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Turning to the side, he craned his stiff neck as far as he could and caught the reflection of his back in the mirror. Instead of bright red, the bruising was purple and almost black in a few spots. Rapp cringed and asked himself if it was possible that the bullet had clipped his lateral thoracic artery. He shook his head at his own question. If that big tube was nicked he would have bled out and died a long time ago. Besides, that main highway ran pretty deep. When he’d bandaged the wound the day before he’d done his best to line up the entry and exit wounds. The bullet had punched through close to the middle of his left shoulder and exited closer to the outside. The angle should have carried it clear of the hub of arteries and veins that carried blood to and from his left arm. It was more likely that a good number of capillaries and plenty of tissue had been damaged. The internal bleeding had probably stopped and the blood had pooled while he’d slept. At least that’s what he hoped.
He stared at his reflection in the mirror. He made no attempt to deceive himself. The dark black eyes that were staring back at him were the eyes of a killer. Somewhere in the distance he heard more church bells. He briefly considered going to mass and then with a heavy sadness told himself that God would not want him in his house. Thou shalt not kill was a pretty big one. Rapp felt himself heading down one of those dark hallways of introspection that led to pity, recrimination, and doubt. After he’d lost his girlfriend and thirty-four fellow Syracuse University students in the Pan Am Lockerbie terrorist attack, there’d been times where he allowed himself to walk down these sunless corridors. After a lot of tears and a lot of time spent feeling sorry for himself, he began to recognize that he could be lost in these hallways for a long time if he didn’t practice some mental discipline. The bleak corridors of his mind were full of pain and weakness and no answers.
Rapp flashed himself a devilish grin as he remembered another popular biblical phrase, the one that had pulled him out of his self-pity—an eye for an eye. The Ten Commandments were bullet points. A quick reference on how to live your life between the lines. The Bible was the more detailed reference,
and it was filled with examples of how the wicked should be punished, especially the Old Testament. Thou shalt not kill, unless it’s a piece of shit terrorist . . . or a traitor or a rapist or a pedophile . . . the list could go on for a long time.
Rapp had bigger and more immediate problems to deal with at the moment. He would have to put off debating his salvation for another day. Right now he was more focused on finding out how Kennedy would react to what he had to say. After that, he would run his colleagues through some tests to see whom he could trust, and if he got the feeling that he was being played he might have to disappear for a few months. Even as he thought it he knew it wasn’t an option. Lying low was not how he worked. He would find out who had betrayed him and then he would kill them.
The knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts of retribution. He moved quickly for the silenced pistol on the nightstand and then remembered Greta was supposed to meet him. He kept the pistol as a precaution and started for the door. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw his reflection in the mirror across the room. He looked like he felt, which was like crap. His dense black hair was shooting out in various directions and he had a thick sheet of stubble, as he had not shaved in two days. That was hardly the worst of it, though. His shoulder was the real problem. He thought about putting on a T-shirt, but it would hurt too much and take too long and Greta was not good at waiting. He knew she’d be mad that he’d put her off for a whole day. He shook his head, sighed, and figured he might as well get it over with. She was going to find out sooner or later.
Rapp stepped softly to the door, stopping a few feet away, and peered through the peephole. There was Greta, all five-foot-six of Nordic perfection. Blue eyes, high cheekbones, and a strong jaw that tapered to a little apple chin. Her blond hair was pulled back in a high ponytail as it almost always was. Rapp preferred it that way. The minimalist look framed her perfect face. In the year he’d known her, Rapp had seen grown men, complete strangers, become so fixated on Greta that they walked into things. She was literally a head-turner. It had irritated Rapp at first, having to deal with all the gawking men when they were in public. After a while he decided to take it as a compliment. If men wanted to stare, then they could go ahead. He soon learned, also, that Greta was more than capable of defending her honor. She did her best to ignore the stares, but occasionally if some man was too forward or too obvious she could go nuclear.
Rapp watched her purse her lips, and then she reached out to knock again. Her patience was wearing thin. Rapp reached down, grabbed the rubber wedge he’d placed under the door, and undid the chain just as Greta started knocking again. He opened the door and turned his left shoulder away so it would not be the first thing she saw. Rapp also kept the gun concealed behind the door. He smiled and said, “Sorry, I was in the bathroom.”
Greta’s bright blue eyes narrowed with concern. “You don’t look very good.”
“Why thank you, darling. You look fabulous as always.” Rapp motioned for her to come in.
She grabbed the handle of her wheeled suitcase and strode forward. Rapp closed and chained the door while she looked around the small space. She finished her survey at approximately the same time that Rapp finished sticking the wedge under the door. He expected her to act a certain way and she didn’t disappoint. Greta was not the type to panic and begin screaming about the obvious. Her eyes zeroed in on the white bandage and her jaw tightened with concern. She stepped closer and slowly reached out. Her soft fingers touched the skin around the bandage, and Rapp felt a small shock of electricity run through his upper body. She’d done it to him the first time they’d met and she could still do it to him. She had the softest, most feminine hands he’d ever encountered. Her touch could make him weak in the knees.
Greta worked her way around his side so she could get a view of his back. Rapp heard her gasp slightly. He winced, not because he was in pain, but because he feared what might come next, more than likely a lot of questions. She surprised him instead by making a statement.
“You’ve been shot.”
Rapp’s throat felt suddenly dry. “Yeah,” he croaked.
She ran her hand around his shoulder, both front and back. “And it would appear you have not seen a doctor.”
Rapp frowned and said, “Not really an option.”
Her expression remained neutral. “I don’t suppose you are going to tell me how this happened?”
Rapp shrugged and said, “Maybe later.”
Greta frowned and shook her head.
If she folded her arms across her chest he was really in trouble, so he said, “I have a few things I still need to figure out.” Then he reached out with his good hand, the one with the silenced pistol in it, and drew her in.
She placed her hands on his chest and rested her right cheek just above them.
“I’m just glad you’re here,” he said, and then kissed the top of her head. The gun was in the way so he tossed it onto the bed.
“I was afraid this would happen,” Greta said, her voice filled with gloom.
Rapp waited a long moment and then said, “Yeah . . . I can’t say I wasn’t aware of the risk but I thought . . .” His voice trailed off.
“You thought that you were indestructible. That you would always be the one doing the killing, and now you have found out that you are human like the rest of us. How does that make you feel?”
Rapp half rolled his eyes and said, “You know me and feelings . . . they don’t really go together.”
“That may be true with other people, but not with me. I am not judging you. You should know that by now. I don’t know everything that you do, but I have a pretty good idea. Have I ever complained?”
“No.”
“That’s right. I am not here to change you. I respect what you do, but I most definitely would like to see you live.”
“That makes two of us.”
