Sitting for a moment in her car, she still felt light-headed. She had broken into Cobb’s apartment, walked in on Bennett and Watson’s lunchtime love fest and shown her hand, spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening at her desk bringing her own murder book up to date.
She needed to eat something and get some rest.
She checked her rearview mirror as she drove through the hills on her way home. No one was following her. She’d kept an eye out for Dick Harvey, but hadn’t seen him all day. She hoped that the gossip reporter had moved on to another story.
The radio was still tuned to 88.1 FM out of Long Beach. They were playing Robert Glasper’s “Of Dreams to Come”-and she found the piano music more than soothing. As she pulled into her drive and parked, she listened until the jazz piece ended.
She walked into the house, dumping her briefcase on the couch and heading for the kitchen. But as she stepped around the counter, she noticed the light blinking on her telephone. She checked the caller ID, but didn’t recognize the number. When she listened to the message and heard Debi Watson’s voice, she pulled over a stool and sat down.
Her risk had paid off. Watson wanted to talk.
But even better, the deputy DA sounded anxious and had left her home phone number. There was the chance that she had something real to say.
Lena checked the time and entered the number into the handset. After four rings, Watson’s service picked up so she left a message that included her cell number. Returning the phone to its cradle, curiosity began to work on her and she hoped that Watson would call back tonight. She glanced at her briefcase, her energy returning. But as she climbed off the stool, time seemed to shoot forward and break in half before her eyes.
She heard a loud pop-then shielded her face as a wave of shattered glass burst through the air and crashed into the room. Ducking out of the way, she turned just as a cast-iron chair from the terrace bounced off the living room wall. But she didn’t turn back quickly enough. She didn’t see Dan Cobb charging through the broken slider as much as she knew it was him.
He hit her hard. He blindsided her with all his weight, and tackled her to the ground.
Lena smashed onto the hardwood floor and felt the air rush out of her lungs. He was on top of her now. He pulled her gun away and tossed it by the couch, pressing his hand over her face and pushing her head down.
She forced herself to breathe. After two quick gasps, she drew in more air, then rocked her body onto her side and tried to squirm out from underneath. She kicked him in the stomach and chest, kept her feet moving, and tried to pull herself away. She reached out for the side table, but Cobb batted it away with such force that the legs broke off as it hit the floor.
He grabbed her by the waist, rolled her onto her back, and reeled her in. He was on top of her again, grunting and groaning and using his body weight to keep her arms and fists still. He was pulling her hair and gripping her head and slowly working his way downward.
She felt his hands close around her neck. His grip tightened and began squeezing the life out of her. She looked for her gun-tried not to panic-and saw it on the shards of broken glass. She knew it was too far away.
She looked at his face, the sweat beading on his forehead. His nose looked broken-his goatee framing his clenched teeth.
“You corrupt piece of shit,” he was saying. “You corrupt piece of-”
She started choking. She tried to find his fingertips. Tried to pry them-
“You broke into my fucking place. You stole my files. My fucking murder book. My fucking murder-”
His grip tightened. She was dizzy again. He lowered his face into hers. They were nose to nose now. She could feel herself-
“You’re the new fucking deal all right,” he said. “A total fucking fraud. A liar and a cheat, a thief and a dirty fucking-”
She tried to find her voice. When the words came out, they broke up like a bad cell signal.
“Kill me, Cobb. But it won’t make any difference.”
His rage seemed to double. “It’ll be better.”
“It won’t make any difference because they know.”
He laughed at her and banged her head into the floor. She tried to pull his hands away. She couldn’t. She thought that she might already be dead. Everything seemed upside down.
“They know you did it,” she said. “They know you shot Bosco and Gant.”
He let go of her neck.
She didn’t know why.
She started coughing and tried to catch her breath. Cobb was still on top of her-his chest heaving, his face an inch away like they were lovers. Those wild eyes staring through her.
“They know you did it, Cobb.”
“How?”
“The gun you used. It matched up.”
“It matched?”
“That drive-by case you worked with Bennett and Higgins. Eight years ago in Exposition Park. Elvira Wheaten and her grandson. You pulled the gun from Property. They have your request card. You did it. All four of you assholes are guilty. You kill me and they’ll hunt you guys down like animals.”
His eyes were still on her, still measuring her as he chewed it over. He looked crazed and still couldn’t seem to get enough air. After a long stretch, he rolled off of her body, then reached out and grabbed her gun, his mind a million miles away.
“They didn’t make girls like you when I was growing up,” he said.
“Screw you.”
“We need to take a drive.”
“So you can shoot me?”
“No,” he said. “So you can see something.”
“See what?”
“You tell me when we get there.”
“You’re a piece of shit, Cobb.”
He handed over her gun and struggled to get to his feet. “No, I’m not, Gamble. I’m the guy who tipped off Paladino, and made sure that Jacob Gant’s DNA got lost in the fucking lab.”