“Doctor Cole, that’s unacceptable.”
“I’m a first-year surgical resident, Agent Bolton. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, I do, but your life’s in danger.”
She shook her head. “You can protect me. You can watch me. And you can hide my daughter.” She looked at Mae’s bedroom door and tears welled in her eyes. “But I can’t give up my work. Not now. I’ll never get a decent job if I walk away in the middle of a residency.”
“Doctor Cole,” Bolton said, “I can’t allow this.”
She shook her head. “You’ll have to, Agent Bolton. Protect my daughter. I’ll take care of myself.”
“This man we’re dealing with—”
“Is dangerous, I know. You’ve told me. And I’m afraid, Agent Bolton, but I’m not going to give up what I’ve spent my life working toward. Not now. Not for anyone.”
“He’ll get to you,” I said and I could still feel Mae’s arms on my neck.
Everyone in the room looked up at me.
Grace said, “Not if I—”
“Not if you what? I can’t protect you all, Grace.”
“I’m not asking you—”
“He said I had a choice.”
“Who?”
“Hardiman,” I said and I was surprised at how loud my voice was. “I had to choose between people I loved. He meant you and Mae and Phil and Angie. I can’t protect all of you, Grace.”
“Then don’t, Patrick.” Her voice was cold. “Don’t. You brought this to my doorstep. My daughter’s doorstep. Your stupid fucking pursuit of a violent life led this person to me. Your life is my life now and my daughter’s and neither of us asked for it.” She punched her knee with the side of her fist and then looked at the floor, inhaled sharply. “I’ll be fine. Take Mae someplace safe. I’ll call her father now.”
Bolton looked at Devin and Devin shrugged.
“I can’t make you go into protective custody—”
“No,” I said. “No, no, no. Grace, you don’t know this guy. He’ll get to you. He will.”
I crossed the floor until I was standing over her.
“So?” she said.
“So?” I said. “So?”
I was aware that everyone was looking at me. I was aware that I didn’t feel completely like myself. I felt crazed and vindictive. I felt violent and ugly and unhinged.
“So,” Grace said again.
“So he’ll cut your fucking head off,” I said.
“Patrick,” Angie said.
I bent over Grace. “You understand that? He’ll cut your head off. But last. He’ll do that last. First, Grace, he’ll rape you for a while and then he’ll slice off pieces of your body and then he’ll hammer nails through your fucking palms and then—”
“Stop it,” she said quietly.
But I couldn’t. It seemed important that she know this.
“—he’ll disembowel you, Grace. He loves that. Disemboweling people so he can see their insides steam. And then maybe he’ll pluck out your eyes while he lets his partner rip into you and—”
The scream came from behind me.
Grace had her hands over her ears by this point, but she pulled them off when she heard the scream.
I turned and Mae was standing behind me, her face bright red, her arms jerking spasmodically by her sides as if she’d been electrified.
“No, no, no!” She screamed it through tears of horror and pushed past me and jumped on her mother and clung to her with ferocity.
Grace looked past her daughter as she held her to her breast, looked at me with a naked and total hatred.
“Leave my house,” she said.
“Grace.”
“Now,” she said.
“Doctor Cole,” Bolton said, “I’d like you to—”
“I’ll go with you,” she said.
“What?”
Her eyes were still fixed on me. “I’ll go into protective custody with you, Agent Bolton. I won’t leave my daughter. I’ll go,” she said softly.
I said, “Look, Grace—”
She placed her hands over her daughter’s ears.
“I thought I told you to get the fuck out of my home.”
The phone rang and she reached for it, her eyes never leaving me. “Hello.” She frowned. “I thought I told you this afternoon not to call back. If you want to talk to Patrick—”
“Who is it?” I said.
She tossed the receiver on the floor by my feet. “You gave my number to that psycho friend of yours, Patrick?”
“Bubba?” I picked up the phone as she brushed past me, carried Mae into the bedroom.
“Hello, Patrick.”
“Who’s this?” I said.
“How’d you like all those pictures I took of your friends?”
I looked at Bolton, mouthed “Evandro.”
He ran from the house, Devin a step behind him.
“They didn’t do much for me, Evandro.”
“Oh,” he said. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’ve been working on my technique, trying to play with light and space, respect the spatial tableau, that sort of thing. I think I’m developing artistically. Don’t you?”
Outside the window, an agent scaled the telephone pole in Grace’s side yard.
“I don’t know, Evandro. I doubt you got Annie Leibovitz looking over her shoulder or anything.”
Evandro chuckled. “But I’ve got you looking over yours, don’t I, Patrick?”
Devin came back in holding a piece of paper with the words “Keep him on for two minutes” written on it.
“Yes, you do. Where are you, Evandro?”
“Watching you.”
“Really?” I resisted the urge to turn and look out the windows fronting the street.
“Watching you and your girlfriend and all those nice policemen tramping around the house.”
“Well, since you’re in the neighborhood, drop on by.”
Another soft chuckle. “I’d rather wait. You look very handsome at the moment, Patrick—the phone clenched tightly against your ear, brow furrowed with concern, hair disheveled from the rain. Very handsome.”
Grace came back into the living room, dropped a suitcase on the floor by the door.
“Thanks for the compliment, Evandro.”
Grace blinked when she heard the name, looked over at Angie.