Face of Death

She was fumbling to unholster her gun while she ran, getting it into her hand, steadying it with the radio in the other. If he was armed, there was no telling what kind of move he might make. There was no way to know if he would resist them with violence.

“Stop and put your hands above your head!” she called out again, people scattering in front of her in response to her calls. Sikes zigged and zagged amongst the tables, looking over his shoulder with ragged gasps, panic written clear on his face.

He ran into a blackjack table, almost taking out the croupier as he body-slammed it, pushing with his arms until it flipped over and through the air, spending chips and cards flying. There was a crescendo so close in front of Zoe that she almost fell into it, and only the briefest pause before people were flooding forward, scrambling to pick up as many chips as they could hold, blocking her path.

“FBI! Get out of the way!” Zoe shouted desperately, but it had done the trick for Sikes. He was getting away, pulling out distance as she fought her way through the crowd. He had enough of an advantage now that she could see him getting away—and for good, if he managed to slip past their man at the door.

But he was running in a particular way, she could see now. He had been here for hours, most likely, making his way from station to station, playing different games, having a great time. He knew the layout of the room, at least better than she did. And there was a kind of method to his madness, a series of acute angles that jerked back and forth across the casino floor, ignoring the path entirely in favor of the fastest route toward the back of the room.

Zoe stopped moving and watched him. There was no sense in trying to shoot, not with this many civilians in the way. There was no way she could catch up with him now. But there were at least three other people in this casino who had a chance to stop him, and she could help with that.

She saw his path, traced like a line with a ruler in her mind’s eye, a zigzag which was anything but random. He struck out left and right and skirted every other table, finding the clearest path to the door, even if it didn’t seem to make sense to those who couldn’t see it. The lines continued clearly right the way to the back of the room, which Zoe could now see as they entered the farthest part of the casino. Laid out in front of her from left to right, Zoe saw the lines overlaid on her view of the room in a literal sense, pointing her in the right direction.

And she could see Shelley, making her way toward him.

“Shelley,” Zoe barked into the radio. “The end of the bar, to your left. Intercept him beside the third column.”

Zoe watched Shelley hear the message, her head snapping around toward the bar. She noticed the column and headed toward it at a run, even as Zoe herself started moving again, following with her feet as well as her eyes.

One last row of tables to clear—

Jimmy Sikes dashed to the side, away from the cop that was approaching him, and skewed toward the bar, his feet taking around the fourth column in a row of them and beyond.

“Stop!” Shelley’s voice, calling out, and then a crunching noise, like a body colliding with the floor.

Zoe’s view was blocked by the third column—she could not see Shelley or Jimmy—but he had not emerged, and neither had Shelley. Zoe rounded the corner, opening up her view, and breathed a deep gasp of air in relief to see Shelley snapping handcuffs onto Jimmy’s wrists with trained precision.

She arrived, a little out of breath and feeling the effects of the adrenaline that had flooded her system during the chase, as Shelley finished reading Jimmy his rights. The other cops converged upon them, taking Jimmy by the shoulders to march him back to the parking lot. Zoe breathed again, exchanging a grin and a secret fist-bump of success with Shelley.

“We got him, Z,” Shelley said, laughing.

And Zoe wondered why she didn’t quite feel so confident as she had a short while ago that they really did have their man.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Zoe slouched into a chair in the sheriff’s office, her full attention on the screen of his computer. He had swiveled it around on his desk so that she could watch the video feed as, next door, Shelley sat down with Jimmy Sikes.

“It’s probably not what you’re used to,” the sheriff said, by way of both gruff apology and defense of his precinct. “We don’t quite have the budget that you all do up at the Bureau. No two-way mirrors and high-tech surveillance here. We don’t have the space.”

“That is fine,” Zoe told him, nodding toward the screen. “I can see everything here.”

“You sure she’s fine in there on her own? I only mean, I gathered you were the senior agent.”

“Special Agent Rose will handle it just fine,” Zoe said, smiling. It was not for his reassurance or encouragement, but simply because she found his doubt amusing. “She has a reputation for interrogation. Just watch.”