David Morrell - Double Image

“What are you talking about? You stalked her in Malibu. You’re stalking her now. But I swear you’ll never do it again!”

Walt swung, his body movement warning Coltrane just in time for him to jump back. The bat whistled past his head and walloped against the wall.

“She likes men to fight over her!” Coltrane shouted.

As Walt swung in the reverse direction, Coltrane dodged again, and Jennifer dove to the floor. The bat missed Coltrane by an inch, the fierce movement of air cooling the sweat on his brow.

“Listen to me!” Coltrane shouted. “She wasn’t being stalked in Malibu! She was making it up! She had help!”

“You expect me to believe that crap?”

“But it’s true!” Jennifer yelled from the floor. “I’ve got the proof in my briefcase. Her name isn’t Natasha Adler. It’s Melinda Chance. She’s had half a dozen different identities and-”

“Lady, I warned you to stay out of this!”

“Men keep killing each other because of her!” Jennifer rose with her briefcase, offering it in a crouch. “Just let me open this and show you what I-”

“You asked for it!”

Walt put all his weight behind his swing, delivering the full force of the bat against the briefcase, jolting it out of Jennifer’s hands. It burst open and flipped through the air. Documents flying, the briefcase rebounded off the wall and landed among the broken glass of the table. Simultaneously, Jennifer shrieked, falling back.

Walt was poised to reverse the swing of his bat, aiming at Jennifer as she raised her hands to protect her head. Walt balked, suddenly seeming to realize what he had become.

“I-”

Whatever he meant to say, it was too late. Coltrane charged. The terror in Jennifer’s eyes had released a fury in him beyond anything he had ever felt. He struck Walt from the side and collided with the table upon which the only light in the room sat. Their combined weight slammed down onto it, buckling the table, breaking the lamp, sending the room into darkness. As they rolled, Walt had to release his grip on the bat to block Coltrane’s punches. The hard edges of Coltrane’s revolver tore against his side, making him groan. Then the revolver slipped free, falling among the wreckage, and Coltrane struggled upward with Walt. Amid the roaring fury of his frantic breathing and his savage heartbeat, he heard Jennifer shouting, “No!”

She was pleading, wailing, “Stop! This is what she wants!”

But Coltrane was far beyond reason. With no doubt whatsoever that Walt meant to destroy him, he had to do to Walt what Walt meant to do to him . They lurched this way and that, striking each other, groaning, blood mixing with the sweat on their faces. Legs weakening, Coltrane charged with all his remaining might. His body hit Walt so hard that Walt jerked backward, but the force of Coltrane’s attack propelled Coltrane with him, and they hurtled through a French door, glass bursting like a bomb going off.

Kept hurtling.

Struck the railing of a balcony.

And plummeted over.

FOR A MOMENT, Coltrane had the sensation of floating in darkness. Then his stomach rose. Air rushed past him, or the other way around, as he and Walt rushed through air, falling, twisting, locked in each other’s arms. Their impact was shocking, cold black water engulfing them. They struck the pool so hard that their momentum took them all the way to the bottom, jolting against it. His breath knocked out of him, Coltrane gasped, inhaled water, and panicked, struggling toward the surface. He broke through, gulped air, and was thrown underwater again as Walt gripped his shoulders and pressed down. Lungs burning, Coltrane twisted free, braced his bent legs against the pool’s bottom, and thrust himself upward, breaking the surface again, straining to breathe.

Lights came on all around him, in the living room, from which they had fallen, in the lower level that gave access to the pool, in the shrubs of the backyard, in the pool itself. Temporarily blinded, Coltrane splashed backward just in time to avoid Walt’s hands around his throat.

“Stop!” Jennifer’s pleading voice was close. She must have turned on the lights and run down to the pool, but Coltrane paid no attention, too busy avoiding Walt’s attempts to push him under. As Walt lost his balance in the shoulder-high water, Coltrane dove beneath the surface, rocketed to the surface behind Walt, grabbed him from behind, and pushed him beneath the water.

“No!”

A pole banged against the back of Coltrane’s neck. Feeling bristles on the end of it, Coltrane vaguely realized that Jennifer was using one of the pool-cleaning tools to try to stop them from fighting.

Walt wrestled free, gasped for air, spun, and came at Coltrane as Jennifer dropped the pole between them and threw a cushion from a deck chair.

“Stop!”

They had each other by the throat. Coltrane felt his face bulging as he tightened his grip and -

The shotgun blast was so startling that he jerked his hands away. Stumbling back, he lost his footing, went under, splashed to the surface, breathed frantically, saw that Walt had reacted much as he had, and was astonished to discover Jennifer at the side of the pool, holding the shotgun.

Down the street, a dog barked in alarm. Several houses away, a man yelled, “What was that ?”

Her movements unpracticed, Jennifer awkwardly racked a fresh shell into the shotgun’s firing chamber. The spent shell arced through the air, clattering onto concrete. “Look at yourselves! It’s what she wants! Don’t you understand you’re being used? For God’s sake, what do I have to do to make you stop?”

Jennifer looked so surprised, her eyes fierce, obviously uncomfortable with the shotgun, doing her best to keep it balanced in her hands, that Coltrane suddenly had a sense of how out of control he had become.

“She’s right.” He stared at Walt. “I don’t want to-”

Laughter interrupted him.

From above. Deep-throated, sensuous laughter.

Baffled, he looked upward and saw Tash leaning over the balcony on the topmost level, her beautiful features radiant with amusement. Her laughter swelled until she had to throw her head back to release it.

“Tash?” Walt murmured.

“Do you understand now ?” Coltrane asked.

Peering down from two stories above them, Tash wiped away tears of laughter.

“But…” Walt became speechless with bewilderment.

“Read the documents I had in my briefcase!” Jennifer said.

Tash shook her head in delight. “Make her shoot again! Make her jump in and try to stop you!”

“Tash,” Walt said, this time with realization. “You-” The word sounded like a curse as he splashed through the water. He reached the side, pulled himself out, glared up, dripping, and suddenly broke into a run, charging toward the house.

As Walt disappeared into the bottom level, Coltrane forced his way to the side of the pool. He crawled out, ignored the cold air on his wet skin, and raced after him.

Jennifer hurried next to him, the two of them passing the darkroom and the vault, pounding up the stairs. Higher, Walt was shouting something, Tash continuing to laugh. Coltrane reached the living room and surveyed the wreckage, the incalculable damage that Walt had inflicted on the priceless furniture. He saw the revolver that he had lost during the fight, and he picked it up, but he didn’t see Walt, although he did hear a commotion above him and raced higher. When he and Jennifer came to the third level and rushed into the bedroom, Coltrane was shocked. The bedroom was the only room on that level. A flower-rimmed balcony led along all four sides, and through the windows, Coltrane saw Tash gamboling from one section to the next, taunting Walt as he pursued her.