Unseen by Karin Slaughter Page B

feel his hands rubbing her back, hear his calming voice in her ear.
    Lena wiped away tears. Why did she ache for Jared so much when he wasn’t there, yet every time he was standing in front of her, all she could think about was how much she wanted him to leave?
    She looked down. Her hand had gone to her stomach again. Her palm flat to her belly.
    Lena shook her head, tried to make herself focus because Paul was right about one thing: the minute Branson got down here, she’d want a clear story. Three men had been murdered in the night while the cops were sitting in a surveillance truck less than five hundred yards away. Keith was probably still shitting himself from having a gun jammed into his neck. Mitch had almost been scalped. Sid Waller was dead by his own hand.
    What could Lena say? That part of her had been hoping Sid Waller would kill her? That just about everybody in Lena’s life would be better off if he had?
    No. She would tell Branson that she had followed her training. You didn’t leave a hostage with a madman. You didn’t let them go to a second location. You took your shot when you could.
    Or, you let the bad guy take his shot.
    She turned her flashlight on Sid Waller. His mouth was open. She could see the titanium cap on his front tooth. There was a skull and crossbones etched into it. Lena had seen it enough times during interrogations to draw it from memory. Waller would sit at the table with his legs spread wide like his balls needed the extra room. He barely looked at Lena, but when he did, he conveyed such a sense of disgust that she felt dirty just being near him. Even with his lawyer there, he would sneer at her, spit at her, call her a stupid cunt. It drove Paul insane, but Lena just let it slide. Waller wanted a reaction. He wanted her to lunge at him so he could laugh in her face. You didn’t have to be a genius to recognize a man who hated women. The bastard would rather kill himself than be taken in by one.
    She trained the flashlight on the gleaming wet hole where the side of Waller’s head used to be.
    Wish granted.
    Lena turned away from the body, shining the light into the suitcase. She’d been wrong about that—there were more fifties thanhundreds. Maybe half a million dollars. Denise Branson would have to fill her chest with all her ribbons and commendations again for when they put her picture in the paper. The fact that two seasoned cops had let the bad guy get the drop on them wouldn’t be part of the story.
    Lena wanted the question answered, though. Mitch and Keith were better than this. At least she thought they were. She scanned the room with her Maglite, trying to figure out what had happened. There was a piece of paneling hanging crookedly off the wall. She craned her neck to see behind it. Waller’s hiding place. The earth was dug out around the foundation. Like rats in a trap, Keith and Mitch had gone straight to the money, and Sid Waller had sprung out from behind the wall and taken them both down before they could make a squeak.
    Mitch first, probably brained with the muzzle of the Sig. Then the next thing Keith knows, the Sig is jammed in his throat. Much more frightening than the thought of getting shot in the head. You get shot in the neck, you might live. You might never walk again, you might breathe through a tube or piss in a bag for the rest of your life, but you’d live.
    Someone was on the stairs. Lena waited for Denise Branson to pick her way through the filthy basement.
    “Adams? What the hell happened here?” Denise yelled. “You’re gonna be damn lucky if Chief Gray doesn’t bust your ass over this.”
    Lena had heard the threat before, and from people a lot scarier than Denise Branson. She answered, “Waller took Keith hostage. He pointed the gun at me. I pointed my gun at him. He made a choice.”
    Denise scowled at Waller’s dead body. She looked mad enough to spit. “Who do you think is gonna give us Big Whitey now?”
    Lena was so sick and tired