Mortal Prey

Ross played with one of his ears, tugged on the lobe, and then said, “Probably not. If she’d waited six more weeks, and if she’d been careful, she would have got me.”
    “Huh.”
    “Yeah. That is kind of weird,” Ross said. “I’m almost insulted.”
     
    ON THE WAY OUT , Lucas ran into Treena Ross in the hallway. She was wearing a lime-green dress and matching lime-green shoes with two-inch heels. She was carrying a dog the size of a walnut that seemed to have been bred to be frightened; it whimpered when it saw Lucas, and then Ross coming up behind. Treena said, “Oh, they’re nice men, Wiener.” Then to Lucas: “I don’t think I’ve met you. Are you working with John?”
    “I’m a cop,” Lucas said. “Lucas Davenport. I saw you once before—you were going to play tennis.”
    “I remember. And you’re working with John. That’s wonderful.”
    “He’s not working with me,” Ross said. “He wants to kick my ass.”
    “Really? Kick your ass? Why?” She looked wide-eyed at Lucas. She was a little top-heavy, Lucas thought, but she had a beautiful oval face and green eyes that seemed to be a promise of good times. He understood what Ross had said about hormones.
    “Never mind,” Ross said. “Are you going somewhere?”
    “Off to Sophie’s.” She bent one of the dog’s tiny paws toward Lucas. “See? His teeny-weeny nails are all chipped. They have to be recoated.”
    “We were talking about Clara Rinker,” Lucas said to her.
    “That’s awful what’s she’s doing,” Treena Ross said. “She was always so nice when we worked together. She was very lively. She used to be a dancer.”
    “Do you have…do you remember anything about her that might help us run her down?” Lucas asked. “Friends, anything like that?”
    “I was her friend. And so was John. And for a while, I thought I was going to race her to see who got John,” she said, and she laughed, and took her husband’s arm. “He still won’t tell me if he ever slept with her.”
    She was teasing, but Ross snapped, “I didn’t.”
    “Now, see? Is he lying, Mr. Lucas? Anyway…her friends.” She pursed her lips and then said, “The only one I can think of…” She looked at her husband. “What was that Indian guy’s name? Running Horse, or something…”
    “Tim Runs-Like-Horse,” Ross said. “I don’t think she’s staying with him.”
    “Why?” Lucas asked.
    “He’s dead,” Ross said. “He used to drink all the time, and when he was really drunk, he’d go out in the street with his jacket and play bullfighter with cars. Some redneck ran over him with a Chevy S-10.”
    “Oh,” said Treena, a finger going to her lips. “I didn’t know about that.”
    “Three years ago,” Ross said. “He was a good guy.”
    “Huh. Well, too bad,” Treena said brightly. “That’s the only one I can think of. Old dead Running Horse.”
    “Let me take you out,” Ross said to Lucas.
    “Goodbye, Mr. Lucas,” Treena said.
     
    RIDING BACK TO FBI headquarters, Malone asked, “How’d it go?”
    Lucas shrugged. “We traded threats. His wife is taking the dog to get a manicure.”
    “Pedicure,” Malone said. “We met her.” Then, a moment later, she said, “I think Treena’s running with one headlight.”
    “Yeah, well, Ross seems to…see something in her,” Lucas said.
    “Wonder what that might be?”
     
    THEY RODE ALONG in silence for a bit, and then Lucas said, “I don’t like the phrase jackshit, but that’s exactly what we learned, talking to these guys.”
    “We found out that they might run.”
    “We knew that anyway,” Lucas said.
    “My big worry is that Rinker might run,” Malone said, looking out the window. “We need to get her now.”
    “She’s not going anywhere,” Lucas said. “She’s too pissed about her brother. She hasn’t done anything about it, but she will before she leaves.” He looked at Mallard. “You guys need better personal security. You need to talk to the AIC and tell him to warn all his people. Don’t answer the door to any strange women. You gotta take it more seriously.”
    “We’ve had experience with this, with these kinds of threats,” Mallard said. “We’re taking them seriously, but you gotta look at it from her angle, too. The FBI is pretty…frightening. We look pretty goddamn tough to a crook.”
    “I don’t think she’s scared,” Lucas said. “I don’t think she gives a shit about the FBI, or how tough you are.”

19
    RINKER HAD