Snake Skin (41 page)

An image of Megan and Nick, their faces
crushed by sorrow, filled her vision. She blinked it back, focusing
on Fletcher and his gun. "She wasn't even your mother, Jimmy."

"Shut up!"

"Did she ever tell you the truth about your
father?" As she spoke, Lucy spotted movement from the woods.
Ashley. Instead of stepping out into the open, the girl crept along
the shadows' edge, behind Fletcher's back and invisible to anyone
except Lucy.

"A hundred times. My father saved my
mother's life. They were soul mates."

"Wrong, Jimmy. Your father was a con artist
and so was your mother. And when she got too old for him, he picked
up other women—girls really. Dozens of them. Did your mother ever
tell you how he died?"

"He's dead? Are you sure?" His voice
dropped, a wistful boy who'd spent a lifetime in search of his
father. Unfortunately, the muzzle never wavered.

"He died the day you were born. Alicia
killed him. And your mother." Lucy met his eyes, kept his attention
cemented on her. "I saw the autopsy reports. Alicia killed your
father because he was defending your mother, your real mother. And
then Alicia sliced you from your mother's belly, left her to bleed
to death and took you for her own. That was the kind of woman
Alicia was, Jimmy."

His eyes were wide with fear or anger or
surprise, she wasn't sure what. But he was listening, and thinking,
thinking hard.

She held her free hand out, keeping the
binoculars in her other hand down by her side, out of his center of
attention. "It's over, Jimmy. Give me the gun."

The movement in the woods stopped. Ashley
took a step forward, a gun in her hand, aimed at Lucy and
Fletcher.

"You deserved better than her, Jimmy," Lucy
continued, trying to coax him from Alicia's tendrils. "Give me the
gun and I'll introduce you to your real mother. The one who gave
her life for you."

A single tear escaped from his eye. Lucy
thought she had him. Then Ashley spoke up.

"I did it. I did what you said. Where's
Bobby?"

Fletcher glanced over at Ashley. Lucy swung
the binoculars, smashing his gun hand into the side of the Blazer.
His Glock skidded across the SUV's roof, landing somewhere in the
darkness beyond.

She followed up with another swing aimed at
his head. Fletcher blocked it, using the binocular straps to pull
her off balance, kicking her legs out from under her. Lucy thudded
against the gravel, pain stealing her breath as the impact
thundered through her left shoulder.

"I knew you could do it." He turned to
Ashley. "You and me, we belong together."

Lucy looked up just as Ashley raised the gun
and aimed it at her. Ashley's finger tightened on the trigger.

Adrenalin crashed over Lucy, leaving no room
for fear. She rolled beneath the SUV, seeking cover, knowing she
couldn't move faster than a bullet.

Nothing happened.

Fletcher laughed. "I only gave you one
bullet. It was a test and you passed. You did great, Ashley. Now
come with me."

Ashley looked down at the useless gun in her
hand, her face scrunching with confusion. An ambulance's siren and
lights pierced the night, gravel flying as it sped towards them.
Fletcher yanked at Ashley's arm, trying to pull her with him. She
took a step in his direction.

"No," Lucy called, rolling out from beneath
the Blazer and rushing forward.

Fletcher whirled, fumbling to draw her
service weapon from his jacket pocket. Lucy changed trajectories
and tackled Ashley, covering her with her body.

The ambulance screeched to a halt, a few
feet away from her, its headlights blinding Lucy. When she looked
around, Fletcher had vanished.

Chapter 36

Sunday, 11:58 pm

"Well, you did it," Burroughs was saying as
the medics forced Lucy away from Ashley. "Against all odds, you
saved her."

At what cost? Lucy couldn't help but wonder,
watching a parmedic jab a wickedly large needle into Ashley's arm,
starting an IV. Ashley didn't flinch, her expression wooden,
staring up at nothing.

"We found Fletcher's Glock. You said he took
yours. You got back up?"

Her Baby Glock was in her car, back at the
Federal Building. She hefted her purse, felt the weight of the .32.
"I'm good."

"The ambulance driver said she was shooting
at you when they pulled in. Said Fletcher didn't even have a
gun."

"They're mistaken."

"And you're a piss poor liar, Guardino."

