Part 20 (1/2)

She returned the phone to her pocket, then lay back on the bed-and rolled and grabbed the gla.s.s of water just as it started to spill. Fast as a cat. But sleep was never enough to keep her from feeling worn down.

Rebecca Rose was afraid of one thing-afraid that she wanted out. She had nine more years before she hit the GS-1811 wall, but still...

'This b.a.s.t.a.r.d is the last one,' she promised herself, and closed her eyes.

It seemed seconds later, she choked and looked up to see a man with dirty blond hair leaning over the bed. He had one hand on her throat and in the other he held a Leatherman with the blade out and locked.

'My daddy's dead,' he growled.

A ribbon of spit fell into her eye.

Thump.

William opened one eye and stared at the bed cover. He had not pulled it back-he was still dressed-and for a moment he wondered where he was and why.

He looked at the clock on the nightstand but that was no good-it had been off by four hours when he came in. It said ten o'clock. He guessed he had slept soundly for about two hours. So it was now about six. Time to think about finding some food and getting back to work. There was a Panda Express across the street from the motel. Something with noodles would taste good.

He washed his face in the bathroom.

Thump.

Rose was up and making noise. But it wasn't her style to make sounds loud enough to come through the walls. He glanced at the Lynx display. She was still on his team grid. Rebecca habitually kept her mike off but she had not switched to privacy mode, something older agents frequently forgot.

He lowered his arm with some embarra.s.sment. Like looking in on a lady in her boudoir-he could get a sense of what she was doing by her vital signs.

He quickly wiped his face with a hand towel and pulled aside the curtain a few inches. A thin brown-haired girl in a pioneer dress-something in gingham, anyway, with blue checks and a kind of ap.r.o.n, real Little House on the Prairie-walked past. He heard the door to the right, Rebecca's door, open and close.

Rebecca had visitors.

He wondered why she hadn't told him.

's.h.i.+t,' he said. Typical new agent, jumping at boo-squat.

But Rebecca was quiet as a cat. He did not remember ever hearing her move or even take a step. She wore rubber soles.

And the pioneer girl was completely out of fas.h.i.+on in this part of the state. Real Bo-Peep. This time, his curiosity about Rebecca's vital signs was purely professional. If she's got Mary and her lamb coming up to the room, wouldn't I need to know that about a partner? If she's got Mary and her lamb coming up to the room, wouldn't I need to know that about a partner?

He lifted his watch again and punched the display through her stats. Sure enough, her stress numbers were up...way beyond the levels of s.e.xual stimulus. As well, her skin conductivity had altered and the sniffer in Rebecca's unit was picking up a distinct pong of stress and fear.

If she's a Lesbian, she doesn't want to be.

He unbolted the door, let the chain and latch down gently. On the grit-surfaced floor just outside Rebecca's door lay a piece of bra.s.s-plated chain. The end of the chain had been clipped with a bolt cutter.

William took a step. The next door beyond Rebecca's room was open. He looked left. At the end of the walkway stood a service cart hung with a laundry bag and stacked with fresh sheets and rolls of toilet paper, buckets filled with little bottles of soap and shampoo, and folded white towels.

He turned to face the rail looking out over the parking lot. In front of the motel, a plump woman in a brown maid's uniform ran across the street as fast as her stocky legs could carry her.

Getting the h.e.l.l out.

Now was the time to jump to conclusions. Someone had taken the maid's pa.s.s key and deadbolt s.h.i.+m. They had brought their own bolt cutters for the chain.

This was real.

Gingham=pioneer spirit.

Christ, it's them. They found us.

William shut his door to a crack. Before his conscious mind could catch up, he had his slate in hand and had punched the b.u.t.ton for agent a.s.sistance. Then he took his SIG from under the pillow. It vibrated in recognition of his keycode.

The automated Bureau phone voice came back; his location was pinpointed and local police or other agents would be there as soon as possible. 'If you are able, leave your message.'

'One agent hostage, one active, this location. Request any and all backup.' He closed the unit and slung it on his belt. From here on, the slate would track his movements and relay whatever he was hearing to the Seattle first response center.

He put his ear to the wall. Through the plaster, just barely, he caught: 'Strip her. She's wired.' 'Strip her. She's wired.'

Male, angry and not too old.

Then, 'How do you know she's a fed?' 'How do you know she's a fed?' A young woman or teenager. Paper crackled. A young woman or teenager. Paper crackled.

William's Lynx made a little wheep. Rebecca was now off his team grid.

'Check her purse.'

'I don't see a purse.'

'Then check her jacket!'

William opened the door again and flattened himself against the wall to the right. He knew better than to announce himself. They would cut or shoot her and then try to shoot him. If they had gone this far, they weren't too concerned about their own lives.

They had been followed from the farm, perhaps from the town. Do they even know I'm here? Do they even know I'm here?

From next door he heard a m.u.f.fled grunt. Then the male's voice, louder: 'He went to get pizza, right? You kill my daddy and then you run off to eat pizza and fornicate, right?' 'He went to get pizza, right? You kill my daddy and then you run off to eat pizza and fornicate, right?'

The girl's voice: 'Keep it down, Jeremiah.'

'Get her badge! I want to make her eat it!'

They had opened the door to the wrong room first and found it empty. Then they had broken into Rebecca's room.

William sucked in a deep breath, letting it go with a quick and nearly silent ohhmmmmmm. ohhmmmmmm. He had learned that from a homicide detective. He had learned that from a homicide detective.

'I'm going to slice you open like a squealing pig. We're going to watch while you bleed to death.'

If he kicked at the door and went in now they'd kill her instantly. Backup would not arrive in time. He had just a few minutes, if that, while they toyed with her.

William looked at the maid's cart.

The young man with dirty blond hair and the finest little blue eyes-the girl had called him Jeremiah-tossed Rebecca's gun aside once he saw it would not fire for him. The girl kicked it under the television cabinet.

Rebecca sat hunched over on the side of the bed, her folded hands between her legs. They had ripped the b.u.t.tons on her blouse and pulled it down from her shoulders, restricting her arm movements and pulling away her Lynx sensors. She had not been free to hit her panic b.u.t.ton before it was on the floor. Her coat and creds were in the closet. She had removed her belt and packs before lying down and they were on the bathroom counter. The young man and the girl had not yet gone into the bathroom.