No response. I walked past an empty bathroom, a guest bedroom. Framed pictures adorned the walls—Edward Piro Sr. and his children, his wives. Mr. Piro was slim and straight-backed, with thick silver hair and a tight smile. His wives and daughters all looked like they belonged in shampoo commercials. I saw a few of a chubby young boy with a grim face. Hestood out in this picture-perfect, smiley family. I assumed he was Teddy. He had the same build as the man I’d seen parked outside Mimi Donnelly’s, and in most of the pictures, he looked miserable. There was one, though, that stood out. I stopped in front of it. It was of the same boy, but as a teenager. And he was actually smiling. He wore a redStar Trekuniform, and he was standing next to another, skinnier boy who wore the same uniform, in blue. They were at a convention, posing like their favorite characters, plastic phasers aimed at the camera. The skinnier boy looked sort of familiar, but I couldn’t quite place him.
Then I noticed the last picture. It wasn’t framed. It was printed out on computer paper and taped to a closed door at the end of the hall. Teddy looked to be in his twenties. He and that same, skinny friend flanked a girl in a halter top and jeans. She had dark hair and frightened eyes. I stared at the tattoo on her arm—that pink-and-white flower. I swallowed hard. The girl was Leila Donnelly. The skinny friend, as I now saw, was Greg Scepter. I knocked on the door. “Mr. Piro? Are you in there?”
There was no answer. I slipped one hand into my purse. I felt Blake’s knife before I found my gun, so I dropped it into the pocket of my satin skirt, just to get it out of the way. Then I returned my hand to my bag and found my gun. It was so quiet in this hallway, as though someone had drained all the energy out of the place, all the air.
I placed my other hand on the doorknob and turned it slowly.
I didn’t hear the sound until I’d pushed open the door. It showed how thick these walls were, because once I was in the room, it filled my ears: The beeping of monitors. The sucking sound of a ventilator. The lights were dimmed, the shades drawn. It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust enough to see the man on the hospital bed. A frail, silver-haired man on life support, his chest rising and falling again and again, that unnatural rhythm, as though someone was blowing him up and deflating him. “Mr. Piro,” I said quietly.
I heard movement behind me. My pulse sped up, but I stayed calm on the outside. In control.You’re not freezing this time.I grabbed my gun out of my purse with two steady hands and spun around, holding it in front of me.
A man filled the doorway. He was at least a foot taller than me, broad-shouldered and big-boned. His face was the same as in all the pictures. “Teddy,” I said. In one meaty hand, he held a gun of his own.
“I see you’ve met my dad,” Teddy Piro said.
It was the same voice I’d heard on the phone last night, when I thought I’d been talking to Edward.
Fifty-two
“Drop your gun,” I said.
Teddy Piro stared at me, his lips pursed, his cheeks flushed. He looked like an angry Botticelli cupid.
I held my own gun straight out in front of me. “Drop it,” I said again.
Piro’s cupid mouth twitched into a smile. I hated him. I’d always hated people who smiled when nothing was funny.
“Lower your fucking gun,” I said.
He lowered his gun. Then he fired it. The bullet grazed my thigh. My flesh seared. Tears sprung into my eyes. I glanced down. Blood bloomed on my leg. My white satin skirt was thick with it, the knife dragging at my pocket. I gritted my teeth and fired my own gun. But my aim wasn’t good. I was intoo much pain. My knee buckled and I fell to the ground, my .38 dropping from my hand.
“That’s a good girl,” Teddy Piro said. His eyes were tiny and pale blue, like two chips of ice. He knelt down and picked me up, kicking my gun across the floor. He brought me to another room and kicked open the door, carrying me over the threshold. I bit his arm. He didn’t even flinch. He was solid. It made me think of Leila Donnelly, who was smaller than me and probably weaker physically. It made me think of her little son, Tommy.
“I told you to mind your business,” he said. “But you wouldn’t listen. You wanted to know what happened. You…You called my dad. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
He dropped me onto a hard chair and turned around for a moment, the gun shoved into the belt of his jeans. I glanced around. It was a small guest room with two neatly made twin beds. The chair where he’d dumped me was part of an old-fashioned desk set. The desk was tall and narrow, with shelves stacked withStar Trekfigurines. He turned around for a moment and opened the desk drawer. My wounded leg shrieked, but I managed to slip my hand into the pocket of my bloody satin skirt. “You killed Leila Donnelly,” I said. “Why?”
He didn’t answer.
“Why?” I said again as I palmed Blake’s knife.
“I’m not here to answer your fucking questions.”
I struggled to my feet, my leg throbbing. I was dizzy, my vision clouded. I braced myself and stood up just as he turned around, a stack of zip-ties in his hand.
Oh, no you don’t.
I thought of Natalie Blythe’s yogic breathing.In on ten, out on ten…I tried it as he lunged at me, heavy hands on my shoulders.In on ten…It didn’t help. I was still in pain. But at least it gave me something to think about besides the blood pouring out of me, the way my brain was swimming. He pushed. I resisted. “Sit the fuck down,” he said. “Or I’ll have to shoot you again.” I kicked the chair away. He stumbled. He went for his gun. I slammed myself into the desk and pushed the figurines off the shelves. Grabbed one of them in my bloody hands. It was an old one. Spock. Probably rare. At any rate, it was made of something breakable. “Give it back!” he yelled. I threw it across the room and heard it smash to bits.
For the briefest of moments, Teddy Piro was suspended. Torn.Shoot me again or check the status of his precious figurines.I could feel it. I took advantage.
I plunged Blake’s knife into Teddy’s gut. He roared at me. The gun dropped to the floor. As I knelt down and grabbed it, I saw spots in front of my eyes.Keep going.I pushed the door open and fell into the hall, the gun slick in my hand.
I heard something. It was coming from the living room—a male voice shouting, “Hello!”
“Help!” I shrieked, with Teddy behind me, his footsteps on the carpeted floors.
“Hello?” said the male voice again. “Where are you? What’s going on?”
