Heat aimed, took a steadying stance, and fired both pistols at once, spraying a hail of bullets into both front tires of the oncoming car. When they popped, the police-tuned suspension kept it from going out of control, but the Interceptor shimmied and Backhouse had to wrestle with the wheel. Nikki jumped aside as he veered weakly past her. She put another round in the closest rear tire, which put an end to his attempted getaway.
Nikki rushed to his side window with both guns on him before he could get any ideas about the Mossberg again. “Engine off! Hands on the wheel—now!” Backhouse complied, then looked up at her, defeated.
She pulled him out and deposited him facedown on the roadside. Heat pressed her Sig to the base of his skull and said, “Now who’s the dummy?”
The first thing Rook saw was Nikki’s face when he came out of sedation from his surgery at Bellevue that night. She gave his hand a squeeze. He smiled and said, “Diamondback.”
“Hey, it’s me. You’re in Bellevue.”
“Diamondback.”
Heat’s eyes went to the nurse taking his temperature. “You’d be surprised some of the things they say when they’re out of it.”
“I can hear you, and I’m not out of it.” He squeezed Heat’s hand in return. “I was dreaming about our honeymoon. We were at a dude ranch I heard about in Diamondback, Arizona. Nik, that would be so much fun.”
“Keep dreaming. You want me to go on a honeymoon in a place named after a poisonous snake?”
“Not a selling point, perhaps. But maybe it’s like Iceland. A lovely Nordic island so named to discourage Vikings from visiting and plundering.”
“And he’s back,” said Heat.
“You did great, Mr. Rook.” Nurse Seton finished taking his temp and updated his chart. “You were lucky. No blood vessels hit, no fragmentation or bone or nerve damage. The doctor extracted a .22 bullet that, fortunately, stopped close to the surface.”
“That’s because before it hit me, it deflected off a hard surface.” He peered at Nikki and pointed at the gauze on her brow. “By the way, you’ve got a thing there.”
She chuckled. “Yeah, his and hers scars. Oh, by the way, nice job with that Montblanc.”
He couldn’t disagree. “Hemingway would have been proud.”
When the nurse left, Heat told him she was planning to interrogate Backhouse first thing in the morning. “Looking like that? You should maybe wear a scarf or a veil or something.”
“I’ll see if I have anything that matches Neosporin. Meanwhile, you rest here. I’ll fill you in after.”
“Oh, no.” He struggled to sit himself up higher. “You think I’m going to lie here and miss bringing the story home for my Pulitzer?”
“What was I thinking?” she said. “It’s the bullet. It must have addled my brain.”
At eight o’clock the next morning, Wilton Backhouse held the guest of honor seat in Interrogation One at the Twentieth Precinct. His attorney, a family friend who had more experience in patent law than criminal justice, sat at his side. Considering the multiple murders and the other serious charges he would be facing, Heat had a feeling he would be upgrading his lawyer very soon. For now, she was happy he’d brought in a dabbler from suburban White Plains.
“My client is invoking his right not to self-incriminate. Therefore, he will have nothing to say at this meeting,” said Ethan Watts.
“Thank you, counselor. However”—Nikki indicated Rook beside her with his arm in a sling and her own bandaged forehead—“as may be evident to you, we’ve gone to a lot of effort to bring your client to this meeting, and a meeting we shall have.”
She turned then to the client, who had exchanged his too-cool-for-engineering-school geekwear for inmate coveralls. After a long silence, Heat began quietly and methodically. “Lon King. Fred Lobbrecht. Abigail Plunkitt. Nathan Levy. And now, Timothy Maloney.” Nikki let that sit there. Backhouse shifted. He was having a hard time with eye contact. “We know you did it. What I’d like to hear from you—”