That got a laugh. The audience was with her even if Tate wasn’t.
“I do believe, however, that if we truly want to heal our divided nation, then we need to step away from the actions that divide us. We need to meet emotion with logic, hatred with justice. I would rather whisper my conscience to the wind than scream my fury with the mob. Thank you.”
The applause was long and generous as Adele stepped down from the stage. Had she done it? Had she dodged a bullet and saved Vega from it as well? She wondered where he was right now. At a police station explaining why he’d grabbed Yovanna against her will? On his way back home? She felt too wired to stay for the dinner. Too light-headed and dizzy. She needed to hear his voice on the other end of a phone line. She walked out of the auditorium and found Gloria Mendez to apologize that she couldn’t stay for the meal. Ruben Tate-Rivera caught up to her.
“Enough.” She waved her hands in front of her face as he walked over. “I’m leaving.” She backed away.
“Good thing you’re a defense attorney,” Tate hissed. “Your boyfriend’s gonna need one. That is, if he survives at this point.”
“Excuse me?”
“The NYPD just got a nine-one-one call from the principal of that charter school. Vega’s holding him hostage.”
“No!”
“It’s coming over the police scanner,” said Tate. “One of the reporters just told me. Your boy’s finally gone over the edge, Adele. Nobody’s going to defend him now. Or you, either. Don’t let that polite applause fool you. You talk about whispering your conscience to the wind? That sounds a whole lot like spitting into it to me. And you know what happens when you do that.”
Chapter 39
Two options. That’s all Vega had: jump or get shot. Torres was a highly respected community leader and school principal. Vega was a disgraced cop with a pattern of emotionally unstable behavior. It was a no-brainer whose story the police were going to believe. Cop or not, Vega was the one the police would be gunning for. He didn’t even have the DVD anymore to prove that Torres was lying. It lay shattered at their feet. Not that Torres was going to wait around to let Vega prove his case anyway. He planned to dispatch him long before that.
Vega had to get control of the situation. What he needed was a weapon. He spotted the pile of metal joists for the roof fencing. They were blanketed by snow. But still—if he could just get to one. He needed to keep Torres talking. He slipped back into the vernacular of the neighborhood, hoping to lull Torres into a false sense of security.
“Hey, carnal,” said Vega, spreading his hands. “Chill, man. I’m totally down with what you’re saying here. You were carrying the load. Most dudes, they’d have crumbled. Not you. You held it together. Kept it tight all these years.”
Snow dusted the little bird’s nest of dark hair in the middle of Torres’s head. He shook it off. “I just want to be free.”
“Put the piece down, hombre, and you are.” Vega stepped forward. The snow was falling harder now. The roof was slippery.
“Stay where you are.”
“C’mon, Freddy. The evidence is gone. You said so yourself. Ain’t nothing to tie you to anything.”
“There’s you. You’ll never let it go.”
“Ain’t nobody gonna believe a head case like me anyway, right?” Vega tried to inch his body toward the pile of metal joists. If he could just reach one, he might have a chance. “You’d be saving my ass once again. Like you always do.”
One step. Then two . . .
“Dad? Are you and Dr. Torres okay?”
Ay, pu?eta! Joy’s voice tore through Vega, sharpening all his senses, derailing all his plans. She was on the other side of the locked door and Torres had the key. No way could he risk his daughter.
Do it now! Now is your only chance!
Torres shifted his gaze to the door. Vega lunged for the pile of metal, clasping his hand around an ice-cold rod about two feet in length. Adrenaline muted the sharp stab of frozen steel on bare skin. Vega willed his fingers to wrap themselves around it. Then he threw his full weight against Torres, hoping to knock him down before he could shoot.
Bam.
Bam.
Vega braced for the impact of metal tearing into flesh, the warm spurt of blood. A fitting ending. Live by the gun. Die by it.
“Dad!” screamed Joy on the other side of the door. Torres’s shots missed.
Vega’s rod didn’t.
He struck Torres hard on the shoulder of his thick down jacket. The sound was like a baseball landing cleanly in a catcher’s mitt. No way could Vega do enough damage through that big puffy coat. But it was enough to jolt the gun from Torres’s hand. The Beretta sank beneath the snow.
Joy rattled the door, her voice breathy with panic. “Dad! Are you okay? Say something!”
Vega couldn’t. He was too out of breath. He raked the metal rod through the snow, hoping to find the gun. The cold sliced into his flesh like a filet knife. His limbs felt like they each weighed a hundred pounds.