The only thing I could think to say as I opened the door was, "It's not what you think."
She had the gun up to my face before I'd finished the sentence, was starting forward with a snarl.
"Fuck you, where is she, you sack of…" Bridgett said, and then she stopped, the barrel of her SIG perhaps an inch from my nose, and for the first time since I'd known her, she looked like she couldn't think of a thing to say. In my peripheral vision, I could see Miata hesitating, looking up at Bridgett, and then he lowered his head and headed out the open door, brushing past her bare legs.
Bridgett didn't even notice, didn't move at all, the gun still in my face.
"Hi, Chris," I said. I didn't look at her.
"Atticus," Chris said. "What happened to the glasses?"
"Contacts."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. Soft lenses, Bausch and Lomb."
"Those are nice. The Vandyke doesn't really suit you, though."
"It's temporary. I'm hoping to shave soon."
"Sure," Havel said. "You going to invite us in?"
"I'd like Bridgett to lower her weapon first."
Havel waited. I waited. Bridgett held the gun on me a moment longer, then lowered it. She left the hammer up. Her expression had frozen, but now it was starting to crack. Bridgett doesn't hide her feelings well, and I was reading a long string of emotions that started with shock, touched on relief, switched to rage, and now was mostly suspicion. After another second's silence she looked past my shoulder, into the house.
"Where is she?" Bridgett demanded.
"Why?"
She tightened her jaw, pushed past me, bringing the gun up again. I gestured for Chris to follow her through, then checked outside. An old Army Jeep, painted a combination of rust and blue, was parked in the drive. I didn't see anyone else. I closed and locked the door.
They had made it into the living room, each of them reacting very differently to the space. Havel had the same leather book-bag hanging from her shoulder as the last time I'd seen her, and was reaching into one of the pockets while taking in her surroundings. She was grinning, and when her hand came out of the bag, she'd produced a pad and a pen. If she'd been a six-year-old about to meet Mickey Mouse, I don't think she could have looked more delighted.
Bridgett, on the other hand, was scanning the room as if searching for someone to shoot, which I suspect was just what she wanted to do. When I came back to join them, she stopped long enough to glare at me, her rage once again naked and in control.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" she demanded.
"It's complicated."
"Fuck you, uncomplicate it, uncomplicate it now. You look like an asshole, you look like you've gone fucking diesel on me, here, as well as crazy. Jesus Christ, what have you been doing?"
Havel, who had started taking notes, stopped long enough to glance up at me. "You look really good. Except for the Vandyke. You lose weight?"
"Some," I said.
"Where is she?" Bridgett asked. "Is she here?"
"She's here," I said.
"I'm going to kill her."
"Why?"
She looked at me much as she had just moments earlier over the barrel of the gun. "How about she's a motherfucking professional killer to start with? How about she tried to shoot me through the head? How about she fucking kidnapped you and apparently has turned you into the poster goddamn child for Stockholm fucking Syndrome?"
"It's not Stockholm Syndrome," I said. "I'm here because I want to be."
"You and Patty Hearst."
Chris had moved to the bookshelves, was examining the titles there. "She a Beatles fan?"
"Yeah."
"Let me guess," Bridgett said. "Revolver."
"Help!" I said.
Bridgett laughed, and it wasn't amusement. "Oh, is that it? She needs somebody?"
I hadn't actually considered that, but I said, "Pretty much."
She stepped closer to me, holding the gun against her thigh, the hammer still up. I'd never noticed the way she carried her weight before, how much of it rested in her lower back and her knees. She poked me in the chest with the index finger of her empty hand.
"You know what we've been through the last few months?" she hissed. "You know what Erika's been through? Not to mention Scott and Dale and Corry? Not to mention your family, who saw in the paper that you had disappeared?"
"I've an idea."
"You've an idea. That's good. Does that mean your incredible selfishness has some sort of justification?"
"I'm a bodyguard," I said.
"What is that, is that an answer?"
"She's my principal."
Havel stopped thumbing through the titles on the shelf to look at me. If I'd introduced her to Mickey before, now I'd presented her with a lifetime pass to the Magic Kingdom.
"Brilliant," she said.
Bridgett didn't think so. For a moment I thought she was going to pistol-whip me. "I want to see her, I want to talk to this bitch."
"Give me the gun," I said.
"Fuck off."
"I can take it from you."
"You can try."
The P7 was in my right hand, so I used my left, grabbing the SIG and twisting it from her grip in one motion. I had it before she could resist. Before she could find words I'd turned the pistol in my hand and lowered the hammer, then tossed it onto one of the empty chairs.
"You son of a bitch," Bridgett said, and she tried to punch me in the face, but I moved out of it and she bruised only air, and that just made her angrier. "You son of a bitch."
"You need to calm down."
She turned, moving to the chair where I'd sent her pistol.
"Don't," I said.
Havel was watching us, her delight long gone. She wasn't even taking notes any longer.
Bridgett stopped but didn't turn. Her voice was tight, coming from high in her chest.
"You going to shoot me, Atticus?" she asked. "Has she got you so wound up you'd shoot me in the back?"
"It's complicated," I said. "And if you go at her with a gun, one of you will end up dead."
"God dammit, Atticus. I've been looking for you for three months. I thought you needed help, I thought you might be dead." Her shoulders dropped, and she turned to look at me again, and she even managed a crooked smile. "Sound familiar?"
"It does," I said. "Look, you're here, both of you are here, now's not the time to hash this out. You want to meet her?"
"Yeah, I do."
"As long as you don't try to kill her, that'll be fine," I said. "Wait here."
Bridgett nodded, and Havel resumed scribbling madly in her pad. I went around the corner, out of the living room, to the foot of the stairs, thinking it would be better for me to head up and talk to Alena first rather than to just call her name and ask her to come on down. I doubted getting her to relinquish the shotgun would be as difficult as it had been getting Bridgett to give up the SIG, but I was sure some talk was going to be required, whatever the case.
I never got the chance to find out.