Jeff Abbott - Fear

Miles pulled his knees between himself and Hurley with a mighty effort, kicked back, tore his face free of Hurley’s claws. He couldn’t see, his eyes blinded in pain, his head loose and light as a stringless balloon. Then the gun boomed, Celeste screamed, then sudden silence.

Groote didn’t like the conversation with Hurley. Not a bit. It made no sense, passing up an opportunity to help find Raymond…

Raymond. Maybe Raymond was there, with Hurley. At Celeste’s house. But how would he know about Celeste?

Because Allison had told him. Jesus, he had been in it with Allison.

He called Hurley’s cell phone again. It rang. And rang. No answer.

Their plan was off the rails, and, crap, Groote had Sorenson in one office, this fed in the other, caught between them. Hurley would have to fend on his own for a few minutes.

Groote gave DeShawn Pitts a shrug. ‘I’m sorry. You know doctors. They always leave you waiting. Doctor Hurley’s dealing with a suicidal patient – he may not be available until tomorrow.’

‘Then I’ll check back with him in the morning.’

Groote walked the officer out with hearty handshakes and then stood at the window. Pitts’s car remained in the lot; the officer sitting behind the driver’s wheel, talking on his phone.

Just hurry up and go. Please. Finally Pitts drove away.

He tried Hurley’s cell phone again. No answer. He went back to the conference room. Sorenson sat there, drinking coffee. ‘Where’s your fed?’ Sorenson asked.

‘Gone.’

‘Why the visit?’

‘It’s nothing to concern you.’

‘I still want to see Ruiz.’

‘I have some other very pressing business to attend to, right now.’

‘Our deal’s based on me seeing Ruiz,’ Sorenson said. ‘I’ve helped you. You help me. It won’t take but a few minutes.’

Groote decided. ‘But let’s make it quick. Follow me.’

‘Brian?’

Miles curled on the floor, focus blinking back into his eyes. Pain speared his head and the voice was hardly above a whisper. He raised his head from the tile.

Scuffed leather soles lay inches away from his face. He blinked again, past the salt of the tears, jerked to his feet, forcing his eyes to stay open.

Hurley lay sprawled on the floor, throat an open wound, breath a gurgle. The sounds of the gunshot echoed in his bones, made him want to close his eyes, surged bile into the back of his throat – but Celeste was more important than his fear. Celeste lay crumpled before him, the gun in her hands. He spoke, and his tongue weighed like lead in his mouth. ‘It’s all right, Celeste. Give me the gun.’

‘Brian, he won’t hurt you, he won’t hurt you anymore, I promise, I promise, I promise,’ Celeste said. Miles crawled to Hurley, fumbled at the man’s wrist. The pulse faded, then stopped.

‘Brian. We’re safe, all right, we’re safe from him, I never should have let him in the house…’ Celeste’s voice, down to a trickle.

Miles lurched away from her, away from the dead man. Leaned over the sink, threw cold water in his face. He tasted blood in his mouth and thought, If he tore out my eye there would be more pain, right, or would I just be in shock? His fingers probed at his face. Blood oozed in the skin between his eyes and the bridge of his nose. He rinsed it away. He managed to open his eyes, inspected his face in the mirror of a hutch that sat in the breakfast nook. His eyes were bloodied but both whole.

‘Brian?’ Now Celeste’s voice rose again. She flinched at him as he came out of the kitchen, mopping at his face with a dish towel, holding out his hand.

‘Celeste. I’m not Brian. I’m Miles. Remember? Miles.’ He knelt by her and held out his hand. ‘Give me the gun.’

She crawled away from the dead man. ‘You’re not Brian.’

‘No. I’m Miles.’

‘I… my house… my husband…’

‘It’s okay, Celeste. Let me help you. It’s now. Not then.’

Celeste stopped shivering, nodded, put her face in her hands. ‘He came into my house,’ she said. ‘He came into my house and he killed Brian. He made me wait with him, waiting for Brian to come home so he could kill him in – in front of me.’ Her voice was low and guttural, as though it belonged to a shadow, not a person.

‘I’m so sorry.’

She gestured at Hurley’s body. ‘I got the gun… to make him stop. Just to stop. But I really killed him.’

Miles picked up the syringe. Hurley must have had the injection in his lab coat – a perfectly good place to hide one. Probably to sedate Celeste, bring her to the hospital for… he didn’t want to think. Hurley hadn’t gotten the whole dose in him but enough to make him numb and sick and to clog his head.

‘Celeste. Listen.’ His voice sounded thick in the air. ‘The man who hurt you, who killed your husband, he’s not here. Hurley was trying to kill me, you saved me, do you understand?’ He forced himself to speak slowly and calmly.

Now she nodded.

‘Will you give me the gun?’

She clutched the gun close to her T-shirt. ‘Never again, I swore. The cameras. The locks. Never again. Fort Celeste. I made this place Fort Celeste.’ She wasn’t listening to him.

‘We can’t stay here. Groote could be on his way. We have to go. Now.’

Celeste’s voice started to break. ‘I have a dead man on my floor. I want him… gone. I want you gone and my home back.’

‘I know you do. But here you’re a sitting target. Please, give me the gun.’

She handed him the pistol. Along her arms a web of paper-thin scars scrolled toward the elbows.

She saw him notice. ‘I don’t cut myself anymore,’ she said. ‘I’m better.’

‘That’s great, Celeste, that’s wonderful.’ He tucked the gun in the back of his pants, tried to think through the sedative haze.

‘What are you going to do now?’ she asked.

‘I’m going to get you safe, and then I’m going to get Nathan Ruiz out of that hospital.’

‘How?’

He went and searched in Hurley’s pocket, found an electronic passkey, a set of regular keys. ‘Walk in and take him.’

‘Who is he to you?’

‘The key to finding out the truth; but they still have him locked up.’

‘But this Groote’s at the hospital.’

‘Not necessarily. He’s out hunting for me. With the key and a gun I can walk in, get Nathan out.’

‘That’s absolutely crazy,’ she said. She shook her head. ‘And I can’t leave the house.’ She spoke as though he’d just informed her the world was flat.

‘You were brave enough to help me. You’re brave enough to walk through a door. It’s just a door. Walk the hell out of it.’

‘I can’t…’

‘I’ll hold your hand,’ Miles said. ‘You can sit on the floor of the car, keep your eyes closed, stay away from the windows. Pretend the world’s not there.’ He closed his hand around hers. ‘He will come here, he’ll kill you.’

She crawled to her purse, dug out a bottle of antidepressants, swallowed one dry. ‘I’ll try.’

He slowly got to his feet, bringing her to her feet as well. She stepped around Hurley’s body with a choked moan.

‘Don’t trust him, lady,’ Andy called from the corner. ‘Bad idea.’

Miles shot Andy the finger behind Celeste’s back and opened the door for her. He leaned out, scanned the street first. Empty. ‘It’s okay.’

Celeste cringed at the world beyond the open door.

‘There’s my car.’ He had found a set of spare keys and driven Blaine’s car to Celeste’s home. ‘Forty steps. I’ll walk with you, I’ll count.’

‘Just hold my hand,’ she said, and she closed her eyes, and made the first step.