House of Blues
and red lights were coming out of
nowhere. It didn't seem to Skip the best way to handle a hostage
situation with a woman who'd seemed unstable and shaky before she
even went into action.
She radioed again: "Langdon here. Arriving with
the child's mother. Could someone meet us with a wheelchair?"
A female officer met them, apparently pissed at
missing out on the action. "Dietrich, Jefferson. We gals do the
fetchin' and carryin' here."
Skip raised an eyebrow. "Thanks for your help,"
she said coldly, thinking Reed didn't need Dietrich's problems.
She was itching to get there herself, but she took
her time helping Reed get settled, making sure she was comfortable.
As she opened the footrest on the folding chair, helped Reed balance
her injured leg, she noticed for the first time that her feet and
legs were horribly scarred.
Dietrich's cheeks were pink, with embarrassment
perhaps, for her faux pas .
"Come, I'll take you there. It's not far. Apparently she didn't
want to go through the metal detector till the last minute, because
then she'd have had to dump her gun. At least that's what we think.
She bought a ticket on the next plane to New York and waited for her
flight outside the search area even though she only had ten minutes
before it took off. She was playing with the little girl when we
found her." Dietrich shook her head. "She looked up and saw
us, and that was that. It's like she's a multiple personality, you
know? All of a sudden everything changed. Like she became a different
person.
"Just put her hand in her purse, came out with
the gun, and stuck it to the kid's head. Must have gone to Plan B is
what we figure."
What was she thinking of? Is she nuts?
Maybe not, but something. Under pressure, maybe.
Not maybe—certainly. She had three prisoners
that she didn't know what to do with.
So why'd she try to bum us up? It doesn't make
sense.
It does if she was desperate.
Which she must be, but I wonder why. What's up
with her? Where'd she get off thinking she could just kidnap a child
and get away with it?
There's the human mind, doing it again.
Don't you remember you and Reed nearly burned to
death? If we hadn't escaped, she would have been in fat city. Once on
that plane, no problems. Nobody would have known where she'd gone,
and by the time some bright person figured it out, she'd have been
engulfed by the city.
And she got caught only ten minutes away.
Skip's fingertips felt cold.
There were still things that didn't fit—the
apparent irrationality of taking Sally, of burning the
house—contrasted with the coldness of Plan B, making Sally her
hostage. But the Dragon was emerging as a very intelligent woman,
someone who planned for contingencies.
Still. She was a wreck when she came in that room.
That could be good or bad, Skip knew. It might mean
she was vulnerable; it might signal instability.
She said to Dietrich, "Did they call the hostage
negotiators?"
"Hell, I
think they called everybody but the governor. But the hostage guys
aren't here yet."
A semicircle of police with drawn guns separated
mother from child, Anna from Skip.
A man on the sidelines approached. "Johnson,
Jefferson. I'm in charge of this operation."
"Skip Langdon. And this is Sally's mother, Reed
Foucher. I thought she might be able to help. May we talk to the
suspect?"
"I'd rather wait till the negotiators come."
He was a redhead with freckles over very white skin. Skip wondered if
he was always so pale. He was twitching from nervousness.
"I wouldn't," said Reed, and hollered,
"Sally! Mommy's here."
A snake of fury raced up Skip's spine. Damn her!
There was an intake of breath, and a tremor went
through the semicircle. Peering through, Skip could see Anna holding
Sally and Sally struggling, pushing futilely against Anna's confining
arm.
"Mama! Mama!"
Reed said, "Oh, God. Ohgodohgod. Sally!"
Skip whispered to Johnson, "Let Anna see us, at
least."
He nodded, deep lines between his eyes.
Two men stepped aside, clearing a path for Skip and
Reed. Skip pushed the wheelchair very slowly, as nonthreatening as
possible. Anna said, "Stop or I'll blow her head off."
Skip stopped. "Anna, you wouldn't do that."
"Don't push me."
Sally was struggling so hard Anna had to hold her way
too tight. Her screams were the forlorn howls of babies in hell,
noises that took Skip back to childhood, to pediatricians' offices,
emergency rooms, places where a child howled in the distance and you
knew it was undergoing unspeakable
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