of the sneakers from her belt. Waited, standing with shoulders hunched, eyes darting uselessly.

Another footstep. Very close.

She threw the sneaker behind her. It hit the floor with a soft thud.

Laughter. “Think I’m stupid, C.J.?”

He hadn’t been fooled. Was still coming.

Her only hope was an all-out sprint to the window.

She ran—

And there was a shock of impact, a body heavier than hers flung against her, driving her down, and Adam saying, “Game’s over, bitch.”

She landed hard on the floor with Adam on top of her. His thighs clamped on her hips as he straddled her, and crazily she thought of the first time they’d made love.

“God, I’ve wanted this,” he breathed. The same words, then and now—spoken then with passion, now in hate.

She thrashed and flailed at him, and his hand closed over her right wrist, squeezing hard. “Fuck you, C.J.”

He twisted her wrist. She jerked sideways and rammed her elbow into his face. A shout of pain, a crunch of bone, but his grip on her wrist didn’t loosen.

“Broke my nose,” he muttered. “God damn it, you broke my fucking
nose
.”

She’d ruined more than that. “Guess what, Adam? You can’t get away with it anymore.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Busted nose. Very visible. No way to hide it.” She panted out the words, her whole body shaking with raw triumph and raw fury. “How will you explain
that
to the police, asshole?”

Silence from Adam as he took this in. Then a croak of rage. “I’ll kill you.”

I sort of thought that was the idea, C.J. almost said, then felt cold metal against her cheek.

The gun drifted lower, its muzzle kissing her lips.

“Open your mouth,” Adam said.

She wouldn’t.

“Come on, C.J. You used to like it when I put it in your mouth.”

The noise that escaped him was less a laugh than a high, hysterical shudder.

“Open up. And don’t tell me how it doesn’t match the MO. You’re right. I can’t face the cops, so it doesn’t matter anymore. Come on, Officer Osborn. I want you to go out with a bang.”

She clamped her jaws. She would not yield to him in this last contest of wills.

“What’s the matter? You won’t open up for me? You won’t put out? Nothing new about that. You were always too goddamned busy. Why do you think I took up with Ashley? She knew how to have fun. I’ll bet you haven’t been fucked since you walked out on me.” He laughed again. “Well, you’re fucked now, C.J.
You’re fucked now!
”

Ringing in the darkness.

The alarm again? No, the sound was too soft.

His cell phone. That was what it was.

It seemed to take Adam a moment to remember the phone. Then he swore, and she heard a rustle of clothing as he removed it from his jacket. It rang again, but he still didn’t answer.

The gun shifted position, and now the muzzle was under her chin, in the hollow of her jaw.

“Make one sound, I blow you away,” he whispered.

Click
, and the phone’s keypad light came on, illuminating Adam’s face. She stared up at him. His eyes seemed to have sunk into deep hollows. His mouth was a ragged line.

But when he spoke into the phone, his voice was calm, almost normal. “Adam Nolan.”

He was close enough for her to hear the reply over the phone’s small speaker. “Mr. Nolan, this is Detective Walsh.”

Adam closed his eyes briefly, as if a headache was coming on. “Oh. Yes, Detective, I—I’ve been waiting for your call. How is she? Did you find her? Is she okay?”

C.J. wanted to scream. Wanted more than anything to incriminate him. But she couldn’t. She had fought so hard to live, and she still wanted to extend her life, even if for only another minute. A minute was a long time. Anything could happen in a minute. Anything.

“We’re not sure, Mr. Nolan,” Walsh was saying.

“What do you mean you’re not sure?” A good imitation of concern. It was all in his voice. His face remained blank, a mask. “Did you find her or not?”

“Oh, we’ve found her, all right. But as for her condition, I’m afraid you’ll have to fill us in on that.”

A beat of silence, Adam’s eyes shiny and faraway, and then she saw the heavy swallowing motion of his throat.

“Mr. Nolan?” Walsh asked, a tiny voice, like a buzzing insect.

“What is this,” Adam said finally, “some kind of sick joke?”

“No joke, sir. Your ex-wife is with you, in a warehouse in an unfinished business complex called, uh, Midvale Office Park, I believe. And I’m right outside—me, and some friends of mine.”

“You ...” Adam’s face had gone slack. The light in his eyes was dead. “You couldn’t ... you can’t ...”

“We did. Come out, Mr. Nolan. Come out right now.”

Hesitation, and then she saw a new coldness in his eyes, a sudden resolve. “No way.”

“Be reasonable, Mr. Nolan.”

“Fuck reasonable. You want to know C.J.’s condition? She’s alive, with a gun to her head. I’ve got a hostage—you hear that? Anyone comes in here, and she fucking dies.”

Click
, and Walsh’s voice was gone, and so was the light.

They were in darkness again, the two of them.

“You’re not getting out alive, C.J.,” Adam whispered. “That’s a promise. Till death do us part, remember?”

“You can survive this, Adam.”

“Sure I can.”

Her words and his, two voices floating in the dark.

“They’ll negotiate,” she said. “That’s why Walsh called you. They want to talk.”

“Talk me into surrendering—so I can spend the rest of my life in jail.”

“They can work something out. A deal.”

“Bullshit. He said he and his friends were outside. Tell me what that means, C.J. You’re a cop. What’s standard procedure here?”

“Standard procedure is to negotiate—”

“And if I won’t cooperate?”

“They’ll be patient. They won’t force anything.”

“Suppose
I
force something.”

“What do you mean?”

“A gunshot—that would get their attention, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“They hear a shot fired, they come in, right?”

