The Gauntlet Assassin (11 page)

She tapped to answer and the box enlarged. Michael Quince and Rob Schakowski, her old homicide-unit partners, grinned and shouted their congratulations. Quince did an end-zone dance that made her laugh. She recognized the conference room in the Eugene Police Department, and it warmed her weary bones to see them. Schak had retired the year before, so he’d made a special effort to join Quince. She was a little sad Jackson wasn’t there.

“Hey! It’s good to see you guys. Thanks for checking in.”

“You killed on the first section,” Schak shouted. “In fact, you’re the first woman to finish the Challenge in less than an hour.”

Lara hadn’t realized that. Trust Schak to have the stats. “It’s wickedly complex. I was going on instinct.” They had to be vague when they talked about the contest. Special software monitored the contestants’ conversations with the outside world to ensure they weren’t hearing advance details. “I mostly got lucky.”

“Bullshit. That save was amazing,” Schak said.

Quince, going gray but still gorgeous, cut in. “I about had a heart attack when you went down, but you were so quick to correct it.”

“You were fast in the tunnels too.” Schak still sounded excited, but a beeping noise cut him off. The software didn’t want him talking about tunnels. If Lara hadn’t already competed, their message probably wouldn’t have come through.

“I hated every minute of it. My knees still hurt. Did you know there were reptiles in there?”

“That’s disgusting.” Schak tried not to laugh.

“I’m surprised you were both able to watch the live feed. How did you know when I was going to compete?” They only announced each Challenge a few hours in advance. The software also blocked viewers from the competitor’s state from voting when their representative ran the course. It kept populous states from having an advantage.

“I was watching at home and waiting,” Schak said. “When I heard them announce your name for the first round, I contacted Jackson and came down here. He watched with us, then had to go out on a lead. He’s working a missing persons case.”

The job always came first for Jackson. She loved that about him. “This means a lot to me, guys.” Lara struggled to keep her voice from cracking. “I appreciate the support.”

“When do you compete again?”

“Not until Wednesday. They’ll run Challenges all day tomorrow and post my time for the Puzzle sometime after five.”

“Good luck. Show ’em how smart you are.”

“Thanks.” Emotions she never thought she’d feel again were bubbling to the surface. “I have to go now. Say hello to everyone for me.” She blew a kiss for fun, then felt foolish and signed off.

At six-thirty, she considered going out to dinner with the group who’d invited her, then decided against it. Her inability to eat solid food meant that most social gatherings were awkward for her. People always pushed her to eat and she never did. She also didn’t bother to explain why. Jackson was the only person who knew for sure about her condition and he understood without being told. Guilt was something he lived with too, even though he had no reason for it. Lara’s guilt was well-earned.

She made another small shake with a banana, milk, and protein powder and drank it while surfing the net for news. She felt like a junkie in need of a fix. She normally tuned in to the news intermittently throughout the day, but now she was going on twenty-four hours without any. The headline was a deadly flash flood in Illinois. She thought about Jason Copeland and wondered if he knew.
If he did, would it affect his performance?
The civil war in Syria was still going on, a tornado had hit the southern states, and summer temperatures were predicted to be in the 115-120-degree range for most mid-Earth locations. On the bright side, a Chinese doctor had implanted an autologous-liver into a patient.

As Lara read the details, the door burst open and Kirsten stormed in. Her roommate stopped between the desk and the couch and blocked the path to Lara’s bedroom.

“You little old bitch.” Kirsten’s face twisted with bitterness and her breath reeked of alcohol. “First, you get lucky in the tunnels, then you earn the sympathy vote. It’s pathetic. I should have won the Challenge.”

Lara started to laugh, then remembered the cameras. Had Kirsten forgotten about them or did she no longer care? “It was a fair competition. I’m sorry you’re going home.” It was the best Lara could do. Without the cameras, she would have told her to fuck off.

“Fair? They handicapped me at every phase because I’m younger and better looking.”

“Get real. I’m sure every male viewer in the audience gave you a constant thumbs-up.” Lara didn’t want this fight, but it wasn’t in her nature to roll over either. She knew it was best to isolate herself now. She started to go around her roommate, but Kirsten stepped in her way.

