J. Jance - Web of Evil

"Never mind," Ali put in. "You didn't have to."

Easy returned carrying Ali's two suitcases and the computer case as well. "Where do you want these?" he asked.

"In my car," Ali said. "I'm leaving."

"No, you're not," he answered, putting the luggage down next to the table. "Nobody's leaving right now. All my men are in place. We're waiting for the last two parties of diners to leave the restaurant. Once they're gone and are out of danger, we'll make our move. As soon as we have Mr. McLaughlin safely in custody, you'll be welcome to go anywhere you like. Until that time, though, I need you to stay here."

Time passed slowly. Gradually the restaurant cleared. Finally the door to the kitchen opened. Detective Taylor led Roseanne Maxwell into the room. She was in handcuffs and in tears. "They're going to take me to jail," she said accusingly to Ali. "I thought you told me that if I helped them I'd be able to make some kind of deal."

"I thought so, too," Ali said. "It turns out I was wrong."

"What about that attorney you told me about?" Roseanne asked. "What's his name again?"

"Victor Angeleri," Ali answered. "He may be more than you can afford right now."

"What about my jewelry?" Roseanne asked. "Do you think he might take some of that in trade?"

Months ago, Roseanne Maxwell would have been able to afford the best legal representation money could buy. Now she was one step away from selling her worldly possessions on eBay, and most likely she'd end up with a public defender.

"I don't know about that," Ali said. "You'll need to call Victor up and ask him yourself. Maybe you can work it out."

Easy held up his hand for quiet. Only then did Ali notice he was wearing an earpiece of some kind.

"Okay, people," he announced. "We've got a couple more vehicles to move into place, then it's a go. I'm going out through the kitchen. Everybody else get down on the floor. Keep your heads well below the level of the windowsills. Stay under tables if it's at all possible. Nobody steps outside the restaurant until I give the all-clear. Got it?"

Ali paused long enough to watch Detective Taylor help Roseanne to her knees. Then, with her own heart pounding in her throat, Ali dropped to the floor and scrambled under the table where they'd been sitting. She may have been mad as hell about what was going on right then, but she wasn't stubborn enough to risk her own life because of it.

Lying there on the dingy floor, Ali waited breathlessly to see what would happen next. When nothing did, she turned over far enough to peer up at the table above her. There, in plain view, were several pieces of dead and dying bubble gum, chunks of the stuff that thoughtless diners had unloaded by sticking them to the underside of the table.

For some unaccountable reason, seeing those messy wads of bubble gum while at the same time anticipating the sound of gunfire struck Ali as a kind of grim joke. Unable to help herself, she began to giggle.

Moments later, she was jostled as someone else scrambled into the confined space under the table.

"What's so funny?" Dave asked. "Are you okay?"

Not quite able to explain it herself, Ali finally managed to stifle her fit of inappropriate laughter. When she did, she found she was still upset with him.

"What are you doing here?" she wanted to know. "I thought you'd be outside playing cops and robbers with your friend Easy."

"Come on, Ali," he returned. "I've told you before. This isn't my jurisdiction. I've got no more legal right to participate in a DEA operation than you do. And that's why, when Easy asked me to keep quiet about what was going on, I had to do just thatkeep quiet."

His excuse didn't sit well with her. "Fine then," she said. "Here's an idea for you. How about if you keep on keeping quiet? It seems to me you've said enough for one day."

Dave's exasperated sigh wasn't lost on her. He didn't say, "Women!" but he could just as well have. Turning her back on him, Ali inched forward far enough so she could see the front of the restaurant. The remaining waitstaff had disappeared into the kitchen except for Carrie, who had taken shelter behind the hostess desk.

In the end, all of Easy Washington's advance preparations for a flawless takedown still weren't enoughat least not for the one in Valencia's Claim Jumper parking lot. Before Easy and the last of his officers could move into position, something must have alerted Tracy McLaughlin to their presence. Ali didn't see the suspect slam his Element in gear and shoot forward across the parking lot, but she did hear the squeal of tires and brakes as the vehicle screeched to a stop just outside the restaurant's front door.

Seconds later, Tracy McLaughlin charged into the entryway lobby. Stifling a scream, Carrie tried to retreat farther into the restaurant, but he was too fast for her. As she attempted to dart away from the hostess stand, McLaughlin got one arm around the terrified woman's neck. With his other hand, he held a gun to her head.

Out of the corner of her eye, Ali saw Detective Taylor rise to his feet, weapon in hand. "Drop it," he ordered.

"You drop it," Tracy returned. "If you don't, this woman dies."

"Don't hurt me," Carrie wailed. "Please don't hurt me."

For a long moment, the three of them remained in a frozen tableau. Then, moving slowly and deliberately, Detective Taylor grasped the handle of his.38 with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand and carefully deposited the weapon on a nearby table.

"That's better," Tracy said. "Move away from the table."

Detective Taylor complied.

"Now," Tracy went on. "Do you have any way of communicating with those bozos outside? If so, I want you to tell them to stay put so nobody gets hurt."

Lying there, waiting for what she thought was an inevitable volley of shots, all Ali could think about was a pair of cold-blooded armed killers silently roaming the hallways and classrooms of Columbine High School, stalking their innocent victims. Determined to fight back, she unholstered her Glock.

"Stay here!" Dave whispered urgently in her direction, then he moved away from the spot under the table that had sheltered them both. Staying under the cover of intervening tables, he slithered across the floor of the darkened restaurant in a surprisingly rapid commando crawl.

"Not really," Detective Taylor replied. "They're Feds. I'm local. Our radios aren't compatible."

"Isn't that just great," Tracy muttered.

Anxious to provide a diversion from whatever action Dave was about to take, Ali surprised herself by finding her own voice.

"Let Carrie go, Tracy," she urged. "Haven't enough people been hurt already?"

"Who are you?" he demanded, glancing around the room, trying to fix her position. "Are you a cop?"

"You know me, Tracy," she answered. "I'm Ali Reynolds. I'm the woman you followed here, remember? And the whole place is surrounded by cops. You can't get away. Give it up. It's your only chance."

"No matter what, I'm not going back to the slammer," he declared. "So come out from wherever it is you're hiding. Show me your hands."

Attempting to estimate the distance Dave would have to cover to circumnavigate the dining room and how much time it would take for him to be within striking distance of the armed man, Ali tried to stall a little longer.

"Why should I?" she asked. "So you can shoot me, too?"

"Because if you don't come out where I can see you, I'm going to shoot her," Tracy returned ominously. "If that happens, this woman's blood will be on your hands as much as it is on mine."

Carrie moaned in protest. Somewhere in the restaurant, Roseanne Maxwell began to sob as well.

Hoping Detective Taylor saw her do it, Ali tucked the Glock into the back of the waistband of her jeans. Then, aware Tracy would have to peer through the gloom in order to observe her every move, Ali raised her hands and slowly rose to her feet. Once upright, Ali stepped forward until she was standing a foot or so in front of Montgomery Taylor and slightly to one side. The move left her Glock's exposed handle well within the detective's reach.