The Triggerman Dance

He felt Norton's big hand brush his shoulder as his boss stood, then plodded through the empty bar toward the exit.

Josh waited until Norton was out of sight before he spoke. "Sharon, I feel betrayed. Six days."

"Better than two."

Josh thought, then gulped down half his coffee. "The sketch of the Journal and the photo of Baum's house should be enough. They were in Wayfarer's possession. It is evidence of planning a murder. Why can't Frazee cut us loose with it, at least let a judge decide? We're after a search warrant for God's sake, not the gas chamber. Who in hell made that sketch, took those notes, if it wasn't Wayfarer?"

"That doesn't really worry me, Joshua. What worries me is John. How is he going to take this? He's packed and ready to come out. He's weak and he's vulnerable."

Joshua shook his head. "Fuck him. He's got the training and the ability to find what we sent him in to find."

"He just killed a man to get something to us, and it wasn't enough, Josh.

"He looked at Sharon Dumars for a long moment. He could feel the first rush of outrage and adrenaline leaving him, and approaching in its wake the grand fatigue of doubt and waiting.

"Six days," he said again. His voice sounded hollow an ungenuine.

Dumars set a hand over his. When he looked at her, she held his gaze with a look that seemed ready to dissolve, but did no Her dark eyes expressed the strength and tenderness that Joshua had long thought of as the essence of the feminine. How could they feel both at the same time? He wanted to cry.

"The other day you asked me something, and I answered you with a lie," she said.

He waited. He felt stuffed with information now, overloaded with emotion, and he could hardly believe that Dumars was apparently about to add to his burden. He searched his memory for the conversation in question. Something about the documents? The gun they hadn't found yet? The safe that Owl had photographed?

"You asked me to dinner and I said I had plans. I didn't."

That, he thought. Funny what a good job he'd done of forgetting.

"Oh. Well, that's okay."

Sharon blushed then. It surprised Joshua to see this intrusion onto Sharon's tanned, always composed, always prepared face. Her hand tightened and she smiled.

"Josh, you should have seen the look on Crazy's face when you told him to keep those apes out of your case. It was just to die for."

He allowed himself an uncertain grin.

She grinned, too, looked around, then leaned in closer l him. "I have to tell you, watching you go up against those o farts really made me proud. You're just a babe in their wood Josh, but you made a sound. You registered. No matter what happens here, you're the future of this Bureau, not Frazee and not Norton. You kicked a little butt in there, partner, and I loved it."

"What, exactly, did Frazee look like when I said that?"

"Like a nun finding a dildo in a Christmas package. Pardon my graphics."

"I missed it, I was so wound up."

"Well, I'll never forget it."

He smiled back at her now, and felt a massive draining of amperage from his nerves. He took a very deep breath.

"Thanks, Sharon."

He felt her hand tighten on his.

"Joshua, for cryin' out loud, will you just ask me to dinner again tonight? What does a girl have to do?"

"Would you?"

"My place. We'll go through Wayfarer files until we can't hold our eyes open any longer. After that, well, we'll just do whatever we need to."

Joshua's smile continued for just a moment, then his eyes took on a look of great reluctance as he reached down to the telephone pulsing against his waist.

CHAPTER 27

John moves through the Big House like a ghost, past the kitchen and dining room to the stairway where his moccasin boots are all but soundless on the steps. On the second floor he walks purposefully down the hallway to Vann Holt's suite of private rooms and lets himself in. He moves to his right and leans his back against the cool adobe wall. He feels both exposed and invisible. He wonders what arrogance ever led him to believe that he could accomplish this mission, and questions whether Rebecca would understand what he has done. He knows she would not, and he feels tainted, foolish and cursed.

He looks down at his right hand, still flabbergasted that just a few hours ago, it took a human life. He looks at the lines in his palm, then at the tendons on the other side. How could you have done that? he wonders. I am a murderer now. He scrolls through his memory of the Ten Commandments, realizing that, if you count an engaged woman as a married one, he has actually broken every divine order except for the first two. Eight out of ten he thinks: I'm hellbound.