Criminal

the side.
    Amanda reached for the gun, but Ulster grabbed her ankle, jerking her back. Amanda kicked as hard as she could. She felt his nose break under her heel. He let go. Amanda scrambled, pulling herself to her knees, but he grabbed her again. His arms went around her waist. Amanda slammed back her head, going for his broken nose. He faltered, which gave her time to twist around, take aim, and drive her elbow straight into the soft meat of his throat.
    The loud crack sounded like a shotgun blast.
    Ulster’s hands went to his neck. Air whistled into his mouth. Amanda slammed her elbow a second time. Another crack. She did it again. Ulster fell onto his side. He rolled onto his back, wheezing for air. Amanda pushed herself up again. Her arms ached. Her head was pounding. Her chest hurt. Her throat hurt. Everything hurt.
    She managed to stand, clutching at the van so that she would not fall back down.
    Ulster made a gurgling sound. Blood dribbled from his mouth and nose.
    Amanda pressed her bare foot into his neck. The sensation was just as Pete had described, bubbles crackling against the arch of her foot. She leveraged her weight back and forth, watching Ulster’s eyes widen in terror, wondering if hers had done the same when he was pressing the life out of her.
    “ ’Manda,” Evelyn murmured. She was sitting up. Her lip was split. She had her hand to her face. Her jaw was so swollen that the lump showed through her fingers.
    “Hey!” A patrolman ran around the van. He screeched to a stop when he took in the scene. “Jesus fucking Christ.” His gun was drawn, though it hung limply out in front of him. “What the fuck did you broads do?”
    “Amanda.” Evelyn’s voice was stilted, as if it hurt to talk. She said, “The girl.”

twenty-six
    Present Day
    WEDNESDAY
    News vans and reporters scurried like ants on the outer motor court of the Four Seasons. This wasn’t just a hotel. High-priced lawyers and money managers filled the office spaces on the upper levels. The residence floors were packed with the rich and famous. Rap singers. TV reality stars. Fame-seeking socialites.
    Crime scene tape had been strung along the marble fountain fronting Fourteenth Street. Someone noticed that Faith’s turn signal was on. The reporters thronged forward. Will could hear their questions shouted through the closed window. What happened? Why are you here? Can you tell us who the victim is?
    They would get the story soon enough. A woman murdered in a high-class hotel room. A paroled killer on the loose. There was not one part of the city this crime didn’t touch, from the mayor’s office to the Convention and Visitors Bureau.
    Will had seen these stories spin out of control before. Every salacious detail would be discussed and analyzed. Rumors would be fed into the machine and regurgitated as fact. The obvious questions would be asked: Who did he kill? Why was he released? The Sunshine Law would be invoked. Files would be photocopied and couriered and Sam Lawson, Faith’s ex who worked at the newspaper, would probably be on CNN before night fell.
    “Crap,” Faith mumbled, nosing her Mini up to the police barricade. The car shook as reporters jockeyed for position. She flashed her badge at the cop on duty.
    “The BMW, too,” Faith told him, pointing to Sara’s car behind them.
    The cop made a note on his clipboard, then pushed his way through the crowd to lift the barricade.
    A reporter knocked on Faith’s window. She mumbled, “Asshole,” as she rolled the car forward. She hadn’t said much on the ride over. Will didn’t know if that was because she didn’t know what to say or because Amanda was playing her usual game of hide the details.
    Another body. Same M.O. His father nowhere to be found. The new victim was a prostitute. Will knew this with absolute certainty. It was his father’s pattern. First a student, then a working girl. He didn’t get rid of one unless he had another to take her place.
    Will turned around to check for Sara. The BMW followed them inside the barricade. His Sig Sauer was still under her front seat. She wasn’t going to stop him this time. Amanda could put fifty guards on Will and he’d still grab the gun and find his father and shoot him in the head.
    Exactly as he should’ve done last night. This morning. Last week.
    So many opportunities missed. His father had lived in this hotel for two months, and he’d somehow managed to come and go with no one being the wiser.