“I was thinking of you and the girls, that’s all. I wanted to hear your voice.”
She studied his eyes, sensing something. “Are you okay?”
“Things are coming together. The case. Some other things. I wasn’t sure when we’d talk.”
“You could have called, silly man.”
“Maybe. But I couldn’t do this over the phone.”
He kissed her, and she leaned back, embarrassed but not unhappy. “Goodness.” She looked at the crowded room and smoothed herself. “You should come here more often.”
He ran a hand across her cheek and left his deepest thought unshared, that the kiss was in case he never returned at all. He gave a smile that said he’d loved her as long as he’d known her, that he accepted her and all her faults, and that he, too, was imperfect. He said all those things with a single smile, then tilted her back and kissed her again. Was it a forever good-bye? He didn’t know, but wanted her to feel it just in case. So he kissed her as he hadn’t done in a dozen years. He made sure the touch lingered, and by the time he left her breathless and flushed, half the ladies in the place were whistling.
*
The vehicle was a black Expedition with state plates. For a second it sat, silent; then doors opened and four men stepped out. Elizabeth knew two of them, so checked the weapon at her back before stepping onto the porch. “That’s close enough.”
The warden stopped fifteen feet from the bottom step. The man to his right had a battered face, and a limp. Stanford Olivet. She recognized him. The other men were in plainclothes, but probably guards. Jacks and Woods, she guessed, both of them armed.
“Detective Black.” The warden spread his hands. “I’m sorry to be here under such trying circumstances.”
“What circumstances would those be?”
“I know you’re friends with the lawyer, and with Adrian Wall.” He turned his lips down and shrugged. “I know there is a warrant for your arrest, and one, of course, for Adrian.”
Elizabeth felt the rail against her hips and kept a hand near the concealed weapon. She knew the warden now, what he was.
“I don’t know where Adrian is.”
“Is that right?”
“I assume that’s why you’re here.”
The warden stepped closer, looking up through dark lashes. “Did you know that William Preston stood up at my wedding eighteen years ago? No, of course not. How could you? Nor could you know that I am the godfather to his children. They’re twins, by the way, and fatherless, of course. I love them like my own, but it’s not the same, is it?”
Elizabeth said nothing.
“So, tell me, Detective.” He took another step. “Was my dear friend alive when you left him beaten and bloody on the roadside?”
“I think you should leave.”
“The coroner says he aspirated four teeth, and half a pint of his own blood. I try to imagine how that would feel, to drown on blood and road grit and teeth. The doctors say he might have lived had he made it to the hospital at the same time as the lawyer. It troubles me that he died for want of a few minutes, so let me make my question very plain. Was it your decision to abandon him to such a horrible death?” He was seven feet from the porch, then five. “Or did that choice belong to Adrian Wall?”
The gun appeared in Elizabeth’s hand.
“Four on one, Detective.”
His voice was soft, but Elizabeth saw Jacks and Woods move closer, too. They wanted Adrian and intended to get him. Whether they sought revenge for Preston’s death or a chance to finish what they’d started in prison, she didn’t know or care. A wild disregard had taken root inside her. It was the arrogance and corruption, the readiness of his smile. “Adrian told me what you did to him.”
“Prisoner Wall is delusional. We’ve established this.”
“What about Faircloth Jones? Eighty-nine years old and harmless. Was he delusional?”
“The lawyer is irrelevant.”
“What?”
“Immaterial,” the warden said. “Of no real meaning or worth.”
Elizabeth’s hand tightened on the pistol, all confusion gone. Nothing burned inside but sudden anger, and that was all right. He’d said four on one but was unarmed, himself, and Olivet looked broken. That made Jacks and Woods the immediate threats, and she’d play those odds all day long. The gun was in her hand; clear lines of fire. The warden was still smiling because he thought she was a cop and would behave as one. But, that’s not what she was. She was Adrian’s friend and Faircloth’s, an exhausted woman on the narrow edge of something bloody.
“I want the man who killed my friend.”
He made it a threat, but Elizabeth ignored it. She’d take the one on the right first because he looked eager, and she tracked better right to left. She’d drop the second before his gun cleared the holster, then take Olivet and the warden. All she needed was a reason.
“Last time, Detective. Where is Adrian Wall?”
“You tortured him.”
“I deny that.”
“You carved your initials into his back.”