Sudden Prey

eyes.
    Weather said, “Well, I think they might be wrong on this one thing.”
    Jennifer, moving moodily across the room, dropped into a desk chair: “I understand you and Lucas are getting married. Pretty soon.”
    “That’s the plan,” Weather said.
    “Good luck,” Jennifer said. She was looking out the window at the street. “I . . . well, we talked about it, years ago. It wouldn’t have worked, though. I hope it works with you guys. He’s a good guy under the macho bullshit, and I would like to see him happy.”
    “That’s interesting,” Weather said. “Do you think that might be a problem? Happiness?”
    Jennifer shook her head and turned back to Weather: “He has a very dark streak, a Catholic dark streak. And his job . . . I don’t know how he stands it. I know what he does, because I’ve covered it, but I’ve got some distance. I mean, I see burned-out newspeople all the time, and they are several steps back from what Lucas does.”
    Weather nodded, and drifted toward the window herself. The sky and the day had the cold midwinter pre-storm look, a brooding somberness. “I know what you’re saying—I was just lying here thinking about it,” she said. “I can feel it in him. I can feel it in Del, too, almost as bad. I can feel it in Sloan, but with Sloan, it’s mostly a job. With Lucas it’s like . . . his existence.”
    “That’s the Catholic thing,” Jennifer said. “It can be frightening. It’s like, when he confronts a monster, he solves the problem by becoming a bigger monster . . . and after he wins, he changes back to Lucas the good guy.” Then she blushed: “God, I shouldn’t be talking this way to a guy’s fiancée. I’m sorry.”
    “No, no, no,” Weather said. “I need it. I’m still trying to figure out what I’m getting into here.” She looked at Sarah: “I would like a child before it’s too late . . . just like this one.”
    Sarah said, “I’m gonna be a TV reporter.”
    Jennifer said, “Over my dead body. You should be a surgeon, like Dr. Karkinnen.”
    “Did you cover the robbery at the credit union, where the women were killed?” Weather asked Jennifer.
    “I didn’t cover it, but I talked to all the people who did. I do mostly longer-term stories. We’re working on a story now about police intelligence units.”
    “What do you think? Some people have said it was an execution.”
    “No, it wasn’t. I’ll buy the argument that nobody made them do it. But you know Lucas. He has a tendency to arrange things so they come out his way.” She stopped again: “Jeez, I really sound like . . . I don’t know, like I’m trying to scrag the guy.”
    “That’s okay—I know what you mean,” Weather said. She picked up her coat, hat and mittens and smiled at Jennifer. “Ready to make the break?”
     
     
     
    LUCAS WAS INFURIATED when he heard that Weather had left the hotel, and Jennifer had taken her out.
    He tried to call the university, but was told Weather was in a meeting and couldn’t be disturbed. He got Jennifer at TV3, shouted at her and she hung up. He called back, got her again, asked about Sarah.
    “She’s with Sloan’s wife,” Jennifer said. “She’s fine. She’s watching HBO and eating pizza.”
    “Listen, I want Weather back in that fuckin’ hotel . . .”
    “Hey, Lucas? You don’t own her. If you call her with this attitude, you’re gonna get the same answer from her as you’re getting from me. Fuck you. Go away.”
    And she hung up.
     
     
     
    LA CHAISE SAID, “LISTEN: they’re gonna get your prints out of the house. Then they’ll have all three of our faces. We’ve got to move before that happens.”
    Martin said, “They won’t have any new pictures of me . . . but maybe we should change what we look like.”
    “Like what?”
    Martin shrugged. “I don’t know—you got that beard, and they show it on the tube as long. Maybe if you trimmed it, and cut it, and dyed your hair gray. Hell, with gray hair, we’d both look older than the hills.”
    LaChaise looked back toward the master bedroom: Sandy was in there, making up the beds, singing to herself while she did it. Not a happy song. A song like she was losing it, a song to herself, a singsong.
    “Sandy could do it,” LaChaise said.
    “I think it’d be a good move,” Martin said. “We could get out and scout around.”
    “Then let’s do it.” LaChaise nodded. “I want to get going again. Find this Weather. And Davenport himself. And the cops.