14. THE DAY'S NOT OVER
Cho was trying his best to be patient. He was already irritated that they'd had no luck locating McNamara, and then Rigsby had insisted they stop for something to eat. Reminding himself that the guy had missed lunch and the snack supply in the SUV was low, he sucked it up and tried not to interfere with Rigsby's food selection process.
There were no fast food chains in the area—not enough population to support them. They'd stopped at a little cantina just outside of Deep Springs, and Rigsby was reading every word of the menu. As far as Cho could remember, he'd never known Rigsby to be in any way particular about what he put in his stomach. He didn't know why he had to start now. Cho developed a rhythm of clearing his throat and checking his watch.
"That's not going to make me go any faster." Rigsby said in a sing-song voice.
Cho pressed his lips into a firm line. The waitress stepped to the table and smiled. Rigsby ordered his entree along with every side and condiment on the menu. Cho ordered the number 7, and when he asked for everything packaged to-go, Rigsby groaned at him.
"We need to call Lisbon and get back."
"You really want to take this to-go? In the car?"
Cho eyed him with dry disapproval then rolled his eyes in exasperation, remembering the last time they had eaten Mexican food in the SUV. They were on stake-out. Cho's hair had smelled like taco meat for three days. He sat at the table and sulked. It was enough Rigsby's appetite was holding him hostage. He felt no obligation to provide dinner conversation.
Lisbon regained her composure within minutes of leaving Oasis and phoned Van Pelt. Jane knew the close call had unnerved her. He was relieved that she seemed to see his behavior in the alley as a breach in professionalism and nothing else. He had to admit that for his masculinity's sake, he was also a little insulted.
"Hey, Boss. I was able to find out a little more about the rest of the unit. Aaron Cook is serving his DUI homicide sentence at CSP in Sacramento—the same place as Carl Woolsey. Hightower sent Agent Carsky to interview Woolsey, so I asked if he could talk to Cook. Cook's been going to A.A. meet—"
Lisbon dropped her phone and let it clatter to the floor when she suddenly lost control of the vehicle and it veered sharply off the road and slammed into an outcropping of rock. Her shoulder strained against the shoulder harness just before the airbag deployed. She heard Jane sputtering against his own airbag, and as the powdery fog settled, she looked over to see that he was relatively unharmed. Somewhere in her head, it registered that she may have heard a shot just before the tire blew. At that instant, a truck sped past them, throwing sand and gravel as it turned sharply and came to a halt directly in front of the SUV.
"Lisbon?" She didn't miss the note of warning and apprehension in Jane's voice as they both recognized the driver that emerged from the truck, his rifle already pointing at them as he strode directly toward them.
"Get out." Bowles' voice was low and menacing. Both Lisbon and Jane sat frozen in place, their minds trying to process what was happening and what they could do about it. Lisbon was painfully aware of her gun still resting under Jane's seat. Without hesitation, Bowles redirected his aim and blew out the window just behind Lisbon's head. Bringing the gun back sharply to point directly at her, he reiterated his command.
"Get out now."
Lisbon scrambled to release her seat belt hearing Jane doing the same. She also heard the faint beeping of his cell phone. She might actually compliment him on his quick thinking later. If they were still alive. She opened her mouth to speak, maybe try and bring some calm to the situation before things got any more out of hand. Realizing her intention and not wanting anyone to get the wrong idea about what was inevitable, Bowles removed one hand from the rifle and slapped her hard before she could say anything then pushed the gun barrel into her chest.
"Don't say a word. Just walk." He jerked his chin up, motioning at some destination beyond them. She and Jane turned to walk, hands raised in the air, toward a small shed that sat about two hundred yards off the road, half hidden in a clump of rocks and scrub.
Remembering Lisbon's shoes were not the best for walking the uneven terrain, Jane slowed his pace so she could catch up to him.
"Who did you call?" She whispered tightly.
"Cho. You hurt?"
"No. Just don't want to die in these clothes."
"Shut up." Bowles nudged her from behind with the gun barrel so hard he nearly knocked her down. They didn't speak again.
Once inside the shed, Bowles ordered them to a halt in the middle of the long, low one-room building. It was some kind of storage shed for road crews. Boxes of tools and a rough table and chairs were pushed up against one wall. There were two doors, one at the front through which they had entered and one directly across from it on the rear wall. The two windows that faced each other on the side walls were locked, and the air inside was stale and stifling.
They needed time. He didn't know where Cho was—didn't even know if he had picked up his call. Once Jane pushed two on his speed dial, he had dropped the phone into his trouser pocket. He knew the lack of conversation didn't give anyone listening much to go on. Still, Bowles' intention was obvious as was his ability to carry it out, and they needed to stall. For some reason, Bowles seemed particularly hostile toward Lisbon, so—not wanting her subjected to anymore of his anger—Jane figured he was up.
