Michael Prescott - Mortal Faults

“What were their names, Jack?”

“I don’t have to listen to this bullshit.” He started to rise.

She seized him by the arm. “Tell me their names.”

He twisted free. “Go to hell, Sinclair.”

“What were their names?”

“Brian and Gabriel.”

The voice didn’t belong to Reynolds.

Andrea had emerged from behind the palm fronds-shaking, her face empty of color, her eyes huge.

“Those were their names,” she whispered, her gaze locked on Reynolds. “Brian and Gabriel.”

He stared at her, trying to process what was happening.

“You did it.” Andrea spoke in a monotone. “You had them killed.”

“God damn it”-Reynolds glanced from her to Abby-“you’re running a game on me!”

“It was you,” Andrea said. “It wasn’t me. It was never me.”

“Shut up,” Reynolds snapped.

“You killed my children!” Her voice rose in a sudden hoarse cry of pain.

Reynolds raised his hands, looking around nervously. “Keep it down. Jesus.”

“You killed them, and you let me take the blame. The men in masks-three of them, they wore gloves, they came in without making a sound. You had a key to my house. Did you give them the key?”

“ Shut up…”

“They held me down. And the boys were crying, and then they weren’t crying anymore. I’ve never heard a silence like that. And I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t… and one of them put the gun to my head-it was still warm from being fired-I remember how warm the barrel was on my skin. I remember…”

“You don’t remember anything,” Reynolds barked. “Your mind is playing tricks-”

“No. No! No! You’re the one who plays tricks! You’re the one! You’re the one! ”

People were looking in their direction. Reynolds glanced around, panic in his eyes. “Lower your goddamn voice-”

“You’re the killer. You murdered your own children. Your own flesh and blood.”

“I never wanted the goddamned children. You fucking played me, you lying little bitch. You swore you were on the pill.”

“They were your children.”

“ I never wanted them! I didn’t ask for them. If you’d had the abortion-”

“You always wanted them dead.”

“Of course I wanted them dead. They were in my fucking way. ”

“You’re an animal. An animal. You know what they do to animals like you?”

“I’m an animal, sure. And you’re a cunt with legs. That’s all you ever were to me.”

“They put you down-animals like you. They put you down.”

“You should have been dead twenty years ago.”

She reached into her coat, and a gun came out, a shiny silver semiautomatic.

“You should be dead right now,” Andrea said.

Tess and Crandall were checking out the crowded bistro down the street from the hotel, looking at every slender, dark-haired woman in the shadowy, buzzing hive, when Hauser’s voice came over their radios.

“LAPD’s responding to a nine-one-one from the Brayton. Some kind of disturbance, altercation between a man and a woman, and something about a gun.”

“Shit,” Crandall said.

Tess was already moving. She pushed her way out of the restaurant, nearly knocking over a waitress burdened by an overloaded tray, and then she was pounding down the sidewalk, Crandall not far behind.

Abby almost lunged for the gun, but instinct told her that if she did, Andrea would fire. At this range she couldn’t miss.

Instead she said quietly, “Andrea. No.”

Andrea held tight to the pistol and didn’t answer.

Across the lobby someone saw the gun and screamed.

Distantly Abby wondered where Andrea had gotten the gun. The revolver from the kitchen had been confiscated by the authorities.

“You’re not a killer,” Abby said in the tone she would have used to soothe a skittish animal. “You know that now.”

“I’m not.” Andrea’s words came through gritted teeth. “He is.”

Abby’s glance flicked to Reynolds. He stood unmoving, his face bare of expression. He wasn’t looking at the gun. His gaze was locked on Andrea’s face.

There was movement around the lobby, people ducking for cover, seeking exits or places to hide. If Reynolds had wanted anonymity in this meeting, he’d lost any hope of it now. He was on center stage, visible to everyone.

“I know what he is,” Abby said. “You don’t have to be like him.”

“Keep quiet, Abby.”

“Give me the gun.”

“ Keep quiet, I said! ”

Andrea shrieked the words, their echo volleying across the tiled floor. A child in a remote corner of the lobby started to cry.

Abby braced herself, expecting the violence of Andrea’s outburst to be punctuated by a blast from the gun. It didn’t happen.

“We’re leaving,” Andrea said, her voice lower, almost normal.

Abby nodded. “That’s a good idea. Let’s just go.”

“Not you and me. Me and him.”

Reynolds narrowed his eyes. “I’m not going with you.”

Andrea stepped forward and rammed the gun into the side of his neck, her face inches from his. “You are.”

Reynolds’ mouth worked slowly. “You goddamned crazy bitch.”

“If I’m crazy, you made me that way. Now walk.”

“Where?”

“Where’s your car?”

“Hotel garage. Level two.”

“To the elevator, then.”

“What about the money?”

“Leave it.”

“It’s fifty thousand dollars.”

“Leave it.”

He moved toward the elevators, Andrea staying close to him. Abby trailed behind.

“Go away, Abby,” Andrea said.

“This is a mistake.” Abby tried to find the right words. “You don’t need to do this. You can have justice now.”

“I don’t want justice. There is no justice. How could there be?”

“Then what’s the point of this?”

“He’s got to suffer.”

“We can do that to him. The law can do it.”

“Since when have you ever cared about the law?”

Abby had no answer to that.

They reached the elevator bank. The nearest doors parted as soon as Andrea pressed the Down button. The compartment was empty. She ushered Reynolds inside and pressed B-2.

Abby knew she ought to let them go. It might be suicide to follow. But the thing was, she’d always had this obstinate streak of responsibility. It would get her in trouble one of these days.

She stepped in before the doors closed.

Tess reached the hotel entrance and stopped running. The reflected sun gleamed off the glass doors, dazzling her. She squinted against the orange glare.

Whatever was going on inside, she had to enter the building the same way she would approach any other hostile environment. It had been years ago when she’d undergone her training in Hogan’s Alley, the fake town used by Bureau recruits at Quantico, but it came back to her now.

“I take the lead, you cover me,” she said to Crandall as he arrived at her side. His weapon was drawn and she was mildly surprised to find that hers was, too. “We clear the room in stages, staying close to the walls, never out in the open. Okay?”

“At least this time you’re not leaving me in the backyard,” Crandall said.

They went in together, moving fast across the tiled floor to a group of potted palms that offered cover. Tess scanned the lobby, saw people running here and there, clerks at the registration desk making frantic phone calls, security guards racing for the stairs.

This much activity wouldn’t be going on if an armed confrontation was still in progress. She stepped into view and grabbed the first person who came sprinting past, a bellman.

“Where’s the individual with the gun?”

“The woman? She took the guy into the elevator. They went down.”