Afraid of the Dark - James Grippando [144]
She shook her head, but without much conviction. The Dark continued to work on her. “Shada, the police already know that two people went to Neil Goderich’s office the night he was shot.”
That was news to Jack, and he wasn’t sure if the police knew it, either. But Shada’s silence confirmed that it was true.
“Run with me,” said the Dark. “That’s all we can do, Shada.”
Tears were streaming down her face. Shada’s voice was barely audible, and even though she was staring at the Dark, Jack sensed that she was speaking to him.
“I was just the lookout,” she said. “Neil wasn’t supposed to get shot.”
“Aim the gun toward Jack,” said the Dark.
Her hand was shaking. Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the barrel of the gun began to move.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Shada’s betrayal—and the pain of Neil’s death—caught in Jack’s throat. He could barely speak.
“Shada, don’t do this.”
The gun continued to move in Jack’s direction.
“Shada, please,” said Jack.
Slowly and steadily, the gun kept moving—and then it jerked toward Shada’s face.
“No!” shouted Jack, and his cry seemed to jar Vince into action. He catapulted up from the floor and knocked the barrel away from Shada’s mouth. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw Vince and Shada going down as the explosion of another gunshot rattled the room.
The next few seconds passed like minutes, as events suddenly seemed to unfold in slow motion. As the Dark’s fingers wrapped around the phone, a boot came down on his wrist, clamping it to the floor. Jack looked up to see the business end of a pistol that looked exactly like the one Reza had offered him. It was aimed straight at the Dark’s head. In a flash, Jack realized that Chuck had not called for help, and that he had never intended to involve the police under any circumstances. He realized that there was no outstanding arrest warrant for Chuck Mays that prevented him from traveling to the U.K., and that Chuck had been in London at least as long as Jack had.
And Jack totally understood that it was time for a father’s justice.
“This is for my McKenna,” he said, and the crack of his pistol shook the old hotel.
Chapter Eighty-two
Andie gasped for breath.
She was bent at the waist, essentially upside down in the back of the limo. Her head was hanging off the forward edge of the leather seat, and her hair splayed across the carpeted floor. Her knees were pointed at the ceiling, flexed over the headrest so that her feet dangled through the open partition and into the cockpit. Bahena held her legs still. Her arms were outstretched, each wrist tied to a door handle.
“I’ll ask you one more time,” said Littleton. “Who are you?”
Her lungs burned, and she could barely force out the words. “I told you,” she said. “My name is Lisa Horne.”
Again, Littleton covered her face with the wet cloth. Andie couldn’t see, but she heard the jangle of the crystal carafe as he pulled it from the slot in the liquor cabinet. The fact that it wasn’t liquor was of little consolation. A steady stream of water began to flow again, soaking the cloth. Andie tried to hold her breath, knowing how painful it would feel. The cloth became thicker and heavier on her face, absorbing more and more water. She needed air and finally drew a breath, but it was like trying to breathe through a wet sponge. The burning sensation was in her nose first, and then it shot down her throat and tore at her lungs. Her body lurched and twisted until she coughed up the water into the wet cloth. She wanted to scream—Stop!—but the flow of water from the carafe was seemingly without end, choking off all ability to speak. Again she struggled to hold her breath, but the lack of oxygen was making her dizzy and borderline delirious. She knew if she blacked out they would revive her, and then she would face the tough questions about her true identity. Her head seemed on the verge of explosion, but she tried to focus on who she was, who she was supposed to be. Her name was Willow, and she was part of a cult in the Cascade Mountains. No, she was Andrea, and her best