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A voice echoed through my mind. A neighbor, at Amy's memorial, whispering to her friend, saying almost the exact same words about Amy. As I struggled to focus, I missed the first part of Leslie's new diatribe.
" - accuses him of rape. Fucking bad judgment, sleeping with your fifteen-year-old student, but rape?" A manic laugh. "He couldn't handle it. Drove the car off an embankment. Killed himself and almost killed me. Then, as I'm lying in the hospital bed, I hear the little bitch is pregnant. She stole my fiance, killed him, then has his baby. My baby."
"Destiny isn't that baby - "
"Do you think I don't know that?" The words were barely comprehensible, spewed on a stream of venom.
"I'm just checking, Les, 'cause I hate to say it, but you seem a bit nuts to me." A small laugh. "Oh, who am I kidding? You're full-blown fucked-in-the-head crazy."
"You're calling me cr
azy? You kill people for a living."
"Sure," I said as I reached the end of the wall. "But I know I'm not fit to raise a child."
"How dare you judge -!"
"Sorry, Leslie, but no matter what goes down here, you aren't keeping Destiny. I don't care how much money you have or how badly you want her, you aren't one-tenth the mother Sammi was."
She sprang around the corner, her face contorted with rage, gun raised. I slammed my fist into the bottom of her arm and the gun flew free. As she twisted to dive for it, I kicked her in the stomach. She howled, doubling over as she fell to the floor. I booted the gun out of her reach. She flipped over and grabbed for the one in MacIver's hand. I beat her to it, but as I bent to scoop it up, I stumbled, managing to grab MacIver's but drop my own.
I flew after it. She was faster, and snatched it as my fingertips brushed the metal. I staggered back, raising MacIver's gun.
"Stop," she said, smiling as she raised the gun to point at my head.
"Y-you don't want to do this, Leslie. I can help you. I can make sure you keep Destiny - Miranda, your baby."
"Sorry, but I can manage just fine on my own."
She pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. She pulled it again, face twisting. I took the cartridge from my pocket and dangled it in my free hand as I lifted MacIver's gun.
"Yes, it's empty," I said. "But thank you for putting your prints on it."
I shot her between the eyes. She toppled back, my gun still clutched in her hands. I took a deep breath, steadying myself, then crossed to MacIver and replaced the gun in his bare hand, putting it back as it had been.
"Not bad," said a voice behind me.
I spun, hand going to my holster.
Chapter Forty-nine
Jack closed the door behind him. "First thing? Before replacing his gun? Should have grabbed hers. Can't be unarmed. Not for a second. Better yet? Backup gun. Discussed that, didn't we?"
"How did you find me?"
"GPS. Put it on your cell phone. Figured that's one thing you wouldn't trash. Supposed to be a receiver, too. Piss-poor one."
"Probably interference from the cell."
"Gadgets." He shook his head as he walked over to look at the bodies. "Quick cleanup. Then go. You start - " He turned to me. "Am I allowed to help now?"
I tried to gauge whether he was angry or even annoyed. Impossible to tell, as always, so I said, "I'd appreciate it. Thanks."
There wasn't much to clean. I hadn't removed my gloves. Hadn't been hit by a bullet. Hadn't taken off my wig. My only concern was footprints in the dust that would suggest a fourth party to this lethal spat. A flashlight sweep of the floor, though, showed lots of prints, from lots of boots, presumably the people who'd been using the warehouse as an illegal dump site. I erased the most obvious of mine, and I'd discard the boots. Standard procedure.
As we were leaving, I looked back at the bodies.
"So you were outside listening?" I asked.
