City of Echoes (24 page)

Matt was twenty feet away, standing in the gloom and using every ounce of his being to breathe silently and remain invisible. They seemed so relaxed that he guessed no one could have imagined his stupidity in showing up at one of the most likely places in his address book.

They were three or four years younger than him, strong and in good shape. The one on the right was wearing a gold wedding band.

Matt watched and listened. He’d parked two blocks away and entered the property through the neighbor’s backyard, then climbed the steps up from the pool. He knew that he had lost a considerable amount of blood. He also knew that if he died tonight, he would die a murderer, and all of the lies and killings Grace, Orlando, and Plank had committed would stand forever.

Matt raised his gun, the muzzle poking through the shadows and breaking into the light. Both cops looked his way and froze. Matt knew that they still couldn’t see him. Just the muzzle. Just the nose of his .45.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said in a low voice. “But I think you should know that I’m wounded and I’ll do anything it takes to defend myself. Anything it takes to survive. And I mean
anything
.”

He stepped out of the darkness and stood before them. He could see fear washing over their faces as they looked him over. He could almost read their minds—wounded animals are unpredictable and dangerous. With great care they lowered their coffee cups to the ground and raised their hands in the air. The one with the wedding band was shaking.

“Take it easy, Jones,” he said. “Backup’s on the way. You don’t stand a chance.”

Matt took another step closer. “Turn around and lean against the garage.”

A moment passed, brief but poignant. Then he watched them turn their backs and lean forward at a forty-five-degree angle. They knew the drill. Matt moved in behind them, trying to remain focused and make sure that his search was thorough. He took their pistols, two 9 mm Berettas, and stuffed them inside his belt. He pulled their handcuffs and then their keys to the black Chevy Suburban in the drive. When he was through, he stepped back and tossed a pair of handcuffs at the cop wearing the wedding band.

“Cuff your partner,” he said.

The cop seemed reluctant and hesitated.

Matt shook his head slowly and waved the .45 at him. “It’s not worth it, man. It’s not even close to being worth it. Cuff him, or you’re gonna die.”

His partner shot him a nervous look and turned with his hands already behind his back. Once he was cuffed, Matt tossed the second set over.

“Now cuff your left wrist and stick your arm through his.”

The cop shook his head and muttered something but did as he was told. Then Matt stepped closer, cuffing his right wrist so that their arms were interlocked behind their backs. After they settled down, he pushed them over to the Suburban and opened the back door.

“Get in,” he said.

It was awkward, but both men managed to climb into the backseat. Matt could see the one with the wedding band staring at the pair of Berettas stuffed inside his belt.

“You’re a dirty cop, Jones.”

“Yeah,” Matt said. “Dirty as the day is long.”

He slammed the door shut and walked around the garage to the kitchen. He could see Laura through the windows. She was sitting at the table with a cup of coffee, her eyes glued to a live news broadcast on television. The city was in lockdown, the manhunt underway.

Matt pushed the door open and walked in.

CHAPTER 46

Her face lost its color. He could see her rising from the chair. He could see her rushing toward him and guiding his body to the floor as his legs gave way and he collapsed.

He kept his eyes on her.

He could feel everything beginning to fade, everything beginning to darken, like the world was hooked up to a dimmer switch. He hoped that he wasn’t closing in on the end. He hoped that all he needed was some rest, a minute or two to gather his strength.

“I can’t stop the bleeding,” he whispered.

She said something, but it wasn’t cutting through. She got to her feet and ripped open a cabinet. Inside he could see a first aid kit set beside that pregnancy test kit he’d noticed the other night. He tried to think about her being pregnant, but his mind had lost its focus and couldn’t stand still for very long. She tossed the kit on the floor, grabbed an ice pack out of the freezer, then rinsed a pair of clean kitchen towels under hot tap water. When she returned, he looked into her eyes, eyes the color of dusk and rain, and felt a sense of relief.

She looked so gentle. So feminine.

He watched her wipe his bare chest down. He watched her wrap the ice pack in a clean towel and press it over the wound. After a while he began to relax some and became aware of her body. Her leg on top of his leg. Her bare shoulders. Her breath on his face.