“Yes.”

“How? Who are they?”

She swallowed. “SWAT, probably.”

She was thinking of another warehouse, another hostage situation. Harbor Division. Long Beach. Family killed in the cross fire. Mother, father, two kids, all dead. Casualties of urban war. The first civilian deaths she’d seen on the job. Now she might die the same way, killed by friendly fire.

“SWAT team’s outside?” Adam said, his voice ragged.

“I think so.”

His phone buzzed again. He ignored it. “How many cops would that be?”

“Five or seven, depending.”

“Depending on what?”

“Whether a sniper team’s attached.”

“Sniper team. Jesus. How will they get in? The window?”

“Or the doors.”

“Doors are padlocked.”

“They can breach the doors with Magnum slugs.”

“And they come in wearing body armor, helmets, all that crap?”

“All that crap. Yes.”

“Submachine guns?”

“Yes.”

“Grenades?”

“Flash-bangs. Diversion devices. Tear gas.”

“Fuck.”

The phone was still ringing. “You
have
to negotiate, Adam.”

“I don’t have to do any goddamned thing. Shut up.”

She could smell the reek of his sweat.

“So there’s no way I can outgun them,” he said finally.

It was not a question, but she answered it anyway. “No.”

“It’s surrender or die.”

“I guess it is.”

“Christ.” His voice broke, and she heard a stifled sob. “It was supposed to work out better than this.”

“Things don’t always work out the way we want.”

“You’re telling me, bitch. Our marriage is exhibit number one in that department.”

“It’s not worth dying for,” she said quietly, unsure whether she meant the marriage or its failure or the rage he carried with him.

“I don’t know.” Another sob, then a noise like laughter. “I thought it was worth killing for, didn’t I? Kill and die, two sides of the coin. Kill and die ...”

The phone stopped ringing.

“Sounds like they’re not as patient as you thought,” Adam said.

“They’ll try again. Or they’ll use a bullhorn. They won’t do anything rash.”

“No? You told me at the coffee shop that a SWAT raid can turn into a bloodbath. That’s your word, C.J.
Bloodbath
. That’s why you went in to save that kid all alone. Didn’t want a bloodbath, you said.”

“I was just ... talking.”

“Sure you were. So how about it, darling? How about a bloodbath right now?”

“Adam, no—”

She tasted metal.

The gun barrel, in her mouth.

“Suck hard, bitch. You’re good at that. I remember.”

She grabbed his arm, trying to push him away, but he only forced the gun in deeper.

“Don’t fight it. It’s over—for both of us. You go bang. Then your friends swarm in and take me out. Suicide by cop—isn’t that what it’s called? Appropriate, huh?”

She held on to his arm, waiting for the shot she would never feel.

“It’s come full circle. You wearing a uniform is what killed our marriage. Now some other uniforms get to kill me.”

She felt the muscles of his forearm tighten, knew he was applying pressure to the trigger.

“Good-bye, C.J.,” Adam whispered.

Gunshot.

Her head snapped back, thumping on the concrete floor.

Blood in her mouth. Bitter taste. Copper pennies.

He’d shot her—blown off the back of her skull—so why was she alive?

More blood. On her face, in her eyes. Blood everywhere, and the alarm again, shrieking—

Not the alarm.

Adam.

She was still holding his arm, and she felt wetness coating her hands and realized the gun was not in her mouth any longer, and not in his hand either.

His hand, which flapped limply on a stalk of pulverized bone. His hand shattered at the wrist and spurting blood.

From across the room, a booming fusillade. Parts of the walls fell away as dark figures streamed through.

Adam screaming.

Blood.

Hands on her face, her throat—“No!” she shouted, sure the hands were Adam’s. “Get off me,
get off
!”

“It’s okay, Killer.” A familiar voice in her ear. “You’re okay.”

Lights came on. The drifting beams of flashlights. Men in flak jackets toting rifles. They seized Adam and wrestled him away as his screams subsided into hiccupping sobs.

Beside her, kneeling, Rick Tanner. Touching her face.

“His blood or yours?” Tanner asked.

She read concern in his eyes as he peered down at her, lit by his own flashlight. Concern and something more. Tenderness.

“C.J.—is it his blood or yours?”

The question got through this time. “His. I think.”

The SWAT team members were bandaging Adam’s wrist, ordering him to hold still, while he whimpered in pain.

“What happened?” C.J. asked, sitting up slowly.

“I had to take the shot. Wasn’t supposed to, but he didn’t leave me any choice.”

“Talk slower. Explain.”

“We landed a chopper right outside—the alarm covered the sound of our arrival. Once we were on the ground, we killed the power to the alarm so we could negotiate. We were ready to talk all night. But when I took up my position in the alley, I heard him threatening you. Got to the window in time to see him put the gun in your mouth.”

“Saw him how? It’s pitch-dark.”

He pulled down goggles, covering his eyes. “Night vision. Swiped it out of the SWAT squad’s gear when we deplaned.”

She saw herself reflected in the lenses. “It looks good on you. Better than those sunglasses of yours.”

He raised the goggles. “Shades are more my style. Anyway, I didn’t want to risk the shot from that distance, so I came inside and got close.”

“Contrary to procedure ...”

“Yeah, well, I got news for you, Killer. You’re not the only one who can climb through a window in a hostage-barricade situation to face a crazy man with a gun.”

She had to smile. “Never said I was.”

“Anyhow, I was only five feet away when I unloaded. Blew the gun out of his hand. Was afraid if I went for a head shot, he might squeeze the trigger in a death spasm.”