"So, you killed Tina Landry." It wasn't a question, so Bowles felt no need to answer.
"I see that's a sniper rifle you're holding. Just like the real soldiers use. Why'd you kill her? She couldn't have known about what you did." Bowles flinched. It wasn't much—just a slight twitch of his eye.
"Did you mean to leave the baby alive, or did you just run out of time?" Ah, that struck a nerve.
"I don't kill children."
"Good to know you draw the line somewhere. What was it in Kuwait? Gold? Treason? Drugs?" Another twitch.
"Ah, drugs."
Lisbon was trying to keep calm, but she could feel herself starting to shake. She was worried about Jane. She knew he was trying to buy time, but he was pushing too hard. Bowles' grip on the gun had tightened, and he had subconsciously shifted it slightly to point directly at Jane's chest.
"You know, we're not the only cops working this case. It's not like we can just disappear and no one will have the slightest idea what's happened."
Bowles' knuckles were white now with clenching the weapon. But Lisbon could tell he was thinking things through. Jane watched as the thoughts skittered across his face.
Bowles had followed them blindly, not stopping to think about the consequences or bothering to come up with another plan. He cursed himself. He had become so accustomed to following Acer's orders—the man with the rank and the money and the suit, but no brains. He needed to think. If this guy would just shut up so he could think. He pointed the rifle at Lisbon, and saw that Jane got the message loud and clear.
"You're not a cop. I don't know what you are, but she's the cop."
Bowles was sweating. It collected at his hairline and ran down his forehead into his eyes. The salt stung. It irritated him. He was trying to think—trying to make his head clear. The hangover, the hopelessness, the anger, the talking, the cop . . . and the sweat. It was all too much. How had everything gotten so screwed up? When had murder become his first instinct? He was trying to fight his way through the muddle of pain and questions and uncertainty. He had always been certain, always been sure. His head started to roll in small, tight movements back and forth as if he were telling something "no". Something was going to happen. Lisbon just couldn't tell what. Bowles was standing at the brink. Maybe he just needed the slightest tap to push him over.
"This doesn't have to end badly for everyone, Arthur. We can talk, make a deal."
"What kind of deal, lady? I've killed in cold blood. That woman wasn't the first . . . She was just the first woman."
His concentration slipped as he was pulled back to some dark thing in his memory, mumbling about money and blood. Jane's throat tightened with fear when he realized that Bowles was coming unhinged right before their eyes. He had hoped Lisbon could reason with him and talk him into some sort of agreement, trading a reduced sentence for information. Bowles snapped back to the present.
"After you're through looking at me for that, you'll hand me over to the army. Everybody's gonna want a piece of me. How'm I gonna make a deal, then? Easier for me to kill you and run."
In an instant, Jane saw two things: Bowles' eyes filled with a cold resolve, and the deadly calm of the sniper reasserted itself. Jane turned and lunged at Lisbon, momentarily jarred in their descent to the ground by an unregistered impact. At the same instant, Rigsby crashed through the front door with a loud, angry warning. Jane's weight forced Lisbon down, and Cho came through the rear door facing the gunman. As Jane and Lisbon cleared his line of fire, without warning, he pulled the trigger, sending a bullet into Bowles' forehead. The impact pushed Bowles' head back, pulling his arms upward giving Cho a clear shot to put two more bullets in his chest. Bowles was dead before his body hit the ground with a hard thud that sent a shudder through the metal building.
Lisbon stared into Bowles' lifeless eyes, blinking away her fear and shock, slowly becoming aware of the difficulty she was having with her breathing. She turned her head to face the ceiling and instead came eye to eye with Jane. He was still lying as they had fallen, his weight fully on top of her, his head pulled back, his eyes fixed on hers.
"Jane, get off. Can't breathe."
"Don't think I can move." He groaned, and his head fell forward pressing his forehead to her nose.
"Jane, get—" In horror, she felt a warm, thick wetness bloom against her shoulder.
"Jane? Jane! Cho! Ambulance! Rigsby, help me!" As she shouted at the two agents, she wrapped her arms tightly around the injured man and rolled them both gently to their sides. Rigsby held on to Jane's upper body as Lisbon managed to turn herself and slide under him, positioning him between her legs and leaning him back against her chest to keep his head elevated, all the while ordering him to stay awake.
"Not like I can help it with all this noise."
She leaned her face into his hair at the back of his head and sighed with relief. Rigsby stripped his shirt off and pushed on the wound in Jane's shoulder to try and staunch the blood flow. Jane clenched his teeth and drew in a sharp, pained gasp.