“Hold this,” she said.

He heard it. At least he thought he did.

She placed his hand on the ice pack and got back to her feet. He couldn’t imagine what she was doing. And if he died, he wanted to die with that feeling that her body was touching his body. That her face was the last thing he might see.

He didn’t want to die over here by the door. He didn’t want to be alone.

He heard the microwave start up and turned. After a minute or so, she pulled out a tall glass of tea and added ten to twelve teaspoons of sugar, along with some ice. Then she was back, wrapping her arm around his head and supporting him.

“Drink it,” she said. “It’s not hot. Just drink it, fast as you can.”

He couldn’t taste anything but the sugar. And Laura smiled at him when he finished the glass. Then she lifted the ice pack away and covered the wound with gauze. When his blood continued to wick through the pad, she added another and pushed down with her hand.

Her leg was on top of his again, and he could feel her breasts resting on his stomach. He looked down at her top. It was parted and he could see her bra and cleavage. When he looked up, he found her gazing back at him. His eyes drifted down to her lips and chin and then back up to her cheeks and dirty blond hair. He could smell her skin. The soap she bathed with, the shampoo in her hair. He could smell her being.

He met her eyes again and saw the laughter in them, the kindness. He took in a deep, slow whiff, holding her in his lungs and savoring the variety of different fragrances as they passed through his nose.

So clean. So pleasant.

She moved her head closer and looked into his eyes. It was a different kind of look this time. A new look. He could feel the electricity beginning to arc through his body again. His heart pounding in his chest. And then she moved even closer, until something unexpected happened.

She kissed him.

Deep and slow, her tongue in his mouth. She kissed him. It only lasted for ten or fifteen seconds. Only a short time passed before she lifted her head up and gazed into his eyes with that smile of hers.

“How do you feel?” she whispered.

“Better.”

“We need to get you to a doctor. The bleeding’s not gonna stop.”

“We can’t go to a hospital.”

“I know,” she said.

“Dr. Baylor.”

“Who’s he?”

“Someone I’m working with. He lives close by. Five, ten minutes.”

“Can we trust him?”

Matt thought it over. He wasn’t sure.

“He’s all we’ve got,” he said.

She nodded and helped him to his feet. He felt okay. Actually, he felt better than okay. His balance was back. His mind had cleared some. He watched Laura grab the keys to her SUV and followed her out the door. But just a few steps later he heard a car pulling up to the house.

Matt waved Laura back, easing through the side yard and peeking around the garage. A man was getting out of a dark gray sedan. When he turned, Matt spotted the shotgun and got a look at his face.

It was Edward Plank, and he was alone.

They must have been covering their bases. They must have split up. Grace’s interest wasn’t in making an arrest, he kept reminding himself. It was all about making another hit in an almost endless line of hits. All about keeping their secret and filling up the graveyard.

Matt exchanged his .45 for the pair of Berettas, racking the slides back on both semiautomatics. He could see the two cops from the protection detail following Plank’s progress up the street and onto the lawn before the garage. Once he was within earshot, both of them started shouting. Plank looked up, spotted Matt on the corner, and fired two heavy blasts with the shotgun. The shells blew a hole through the garage door and took out the lamppost.

But that didn’t mean that Plank was invisible.

The man was out in the open, and tonight wasn’t going to be his night.

Matt fired both Berettas. The first two rounds punched through Plank’s chest and knocked him on his back. As he squirmed on the grass, panic-stricken and struggling to reach his shotgun, Matt kept pressing forward with both guns exploding. Plank tried to block the shots with his arms and hands but lost the battle, his body bouncing off the lawn from the barrage. Matt gritted his teeth, still shooting and showing no mercy. One round after the next until he was standing directly over Plank’s corpse and firing into the dead man’s body. One round after the next for what Plank had done to Hughes and Lane, and how about Ron Harris and everybody else? One round after the next until both 9 mm pistols were empty and the sounds of gunfire finally dissipated into the night.

