Paul was laughing, too. “Grab your ankles, Waller. Get ready for the big pokey.”
Eric cut a bugle of a fart, which made the men laugh harder.
Lena groaned as she crawled past them to the front of the van. “You’re all disgusting.”
They were laughing too hard to hear her.
She plopped into the driver’s seat. She rolled down the window and filled her lungs with clean, fresh air. She prayed to God she wasn’t carrying a boy. Or worse, two boys. Twins ran in families. Dr. Benedict had told her they’d know for sure when he did the next ultrasound.
Lena took out her phone and pulled up Denise Branson’s number. She could see the Chick-fil-A building through the windshield. The distance was too great for detail, but she could tell that Snitch was still on the playground. He had returned to the bench, arms and legs spread wide. The sunglasses were back on. Lena couldn’t see his expression, but she gathered he was feeling pretty pleased with himself. He knew he was safe now. The minute he’d gotten Waller to talk about the house, Snitch’s immunity deal was set in stone.
Lena heard Denise Branson’s voicemail. She ended the call. Denise was probably in a meeting. Lena pulled up the text messaging and typed out a quick note: Baldy will have package within the hour.
Baldy was their nickname for the judge who kept telling them no. Lena was probably being paranoid, but she didn’t want to take the chance that her phone was hacked.
She checked over her shoulder. The men were still celebrating, trying to one-up one another with crass jokes about prison rape.
Lena rolled her eyes as she turned back around. Mr. Snitch was still on the playground bench. The sun was in his face. Kids were playing on the swings in front of him. He didn’t have a care in the world.
She hated this part of the job. The junkie had been caught selling pills to kids, and he would go back to selling them pills because the police had let him go. There was no way for her to sit on him, wait for the inevitable fuckup. No criminal would ever deal with Lena again if they knew she couldn’t be trusted. She would have to sit back and wait for Mr. Snitch to screw up on his own.
Or maybe she wouldn’t.
Lena pulled up email on her phone. She selected the Google account that she used for ordering off the Internet. The email address could probably be traced back to her, but she didn’t really care. She was going to take the advice she had just given Denise Branson. No cop should go it alone. There was no shame in asking for help. Besides, Mr. Snitch’s immunity deal was with Macon, not the state of Georgia.
Lena couldn’t touch Anthony Dell, but Will Trent could.
12.
FRIDAY
Will stumbled out of the hospital. Even outside, he could still hear Sara crying. Could feel the marks she’d left on his skin. Could smell her. Taste her.
He passed his bike, crossed the parking lot. His foot hit the curb. He stepped up, walking into the woods behind the building. Will didn’t get far. He fell to his knees. He opened his mouth, tried to bring up the acid eating him inside.
What had he done?
He pressed his forehead to the cold ground. His mind kept flipping through the last twenty-four hours. All the violence. All the pain. What Will had seen. What he had wrought. Lena with the hammer. Tony with his knife. And then there was Sara.
What had he done to Sara?
He had lost her. In that one brutal moment, he had lost her forever.
“Hey, asshole!”
Will looked up. Paul Vickery was barreling toward him. Before Will could react, the man kicked him in the head.
Will slammed to the ground. Stars burst in front of his eyes. The air was knocked out of his chest.
Vickery jumped on him. He rained down punches like a windmill. Will bucked, trying to heave him off. Vickery grabbed Will’s neck. The man put all of his weight into it, crushing Will’s windpipe. Will tried to pry away his fingers. His mouth gaped open. Vickery pressed harder, strangling him. Will’s tongue swelled. His eyes burned. He started to black out. Was this how it was going to happen? After all he had survived, was this how he was going to die?
Suddenly, the pressure stopped. Will gagged on the sudden rush of air.
Paul Vickery flew off him. He landed hard on the asphalt. His head thumped against the curb.
Will coughed so hard his feet kicked out.
“Are you okay?” Faith was there. She had a twenty-inch-long steel police baton in her hand. She asked Will again, “Are you okay?” She kept looking at Vickery, then back at Will. “Can you see me?”
Will saw two of her, then three.
Vickery tried to push himself up.
Faith slammed the baton into Vickery’s kidneys. Two brutal blows, one after the other.
“Bitch!” he screamed, writhing on the ground. “Jesus!” Faith jammed the baton in Vickery’s face. “Stay down.”
“He murdered a cop!”
The baton stayed in Vickery’s face. She drew her Glock on Will. “Get up.”
Will blinked at the gun. Her finger was on the trigger guard. He wasn’t sure he could move. He hurt so bad. Everything hurt so bad.
“Black,” Faith said. “I told you to get the fuck up.”
Black.
Will didn’t understand what she was saying. Was it some kind of a code?
“Up,” Faith repeated. She was using her cop voice, the one that said she had drawn down on a suspect before and was ready to do it again. “I said get the fuck up.”
Finally, Will’s brain managed to make contact with his arms, his legs. He pushed himself to sitting. The effort almost wasted him.
“Stay there,” Faith ordered, as if Will had a choice. “Bill Black, I’m placing you under arrest for parole violation.”
“Parole?” Vickery shouted. “He killed a fucking cop!”
“You got proof?” When Vickery didn’t offer an answer, she told Will, “You have the right to remain silent.”
Vickery muttered, “Stupid cunt.”
Faith talked over him. “Anything you say or do may be used against you in a court of law.”
Will leaned over and threw up. Peas. Something white. Green beans. He couldn’t remember eating any of it.
“You have a right to consult with an attorney.”
Will sniffed. The sensation almost made him vomit again.
“If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you by the courts.”
“Okay.” Will held up his hand for silence. The sound of her voice was an ice pick in his brain. “I waive my rights.”
Faith holstered her Glock, but kept the baton at the ready. She tossed Will her handcuffs. “Put those on.”
Vickery saw an opportunity. He tried to stand.
Faith flicked the baton, cracking it against Vickery’s ankle. The sound was like a twig snapping.
“Bitch!” Vickery screamed in agony. “You fucking bitch!”
“Stand up.” Faith grabbed Will’s arm. She couldn’t move him. “Come on.” She leaned down to help. Her whisper in his ear felt like she was talking underwater. “Please.”
From somewhere deep inside, Will summoned the strength to stand. He staggered like a colt taking its first steps. Faith wrapped her hand around his arm, pulled him toward the parking lot. He tripped over the curb again. Faith labored to keep him upright.
She coached, “Keep walking. Just keep walking.”