High Noon

skull. “Lancelot didn’t rescue Guinevere.”
    “That’s what he can’t live with. That he was there, waiting while she bled out. While I had them wait, while I talked her killers down so they walked out with their hands in the air. They lived, she died, because of decisions I made. That’s what he believes. That’s what he has to believe. But it doesn’t help us find him.”
    “Why’d he go after Roy?”
    Think it through, Phoebe reminded herself. Empathize. “The connection to me—we had a child together, we were married. Husband—a symbol. Harder, much harder, to get to Brentine than to Roy. And Roy was mine. He wants to destroy what’s mine, as I destroyed what was his.”
    “Not just the woman.” Dave reached for the water glass, then settled back to sip through the straw as Phoebe picked it up, held it to his lips. “Thanks. Not just the woman,” he repeated. “His self-image was destroyed. Didn’t save the day. Followed orders, hung back with the rest instead of walking solo out into the street for the showdown.”
    “But this time, he is, he will. Moving up the line,” she mused. “Roy, then you. Everyone knows we’re close. And that I’m a negotiator because of you. Therefore, I was at the bank because of you.
    “Do you want me to call the nurse?” she said when he shifted, when she saw pain tighten his face. “You should rest, you should—”
    “No. Keep going. It keeps my mind busy. You call the nurse, she’s going to come in here with a needle and take more blood. I swear, being in a hospital’s like being in a den of vampires. They never get enough of your blood. Keep going.”
    Wishing she could do more, Phoebe tucked and smoothed his sheets as she spoke. “All right. The dead animals, to defile my house, to undermine my sense of security. Snake, rabbit, rat. He’s probably based outside the city. Somebody’s going to notice if you shoot a rabbit otherwise. Smarter to have a place outside the city, quiet, secluded. Nobody’s going to bother you or notice you overmuch, not if you keep to yourself. Get along,” she said. “Like he got along with his teammates. A house, a bungalow. He’d need transportation. They’re still checking on how he got to Hilton Head.”
    She turned to the window. Urban sprawl, she thought, so roads led to suburbs, and suburbs gave way to swamps and woods. Bridges ribboned their way to islands.
    So many places to hide.
    “Every cop in the city, every cop on the islands, has his picture. He has to know that. He has to know you lived, that you saw him, and that we’re looking for him now. I see he’s got two choices—to cut and run, or to finish. He won’t cut and run.”
    “You need to be ready when he comes at you.”
    She nodded. “I’m trying to be.” She turned back. “I never asked how you felt this morning.”
    “Glad to be alive.”
    “I’ve had to tie the rest of the family down to keep them from coming to see you. And I’m under orders to put you under orders to come to the house when they spring you from here so Mama and Ava can spoil you while you recuperate.”
    “Would that include peach pie?”
    “I can guarantee it. When are you going to ask Ava out on a date?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “When are the two of you going to stop sending wistful glances at each other’s backs? You’re both grown-up, divorced people. I don’t think she got any sleep last night.”
    “Well, I…”
    “I don’t know how many times this morning she asked me about you, or argued with me about coming to see you herself, or told me to tell you she was thinking of you.”
    “She’s a friend, she’s been a friend a long time.”
    “Dave, my mama is your friend.” Exasperation eked through enough to have her fisting her hands on her hips. “Are you going to lie there on what might have been your deathbed and tell me you feel the same about Ava you do about my mama?”
    “I don’t think—”
    “What do you want?” She approached the bed again. “I know how to find out what people want in emotional and stressful situations. If you’re too flustered to tell me—and it’s awful cute to see you blush—I’ll tell you. You want to ask Ava out for a romantic, candlelight dinner when you’re back on your feet.”
    He stirred again, but this time Phoebe could see it wasn’t about pain. “It happens I was thinking about her—about that—when I was walking home yesterday. Before. I was thinking the timing for doing that was