Second Shot

“Well, I could certainly do with some backup, but what about you?” “Right now,” she’d said, “I think your need is greater than mine.” I’d removed the suppressor from the Beretta to make it easier to conceal, and was carrying it in the right-hand outside pocket of my jacket. I knew I’d be in deep trouble if I was caught with it, but if it was a choice between that and facing another attempt on Simone and Ella unarmed, I thought it was worth the risk. Just the weight of it there was a comfort.

The only thing I hadn’t done-at Simone’s absolute insistence-was call in the police. Instinct told me it was a bad idea to try to keep them out of it but, at the end of the day, no harm had been done beyond a broken window and the loss of some stuffing from an oversize bear. I could appreciate Simone’s viewpoint that explanations would have been long and, bearing in mind the Lucases’ ignorance of her financial situation, possibly embarrassing.

Not only that, but she swore she wasn’t going to risk putting Ella through the same kind of press uproar she’d experienced at home. I tried to convince Simone otherwise, but it ended in a clenched-teeth argument with her telling me in no uncertain terms that if I didn’t like it I could go home and leave her to it. I gave in at that point. How could I abandon them now? Besides, it wasn’t the first time people had tried to kill me.

And it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Nevertheless, when there was a knock on my door shortly before eleven I answered it with caution. I took great care when I looked through the Judas glass to ensure whoever was out in the hallway would not be able to tell when my eye was in line with the peephole.

Outside was Greg Lucas. He was rocking a little on his feet, obviously uneasy, the distortion of the fish-eye lens making the movement more apparent. The dressing taped to his forehead seemed much bigger than I remembered the size of the injury demanding.

I waited a beat. I deliberately hadn’t told him our room number. Had Simone called him? I glanced back at the connecting door to Simone’s room. She was trying to settle Ella down for a nap after her disturbed night and the door was closed. I transferred the Beretta from my jacket to the back of my jeans, under the tails of my shirt, and slipped the security chain.

“Hi, Charlie,” Lucas said. “Can we talk?” He gave me a weary smile, one that attempted to bond us through a shared struggle, one soldier to another at the end of a bloody engagement.

I didn’t want that kind of connection with him. I jerked my head and said, “You’d better come in.”

As soon as he was through the door I shouldered his face up against the wall to the bathroom, regardless of his recent injury, and patted him down. He seemed neither surprised by my action nor offended by it.

“Right-hand side,” he said mildly.

“Good job you pointed that out. I might never have thought to look there.”

“Just trying not to make you nervous,” he said. “We all had a difficult night.”

He was carrying a short-barrel Smith amp; Wesson.38 revolver in a belt rig on his right hip. I tugged the gun free and stepped back, not taking my eyes off him as I dropped the cylinder and emptied the chambered rounds out onto the coverlet of the bed.

“Simone’s with Ella,” I said. “I’d rather she wasn’t disturbed.”

“That’s OK,” he said. “It’s you I’ve come to see.”

“In that case, make yourself at home,” I said. “Coffee?”

He nodded again. I left the partially dismembered gun on the bed and went to pour two cups from the little coffeemaker on the desk. It was surprisingly drinkable coffee and I was on my third lot since we’d checked in.

When I came back the gun was still where I’d left it and Lucas was over by the window, staring out at the picturesque view of the Echo Lake forest and the mountains beyond.

I joined him, handing over his coffee cup and sipping my own while I waited for him to try to find a way into what he wanted to say. By his silence, I gathered it wasn’t easy

And, somewhat childishly, I didn’t feel inclined to help him out. Instead, I concentrated on admiring the winter wonderland scene outside the glass. It should have been idyllic. In any other circumstances, it probably would have been.

Lucas had aged under stress. The dressing on his forehead was universal skin tone, but his waxy skin was almost white by comparison. He raised his coffee with both hands, as though thankful for something to occupy them.

“You don’t make this easy,” he said at last with a brief smile in my direction.

I sighed, admitting defeat or we’d be here all day. “What is it you want to say to me, Greg?”

He took a breath, as if gathering all the loose ends back into himself. “They could have killed her last night, couldn’t they?” he said. “Simone and Ella, I mean. They could have killed them both.”

I shrugged. “But they didn’t,” I said. ‘And you and I both know that wasn’t their plan, don’t we?”