Robert Browne - Kill Her Again

Daniel Pope.

Apparently the guard had alerted him.

Anna recognized him immediately, although the TV footage and the photos in the newspaper hadn’t quite done him justice. He was Hollywood handsome, without the slick phoniness that usually went with it.

But what really struck her was his eyes. Dark and haunted and quietly intelligent.

Despite a calculated immunity to such things, Anna felt a slight lurch inside her chest as his gaze fell upon her-and it had nothing to do with the motion of the elevator. He seemed to be looking into her, rather than at her.

“Mr. Pope?” It was a silly question. She already knew the answer.

“Crimen ut tutela,” he said, then crossed himself in an overly elaborate gesture, as if offering a papal blessing. Then, pushing away from the wall, he gave her a smile, and despite the joke, Anna thought it seemed forced.

Or maybe she was letting her knowledge of the man’s history color her perception. That Pope was able to smile at all was a miracle to Anna.

She produced her credentials again. “Anna McBride,” she said, guiding Evan into the hallway. “This is Evan Fairweather.”

Staring at the boy, Pope seemed momentarily lost in a memory, but recovered quickly and crouched down, offering a hand to shake.

“Hi, Evan. I’m Danny.”

Evan eyed the hand warily, then finally brought his own up and shook it. “Is Kimmie here?”

“No, son, I’m afraid she’s not. But I’m told you might be able to help us find her.”

Evan went silent, shaking his head.

“You thirsty?” Pope asked. “Do you like soda?”

A nod this time. “But my mom doesn’t like me to drink it.”

“How about a glass of milk, then?”

“… okay.”

“Why don’t you and Agent McBride come to my room? We’ll order up some drinks and talk for a while. That sound good?”

A shrug now, and a tentative one at best.

“It’s a deal then,” Pope said. “Follow me.”

Pope wasn’t sure he felt comfortable letting an FBI agent into his room, even if she was the most beautiful FBI agent he’d ever seen.

No, scratch that.

Special Agent McBride was not really beautiful, not in a conventional way. Not like Carmen and Feather or any of the other showgirls he’d brought up to this room. But there was something about her that struck him the moment those elevator doors opened. Something about the wary expression, the slightly untamed hair, the conservative yet form-fitting clothes.

And then there was the scar.

It ran down the left side of her face, from temple to jawbone, still new from the looks of it. She had covered it with makeup, but it was still plainly visible-a thin, pink, slightly puckered reminder of a very close call.

That scar was the kicker. The thing that made her human. Less… FBI. A not-so-subtle sign of vulnerability-a vulnerability she tried to hide with a curt, professional demeanor.

But Pope had always been able to see past such barriers, to dig deeper than most, to the real person beneath. It was a gift that had helped him quite a bit in the past.

Although that thought was instantly laughable when you considered how badly he had fucked up with Susan.

But then how could he have known the darkness in her heart?

How could anyone know?

Unlocking his door, he pushed it wide and gestured for McBride and the boy to enter. Shortly after hanging up on Jake, he’d made a quick follow-up call to fill in some of the details, then took a few moments to clean the place up, stashing any incriminating pot paraphernalia, all the while wondering why he had agreed to this meeting in the first place.

The role he had chosen for himself on this planet, post-tragedy, was that of the sufferer, the wronged man who painted on a fake smile twice a night, six nights a week, to sell over-priced cocktails to unsuspecting tourists. Giving in to Jake’s request had been uncharacteristic. And even now, despite the presence of Special Agent McBride, he wished he had remained true to himself and told his cousin no.

But then there was Evan, standing there with a quiet solemnity that Pope understood all too well. Knowing intimately what little Evan was going through, what he might have seen, and what he might remember with careful and calculated prodding-coupled with the possibility that they might be able to find a missing little girl-was enough to get Pope to immediately reconsider that wish.

Maybe, for the first time in a long, long while, he could actually help someone. Do some good for once.

Gesturing toward the bed, he said, “Have a seat.”

Evan did as he was told, perching himself on the edge of the mattress, but Agent McBride stayed on her feet, taking in the place with undisguised distaste. Not that he could blame her. A room at Caesars it wasn’t. It didn’t even meet the standards of Circus Circus.

But at least the bed was made.

Picking up the phone on his nightstand, Pope called down to Kelly in room service and ordered two Cokes and a glass of milk.

“You hungry, too?” he asked Evan, but the boy shook his head and returned his gaze to the carpet, where it had been fixed ever since Pope had ushered them inside.

Ordering a couple of breakfast muffins anyway, he hung up and noticed that Evan had developed a serious case of the wiggles. Grabbing hold of McBride’s hand, the boy tugged on it until she leaned down and let him whisper in her ear.

Before she could ask, Pope gestured to his bathroom doorway. “In there.”

Evan hesitated, but McBride gently touched his shoulder. “It’s okay. Go ahead.”

The two seemed to have a connection and that was a good thing. Working with children could be tricky, and having someone trusted present would help the boy relax.

Glancing warily at Pope, Evan slid off the bed, then went into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

“Poor kid looks like he was struck by lightning,” Pope said.

“He pretty much was. Did Deputy Worthington give you the details?”

Pope nodded. “I could say something cute about kids being resilient, but this isn’t the kind of thing you bounce back from. Not easily.”

McBride studied him a moment, considering his words, and he knew she was weighing them against what she’d heard or read about him over the last couple of years.

It was a look he’d seen a hundred times on a hundred different faces.

After the usual awkward moment that accompanied even the most innocuous reference to Pope’s past, McBride said, “Just for the record, I’m not a hundred percent on board with this.”

“If it makes you feel any better, neither am I.”

“Then why do it?”

“Because my cousin’s a persuasive man.”

“Cousin?”

“Deputy Worthington.”

Surprise flickered across McBride’s face; then she nodded as if this explained something she’d been puzzling over. “Evan’s pretty fragile right now.”

“I’m not interested in compounding his pain. I’ll walk him up to the water’s edge, but I’m not about to make him jump. The moment we’ve got anything tangible to work with, I’m bringing him out.”

Apparently satisfied, McBride looked out the window, taking in his morning view. She gestured toward the distant lights, the barbed wire. “Is that what I think it is?”

“If you’re thinking state prison, then yeah. That’s exactly what it is.”

She frowned. “Why would you build a casino so close to a prison?”

“That’s one of the questions I ask myself nearly every morning. But I’m not complaining. Whatever the reason, it works out just fine for me.”

“Why’s that?”

“That’s where they’re holding my ex-wife.”

McBride seemed startled by this revelation. “Is that supposed to be a good thing?”