“I could’ve taken you in the Battle for sure.”

Lara bit the inside of her cheek. “I have twenty years of martial arts training. I don’t think so.”

“Let’s find out,” Kirsten taunted. “Let’s do battle.”

“No thanks. I’m saving it for the contest.”

Lara started past her again, and Kirsten leaned over, causing Lara to brush against her shoulder. Kirsten spun around, grabbed the back of Lara’s hair, and yanked. The pain and aggression sent a white-hot ball of fury into Lara’s brain. Her reaction was primal, beyond her control. She had sensed the move as Kirsten made it, so she threw herself in the direction of the pull, body slamming Kirsten and forcing her off balance. Lara released a quick jab from her waist and connected with her roommate’s soft spot in the hollow of her ribs. Kirsten made a strange grunting sound and went down to her knees. Lara forced herself to step back, rather than deliver a second blow.

“Don’t touch me again.” She spun and headed into her bedroom, where she locked the door. Lara checked her iCom: 7:59 p.m.
Crap!
The cameras had caught the physical exchange and would now shut off. She sat on the bed and took long slow breaths. Would Minda boot her out for striking Kirsten? It had been self-defense as far as she was concerned, but the director might not see it that way. Her fate depended on how the viewers reacted, Lara realized. This might be one of the circumstances in which Minda polled voters before making a decision.

Lara waited until Kirsten went into her own room, then she pulled on running shoes. She had to get out and work off some steam or she would never get to sleep, even with her meds. Lara strapped on her 9-millimeter, grabbed her room card and her mini-flashlight, and headed out. She would have liked to run through the neighborhood on the other side of the expressway, but she didn’t have permission to leave the property. She crossed the empty lobby and noticed the hotel clerk reading on his Dock. He didn’t look up.

She took an easy run and circled the outer perimeter of the arena property several times, losing track of the count. Her knees ached from the Challenge, so she didn’t push herself.

She re-entered the hotel and stepped on the elevator, thinking about how she would spend her free time the next day. The idea of sightseeing in the middle of the contest seemed weird now, and she decided to hang around the hotel and arena, in case something important about the competition came up.

On the third floor, Lara slipped her card into the slot and pushed open the door to her room. She flipped on the light and let out a startled grunt. Kirsten was on her back on the floor and appeared to be dead.

Chapter 13

Six months earlier: Tues., Dec. 13, 5:07 p.m.

Paul took his third MetaboSlim before leaving work, washing it down with the remains of his afternoon tea. The diet pills were working incredibly well and he was down a pound since Saturday. They also gave him an energy and confidence he’d never had before. Tonight he would need both. Camille had noticed the change in him that afternoon and had commented that he seemed “perky.”

He would have preferred a more masculine adjective, but for someone who’d spent his life on the sidelines, it was great to be noticed. He’d asked Camille for the name of the gym where she worked out and decided he would join. He was beginning to understand that his makeover had to be more than just physical. He needed a social overhaul as well, and joining a fitness club seemed like a good start.

Outside, he peeled off his tie just to be rid of it and walked nine blocks to the nearby gym, battling a cold wind the whole way. His iCom beeped as he arrived at the new facility, so he stood in the lobby and answered it.

“It’s Isabel. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No, sorry. I’m hungry, that’s all. How are you?”

“I’m okay, but feeling tired. I’m a little worried about you. Why haven’t you called lately?”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been busy at work and have a lot on my mind. But I’m doing great. I’ve decided to get a nose job.” For some reason he hadn’t told her before. Maybe because it still didn’t seem real.

“Oh Paul.” She hesitated. “I think you’re perfect the way you are, but if it’ll make you happy, then I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks. I’m pretty excited about it.” The woman at the counter signaled him. “I’ve got to go now. I’m joining a gym. I’ll see you Sunday for dinner.”

“A gym? What’s going on? Have you met a girl?”

“I can’t talk about it yet.”

“Okay, but soon. Bye, sweetie.”

Paul spent half an hour touring the facility with a tiny Asian woman, then clenched his teeth and signed a year contract. He hated to spend the money but the wild weather made outdoor exercise nearly impossible and he knew his VEx had limitations.