Lucy heard the undercurrent of anger, knew
he was still mad at her for using Ames as bait. Tough. She wasn't
about to feel sorry for the reporter who'd come out of all this
with an exclusive ratings-grabber of a story. "Ames really going to
try to press charges?"

He shrugged one shoulder, his gaze darting
past the ambulance to where Ames and her cameraman were eagerly
interviewing one of the SWAT team members. "Not unless it gets her
a bigger story. She will expect reimbursement for damages."

"Damages? What the hell? You guys found the
bullet in the dirt. Ashley wasn't even aiming for her."

"Silk blouse, Donna Karan suit, and one pair
Manolo Blahniks. She thinks six grand should cover it."

"Six thousand? Dollars? For shoes—if she
thinks for one second—" Lucy stopped, started laughing instead.
"Let her try. What do I care? I'm probably out of a job
anyway."

"No way, you're the hero, you saved
Ashley."

She shook her head, followed the medics
carrying Ashley on their stretcher across the lot to the ambulance.
"Not me, Burroughs. You. As far as the world knows, I wasn't even
here tonight." She jerked her head at Ames. "Go, be a hero. I hear
it's a great way to get laid."

She climbed into the ambulance with Ashley.
He stood watching, and she was surprised to see that instead of the
wolfish grin she'd come to expect from him, he was frowning and
scratching at his head. As if he was actually thinking twice about
his involvement with Ames.

"Maybe there's hope after all," she muttered
as the medic slammed the door.

She reached for Ashley's hand, the one
without the IV and absently stroked it. Ashley's fingernails were
broken and torn, her hands grimy with sweat, fingers cold. Tiny
bite marks, some just red, others breaking her skin, zig-zagged
across every inch of exposed flesh.

"Christ almighty." The medics looked away at
the site of the snakebites and breathed out. Lucy wasn't sure if it
was a prayer or a curse.

She raised Ashley's hand in both of hers and
blew on it, rubbing it warm again, just like when Megan came in
from playing soccer in the rain. "You're going to be all right,
Ashley."

Ashley didn't move, except maybe, just
maybe, her breathing smoothed out a bit. And her fingers might have
curled a bit in Lucy's grasp. Lucy kept hold of Ashley's hand in
one of hers and used the other to smooth out her matted hair. To
her surprise, tears began to seep from Ashley's eyes. No sobs or
sounds, just tears streaming as if a dam had broken.

"Please," Ashley whispered, still not making
eye contact with Lucy. "I'm not Ashley. I'm not the girl you're
looking for. Please let me go. Don't take me back."

"Back where, Ashley?"

"Back to the black place."

Lucy thought about the barn with its stench
of death and living reptilian implements of terror. "Back to the
barn? Don't worry, you're not going back there. Never again."

Ashley was shaking her head, pulling away in
terror. "I can't, I can't go—he promised I'd be safe with him. Take
me to Jimmy, take me back to Jimmy!"

She pitched forward, almost tearing her IV
out before Lucy and the medic could restrain her. She thrashed and
fought, gnashing her teeth at them like an animal, snarling and
spitting. The medic gave her something in her IV and then she was
quiet, her eyes drifting shut.

"You okay?" he asked, handing Lucy a gauze
pad to blot spittle away. "She didn't bite you, did she?"

"No. I'm fine."

"Poor kid's nuts. That whack job did a real
number on her. After everything she's been through, she'll never be
the same again."

Lucy kept hold of Ashley's hand, had to look
away and blink back tears of her own. Maybe she'd been too late,
maybe she hadn't saved anyone after all.

Burroughs wrapped up the little
details—documentation, securing Guardino's vehicle, coordinating
resources, evidence recovery—not that there was much except a
bullet, the revolver, and Fletcher's Glock—as well as making nice
to the brass and SWAT guys. All the glamorous jobs of police work
that Hollywood always conveniently ignored.

He was about ready to take off, see if
Guardino had been able to get anything from Ashley that would help
them locate Fletcher, when Cindy sidled up to him, sans cameraman.
She'd gone for a spritely fem-jep look for her story—popped most
the buttons off her blouse, pulled it half-way out from her skirt,
revealing the Kevlar vest she wore beneath.

