Judas Horse_ An FBI Special Agent Ana Grey Mystery - April Smith [117]
“Who is it?”
“FBI,” McCord tells Stone.
“Bitch!” he shouts, and backhands me across the face. I reel against the sink as red drops from a split lip find the drain.
McCord: “What’s that about?”
“She’s a fed,” Sara announces breathlessly.
Pressing my hand to my mouth, I see Sterling McCord make an adjustment. He straightens his back and regards me in a different way, as if an entire sequence has locked into place for him.
“In that case, we use her as a bargaining chip. They’ll attempt to negotiate.”
“I know exactly what they’ll do,” growls Stone.
Sara goes spacey and begins to wander off, but Megan pulls her back. “Stay away from the windows.”
McCord: “You two go down to the basement.”
“What about you?” Sara cries.
“We’re going to talk to the feds,” replies McCord.
“Like fuck we are,” says Stone. “And who the fuck are you?”
McCord shows his palms in deference. “Your house, your call. But can we agree to get the women out of the line of fire?”
“Except Ana Grey.”
McCord, bemused: “Is that your real name?”
I nod yes.
The helicopter swoops low and deafeningly loud, most likely checking our positions with infrared devices. They’ve already got a pretty good picture from listening in on Stone’s surveillance system. When the chopper fades, an amplified voice from somewhere out there begins calling us out.
“This is Deputy Director Peter Abbott with the FBI. We have a warrant to search the premises. Please come out with your hands up.”
None of us in the kitchen moves. Stone is leaning against the counter, head down, staring at his bare crossed ankles.
“They sent the brass,” he says sarcastically.
“Megan Tewksbury? Laurel Williams?”
Megan startles, as if hit with a cattle prod. “What the hell?”
“I believe you’re innocent. I know you’ve been coerced. This is a dead end. Don’t put your life in danger.”
Her eyes go wild. “Why me?”
“They’re trying to drive a wedge,” I say.
“If I go out there, they’ll shoot me.”
“No, they won’t,” says McCord. “They want you out of here. One less potential casualty.”
“Megan, Laurel, step outside the door.”
Megan is red-faced, confused as a girl. “What should I do?”
Stone says, “Go on.”
“Without you?”
“All I’ve ever done is bring you down. They’ll cut you a deal. Sara, too.”
Sara has begun to quiver.
McCord says, “Go ahead. You’ll be safe, little girl.”
Megan extends her hand and Sara takes it.
“You stay here,” Stone tells me, unholstering his gun.
Megan and Sara, holding hands, walk awkwardly to the front door. Megan glances back at us, then opens it a slice. Somewhere out there is the supreme warrior-bureaucrat, the man who took away her freedom, offering it back.
“What do you want?” Megan shouts.
“I promise you safe passage. We don’t want you to get hurt. Tell Dick Stone to let you go.”
“I am my own person!” Megan declares melodramatically. “I am free to go or stay. I have someone else with me. A girl. Sara.”
“Good. Where is Agent Grey? Is she hurt?”
“She’s in the kitchen. She’s fine.”
“You and Sara come out now. Everything will be okay.”
We cannot see what Megan sees through the crack of the door, but I doubt it is the guns that frighten her. Or the aftermath of surrender, too unimaginable to grasp. She hesitates on the threshold between two men, two lives, and maybe it’s the distance that decides it—not more than fifty yards from the porch to the road, but a still, wavering sunlit space of almost four decades too charged with passion to be dismissed in a banal gesture. Megan slams the door and locks it. Dragging Sara, she hurtles back through the dining room to the kitchen and stands before Dick Stone, who opens his arms and takes her in.
With a sigh, the refrigerator shuts down.
Stone tries the stove. No electric click. The faucets spew air.
“They cut the water and power.” He picks up the receiver. “But not the phone.”
When night falls we will be trapped in darkness, while they will follow every