When he finally arrived home, he took Lilly out for a few minutes, then scarfed down a chicken salad for dinner. Having food in his stomach took the edge off his irritation and he relaxed in front of his NetCom. First, he searched for a cosmetic dentist, then he watched a live cam of a woman in Montana who raised and trained Great Danes. Paul loved the creatures but the thought of owning such a big dog intimidated him. He stroked Lilly as he watched the woman teach a Brindle to sit and wait for permission to eat. “We’re not like that here,” he reassured his little pet.

At eight o’clock, Paul grabbed his wig and mustache from the back of the closet and stuffed them into a backpack. He changed into a pair of dark blue athletic pants and a zip-up jacket, which he’d purchased for the occasion. No one who knew him—and he could count those people on one hand—would ever connect him to someone dressed this way. Now that he belonged to a gym, that might change in the future. He’d arranged the meet for nine o’clock and hoped no one in his complex would see him go out.

By the time he climbed on the bus, the diet pill had reached its maximum potency and Paul’s nervousness faded. He rode to the corner of Florida and Holbrook and headed for a nearby gas station, where he planned to use the restroom. The once-bustling business had only one car at the pump. The dirty metal door on the side of the building was locked, and Paul had to ask for the key. The semi-bald guy in the station booth barely looked at him, and Paul was momentarily grateful for his bland appearance.

He pulled on his disguise and checked his iCom for the time: 8:47 p.m. He headed back out and circled behind the gas station so the attendant wouldn’t see him in the shoulder-length wig, then walked in the direction of the Pizza Hut, where the transfer would take place. If Rathmore had followed directions, he would be there now, sitting in a booth near the door with his back to the entrance. A manila envelope would be on the table, where Paul could simply grab it, turn, and leave. This meet was simpler and less cautious than the previous mission, but Rathmore had followed directions last time, so Paul was less worried about a confrontation now.

The rich aroma of melted cheese and sizzling pepperoni hit his nostrils as soon as he stepped through the glass door, yet neither his brain nor his stomach responded with a craving. Again, Paul was impressed with the MetaboSlim supplements.

Only three tables in the restaurant were occupied, but his eyes were drawn to the one filled with an African American woman in her late twenties and three small children. The group seemed noisy and happy, but Paul thought it was too late for school-age children to be out having dinner.

In the booth nearest the door, he saw the back and shoulders of a tall man. Paul couldn’t be certain it was Rathmore, but the guy had the same short gray hair and long pale neck. The man didn’t turn at the sound of the door closing. Excellent. Paul took three quick steps, bringing him parallel with the back of the booth. He stopped abruptly, grabbed the manila envelope from the table, and spun back around.

As he strode toward the door, a child’s voice called out, “Hey, that man stole something!”

His nerves jumped at the sound, so Paul shoved the parcel inside his jacket, pushed opened the glass door, and pulled up his zipper. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rathmore rise from the booth.
Damn!
Was he coming after him? Or pretending to be for the sake of the restaurant’s other patrons? Paul broke into a casual jog, like a man trying to burn a few calories. He heard the jingle of the restaurant door open and close behind him, then the sound of footsteps picking up pace.

Paul sped up, heading for Tennessee Avenue. He’d planned to catch a bus after the drop, but now he just wanted to lose Rathmore. Few businesses were open and he saw nowhere to duck into. He rounded a corner and tried to plan an escape as he ran. The footsteps pounded behind, Rathmore’s long legs closing the gap, his pursuer silent and determined.

Feeling unnerved, yet strangely exhilarated, Paul charged toward Maryland Avenue, where he thought he could catch a bus or taxi. A couple came out of a lounge and stared as Paul and his pursuer raced by. As he reached the corner, Rathmore caught up to him and grabbed his jacket. He tried to jerk free, but the man hung on. Nerves bursting, Paul finally spun around and shoved Rathmore with all his might.

To his surprise, the taller man went down on his butt and cried out in pain. Paul turned and ran, pushing past a group of homeless women to round the corner. No footsteps came after him. He kept running, and two blocks later, waved down a cab.