“All right.”
Declan looked up as she walked behind the bar, then stowed her purse and jacket.
“Who’s the kid?”
“FBI agent,” she said.
“Kind of young,” he said.
“We’re not exactly old,” she reminded him.
He grinned. “You have a point. And I’m glad he’s with you.”
“He’s okay. Not quite Mike. Or Craig.”
“No, I guess not,” Declan said, turning his attention back to the glasses he was washing, but she could see him grinning.
Apparently everyone knew that something was going on between her and Craig.
“Gary is here,” she said.
“I know.” Declan looked up at her again. “He came and asked me if it was all right. I said since Julie was at the hospital with Bobby tonight, it was okay.”
“He should really find somewhere else to go,” she said.
Declan sighed. “Look, anytime Julie is here, we’ll ask him to leave. What do you want me to do? Ask Jimmy McManus to find another place to hang out, too?”
“No, but...”
“We’re a pub, Kieran. I know he treated her like crap, but plenty of people like him, and I don’t want to turn this place into Julie’s camp versus Gary’s. Just let it go for tonight, okay? Stay away from his table. Debbie’s been waiting on them. You don’t need to go near him.”
“Okay,” Kieran said. “Okay. For tonight.”
She looked over at the table and saw Gary looking straight back at her.
Suddenly he said something to Jimmy, then rose and headed toward the door.
He turned back to stare at her one last time, and then he left.
She decided it was time to have a chat with Jimmy.
And steal a phone.
*
Bailey was hugely helpful, and the more she described the customer, the more the woman sounded like someone Mike and Craig knew.
They exchanged a look as Bailey spoke.
Short brown hair.
Tall.
Perfectly manicured nails. Bailey said she’d admired the bloodred polish on the customer’s long nails until she’d begun to think the woman intended to scratch her eyes out with them.
“Lots of women have short brown hair,” Mike said.
“And are tall.”
“Bailey, would you mind working with a sketch artist?” Craig asked. “Mr. Rowe, I know that Bailey just got to work, but—”
“If she’s needed,” Rowe said, “she must go. And you’ll receive your full pay for your shift, Bailey.”
“Thanks,” she said, sounding surprised. Then she turned back to Craig and Mike. “I’m ready to go whenever you are,” she said.
She picked up her jacket and purse, and they headed out of the office into the store.
Craig heard the soft whizzing sound in the air and knew exactly what it was. And why.
Someone had seen Bailey going into the inner office with them. Someone had been watching, knowing Bailey just might remember who’d bought the phone. Someone had been keeping tabs on their investigation.
“Down!” he shouted, just as shelves of toilet paper exploded in a ripple of white snow.
Someone had fired a gun, a gun with a silencer.
He covered Bailey Headley’s body with his own while he drew his Glock. Mike was up first, ducking and running down the aisle.
“Shit!” Mike shouted.
By then Craig was up, too, and he saw Mike heading out to the sidewalk in pursuit of the shooter. Meanwhile people were screaming, and Bailey was lying facedown on the floor, repeating over and over, “I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die!”
“He’s gone—the shooter is gone,” Craig said quickly. “Dial 911!” he ordered Rowe, who was standing just outside the office door, shaking in shock. “Now, man. Do it! And get Bailey into the back!”
Then Craig was on the move, chasing after Mike. Mike was dogged and fast, but Craig was grateful he was faster.
Outside, people were already milling in fear, asking questions, looking as if they didn’t know which way to run.
Craig got a glimpse of Mike sprinting toward the cross street and raced hard in that direction.
He entered an alley just in time to see Mike disappear behind a delivery truck. He hopped over a box of garbage and followed.
Mike was standing in the alley ahead of him, looking up at the various fire escapes behind the buildings. His Glock was raised, but he was looking in the wrong direction.
Craig saw the shooter; he was on the opposite side of the alley, high on a fire escape. He had his gun trained on Mike.
“Mike!” Craig roared.
Mike dropped just as the shooter fired. The bullet slammed into a wall.
“Drop it!” Craig ordered, his own gun aiming upward.
The shooter’s gun turned toward him.
Craig had no choice but to fire.
The shooter catapulted down from the fire escape to land with a heavy thud on the broken pavement of the alley.
Mike got to his feet, and they both hurried over to the body.
The dead man had been wearing a hoodie, but the hood had fallen away as he fell, and Craig gasped.
He knew that face.
No time to worry about that now. He hunkered down to feel for a pulse, while Mike called in the shooting.