Stephen Knight - White Tiger

Ryker shook his head. “Nobody’s expecting an apology. You were injured in the line of duty, just as surely as if you were shot. Only this is better, you spared your pal Guy the trouble of having to dig out the bullet. Just between the two of us, he looks like the fainting type.” The corners of her lips turned up. “Why don’t you give them a call yourself? Tell them you’re okay. They’ll be glad to hear it from you personally.”

“I will. I meant it about you not staying. I’m fine. Really.”

Ryker took the hint and left her to her private misery. He asked one of the nurses to make sure Raymond got access to a phone, and exited into the rapidly cooling evening air. He hated hospitals, now more than ever.

She might easily have killed the policeman, at her apartment and here at the hospital, but had decided that the indiscriminate slaughter would dilute the effect of the deaths she had planned for almost three decades. Lin Yubo’s suffering must be pure before he choked upon the taste of her revenge. Nothing must distract him from the fact his immediate family and his closest associates were disappearing around him, until only he remained, stripped naked, alone and vulnerable.

She watched the policeman return to his car. Only the blue-and-white POLICE sign clipped to the sun visor had stopped hospital security from towing the illegally parked vehicle away; two of its wheels intruded onto the sidewalk while the other two lay in a flower bed. He unlocked the driver’s door, but didn’t get in. She held her breath, wondering whether she’d left some trace of her entry behind, as unlikely as this might be. Her hand closed about the butt of the silenced pistol lying beside her on the passenger seat. But his unseeing stare and his blank expression suggested he might be deep in thought, rather than suspicious. She recalled his reaction to the call he’d received on his cell phone. His sudden loss of equilibrium and the sudden flare of temper that had followed the call indicated a highly emotional state. She took her hand off the pistol, and waited.

The policeman shook himself out of whatever mental loop he’d put himself into, and climbed into the driver’s seat. She attached the listening device to her ear and heard him breathing, such was the sensitivity of the radio microphone she’d secreted in his car during his absence. He started the Ford’s engine and backed onto the road. Although there were three cars between them and the probability of his noticing her was close to zero, she slid down in her seat and angled her head to hide her face, keeping only one eye above the dash. He turned around and headed for the exit. She sat upright and started her Toyota’s engine. Its electronic ignition made hardly any sound. She followed the policeman out onto the main road. Other cars slid in front of her, blocking her line of sight, but this didn’t worry her in the slightest. Now that she had established contact with him, and was totally focused on his chi, she could find him blindfolded anywhere in the city. A homing instinct, though neither he nor any Westerner would believe it.

His phone rang. He said, very clearly, “Fuck off.” For a moment she thought he’d spoken into his phone, but the ring tone continued. He hadn’t answered yet. Scraping followed by a dull click suggested he had attached the phone to a hands-free clip on the dash.

“Ryker.” He shouted so his cell phone would pick up his voice.

“Detective sergeant, it’s Debbie Price. I just got the six o’clock call from Detective Fong. Everything’s fine. He knows to call you from now on. How’s Detective Raymond?”

The policeman, identified now as Detective Sergeant Ryker (she rolled the sounds around her tongue as she memorized his name), said, “She’s sitting up and smiling. She’s going to call Lieutenant Furino and Detective Sergeant Wallace, let them know she’s okay. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Oh good. I’ll let everyone know.”

“That’s great. You have a good night, Debbie.”

“Thanks, you too. See you tomorrow.”

The phone call ended. He continued driving, heading back to her apartment, she was sure, and she continued to follow him. Her training demanded that she should never go there again, that the location was blown, that someone might recognize her and in doing so, compromise her own safety. But she had an opportunity to learn what the police already knew of her, which might well improve her chances of completing her mission successfully. This made the risk acceptable, though she could not afford to relax for a second. If anything threatened to compromise her then she might have to change her stance on killing only those close to Lin Yubo. She would prefer not to widen the circle of death but she might not have a choice in the matter. Circumstances would dictate her response to any action by the police, or by those elements employed by Lin Yubo who might choose to intrude into her space, alerted perhaps by information fed to them by the police. Risks within risks within risks, only to be expected as she moved toward the end game, gathering speed and momentum. She would react explosively to any attempt to interfere with her plans. Those who dared move against her, or chose to stand in her way, would not live to regret their foolhardy decision.

He surprised her by taking a hard left just as the lights ahead began to change. She put her foot down and negotiated the junction just as waiting traffic surged forward. The sound of angry horns faded behind her. She had memorized the city’s street grid so she knew precisely where they were, and which direction they were traveling. West along Jackson, above and parallel with California Street. Apparently he had changed his mind about returning to her apartment. Where was he going, and why? She considered the possibilities. Guessing served no purpose other than to serve as a distraction, since she had three hours to kill before tonight’s scheduled conference, which she had every intention of attending. She could not return to her apartment, and obtaining alternative temporary accommodation in the city carried an additional element of risk, since they would expect her to do just this. She followed him not only to gain information that could be of value, but also because she had nowhere else to go.

Ryker became aware that he was muttering to himself under his breath. Bad habit. But an indication of his awareness that he could be committing professional suicide. So be it. He’d made the decision and he’d live with the consequences. He drove on autopilot, and that infallible inner mechanism took him back to Valerie Lin’s house in Sea Cliff district. During the long journey-it seemed to take hours — he replayed what she’d said to him when she called him at the hospital. She’d wanted to talk to him. Why? Then she’d abruptly changed her mind. Why? Those questions refused to be ignored. They demanded answers, if only to quell the pounding in his ears. His pulse was racing, his mouth was dry. It wasn’t too late to turn back; wasn’t too late to avoid what would be the most embarrassing moment of his life, when he confronted one of her servants at the door and they told him Mrs. Lin would much prefer if he made an appointment instead of turning up at her home unannounced and unwelcome.

Spider would suspend him. Captain Jerko would demand his badge. The D.A. and whatever government departments wanted James Lin and his family protected from idiots like Hal Ryker would throw him in jail. What the hell was he doing here? He didn’t know. He doubted his own sanity. He kissed goodbye to his future with SFPD and walked up the driveway, up the steps, across the porch, and to the front door of a woman he could never have even if he lived a thousand lifetimes.

His finger stabbed the doorbell.