"Well, where is he?"
"You'll see him soon."
Just then the door opened and Menck stuck his head through.
"Bring her upstairs."
Dawn tried to jump to her feet and run—but where? And besides, her knees were too wobbly. So she just sat there while Menck held the door and Darryl came over and gripped her upper arm.
"C'mon, gal. Time to see the main man."
Jerry… had to be.
She allowed herself to be helped to her feet, then she preceded Darryl to the door where Menck took her arm and led her up a narrow stairway.
As soon as she hit the first floor she began screaming for help. Her voice echoed off the stone walls. Darryl and Menck stood by and watched her with amused expressions. Two other men appeared. She recognized them from the truck.
"What's her problem?" one of them said.
Darryl grinned. "She thinks there's someone around to hear her."
"There is," said the guy. "Us."
"Someone who cares," Darryl added. He poked her shoulder. "There ain't."
She stopped. She totally wanted to cry but she'd be damned if she'd break down in front of these jerks.
Menck said, "We called ahead and had the building cleared before you arrived." He tilted his head toward the waiting stairs. "Let's go. Someone on the second floor is waiting to meet you."
She so didn't want to go but they were behind her, pushing. When she reached the top she was out of breath, not from exertion, but fear. They led her down a hall to a half-open door. They guided her through and she stopped cold at the sight of a man she had totally never seen before.
He stood in the middle of the room swinging a sword.
She screamed.
As Jack approached the Kicker HQ, he was surprised to see a bunch of them hanging out on the front steps and the sidewalk.
Earlier he'd ditched the rubber gloves and sunglasses, upgrading his look from wino casual to just plain scruffy. He'd traded his torn jeans for ones that were simply well worn. Then he'd stopped over at Gia's where she'd used a Sharpie to draw a faux Kicker Man tattoo in his right thumb web. She'd wanted to know what he was up to but he put her off with a promise of a full explanation later.
He did a quick check on the tat as he approached the throng. Might not pass muster in the light of day, but here in the dark, with only streetlights for illumination, it was perfect.
He stopped by a knot of a half dozen guys and pulled out a pack of Marlboros. Making sure his tat was toward the group, he shook one out and lit up. As anticipated, someone needed a smoke.
"Hey, bro," said a blond guy in a work shirt. "Spare one of those?"
"Sure." Jack extended the box. After the guy had taken his, Jack offered it around. "Anyone else?"
One other guy took him up on it. Jack lent them his lighter to fire up. After a few drags—fake inhaled for fear of coughing—he looked around.
"What's going on? What's everybody doing outside? This a fire drill or something?"
The blond guy grinned. "Damn near. Like three o'clock this afternoon we get the word: Everybody outta the building. Move-move-move. We been out here ever since. I went and grabbed a burger and come back figuring everything'd be back to normal. But no. Still locked out, and no reason why."
A tall, sullen type was eyeing Jack. "Ain't seen you around before."
Jack eyed him right back. "I'm kinda new. Been out all day ripping down those sword flyers. You know they got them posted as far out as Jackson Heights? I mean, what gives with that?"
The blond guy said, "Word is that someone heard just as we were being moved out that the next job would be taking down the girl posters."
Jack stiffened. "You mean those missing Dawn Pickering things we've been plastering all over town? They want them down?"
"That's the word." He shrugged. "Don't mean it's true."
"Did they find her?"
The tall guy shrugged. "Don't think so. I been workin the phones these past four weeks and I ain't heard nothin but bullshit comin in. One lie after another, just trying to get a piece of that reward. Sometimes people make me sick, y'know? I think Hank just figured if we ain't found her by now, we ain't gonna find her at all, and he decided to pull the plug."
"You might be right," Jack said.
Like hell. No way Hank would give up on that baby. He and his late unlamented brother Jerry saw Dawn's baby as the Key to the Future. Only three reasons he'd pull the flyers: Dawn was dead, Dawn had gotten an abortion, or Dawn had been found and was under his control.
Clearing out Kicker HQ on such short notice added a lot of weight to number three. If true, she could be inside right now.
"Nice night."
Jack turned away and looked up, pretending to stare at the sky, but really checking for a vantage point that would allow him to see into the building. As he scanned the cornices of the rooftops across the street he spotted a flash of reflection—a double flash, side by side.
As in binoculars.
Her scream jolted Hank. Why—?
Oh, yeah. The sword. He'd been swinging it around when she stepped into the room. Must have thought he was going to attack her.
"Hey, it's all right," he said, lowering the blade. "I'm just playing with it."
She stood inside the doorway, trembling, her eyes shifting left and right.
"Wh-where's Jerry?"
Jerry? Did she think he was still alive?
Of course she did. She'd known him as Jerry Bethlehem. As far as anyone knew, Jerry Bethlehem was a murder suspect on the run from the law. But that had been an assumed identity. His body had been ID'd and he'd been declared dead under his real identity, Jeremy Bolton. No way Dawn could connect the two.
He studied her. She didn't look pregnant. He barely recognized her. She'd lost weight, and with her blond hair dyed brown and cut short, he might have passed her on the street without recognizing her. Only when he focused on her puggish face did he know for sure it was her.
And he wanted to slug her. Or cut her.