Cody McFadyen: Shadow Man

He reaches up, takes my hands. He holds them for a moment. God, he has big, hard hands. Even so, his touch is soft. "Be faster, Smoky."

His voice cracks.

He drops my hands and steps away. Pulls out his gun, checks the clip, and starts moving toward the car.

"Let's go," he says.

Bending, not breaking.

But we break? the dragon asks. We crunch his bones?

It's a rhetorical question; I don't reply.

I dial Tommy on the way over.

"You still following me?" I ask.

"Yeah."

"Things have changed." I bring him up to date.

"What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to go to his address and wait. If you see him come out by himself, that means he got past us."

"And?"

"And if that happens, I want you to take him out."

A long pause. Then he replies, in his usual way. "You got it."

"Thanks, Tommy."

"Hey, Smoky. Don't get shot." He pauses. "I still want to see if it's going to go anywhere." He hangs up. We pull into the driveway. Everything looks normal. Nice and quiet, the picture of suburbia. As I turn off the car, my cell phone rings.

"Barrett."

"You got here ahead of time, Smoky. I'm so proud! Now, let me inform you of how this is going to work. You're going to come in through the front door. Your friends are going to stay outside. If anything other than just those two things happen, I will kill Elaina and young Bonnie. Clear?"

"Clear."

"Well, enter, then, enter!"

The signal ends. I pull out my gun, checking it once, letting it find a place in my hand. Dark, sleek, black steel bird of death. I can almost feel it hum.

"I go in, you stay out. Those are his rules."

"I don't want to hear that shit," Alan says. Desperation gives his voice an edge.

I look at him. Really look at him. "I'm going to take care of it, Alan."

I let him see the dragon, hear her. I hold up my gun. "I won't miss."

He looks at the gun. Licks his lips. His face is both grim and helpless, a war in futility, a rage of fear. But he swallows and nods. I glance at James. He nods as well.

What else is there to say? I turn away from them, gun hand at my side, and walk up the path to Hillstead's front door. I put a hand on the knob and turn it. My heart is pounding in my chest, my blood is shooting through my veins. I am both afraid and exhilarated. I enter his home, shutting the door behind me.

"Come on upstairs, Smoky dear," I hear Hillstead say. His voice is coming from the second floor.

I move up the stairs slowly. My neck is sweating. I get to the top.

"In here, Agent Barrett."

I move into the bedroom, gun raised. What I see does what it is calculated to do: It freezes me with fear. Elaina is tied to the bed. She is naked, hands and feet bound. Bile rises in my throat as I see he has already cut on her. He has carved a game of tic-tac-toe into the skin of her stomach. He has slashed a line above her breasts. I look into her eyes and I'm relieved by what I see there. She's terrified, but she's still defiant. This means Hillstead hasn't gotten down to it yet. He hasn't broken her.

Peter sits at the foot of the bed, in a padded chair. Bonnie is on his lap. He's holding a knife at her jugular. She, too, is defiant, but her eyes contain something additional that Elaina's do not: hate. If she could kill this man who murdered her mother, she would.

"Deja vu, is it not, Agent Barrett? You'll notice I haven't touched Elaina's face yet." He chuckles. "I thought I'd incorporate various elements of your own pain and psychosis here. We have the destruction of something lovely, a recurring area of difficulty you seem to have. We have the scarring and disfigurement. And finally, perhaps best of all, we have your daughter Alexa, the human shield."

I bring up my gun, but he moves Bonnie's head to block his own. The knife tip presses harder and a dot of blood appears at her throat.

"Now, let's not be hasty," he says. "I have a chair for you too. Sit down. Take a load off, as they say." His face reappears, and he smiles. "It will be just like old times."

Crunch his bones! the dragon snarls.

Hush, I tell her. I need to concentrate.

I look around, see the chair he's indicated. It's facing him, of course. As he said, just like old times. I go over and sit down.

"Planning to analyze me some more, Peter?" I ask.

He laughs and shakes his head. "We're past that now, both of us. I have no more opinions to give you about yourself."

"So what do you want, then?"

His eyes twinkle. It's a hideous sight, in the context of the moment.

"I want to talk to you, Smoky. And then I want to see what happens."

I look at his knees. I could shoot them out, in the space of a single blink. Gun up, bam-bam, finish it with a shot to the head. Just breathe in and exhale, three squeezes, bye-bye, Peter.

I start the motion, even as I'm thinking it. The gun barrel rises, and I know that it's lined up right, know it in a visceral place. I know on a lessthan-conscious level how many pounds of pressure will be required to pull the trigger. I know how many inches I'll have to move the barrel after the first shot in order to shoot out the other knee. This is all non- thought, unconscious advanced calculus.

Except that it's not.

Because the hand that grips the gun . . . trembles. And then it doesn't just tremble--it shakes . I close my eyes and lower my hand. Peter laughs out loud.

"Smoky! Perhaps I spoke too soon! Perhaps we have therapy to do yet."

I feel panic coming. It's riding in, slow, like a dark wave on some night beach. I glance at Bonnie's face and am startled to see that she is looking right at me. Her eyes are filled with trust. I blink, and her face blurs. Blink again. She becomes Alexa. Angry eyes. No trust there.

Alexa knows better, after all.

My ears are filled with a faint ringing.

Ringing? No . . . I cock my head, listening. It's a voice. Too far away and faint to make out.

"Smoky? Are you with us?"

Hillstead's voice brings back Bonnie's face.

I realize with a shock that I am losing my mind. Right here, right now. Right when I'm needed most.

Dear God.

I clear my throat and force myself to speak. "You--you said you wanted to talk. So talk, then." It doesn't sound convincing, but at least it sounds sane.

I'm drenched in sweat.

He pauses. "Do you think," he starts, "that I regret the situation I find myself in? If you do, then you'd be wrong. My father, he taught me to hold to a standard. One of his favorite sayings was: 'It's not how long you live--it's how excellently you killed while you were alive.' " He squints at me. "Do you understand? Being true to my heritage, to the example of the Shadow Man, is not just about killing whores and taunting the FBI. It's about a certain . . . flair . It's about the character of murder, not just the act." His voice is proud. "We cut you with the finest silver and drink your blood from designer crystal. We strangle you with silk while dressed in Armani." He peeks out from behind Bonnie. "Any fool can murder. My ancestors and myself ? We make history . We become immortal."

Buy time, I think. Because I hear that faint voice in my head again, and I know--I know --that whatever it's saying is important.

"You don't have any children," I say. "So it stops with you. So much for immortality."

He shrugs. "These genes will surface again. Who's to say that he didn't cast his seed in other places? Who's to say I didn't?" He smiles. "I was not the first, I doubt I'll be the last. Our race will survive."

A single, terrible thought occurs to me. Is it possible that I don't want to save Bonnie? That some part of me thinks that that wouldn't be fair to Alexa?