Part 56 (1/2)
”Right.”
I threw myself into the seat back and folded my arms. Unfolded them and started gnawing the cuticle.
”The Merc and the Porsche belong to locals,” Ryan said, never taking his eyes from number thirteen.
I didn't bother to comment.
Seconds dragged by. Minutes. Eons.
The Impala seemed suddenly oppressive. I lowered my window. Sickly warm air floated in, bringing the smell of mud and mown gra.s.s. The cawing of gulls.
I jumped when Ryan's cell warbled in his hand.
Ryan listened. Thanked the caller. Disconnected.
”Harry rented the Accord on Monday morning.”
My eyes flew down the block. The car was empty. The park was empty.
”I'll call her.” I reached for my purse.
Ryan shot a restraining hand to my arm. ”No.”
”Why not?”
Ryan just looked at me. Like mine, his eyes were full of fatigue.
My mind did a frightening connect. If Harry was on Malo's property or in his house, a ringing phone might compromise her safety.
”Jesus, Ryan, you really think she's gone inside?” Been taken inside? I couldn't say it.
”I don't know.”
I knew.
”We need to get her out.”
”Not yet.”
”What?” Sharp. ”We just sit here?”
”For a while, yes. If I I go in, go in, I I will do so with backup. Note the pointed use of the first-person singular.” will do so with backup. Note the pointed use of the first-person singular.”
The sun was low, bouncing off windows and car hoods, bronzing the river, the park, and the street. Sliding on shades, Ryan draped both arms on the wheel and resumed staring down Rustique.
Planetary movement ground to a stop. Occasionally Ryan glanced at his watch. I checked mine. Each time less than a minute had pa.s.sed.
I switched from working the cuticle to picking at threads in the armrest. Switched back. Despite the heat my fingers felt icy.
We'd been watching ten minutes when a Camaro came hard up Cherrier and turned onto Rustique, running so fast its tires squealed softly. The driver was a murky silhouette behind tinted gla.s.s.
A silhouette I recognized.
”It's Bastarache!”
We watched Bastarache angle to the curb outside number thirteen, jump out, and throw open the Camaro's trunk. Extracting a bolt cutter, he strode to the fence, positioned the blades, and snapped the handles. After boot-kicking the gate, he disappeared from sight.
The first shots sounded like firecrackers, the pops coming so fast they seemed connected. In the park, a cyclone of gulls rose and swooped over the river.
”s.h.i.+t!”
Ryan activated and keyed the radio. A dispatcher came on. Identifying himself, Ryan gave our location and requested backup.
”Listen to me, Tempe.” Ryan was unholstering the Glock as he spoke. ”I am deadly serious. You are to get on the floor and stay put.”
Silently, I slid from the seat, keeping my eyes above the dash for a view of the street.
”Do not leave this car.”
Using the houses for cover, Ryan worked his way down Rustique, Glock pointed downward at his side. Back to the chain linking, he crept to Malo's gate, peered in, then vanished.
I crouched on the floor of the Impala, terrified, palms slick with sweat. It seemed hours. In actuality, it was less than five minutes.
I was trying to stretch my cramped legs, when my cell phone chirped. I groped it from my purse.
”Where are you?” Harry was using her whisper-shout voice.
”Where are you you?”
”I'm in a park near Malo's house. Feeding the seagulls.”
”Jesus Christ, Harry. What were you thinking?” My comment failed to reflect the relief I was feeling.
”I may have heard shots.”
”Listen to me.” I employed the same tone Ryan had just used with me. ”I'm at the corner of Cherrier and Rustique. Ryan has gone onto Malo's property. Backup is en route. I want you to get as far from that house as possible without leaving the park. Can you do that?”
”I see a monument to some dead guy. I can hunker behind that.”
”Do it.”
By hoisting my b.u.t.t up onto the seat, I was able to see a pink-clad figure scuttle from left to right at the river's edge.
I was returning to my crouch when two m.u.f.fled shots rang out.
My heart stopped.
I listened.
Impossible stillness.