Matt waited for the echoes to fade, clouds of spent gunpowder hanging in the air around his head and seeping into his lungs through his flared nostrils. When the quiet returned he realized that the two cops from Metro had stopped calling for help. He tossed their pistols on the lawn and looked at Plank’s corpse. His face was blown away. The sneer was gone and he no longer had any skin issues. He wondered if Plank had a wife and children, but only briefly.

He didn’t really care.

Plank’s karma had caught up to him tonight. Yin met yang and the big wheel turned.

CHAPTER 47

Matt watched Laura exit off the freeway.

If he died tonight, he’d die a murderer. A cop killer. There were two eyewitnesses handcuffed to each other and locked up in a black Chevy Suburban outside Laura’s house. Two eyewitnesses who had seen everything but, like most eyewitnesses, understood nothing, in spite of their seats in the front row. If he died tonight, he would be remembered as a lowlife. A traitor to the cause.

All Matt knew was that the exertion had cost him.

Laura stopped at the light and hit the left-turn signal. Matt was leaning against the seat and door and thinking about being kissed by his best friend’s wife. He was looking at her body and trying to replay the kiss in his head, but the image kept fading in and out, until all he could see was Plank’s bullet-riddled corpse laid out in the grass.

He turned and glanced out the passenger window as a silver Nissan pulled up beside them and hesitated before making a right turn. The driver had been looking at him, staring at him. For reasons Matt couldn’t fathom, both the car and the driver had a certain significance about them. A certain weight.

Was it something he couldn’t remember? Did he know the man?

He wasn’t sure, and it worried him.

“We’re almost there,” Laura said.

She made the turn onto Toluca Lake Avenue. Matt pointed at the doctor’s house as he looked up and down the street. Grace and Orlando must have gone out to his place on the Westside. But the idea provided little comfort. Matt knew that it was only a matter of time before they figured out what was going on and doubled back.

“Park in front of the neighbor’s house,” he said. “It might buy us a little time.”

She pulled over to the curb, then ran around the SUV and helped him step down onto the sidewalk. They didn’t have to wait very long at the gate. Baylor heard his voice over the intercom and hit the buzzer. Within seconds the doctor was rushing down the walkway and helping Laura guide Matt into the house.

“It’s the bleeding,” she said. “It won’t stop.”

Baylor introduced himself as he shut the door. “This way, please,” he said. “Let’s get him downstairs.”

They passed the den and made it down the steps through a hallway, until they reached a long, narrow room in the back of the house. There was a large worktable here with a stainless steel top and gutter rails on both sides that fed into drains. Against the wall a wooden counter with cabinets and drawers ran the entire length of the room. Through the French doors at the very end, Matt could see the terrace and backyard, the lights from the country club on the other side of the lake shimmering off the smooth water.

The doctor helped him onto the table, pulling away the gauze pads and examining the wound. Matt felt the ice-cold steel beneath his body and stared at the glass ceiling overhead, wondering if he’d died and this was his autopsy. After a while he lowered his gaze and noticed all the plants—orchids mostly—in full bloom. It occurred to him finally that he was laid out on a worktable in Baylor’s greenhouse. It occurred to him that Baylor hadn’t asked a single question, seemed to have some idea of what had happened tonight, and was willing to help.

Matt looked him over. His brown, spiked hair bleached out from the sun. His tanned skin and meticulous grooming. The cobalt-blue eyes and chiseled face. The shallow lines etched into his forehead. The energy radiating from the man’s being.

“How much time has passed since you were shot?” Baylor said in a gentle but excited voice.

Matt didn’t know and shrugged. “An hour. Maybe a little more.”

Baylor nodded, hurrying into the hallway and opening a closet door that appeared to be filled with medical supplies, canned food, bottled water, and anything else he might need to survive the next earthquake. He was scanning through the shelves and tossing things into a canvas tote bag. When he returned, Matt watched him give Laura a measured look.

“That bullet has to come out,” he said to her. “I could use your help if you’re willing. If you don’t think you can handle it, that’s okay, too.”

She stepped closer, her top stained with Matt’s blood. “Anything,” she said. “I’ll do anything to help.”