Shadow Fires, page 50
So Jerry Peake drew his own gun and shot Sharp. The slug hit the deputy director in the shoulder.
Sharp seemed to have sensed the impending betrayal, because he had started to turn toward Jerry even as Jerry shot him. He squeezed off a round of his own, and Jerry took the bullet in the leg, though he fired simultaneously. As he fell, he had the enormous pleasure of seeing Anson Sharp’s head explode.
Rachael stripped the jacket and shirt off Lieutenant Verdad and examined the bullet wound in his shoulder.
‘I’ll live,’ he said. ‘It hurts like the devil, but I’ll live.’
In the distance, the mournful sound of sirens arose, drawing rapidly nearer.
‘That’ll be Reese’s doing,’ Verdad said. ‘As soon as he got Gavis to the hospital, he’ll have called the locals.’
‘There really isn’t too much bleeding,’ she said, relieved to be able to confirm his own assessment of his condition.
‘I told you,’ Verdad said. ‘Heck, I can’t die. I intend to stay around long enough to see my partner marry the pink lady.’ He laughed at her puzzlement and said, ‘Don’t worry, Mrs Leben. I’m not out of myhead.’
Peake was flat on his back on the concrete decking, his head raised somewhat on the hard pillow of the pool coping.
With a wide strip of his own torn shirt, Ben had fashioned a tourniquet for Peake’s leg. The only thing he could find to twist it with was the barrel of Anson Sharp’s discarded, silencer-equipped pistol, which was perfect for the job.
‘I don’t think you really need a tourniquet,’ he told Peake as the sirens drew steadily nearer, gradually overwhelming the patter of the rain, ‘but better safe than sorry. There’s a lot of blood, but I didn’t see any spurting, no torn artery. Must hurt like the devil, though.’
‘Funny,’ Peake said, ‘but it doesn’t hurt much at all.’
‘Shock,’ Ben said worriedly.
‘No,’ Peake said, shaking his head. ‘No, I don’t think I’m going into shock. I’ve got none of the symptoms – and I know them. You know what I think maybe it is?’
‘What?’
‘What I just did – shooting my own boss when he went bad – is going to make me a legend in the agency. Damned if it isn’t. I didn’t see it that way until he was dead. So, anyway, maybe a legend just doesn’t feel pain as much as other people do.’ He grinned at Ben.
Ben returned a frown for the grin. ‘Relax. Just try to relax –’ Jerry Peake laughed. ‘I’m not delirious, Mr Shadway. Really, I’m not. Don’t you see? Not only am I a legend, but I can still laugh at myself! Which means that maybe I really do have what it takes. I mean, see, maybe I can make a big reputation for myself and not let it go to my head. Isn’t that a nice thing to learn about yourself?’
‘It’s a nice thing,’ Ben agreed.
The night was filled with screaming sirens, then the bark of brakes, and then the sirens died as running footsteps sounded on the motel driveway.
Soon there would be questions – thousands of them – from police officers in Las Vegas, Palm Springs, Lake Arrowhead, Santa Ana, Placentia, and other places.
Following that ordeal, the media would have questions of their own. (‘How do you feel, Mrs Leben? Please? How do you feel about your husband’s murderous spree, about nearly dying at his hands, how do you feel ?’) They would be even more persistent than the police – and far less courteous.
But now, as Jerry Peake and Julio Verdad were loaded into the paramedics’ van and as the uniformed Las Vegas officers kept a watch on Sharp’s corpse to make certain no one touched it before the police coroner arrived, Rachael and Ben had a moment together, just the two of them. Detective Hagerstrom had reported that Whitney Gavis had made it to the hospital in time and was going to pull through, and now he was getting into the emergency van with Julio Verdad. They were blessedly alone. They stood under the promenade awning, holding each other, neither of them speaking at first. Then they seemed to realize simultaneously that they would not be alone together again for long, frustrating hours, and they both tried to speak at once.
‘You first,’ he said, holding her almost at arm’s length, looking into her eyes.
‘No, you. What were you going to say?’
‘I was wondering . . .’
‘What?’
‘. . . If you remembered.’
‘Ah,’ she said because she knew instinctively what he meant. ‘When we stopped along the road to Lake Arrowhead,’ he said. ‘I remember,’ she said.
‘I proposed.’
‘Yes.’
‘Marriage.’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ve never done that before.’
‘I’m glad.’
‘It wasn’t very romantic, was it?’
‘You did just fine,’ she said. ‘Is the offer still open?’
‘Yes. Is it still appealing?’
‘Immensely appealing,’ she said. He pulled her close again.
She put her arms around him, and she felt protected, yet suddenly a shiver passed through her.
‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘It’s over.’
‘Yeah, it’s over,’ she said, putting her head against his chest. ‘We’ll go back to Orange County, where it’s always summer, and we’ll get married, and I’ll start collecting trains with you. I think I could get into trains, you know? We’ll listen to old swing music, and we’ll watch old movies on the VCR, and together we’ll make a better world for ourselves, won’t we?’
‘We’ll make a better world,’ he agreed softly. ‘But not that way. Not by hiding from the world as it really is. Together, we don’t need to hide. Together, we’ve got the power, don’t you think?’
‘I don’t think,’ she said. ‘I know.’
The rain had tailed off to a light drizzle. The storm was moving eastward, and the mad voice of the wind was stilled for now.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
International bestselling author Dean Koontz was only a senior in college when he won an Atlantic Monthly fiction competition. He has never stopped writing since. Koontz is the author of 79 New York Times bestsellers, fourteen of which were number one. He’s been hailed by Rolling Stone as “America’s most popular suspense novelist.” His books have been published in thirty-eight languages and have sold over five hundred million copies worldwide. Born and raised in Pennsylvania, he now lives in Southern California with his wife, Gerda, their golden retriever, Elsa, and the enduring spirits of their goldens Trixie and Anna. For more information, visit his website at www.deankoontz.com.
Koontz, Dean, Shadow Fires
