Nora Roberts - High Noon

Better, by far, than shooting the gangbanger. That had been so quick, and so much less dramatic.

Still, he wished he could have seen Phoebe's face when Roy went boom. That would've been the icing.

He looked at it now, the face tacked to the wall of his workshop. A face among many faces. All hers. Phoebe MacNamara. Coming home from a hard day of screwing with other people's lives. Standing around talking to one of her idiot neighbors. Walking her spoiled brat to the park, or along River Street. Swapping spit with that rich bastard she was screwing now.

Since he was still celebrating his recent success, he popped the top on another beer and toasted the many faces of Phoebe.

"Sweating now, aren't you, bitch? Oh yeah, you're sweating now. And you'll shed buckets before I'm done."

Trying to figure it out, he thought. She'd be racking her brains on this one. Who would kill poor Roy? Who'd do such a cruel thing? Boo hoo!

Hearing her voice in his head, he laughed so hard he had to sit down.

Too bad she hadn't started fucking the rich bastard a couple months sooner. With more time, more research, more legwork, he might've been able to target the new playmate instead of the ex-husband. Still, might be able to work something out. Just needed to think, to plan, to consider. Maybe take an opportunity, or make one.

"See what we see when we see it there," he muttered. "Got us a timetable, Phoebe." He lifted the beer again. "Counting down now. Tick, tick, tick. The last tick, and it all goes up in blood and smoke." Like she had, he thought, as another face swam into his mind. And with that image burning behind his eyes, he wept.

After dinner, after her daughter was safely tucked into bed, after the last call from her captain, Phoebe sat staring at the files.

There was a hollow place in the center of her now, as if something vital had just been carelessly scooped out.

She needed to work through it, or around it. If she could get her focus back, she could concentrate on the names, on the cases, on the reason. But that hollow place sat there, and threatened to pull the rest of her inside it.

She picked up the phone and called Duncan's number without asking herself why she reached for him. Or why when he answered the rim around that hollow place began to shake.

" I… Duncan."

"Phoebe. I was just talking to myself about you. Whether I should call you, or leave you alone for a while. Are you home?"

"Yes." The hand holding her cell phone wanted to shake, too. "I'm home. Are you?"

"Yeah. Checking up on me?"

"I didn't mean to…" To what? "To hover."

"Let's back up. I'd ask what's wrong, but answer's obvious. Is there something else?"

"I just talked to Dave. Everyone here's as settled as they can be, considering. I didn't want to say anything, to tell them now when…

Jesus. So, I call you and babble. Sorry. I should… something else."

"What did Dave tell you that you don't want to tell them?"

"Quick trigger on the brain. I like that about you. I'll probably find it annoying eventually. If it comes to eventually. He called to tell meI needed to know-that they found… one minute." She lowered the phone, got her breathing back in order. "There was a timer on the explosives. Roy. There was a timer set. The remote, that was backup, I guess. Or in case he wanted to go early. There was a timer, Duncan, set for one thirty-five. He was never going to let Roy live. No matter what I did or said, no matter what was done, it was always going to end the way it ended."

There was a pause, and she could hear Duncan let out a long breath. "He gave it enough time to make sure you'd get there. Built in some time so he could play with you. He wanted you to see it. He wanted you on the spot. You know that, Phoebe."

"He wanted me to bargain and wheedle and beg. And he wanted me to know, after it was done, that none of it mattered. Nothing I do will matter, because everything's already set. Clock's ticking down."

"He's got the last part wrong, because what you do will matter."

"He's got me scared to death. Just where he wants me."

"You called the wrong guy if you expect me to tell you not to be scared. What are you going to do about it?"

"What am I going to do about being scared?"

"No, what are you going to do about finding him so you don't have to be scared anymore."

"I'm reading files and looking for any… You're not going to tell me to be strong and brave?"

"I've seen you in action, I know you're both. But there are limits. Why don't I come over? I can read files."

She swiveled from her desk so she could look at the dark pressing on the windows. "You're offering to come over so I don't have to feel strong and brave." The empty spot inside her began to close. "That's done the job."

"Give me half an hour and-"

"No, no, I don't need you to come. I guess I just needed you to say you would. I just needed to hear't h a't… that I had an option," she realized. "Let me ask you one question, and remember, I'm an active listener, so I'll know if you're lying. Considering the situation, are you sorry you asked me out for that drink?"

"Considering any situation, I figure it was the best move I ever made." She could smile. "Maybe second best, after deciding to buy a sixpack and a lottery ticket."

"Might be running neck and neck. Phoebe, why don't you pack it in for the night? Get some sleep."

"Yeah, maybe I'll do that."

"I don't know if I'm an active listener, but I know a lie when I hear one."

"Maybe I'll do that in a couple hours. Thanks for saying what I needed to hear."

"I'll be around if you need to hear something else."

"Good night, Duncan."

After a short, restless night, Phoebe considered working from home. Which would mean, she knew, little work at all, as she'd decided to keep Carly out of school for at least a few days.

Even if she could convince Carly to occupy herself elsewhere, Phoebe knew she'd be distracted-and she'd feel guilty being at home and barricading herself from her daughter. And her mother.

Better to go in, stay busy, be productive. There were cops on the house, no need to worry. Unless he got past the cops, she thought as she tried to work a miracle with makeup. Which he wouldn't, but if he did, there was the security alarm.

And someone who could rig a bomb with remote and timer could probably bypass an alarm.

But he wouldn't, she told herself. He wouldn't.

She gave up on any attempt to style her hair and simply yanked it back in a tail.

All her efforts were going to focus on identifying Roy's killer, finding him and arresting him. Until then paperwork would wait, the scheduled training sessions would be postponed.

Lack of sleep meant she had a solid list of names. She'd start knocking on doors that morning, asking questions, gauging ground. It could be over by end of shift, she told herself as she gathered her files. And if it wasn't, she'd keep right on until it was over.

As she started out of her room, she calculated it was early enough for her to slip downstairs, make coffee, leave a note and be out before anyone stirred.

She stopped by Carly's door, peeked in.

Her daughter was sprawled across the bed, covers kicked off. The worn-eared bear Carry chose most often for a sleeping companion dozed at the tips of her fingers.

Satisfied, Phoebe backed away. If she caved and crept in to cover Carly, give her a quick kiss, that would be that. The kid was a light morning sleeper. Blue eyes would pop right open, and the questions would begin.

Instead, Phoebe continued downstairs. Coffee, she thought again, and maybe a quick carton of the low-fat yogurt she constantly tried to convince herself she actually liked. Leave a note on the fridge, check with the cop on duty, and she'd be gone.