Michael Prescott - Mortal Faults

“She’s visited a lot of them. She’s his number one fan.”

“Which is why Reynolds hired you, I assume. He was being stalked by the woman he’d broken up with twenty years ago-a woman who’s already proven herself to be psychologically unstable.”

“Isn’t it nice how all the pieces of our story are coming together in such a rich, satisfying mosaic?”

Tess ignored her. “Now that we’ve tightened our surveillance, there’s no way you can contact her again. If you continue your involvement in the case, you’ll be seen by surveillance. Someone will remember you from the Rain Man case. And we’ll both be in a lot of trouble.”

“So you’re saying…?”

“I’d like you to walk away.”

“Disappear, get lost. Is that it?”

“Yes.”

“I’m hurt, Tess. You don’t want us to work together, side by side? It was fun last time. You, all staid and bureaucratic, and me, your reckless, fun-loving sidekick. It was a regular buddy picture.”

“I remember that movie. I’m not interested in a sequel.”

“There’s rarely any artistic justification for doing one,” Abby conceded. “Okay, I’ll back off.”

Tess eyed her suspiciously. “You agreed to that a little too easily.”

“Why wouldn’t I agree? I don’t want to be ID’d by the Bureau, either. And it’s not like I have a client in this case. I quit on Reynolds even before his goons almost killed me.”

“Did you tell him where to find Andrea?”

“Nope. At least not intentionally. But I must’ve screwed up somehow, given him more info than I realized.”

Tess thought about it. “He could’ve had you followed.”

“I would have spotted a tail. It’s something else.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. He’s smarter than I thought, apparently. I led him to Andrea. I just don’t see how.”

“Regardless of that, you’re willing to leave it alone?”

“Yeah. I’ll walk. It’s not like I have a choice. “

Abby got up. Tess remained seated, watching her. “I’ve been straight with you, Abby. Are you being straight with me?”

“Honest Injun. Cross my heart. Come on, don’t you trust me?”

“I don’t trust anybody.” Tess looked away, feeling suddenly tired. “Not even myself. And I have you to thank for it.”

“ Moi?”

“You got me into this clandestine stuff. You brought me to the point where I am now, where I have to lie and cover up in front of everybody, all the time.”

Abby slung her purse over her shoulder. “Welcome to my world.”

“I never wanted to be in your world. I never wanted to live your life.”

“Yeah, well, I never asked you to get directly involved in this case, either.”

“I was keeping secrets even before I got involved this time.”

“You’re a government agent. Keeping secrets is your job.”

“Not when I’m keeping them from my superiors.”

“That’s where I’m lucky.” Abby smiled. “I don’t have any superiors.”

“Which means you don’t have anybody to keep you in line.”

“My conscience keeps me in line.”

“Does it?”

Abby didn’t answer that. “Bye, Tess. Nice running into you again. If I’m ever in Denver, I’ll look you up.”

She walked away. Tess looked after her, then at the plate across the table, the bloody carvings of gristle and fat in a thin red pool.

Abby did not, in fact, have plans to spend the evening in a warm bath, with or without the accompaniment of Jim Nabors’ dulcet baritone. She was way too keyed up for that.

She headed into Hollywood and parked outside the LAPD divisional station on Wilcox. The front of the building was an unprepossessing brick facade adorned with a banner inviting passersby to sign up for the police reserves. She wondered if the department ever got any takers.

Having left her gun in the car, she got through the metal detector without any fuss. At the front desk she asked for Sergeant Wyatt, identifying herself as Charlene, the code name they’d agreed on. The desk officer called Wyatt, got an okay, and directed her to his office.

She walked through a maze of corridors, past bulletin boards crowded with actual bulletins, past squad rooms where the desks were jammed together into communal work spaces littered with in-basket debris, past an echoing stairwell and a grimy coffee nook, and finally found the office, located near the rear door of the building-convenient for the cops who parked out back in the fenced lot.

Vic Wyatt was alone in the office, which meant he could risk a kiss-a quick kiss, almost furtive. He might be afraid of someone walking in on them, or he might just be feeling a little standoffish. He got that way sometimes. He had always wanted more out of their relationship than she had been willing to give.

“You running the show tonight?” she asked. Normally a lieutenant served as watch commander, but a sergeant took the helm sometimes. It was no big stretch for Wyatt. He was due for a promotion to lieutenant any day now.

“It’s all me,” he said, running a hand through his sandy crew cut. “What brings you here?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“I’d say so. Showing up at the station isn’t your usual M.O.”

She put on a pouty face. “You talk about me like I’m a criminal. I could take offense.”

“You’re too dangerous to be a criminal. Besides, criminals are stupid.”

“Only the ones who get caught.”

“They all get caught eventually.”

“Spoken like a true officer of the law. Okay, what brings me here is this.” She reached into her purse and removed her sketch of the tattoo, smoothing it out.

Wyatt studied it. “Very artistic. You entering a contest or something?”

“It’s a tat I saw on a man’s neck. I think it’s a-”

“Scorpion,” Wyatt said, frowning.

“Hey, you got it right on the first try. Am I a good artist or what?”

“You’ve definitely captured the subject. Where’d you see this guy, anyway?”

“Around.”

“Around where?”

She didn’t want to tell him, but she knew he would get it out of her sooner or later. “I had a little encounter this afternoon.”

“What kind of encounter?”

“The kind where people are shooting at me, and I’m shooting back.”

He set down the sketch and stared at her. “Are you okay?”

“Not a nick on me. It was no fun, though-as I guess you know. You been in many shootouts?”

He frowned at the question. He was doing a lot of frowning all of a sudden. “I’ve been in zero shootouts.”

She found this hard to believe. Wyatt had worked out of Hollywood for years, and despite extensive efforts at renovation, much of the area still wasn’t safe after dark. “None?”

“I’ve never fired a shot in the field. I’ve hardly ever had to draw my piece. Which makes me no different from about ninety-eight percent of the cops in this town.”

“Huh.”

“I shouldn’t have told you that. Now you’re looking at me like I wear a skirt.”

“No, I’m not.” She considered it. “Maybe a little.”

“Thanks. So how serious was this situation?”

“It was nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“That’s not exactly an answer.”

“Minor dust-up. No big deal.”

He grunted skeptically. “Which division is covering it?”

“LAPD isn’t involved. It was in San Fernando.”

“I can’t help you there.”

“You couldn’t help anyway. The FBI took the case.”

“The FBI? How the hell did they get involved?”

“Hey, you know the federales, always horning in on the action.”

Wyatt stepped closer to her and put his arms around her waist. His touch was unexpectedly gentle. “These days the feds are more concerned with terrorists than street criminals. You weren’t shooting it out with Al Qaeda, were you?”