“Don’t die,” Cloister said, the corner of his mouth hitched up in a crooked grin.
Javi kissed him.
He’d lie to himself later, and he’d probably blame it on adrenaline and habit. It had been a while since anyone he was used to kissing was around on a daily basis. But the truth was that, for a disorienting second, it was either say something stupid or do something stupid.
Javi went with do something stupid, his fist twisted in Cloister’s shirt and his tongue in Cloister’s mouth. Surprise tasted like an indrawn breath and a sugar-glazed donut. Regret would probably, when Javi had time, sound like the clatter as the tech guy fumbled the USB and dropped it.
After too long for prudence, Javi pushed Cloister away and headed through the station at a loping run to find Frome. They’d need to settle on a strategy before they got to the hospital. He could regret things later. There was always time for regret later.
GALLOWAY HADparked in the hospital’s underground garage. Her black state-issued SUV was parked near the front, next to one of the concrete pillars, door open and the engine still running and pumping cold air into the damp, cool space. A cardboard box lay on the ground next to the car, a dark, wet stain on the lid.
Sweat itched against the back of Javi’s neck and caught under his collar as he walked slowly down the oil-stained ramp. He held his flashlight crooked up to his shoulder and his gun down by his thigh. Behind him he could hear the eager mutter of the local press as they pushed up right to the edge of the police perimeter. The presenters with their eyes squinted against the sun murmured earnestly about tragic attacks, and the crews with their cameras held high over their heads tried to get a shot of something in the dimly lit garage.
“The witness says that the lights were broken when he got here. He was going to complain,” Frome said through the earpiece. “The man arrived shortly after Galloway. He was tall, scruffy, and agitated. He said something to Galloway. They had a brief conversation, and she seemed to be trying to extricate herself and get in the car. Then they scuffled, there was a muffled bang, and the man dragged her away from the car.”
“The witness didn’t try to stop him?”
“He saw blood,” Frome said. There was parched humor in his voice. “It threw him more than you’d expect, considering he’s a surgeon.”
It wouldn’t have helped if the witness had tried to intervene. It might have actually goaded the attacker into doing something worse. Javi couldn’t help his brief, razor-sharp flicker of judgment.
At the bottom of the ramp, Javi paused. He heard someone pant raggedly, a wet, choked sound, and the faint rustle of cloth on cloth as bodies moved in the dark. There were only a few cars in a space made for fifty. The garage was reserved for hospital staff, but apparently most people used the parking lot above ground.
He skimmed the flashlight over the nearby cars—Javi assumed the BMW with a cigarette still smoldering on the roof belonged to their squeamish witness—and then dipped it to the dropped evidence box.
The stain on the cover showed up red as the light hit it. Definitely blood. Javi flicked it over onto the ground and found a bright-red smear on the concrete. It dragged backward, likely caught under a sensible heel as they were pulled away, and then trailed off.
Galloway wasn’t too badly injured… not then.
“Catherine,” Javi said. His voice sounded loud as it bounced back off the concrete walls, and while he knew it was meant to humanize her to the attacker, it made him feel odd to use Galloway’s given name. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” Galloway said. Her voice was clear but strung tight along the edges. She gasped softly after the first word, and her voice was careful when she tried again. “He has a knife, Agent Merlo. You should listen to him.”
In his ear Frome said he had deputies in place on the stairwell. All Javi had to do was give the word. Javi ignored him as he wove carefully between the parked cars toward the sound of Galloway’s voice.
“I can do that,” Javi said. “Whatever he wants to say, I’ll hear him out.”
He flicked the flashlight to the side and caught the wet glitter of someone’s eyes through the windows of an old rust-and-orange Toyota. The attacker had dragged Galloway between two parked cars, braced his back against a pillar, and locked his arm around her throat. A cheap, battered-looking gun was pressed up under Galloway’s jaw, a deep dimple grooved into the soft flesh where the metal dug in.
“Get back,” the attacker slurred. He dug the gun deeper into Galloway’s throat until the skin split and a trickle of blood ran down to stain the crumbled white collar of her suit. Galloway pressed her lips together and lifted her chin as far as she could. “I’ll kill her. If you make me, I’ll do it!”
Javi put his gun up. “Do you want me to put this away?” he asked.
The attacker licked cracked lips and looked around nervously. “Yeah,” he muttered. Then he repeated himself with more confidence. “Yes. Put it away. And… and tell the rest of them. Tell them to stay away.”
Javi holstered his gun at his hip. “It’s just me,” he said. “I just want to talk.”
“There’s deputies in the stairwell, right? Snipers outside? I’m not stupid. Tell them to back off.”
Spittle flecked Galloway’s cheek as he screamed. It made her wince, and a ripple of distaste spread from her eyes to her mouth, but she held still. The attacker actually didn’t sound stupid. His voice was rough—ruined by white whiskey and chest infections, no doubt—but there was a precision to his words. He was confused and definitely drunk, but not stupid.
“Lieutenant Frome, pull the deputies back to the perimeter,” Javi instructed as he touched his ear. “That’s an order. We don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
He didn’t expect Frome to obey. The voice in his ear confirmed that he’d been right. “The deputies will hold position until you give the signal.”
“Good.” Javi tucked the flashlight into the strap of his vest and held up both empty hands. “There we go. Now I’ve listened to you, so maybe you could put the gun away.”
It would have been too easy if he had. Instead he just moved the gun down to rest in the notch of her collarbone. Galloway pursed her lips around a carefully relieved sigh.
