Jeffery Deaver - The Devil's Teardrop

Parker was surprised something like this would distract her. But Cage said, "Margaret here's one hell of a, whatta you call it, designer. Makes her own clothes. She's great."

"Cage," she chided absently.

"You know anybody who does that?"

No, Parker didn't. He said nothing.

She turned away from the window and they continued down Pennsylvania Avenue, the stately Capitol ahead of them.

Lukas asked him, "And you really turned down an SAC?"

"Yep."

A faint laugh of disbelief.

Parker remembered the day that Cage and the then deputy director came into the office to ask him if he'd leave the document department and run a field office. As Cage had observed on his front porch earlier that day Parker was not only good at analyzing documents; he was good at catching bad guys too.

An agent or an assistant U.S. attorney would come to him with a simple question about a document. Maybe a suspected forgery, maybe a possible link between a perp and a crime scene. And sitting in his bonsai-tree-filled office in the lab Parker would relentlessly cross-examine the unfortunate law enforcer, who only wanted some technical information on the document. But that wasn't enough for Parker.

Where'd you find the letter? No, no-which drawer? Does the unsub have a wife? Where does she live? Did he have a dog? What were the circumstances of his last arrest?

As one question led to another Parker Kincaid was soon talking less about whether the handwriting matched a signature in a DMV application and more about where the unsub would logically be hiding out. And he was nearly always right.

But he'd had to turn the offer down. A special agent in charge works long hours and, at that time in his life, he needed to be home. For the children's sake.

But none of this he wanted to share with Lukas.

He wondered if she'd ask more but she didn't. She pulled out her cell phone and made a call.

Parker was curious about the Topographic Archives they were headed for. He asked, "What exactly-?"

"Quiet," Lukas whispered abruptly.

"What-?" he began.

"Be quiet. Keep walking. And don't turn around."

He realized that she wasn't talking on the phone at all but merely pretending to.

Cage asked her, "You got him too? I put him twenty yards back."

"Closer to thirty. No visible weapons. And he's skittish. Erratic movement."

Parker realized that that had been why Lukas had been chatting him up and why she'd stopped and gazed at the dresses in the window-she'd suspected somebody'd been following them and she wanted the person lulled into thinking she didn't know. He too glanced back into a window they passed and saw a man trotting across the street-to the same sidewalk they were on.

Parker now noticed that both Cage and Lukas were holding their pistols. He hadn't seen them draw the weapons. They were black automatics and on the sights were three tiny green dots that glowed. His service pistol had been a clunky revolver and what he remembered most about it was hating the regulation that required him to be armed at all times; the thought of having a loaded gun anywhere near the Whos disturbed him terribly.

Lukas muttered something to Cage and he nodded. To Parker she said, "Act natural."

Oh, sure…

"You think it's the Digger?" he asked.

"Could be," she said.

"Plan?" Cage whispered.

"Take him," she responded calmly.

Lord, Parker thought. The Digger was behind them! With his machine gun. He'd been staking out headquarters and had learned they were primary on the case. We nearly got him at the theater; maybe the unsub had told him to take out the investigators if it looked as if they were getting close.

"You take the street," Lukas said to Cage. "Kincaid, you cover the alley. In case there's backup."

"I-"

"Shhh."

"On three. One… two…"

"But I-" Parker began.

"Three."

They separated fast. Cage stepped into the street, stopping cars.

Lukas turned and sprinted in the direction they'd just come from. "Federal agent!" she shouted. "You, you there! Freeze, hands on top of your head!"

Parker glanced into the alley and wondered what he was supposed to do if he saw an accomplice there. He pulled out his cell phone, punched in 911 and put his thumb over the SEND button. It was all he could think of.

He looked behind him, at Lukas. Beyond her, the man stopped abruptly then turned and took off in a dead run down the middle of the street.

"Hold it!"

Lukas was racing along the sidewalk. The man veered to the right, disappeared into traffic. She tried to follow but a car turned the corner quickly; the driver didn't see her and nearly slammed into her. Lukas flung herself back onto the sidewalk, inches from the fender.

When she started after him again the man was gone. Parker saw her pull her phone out and speak into it. A moment later three unmarked cars, with red lights flashing on the dashboard, skidded into the intersection. She conferred with one of the drivers and the cars sped off.

At a slow jog she returned to Parker. Cage joined them. Lukas lifted her hands in exasperation.

Cage shrugged. "You get a look at him?"

"Nope," Parker answered.

"I didn't either," Lukas muttered. Then she glanced at Parker's hands. "Where's your weapon?"

"My what?"

"You were covering the alley. We had a shake going down and you didn't draw your weapon?"

"Well, I don't have one. That's what I was trying to tell you."

"You're not armed?" she asked incredulously.

"I'm civilian," Parker said. "Why would I have a gun?"

Lukas gave a disdainful look to Cage, who said, "Assumed he had one."

She bent down and tugged up her jeans cuff. Pulled a small automatic out of an ankle holster. She handed it to Parker.

He shook his head. "No thanks."

"Take it," she insisted.

Parker glanced at the gun in her hand. "I'm not comfortable with guns. I was Sci-Crime, not tactical. Anyway, my service weapon was a revolver, not an automatic. Last time I fired one was on the range in Quantico. Six, seven years ago."

"All you do is point and pull," she said, angry now. "The safety's off. First shot is double action, second single. So adjust your aim accordingly." Parker wondered where her sudden anger came from.

He didn't take the weapon.

She gave a sigh, which left her mouth as a long tendril of steam in the cooling temperature. She said nothing but pushed the gun further out toward him.

He decided the battle wasn't worth it. He reached out and took the gun. Glanced at it briefly and slipped it in his pocket. Lukas turned, without saying anything, and they continued up the street. Cage gave him a dubious look, forewent a shrug, and made a call on his cell phone.

As they walked along the street Parker felt the weight of the pistol in his pocket-a huge pull, much greater than the dozen ounces the gun actually weighed. Yet it gave him no comfort to have this weapon at his side. He wondered why. A moment passed before he realized. Not because the hot piece of metal reminded him that the Digger might have been behind them a moment ago, intent on killing him and Cage and Lukas. Or even because it reminded him of the Boatman four years ago, reminded him of his son's terror.

No, it was because the gun seemed to have some kind of dark power, like the magic ring in one of J. R. R. Tolkien's books, a power that had possessed him and was carrying him further and further away from his children with every passing minute. A power that could separate him from them forever.

The Digger is in an alley.

He's standing still, looking around him.

There are no agents or police around here. Nobody chasing him or looking for him. Nobody to shoot him. Or capture him and send him back to Connecticut, where he likes the forests but he hates the barred rooms they make him sit in for hours and hours and do nothing, where people steal his soup and change the channels of the TV away from commercials about cars and puppies so they can watch sports.