She heard a click, and light flooded the kitchen.
“There. That’s better,” said a soft southern female voice. “Now we can see each other.”
The stranger had short, wispy white hair, arched black eyebrows, and wide blue eyes. She wore a flowing blue tunic and slacks. Star—the woman she’d only seen in photos. If only Diana had recognized Gertrude in this impostor, all of this could have been prevented. But Star’s disguise had been so masterful that no one had suspected, not even Larry.
“I know ya wanna split, Di,” said the pretty woman, switching to Gertrude’s Brooklyn-accented voice. “But that’s not gonna happen.”
In the next blink, Star dissolved. Gertrude stood before her. Haughty. Sexy. Confrontational. The surgeon’s scalpel couldn’t change who she really was.
Gertrude walked around and pushed Diana forward with one of her feet. “You’re bleeding,” she said. “Drop the broken glass. I’d hate for you to hurt yourself.”
Diana released the shard and heard it clink against the terrazzo. Gertrude kicked it away.
“Good job,” Gertrude said. “Now get your ass back up and over to the sofa.”
Diana did as she was told. Her hand throbbed from the stinging gasoline.
Gertrude sat down on the other sofa.
Could sharpshooters see into the room through the heavy drapes, now that a light was on?
“They can’t see in,” Gertrude said. “And if they could, they’re just as likely to shoot you.”
Diana searched her old roommate’s face for something familiar, but the prominent jaw had been reshaped in a delicate heart, the nose was smaller and narrower, and her upper lip, once bowed, was now puffy with cosmetic filler. Even the beauty mark on her cheek was gone. Only her probing eyes were the same.
“You look like shit, Di,” Gertrude said. “Of course, you have been under a lot of strain the last couple of days.”
“Where’s Ethan?”
“That’s the question of the hour.”
“You were supposed to let him go,” Diana said. “That was the deal.”
“That was my plan, but the FBI tells me he never came out.”
“Please let him go. This is between us.”
“I would if I could find him.”
Was she lying, or had Ethan hidden somewhere? Was Gertrude capable of blowing up the building with a little boy inside? Unfortunately, Diana knew the answer.
“They said you died in the brownstone explosion,” Diana said.
“Obviously, they were mistaken.”
Diana took in Gertrude’s creamy pale hands, the rings that covered all her fingers.
Gertrude lifted her left hand and wagged her pinkie. “I’m sure you’re curious about this.”
She was. The finger appeared to be intact, but Gertrude had been identified by the print from her pinkie found in the aftermath of the explosion.
Gertrude gripped her left pinkie with her right hand, gave a tug, then held up the top joint of the finger with a spiraling ring still wound around it.
“Jesus,” Diana said.
“I never take it off,” she said. “Larry once asked why I always wear my pinkie ring. I told him it’s sentimental.” She pursed her lips. “I wonder if he’s dead yet. I spoke with his physician before they took him in to surgery. He said Larry would probably have extensive brain damage if he lived.”
Diana didn’t believe the surgeon would have said that. More likely Gertrude was trying to get a rise out of her. All of this had been to get Diana’s attention—Ethan’s kidnapping, Jonathan’s death, Larry’s accident. And now, here they were for their final confrontation.
Gertrude’s phone rang. She glanced at the display, touched a button, and the ringing stopped.
Diana needed to defuse her, to bring her down. At least until she could get Ethan to safety.
“How did you escape from the explosion?” Diana asked softly. “Everyone was sure you were dead.”
Gertrude rubbed the knob of her finger. “I stumbled away from the blast. Some friends let me hide until I was able to get away to Mexico.”
“I can’t begin to imagine the agony you’ve been through,” Diana said.
“That’s right. You can’t.” Gertrude fixed her blue eyes on Diana. Back in college, her eyes often looked violet, altered by the pink-lensed glasses she always wore. Now, the black pupils throbbed in the way Diana remembered them doing when Gertrude became enraged.
“I’m sorry, Gertrude. I know you think I turned on you, but I didn’t. I was trying to protect you and everyone in the group.”
Gertrude shook her head. “You wanted to be sure we wouldn’t blow up Low Library. Was that your idea of a good outcome?”
Diana didn’t answer. Arguing would only inflame her further.
“Another revolutionary group fails, and the government gets to keep on murdering. That was your solution?” Gertrude practically spat the words. “Stormdrain would have been for nothing.”
“We had an impact,” Diana said. “Stormdrain and all the others who went out to protest the war. The government had started paying attention to us.”
“They were killing our brothers,” Gertrude said, her eyes roaming over the floral-patterned sofa as though she hadn’t heard Diana. “Killing them to feed their own greed. We had to bring the war home. It was the only way to stop them.” Her eyes paused on Diana. “I told you that was the only way to get their attention. Someone had to die.”
“Yes, I know you believed that was the way.”
Gertrude smacked the coffee table with her open hand. “It was the way! If you hadn’t interfered, we would have succeeded. We could have killed hundreds. We would have been heard. Instead, we became hunted animals. I was forced to go into hiding.”
“I’m so sorry,” Diana said, but Gertrude didn’t seem to be listening.
“He promised he would come for me,” Gertrude said. Her eyes were no longer throbbing with anger. There was something else there. Sadness or hurt.
“He said we’d live in Mexico. Puerto Vallarta, or maybe Cabo. I believed him.”