The Devil's Right Hand - J. D. Rhoades [68]
This time, Keller did look away. “I’m not sure I’m capable of it,” he said.
She stood up, put her arm around him. “I hope you’re wrong,” she said. “You deserve to be happy.”
He shook his head. “I think I may have screwed it up.”
She released him and sat on the edge of the desk. “What happened?”
He took a deep breath. He told her about the night before, about the dream and how he had left. At one point, Angela stopped him. “Wait a minute,” she said. “This is the Jones woman we’re talking about? The cop?”
“Yeah,” Keller said. “Marie Jones.”
“Keller, are you crazy?” Angela said. “You’re wanted for murder and you’re dating a cop?”
“She’s suspended from the force. She’s got no reason to help them out.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Besides, she has to know I wouldn’t kill anyone in cold blood.”
“Trying to strangle her in her sleep would really set her mind at ease on that point.”
Keller thought about that for a moment. Then he picked up the phone. “I need to talk to her.”
Angela slid off the desk and put her arms around him. “For God’s sake, be careful, Jack,” she whispered against his chest. She turned him loose and stepped away. “There’s so many ways this could go wrong for you.”
“I know,” Keller said. “But I’ve been going through my life so far taking stupid risks. This time, I’m taking a risk on something important.”
She nodded. She reached up and took his cheeks in her hands. She pulled his face down and kissed him on the forehead. “Make the call, Jack,” she whispered. She turned and left the room.
Keller dialed the phone. After four rings, the phone clicked. There was a crackle of static and a whirring sound on the line.
“Hi,” Marie’s recorded voice said. “Ben and I can’t come to the phone right now. Leave a message.”
“Marie?” Keller said. “It’s Jack Keller. If you’re there, pick up.” Silence. “Okay,” he said. “I need to talk to you. About everything. Call me at the office or on my cell.” He gave both numbers and hung up. He stared at the wall for a moment before standing up and walking back out to the front desk. Angela was seated behind it. She looked up. “She wasn’t home,” he said. “I left a message.”
“You could drive to her house,” Angela suggested. “You can keep using my car. I’ve got the truck.”
He shook his head. “It’s an hour and a half from here to Fayetteville,” he said. “And it’s getting late. I’ll try to call again tonight. I’ve got an appointment with Major Berry tomorrow morning. I’ll see her after.”
Angela’s face brightened. “You’re seeing Lucas again?” she said. “I thought he was doing drug rehab now.”
“He is. But he said he’d pick up where we left off.”
“He’s a good man. Looks like your luck may be changing, Keller.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The 9MM Glock spoke rapidly, twice in succession. The slide came back as Marie expended the last two shots into the man-shaped target at the far end of the indoor range. She ejected the spent magazine and set the gun on the waist-high shelf in front of her, pressing the button to bring the target to her on its steel cable. She grimaced as she looked at the target. There was a group of holes in the center of the target’s silhouetted torso, where the center of mass would be. There was another, smaller group in the center of the target’s “head.”
Better, she thought, but not great. At least I didn’t miss any this time. I really need to practice more.
She had shot through two boxes of ammo before the gun felt natural in her hand again, and her shot grouping had been awful. But as she relaxed, the old rhythm and flow returned. Draw, tap-tap. Draw, tap-tap. As always, the focus on the simple tasks involved in hitting the target cleared her head. There was something clean, uncomplicated about it. Only two ways for it to come out, she thought. Hit or miss, and it’s in