The Coffin Dancer (Lincoln Rhyme 2)

"And how sorry are you?"

"Amelia," Rhyme said sharply.

"No, I want to know how sorry. Are you sorry enough to give blood? To wheel him around if he can't walk? Give his eulogy if he dies?"

Rhyme snapped, "Sachs, take it easy. It's not her fault."

Sachs slapped her hands, tipped in chewed nails, against her thighs. "It's not?"

"The Dancer out-thought us."

Sachs continued, gazing down into Percey's dark eyes. "Jerry was baby-sitting you. When you ran into the line of fire what'd you think he was going to do?"

"Well, I didn't think, okay? I just reacted."

"Jesus."

"Hey, Officer," Hale said, "maybe you act a lot cooler under pressure than some of us. But we're not used to getting shot at."

"Then she should've stayed down. In the office. Where I told her to stay."

There seemed to be a slight drawl in Percey's voice when she continued. "I saw my aircraft endangered. I reacted. Maybe for you it's like seeing your partner wounded."

Hale said, "She just did what any pilot would've done."

"Exactly," Rhyme announced. "That's what I'm saying, Sachs. That's the way the Dancer works."

But Amelia Sachs wasn't letting go. "You should've been in the safe house in the first place. You never should have gone to the airport."

"That was Jerry's fault," said Rhyme, growing angrier. "He had no authority to change the route."

Sachs glanced at Sellitto, who'd been Banks's partner for two years. But apparently he wasn't about to stand up for the young man.

"This's been real pleasant," Percey Clay said dryly, turning toward the door. "But I've got to get back to the airport."

"What?" Sachs almost gasped. "Are you crazy?"

"That's impossible," Sellitto said, emerging from his gloom.

"It was bad enough just trying to get my aircraft outfitted for the flight tomorrow. Now we've got to repair the damage too. And since it looks like every certified mechanic in Westchester's a damn coward I'm going to have to do the work myself."

"Mrs. Clay," Sellitto began, "not a good idea. You'll be okay in the safe house but there's no way we can guarantee your safety anywhere else. You stay there until Monday, you'll be--"

"Monday," she blurted. "Oh, no. You don't understand. I'm driving that aircraft tomorrow night--the charter for U.S. Medical."

"You can't--"

"A question," asked the icy voice of Amelia Sachs. "Could you tell me exactly who else you want to kill?"

Percey stepped forward. She snapped, "Goddamn it, I lost my husband and one of my best employees last night. I'm not losing my company too. You can't tell me where I'm going or not. Not unless I'm under arrest."

"Okay," Sachs said, and in a flash the cuffs were ratcheted onto the woman's narrow wrists. "You're under arrest."

"Sachs," Rhyme called, enraged. "What are you doing? Uncuff her. Now!"

Sachs swung to face him, snapped back, "You're a civilian. You can't order me to do a thing!"

"I can," Sellitto said.