Lisa Gardner - Alone

"Is that why I point guns at people I've never met?" he asked dryly-"I don't know, Bobby. Only you can answer that question."

Bobby steepled his fingers, splaying his fingertips against one another. He said abruptly, "Susan said I was angry."

"Susan?"

"My girlfriend. My ex-girlfriend. When we were talking tonight… she said I deliberately shortchanged my life. That I held on to my anger. That I needed it."

"What do you think?"

"I'm driven." His voice picking up, he said almost hotly, "Is that such a bad thing? The world needs police officers. The world needs guys like me, perched on rooftops with high-powered rifles. Without me, Catherine Gagnon and her son might be dead. Doesn't that count for anything?"

Elizabeth didn't say anything.

"The rest of the world expects us to be all-knowing. But I'm just a guy, okay? I'm doing the best I can. I got called out to a scene. No, I didn't remember the Gagnons, and even if I did, what the hell do I know about them and their marriage? All I could do was react to what I saw, and what I saw was a man pointing a gun at his wife and child. I'm not a murderer, dammit. I had to kill him!"

Elizabeth still didn't say anything.

"What if I'd delayed? What if I'd watched it and done nothing? He could've shot his wife. He could've shot his son. And that Would've been my fault, too, you know. If you shoot, you're screwed; " you don't shoot, you're also screwed. How am I supposed to win? How the hell am I supposed to know what to do?

"He was pointing his gun. He had his wife in point-blank range, then he got that look on his face. I've seen that look. Oh my, I've seen that look too many times, and I'm so tired of other People getting hurt. You can't believe the blood-You can't believe."

Bobby's voice broke. His shoulders were moving, giant, dry sobs, and then he was twisting away from her, mortified by his own outburst, seeking the back of the chair with his hand, clinging to it for support.

Elizabeth didn't move. She didn't go to him. She sat there and let emotion heave through him in raw, violent waves. He needed this. After thirty-six years, a little emotional outburst was long overdue.

He wiped at his face now, hastily drying his cheeks with the back of his hands.

"I'm tired," he said roughly, half apology, half excuse.

"I know."

"I need to get some sleep."

"You do."

"I got a big day tomorrow."

She said bluntly, "This is not a good time in your life to be making major decisions."

He laughed.

"You think Judge Gagnon cares about that?"

"Can you get away from the situation, Bobby? Take a little break?"

"Not with the DA's office conducting a formal investigation. Besides, there's too much going on."

"All right, Bobby. Then sit down again. Because there's one more topic we need to cover before you go. We need to talk, honestly, about Catherine Gagnon."

Catherine and Nathan were in the lobby at the Ritz. She knew they must look odd. A woman, a small child, no bags, checking into a hotel at this hour. She didn't care. Nathan was literally shaking in her arms, his distress apparent in his pale, wide-eyed face. Pancreatitis, she was already thinking again. Or an infection, or chest pains, or God knows what. His health always deteriorated when he was under stress.

She fumbled with her purse, trying to get it on the counter while still holding Nathan in her arms. A hotel clerk finally appeared, looking surprised to see someone at this hour.

"Ma'am?"

"I'd like a room, please. Nonsmoking. Anything you've got."

The man raised a brow, but didn't comment.

A few clicks of the keyboard and he announced they did have a room available. King-sized bed, nonsmoking. Would she like a crib?

She passed on the crib, but asked for a toothbrush and toothpaste, as well as three extra lamps. The lights didn't have to be anything fancy, they'd take whatever they got.

Catherine produced a credit card. The hotel clerk swiped it through the machine.

"Ummm, could I see some ID?"

Catherine was stroking Nathan's back, trying to soothe his trembling.

"Pardon?"

"ID. Driver's license perhaps. For security purposes."

Catherine was perplexed, but obediently dug into her purse. She produced her license, and for the longest time the hotel clerk gazed at the photo on the ID, then back at her.

"Ma'am, are you aware that this credit card has been reported stolen?"

"What?"

"Ma'am, I can't take this card."

Catherine stared at him as if she'd never heard English. She wanted a room. She wanted a beautiful room in a fancy hotel where bad things couldn't happen. Surely if you were surrounded by silk drapes and down pillows, monsters couldn't find you.

"Perhaps your husband…" the hotel clerk suggested kindly.

"Yes, yes, that's right," she murmured.

"He lost his card not that long ago. I didn't realize the company would cancel both."

She knew this wasn't Jimmy's doing, however. He'd never possessed this level of finesse. This was her father-in-law. This was James.

"Things for you are only going to get much, much worse-" "Do you have another card?" the man asked.

"Urnm… let me look." She opened her wallet, staring blankly ' her collection of plastic. She had an Amex and two more platinum cards. She could hand them over, but she thought she already knew the results. James was thorough. And the more cards that ere rejected, the more reason the hotel clerk would have to be suspicious.

She checked her cash instead. One hundred and fifty dollars. Not enough for the Ritz. She gave it one last try, hoping her voice didn't sound as desperate as she felt.

"As you can see from the address on my driver's license, I live just around the corner. Unfortunately, there's been a terrible incident this evening and my son can't sleep in our home. We just need a place to crash for a few hours. I don't have another credit card, but tomorrow, I swear to you, I'll bring a check."

"Ma'am, we need a credit card to release a room."

"Please," she murmured.

"I have so much power… You have no idea…"

"I'm sorry, ma'am."

"He's only four years old."

"I'm sorry, ma'am. Surely you have some family that could help you?"

She turned away. She didn't want this stranger to see her cry.

Walking across the lobby, she saw an ATM. Fatalistically, she got out her bank card. Inserted it. Entered her PIN.

A message flashed across the screen: "Please contact your nearest bank branch. Thank you."

The machine spat her bank card back out, and that was it. No cash, no plastic. She'd been trying to stay one step ahead, but still her father-in-law had outmaneuvered her. How far could she get on one hundred and fifty dollars in cash?

Catherine took a deep breath. For one instant, she heard the weak little voice in the back of her mind. Just hand over Nathan. If she played her cards right, she bet she could get James to write her a check. No, scratch that-she'd get cash. Or better yet, a wire transfer. How much was a son worth? One hundred thousand, two hundred thousand, a million?

She wasn't a good mother. The authorities weren't as wrong as she would've liked. She didn't know how to love the way other people loved. She didn't know how to feel the way other people felt. She had gone into a hole a happy little girl; she'd emerged a hollowed-out shell of a human being. She was not normal; she merely did her best to imitate the normalcy she sensed in others.

So she'd gotten a husband, she'd had a child.

And now here she was, thirty-six years old and still terrified of the dark.

Catherine pulled out her cell phone. She dialed a number. It rang for the longest time, then a male voice came on the line.

"Please," she whispered.

"We have no place else to go."