"What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking what a shame it would be to ruin that lovely blouse with a bullet hole."
"You're an idiot." Her voice broke, and she hid her face in his hair again. His good arm circled her leg, his hand pulling up on the back of her knee. He raised it until her foot flattened on the floor, bracing her leg in a bent, upright position and forming an arm rest for himself.
"There's an ambulance in Deep Springs—be here in about ten minutes." Cho snapped his phone shut and opened the windows to get some air moving. Afternoon was passing into evening, and the temperature was dropping. He found a blanket folded on a shelf above the table. He spread it to cover Jane, careful to tuck it around Lisbon's legs as well. He made a mental note to ask her about that skirt later.
Jane shifted against Lisbon, trying to hoist himself. He groaned in pain, and she wrapped her arms around his waist as far as she could and lifted him up higher against her chest. He draped his good arm over her leg to hold himself in place, loosely encircling her raised knee and absentmindedly brushing his hand back and forth against her shin. She was glad she had shaved that morning and shook her head, thinking she must be in shock to think about something so ridiculous.
For the next few minutes, she talked to Jane to keep him awake. Cho knelt on one knee next to her with his hand resting lightly on her blanket-covered leg. Rigsby called a near frenzied Van Pelt who promptly called the ambulance service to find where they would take Jane so she could beat it out of the police station and meet them there. One of the officers offered to drive her and she gratefully accepted as she packed Will's things. Securing him in the backseat of the patrol car, she thought fleetingly about calling Hightower but decided that could wait.
Jane was nearly unconscious when the ambulance arrived. When they tried to move him, his arm tightened around Lisbon's leg. She rubbed his elbow, whispering comfort into his ear until he relaxed his hold and they could lift him onto the stretcher. When the paramedics told her apologetically that there wouldn't be room for an extra passenger in the ambulance, Cho and Rigsby bundled her into their waiting SUV to get her to the hospital as quickly as possible. Van Pelt, the SUV and the ambulance all converged on the emergency room at the same time.
Jane was wheeled at high speed toward the operating room. He was unconscious now, and the doctor was saying something about how much blood he had lost. Lisbon had managed to take his hand and held onto it as long as she could, the other three agents striding alongside the gurney as a silent sober escort. A nurse punched an automatic door switch and told them they couldn't come any farther. She jerked her head toward a waiting room, as Jane, nurse, paramedics and doctors disappeared down the short hall and around a corner. They stood looking at the slowly closing doors for a moment. Lisbon moved away first, the blanket still wrapped around her, and the others turned to follow her into the waiting room.
After about thirty minutes, Will had fallen asleep on a pallet Van Pelt made for him on the floor. The younger agent turned to ask the boss if she'd like some coffee. It took a while for Lisbon to realize Van Pelt was staring at her. Following Grace's line of sight, she looked down at herself. The blanket had slipped off of her shoulder, and her skin there was caked with dried blood. She bolted for the bathroom and scrambled to wash herself, fighting to keep the sudden nausea at bay. She wished she could strip out of the black lace top and wash the blood out of it but remembered ruefully that she wasn't wearing anything under it. There was a soft knock at the door, and Grace peeked in tentatively holding a set of blue scrubs.
"I asked one of the nurses if they had anything you could change into, and she gave me these."
"Thanks, Grace."
"If you want to step into the stall, Boss, you can slip off that top, and I'll rinse it out for you."
Lisbon hesitated then gave in, realizing her stubbornness and pride were out of place in the current situation. And, she was so tired and almost irrationally worried over the condition of her clothes, she thought it would be best to just let Grace help her.
She handed the top to Van Pelt over the stall door and could hear her working the water and soap from the dispenser through the fabric. Neither woman spoke until Lisbon had slid the scrubs on and was tying the drawstring at her waist.
"Boss, where did you get these clothes?"
"Jane talked me into them. He said I looked too much like a cop."
Lisbon heard Grace stifle a snicker. Then another. Finally she burst into laughter.
"So he thought it would be better if you looked like a hooker?"
"They're not that bad." She said as she exited the stall and her eyes met Van Pelt's in the mirror. "You should have seen the dominatrix dress."
Grace laughed until she cried. And then she just cried. Lisbon stood by her side and put one arm around her shoulders. Grace dipped her head and frowned down at the now clear rinse water.
"I'm sorry, Boss."
"It's ok, Grace. We're all feeling the same way."
Their eyes met in the mirror once more, both of them knowing that looking directly at one another might be too much. Grace gave Lisbon a watery smile, emptied the sink and started squeezing the water out of the black lace.
They returned to the others to find Wayne had made a coffee run and Cho had taken a seat next to Will's makeshift bed. Now all they could do was wait.