Whiplash

I called to her, told her everything was okay, but she didn't say a word, didn't jump out to welcome me. The truth is I expected her to leap straight into my arms when I came in. So that means she figured it out, which, I will admit, surprises me. It was a sound plan, well executed until she went to your apartment, and you and that idiot boyfriend of yours screwed it up.
    "She's smarter than I gave her credit for. Can you imagine, an agent-a woman-who actually thought outside the box? Ah, I understand now. You told her, didn't you?"
    "Of course I didn't!"
    "All right, I'll believe you. When I first saw her, I knew in my gut she'd be dangerous to me. I wanted to strangle her. I knew she was smart. Much smarter than you, telling that gigolo tennis player all about this. Look what it's brought you."
    Jane Ann was silent for a beat, then she said in a deadly cold voice, "Of course she's smart. And so am I. If I hadn't asked Mick to the house that night, would you have killed me, too?"
    He laughed, he actually laughed. "Yeah, right, real smart. It took me all of ten minutes to convince you to get rid of that spineless greedy husband of yours, and another ten minutes to get your pants down."
    Another beat of silence, then Jane Ann said, her voice vicious, "You didn't give me much choice about Caskie, so don't go believing you're the God of Persuasion. All of this was always for my boys."
    "You're a fine human being and an extraordinary mother," Andreas said, the sarcasm so thick it seemed to Sherlock it should hang in the air.
    "You're more to blame for this than I am, Andy. It was you and those money-grubbing criminals who wanted Caskie dead and buried."
    "Don't call me Andy, you foolish woman! I wouldn't have to be here at all if you had the guts to take care of this agent yourself."
    Jane Ann shouted at him, "Well, now it doesn't matter. Your whole grand scheme-bilking cancer patients out of billions of dollars, and all of you walking away with millions for your off-shore accounts."
    "I am not getting millions," Kesselring said shortly, and he sounded pissed.
    "Ha! You, the brilliant German agent with all your supposed charisma-what a mistake it was to sleep with you. You, Andy, are a pig in bed and your hygiene isn't all that great either. Caskie was a cheat, but he always smelled nice."
    "You stupid Americans and your foolish fetish for scrubbing your bodies all the time. You're idiots, all of you!"
    "At least you don't sweat all that much until you're heaving like a goat in bed. You wouldn't get anywhere with American women if you smelled up your beautiful suits. The German dry cleaners must love you."
    Kesselring said, his voice gone dead and very soft, "Do you really want to speak to me that way when I'm holding a gun?"
    Jane Ann stopped talking.
    Andreas continued in that soft dead voice, "I have listened to you preen and crow enough, Jane Ann. Your greed is as great as mine, or your husband would still be alive." He stopped, looked at her with utter disinterest, and shrugged. "This is nonsense. We have a job to do here. I will succeed. And I will escape this."
    "How?"
    She saw Kesselring shrug again. "You will see I know exactly what I'm doing. Are you ready to help me?"
    Jane Ann nodded. "She's got to be here somewhere, listening to us."
    "At least you were smart enough to take her gun." He glanced down at his belt line under his dark blue jacket. Sherlock knew at that moment he had her SIG tucked under his belt.
    Sherlock watched Kesselring walk over to where she'd lain unconscious, trussed up with the duct tape. "She woke up from your pills, managed to get down a stage knife and saw the tape off, quite an accomplishment, given all the knives retract. It couldn't have been easy." He called out louder, "That was quite good, Agent Sherlock. You might as well come out now. There's no place for you to go. Mick is guarding the outside door, you can't get past him."
    Sherlock took one step then another down a long row of plastic bagged costumes, toward the door. Her best chance was to get to the door, slam it shut, lock it. She could deal with Mick, he was an amateur. She didn't have a chance with Kesselring, not so long as he kept his distance. He'd shoot her in the head in a heartbeat.
    One more step. Easy . A board creaked. Sherlock froze, then squatted down to peer through a long lacy sleeve of an 1890s ball gown hanging out of the plastic bag. She saw Kesselring whirl around on the balls of his feet, a