Billy smile widened. A shot roared and echoed through the room.
Bloody grayish brain matter splattered all over me, the doorframe, and the wall. The debris speckled Billy’s clothing, too. The bald man had crumpled to the floor, his skull half blown away.
I did a dry heave, then another.
Billy lowered his weapon. “I was born ready.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Jessica
“Why?” I sputtered, struggling not to lose the croissant and coffee I’d had earlier.
“Because I could.” The words seemed to come from another being. Not Billy. Was he possessed? Brainwashed?
I was still trying to make sense of the situation, when he grabbed my arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
I didn’t resist.
He ran, me stumbling beside him, to where he’d parked a mid-sized car behind a hedge. I tried to think. How could I delay our departure?
“Wait,” he said. “Take off the belt.”
“What?”
He pointed the gun at me. “You heard me. Take it off.”
Oh, shit. Where was the goddamned rescue team?
Billy glared at me. “Do it. Now.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Joe
When Cotter woke up, his first view was of a brick wall. He tried to move and invisible blades stabbed his skull and lower back.
Cotter groaned with the effort of trying to stretch his arms. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat. Lying still in an attempt to ease the pain, his nostrils flared at the stench of urine and body odor.
What the hell . . . ?
He and Billy had been following the car that had taken Jessica. They had stopped at the end of an alley, where he was now sprawled like a drunk. People didn’t notice bums lying in alleys in D.C. If anything, they went out of their way to avoid them.
“Billy?” he croaked. Damn you.
After a time, Cotter fumbled for his cell phone. Missing. Of course. He eased to his feet and staggered from the alley, seeking a pay phone. There had to be one left somewhere on the planet.
The street was mixed residential and retail. A few restaurants, a used bookstore, a vintage clothing store. He spotted a phone booth and stumbled toward it, only to find the receiver torn from the apparatus.
“Shit, who uses pay phones?” He saw a passing man in a suit. “Excuse me, sir. Could I use your phone?”
The man looked at him askance a moment and quickened his pace, staring straight ahead.
“Excuse me!” He tried again with a couple. They shook their heads in unison. “I’m sorry,” the man said, though he didn’t sound sorry. They hurried away.
Cotter stopped to consider how he must look. He realized his shirt was wrinkled and dirty, his pants crusted with filth. He’d been lying in an alley for . . . God knows how long. He checked for his watch. Thank God, I still have that. Almost two hours had passed.
He tested his cheek, which was tender, along with the knot at the back of his skull. He glanced at his reflection in the window of a parked car. His face was bruised and dirty. His shirt was disheveled. He looked like he had just gone a few rounds with Mike Tyson.