Of course her makeup and hair looked
camera-ready perfect—one could only sacrifice so much for one's
art, he supposed.

"I wanted to return your vest," she said,
eyes lowered in an uncharacteristically demur expression as she
slipped free of her suit jacket. "And thank you for rushing to save
my life."

"You weren't in danger. Not really," he
said, folding his hands into determined fists to keep them from
helping her out of her clothing. "No way she could have missed from
that distance if she was really aiming at you."

She looked up demurely, bit her lower lip as
if holding back tears, and waited a beat, expecting more from him.
"Still, you couldn't know that. Thanks, Burroughs."

Teasing her blouse the rest of the way from
her skirt, she finished unbuttoning it and slid free from its silky
embrace, handing it to Burroughs. "Help me with these straps?"

Her scent assaulted him, trapping him
despite his best intentions. He felt his body respond to her, just
as it always did. Traitor.

He ripped the Velcro swaths open with more
force than he needed, tugging her closer to him.

She squirmed out of the Kevlar, left him
holding the bulletproof vest in one hand, her blouse in the other.
And she stood between them, her breasts barely contained by her
lacy demi-bra, pressing her body up against his. "How can I thank
you properly?"

Her pelvis ground into his, heat shooting
straight to his groin. He wasn't sure who he hated more, him or
her. "What do you want, Cindy?"

She traced her fingers over his shirt, eyes
downcast as if she had no ulterior motives and had to seriously
consider his question. The last SWAT van pulled away, leaving just
the two of them alone in the darkness.

"My entire future has changed tonight—thanks
to you. My manager says by morning, I'll be on the fast track to a
permanent network assignment. Either New York or DC."

"So maybe you should go home and pack your
bags." His voice was breathy as if all the blood had abandoned his
lungs—and fled south.

Her face twisted into a pout. "You don't
mean that. You'll miss me, won't you, Burroughs?"

Her hands dropped below his belt, squeezed.
He choked back a groan. He wasn't giving in, wasn't going to be
used. Not again.

"We're alone now. I could do you right
here—in the place where I almost died and you saved me." She undid
his belt, reached for his fly. "You'd like that, wouldn't you
Burroughs? My hero."

He blinked hard, trying not to give in to
desire. She sweetened the pot, sinking to her knees as she unzipped
him.

"It's your wildest fantasy come true, isn't
it? Me kneeling in the dirt, letting you do anything you want to
me."

Her fingers teased him—Christ! He dropped
the vest and her shirt, took her hands in his, twisting them away
from his growing erection.

"You want me to use my mouth instead?" She
asked, looking up at him, shaking her hair back from her face,
grinning wide.

It took him two breaths to clear his mind.
"What do you want, Cindy?"

"My manager says if I can get an exclusive
of Fletcher's capture or an interview with him, it would double my
signing bonus with the network. We're talking seven figures here,
Burroughs. You'd do that for me, wouldn't you?"

She licked her lips, then leaned her head
forward, mouth wide open.

"No." He stepped back, as far away from her
as he could, releasing her hands to fumble his fly closed again.
Fool, the primitive part of his brain screamed. The part that drove
him back to her bed time and again.

Arching her head up, her breasts not quite
popping free of their restraints, she knelt on her hands and knees.
"You sure? Last chance—you know how much you'll love it. I need to
be punished for driving your kids away from you, for poisoning your
marriage." Her pout was marred by the greedy gleam in her eyes.
"Don't you want to punish me, Burroughs? Give me what I deserve?
Treat me like the whore in the dirt that I am. Don't you want to
feel like a hero, like a real man?"

"Just go away. Leave me alone." She was the
one on her knees, but he was the one begging.

He found his car keys in his pocket,
unlocked the Impala and dropped into the drivers' seat before he
could change his mind. As he spun out of the parking lot, he could
see her in his rearview mirror, still kneeling on the ground,
laughing.

Chapter 37

Monday, 12:49 am

"She's my baby, you can't keep me from her!"
Melissa Yeager's shout turned the heads of everyone in the fourth
floor hallway.

"Ma'am, please, this is the pediatric
floor," the doctor, who looked young enough to be a patient
himself, cautioned her. "I'm sorry, but she doesn't want to see you
or her father. It would be best for Ashley if—"