Tilting at Windmills (Claire Lance)

by Geonn Cannon

Hadley and Estevez both had their backs to her, and Perry was at the foot of the bed watching them. Lance took advantage of their distraction to examine the room. She couldn't get to the weapons Hadley left lying on the bed. Even if she could, they would be useless with her hands cuffed to the chair as they were. Directly in front of her, the bathroom door was standing open. She could see the light glinting off the porcelain of the tub.

  Perry wiped his hand across his mouth and looked at the door, as if he expected the cops to come rushing into the room at any second. His gaze swept past her and he paused, his eyes moving to her exposed bra. She pressed her back against the chair, pushing her breasts out and trying to make it look inadvertent. She shook her head and pressed the balls of her bare feet against the carpet. She was breathing heavily, her breasts straining against the sheer material of her underwear.

  She saw the despair in his eyes, and knew he was lamenting the fact he wouldn't be able to enjoy her, then his expression changed to one of determination. He wasn't going to let a couple of cops get in his way. He stepped forward, placing himself between Lance and the open bathroom door.

  "No. Please," she whispered.

  "Quiet," he said, moving forward.

  Lance waited until he had taken a step toward her before she made her move. She pushed her feet against the floor and stood up, bringing the chair up with her. She met Perry halfway, burying her shoulder in the broad, flat plane of his chest. He was caught off balance, one foot off the floor. The wind was knocked out of him as she shuffled him backwards. She kept her body low, using the weight of the chair to keep him from gaining the upper hand.

  Perry hit the bathroom door with his back and it banged into the wall. At the same time, the rifle exploded in the room behind her.

  Lance ignored the sound of the gunshot and kept rushing Perry forward until he tripped over the edge of the bathtub. He fell backward and Lance finally pulled herself back. His head hit the far edge of the tub and bounced. His body slumped into the tub, this time crumpling against the porcelain like a broken toy. His eyes were wide and unblinking, his chest no longer moving with breath, and blood stained the porcelain where his head had first hit.

  She didn't take the time to celebrate her success. She swung herself around and smacked the chair against the sink. She was prepared to hit it several times, but once was all it took. The chair shattered and the pieces fell to the floor around her with a clatter like Pick-Up Sticks. The handcuffs kept the arms of the chairs attached to her wrists and she wrapped both hands around the broken wood. Bringing them up like a vampire hunter in a horror movie, she rushed back into the room.

  Estevez had discarded the rifle and was coming at her. She didn't have time to react, just swung her left hand up. He tried to stop, but his momentum carried him straight into the jagged end of the splintered wood. It pushed through his shirt and into his chest. His eyes went wide and he jerked once, both hands grasping at the wood shard that was now impaling his sternum. Lance adjusted her weight and leaned forward, burying it deeper. When she pulled her hand back, the handcuff slipped down the length of wood and her arm fell free.

  Two down, she thought as she pushed Estevez's body out of the way. Hadley was at the window with his 9mm, his forehead glistening with sweat. Lance barely had time to acknowledge the presence of the gun in his hand. She ducked as he fired, using the bed for cover as the bullet splintered the drywall behind her. He fired again and shouted, "You bitch!"

  Lance rolled her eyes. So much for her attempt to improve his word power.

  Hadley stepped to the foot of the bed and she launched herself at his legs. He didn't have time to adjust his aim as she wrapped her arms around his waist. She tackled him and they slammed into the wall together. His arms flailed out in a futile attempt to regain his balance. They fell to the floor, Lance on top of him, and she sat up and straddled his stomach as she slapped his gun away from her. She wrapped her right hand around his wrist and swung her elbow into his face, repeating the move three times before Hadley went limp.

  Blood from his broken nose spilled over his lip and he slumped against the wall. She released him and let him fall. His eyes were still open, and his parted lips were bloodied but drawing breath. She watched him for a second to make sure he was still alive before she relaxed. She took the gun from his limp hand and stuck it in her belt, she used his shirt to brush Estevez's blood off her hand, and then stepped back. "Bastard," she breathed. "Cocksucker, asshole, motherfucker. You see? Just a little variety; it's not a lot to ask for."

  He finally blinked and looked up at her. Groaning, he cupped his face with both hands. "You bitch. God, just kill me, you fucking bitch."

  Lance ignored him. She was trying to appear indifferent, casual, but the truth was that she felt the pressure of all those cop cars outside weighing on her. She felt the weight of two more deaths on her conscience. She knew Mallory would be out there, waiting, and she had no idea how she was going to get past her. There was a great chance that she was just trading one pair of handcuffs for another. She bent down and searched Hadley's pockets. "Calling me a fucking bitch isn't different, it's just flavored. It's not the same thing as using a different word."

  "Goddamn...carpet muncher."

  Lance smiled and pulled the handcuff key from his pocket. "Better! Nice. I'm impressed." She took off her handcuffs, flipped them around and slapped them on Hadley's wrists.

  "What the fuck are you doing?"

  She used the handcuffs to drag him across the floor and fastened the free end to the bed frame. She tested it to make sure he couldn't get free and turned to face him. "You're going to jail. You're going to tell everyone that Gwendolyn Morse had nothing to do with her husband's counterfeiting ring. You can either take the fall yourself, or you can take down whoever your boss is with you. I don't give a damn what you do, as long as Gwen Morse comes out scot free. Understand?"

  Hadley glared at her and Lance pulled his gun from her belt and pressed it against his right eye. "Or I could shoot you right now. Make the choice, asshole."

  "Fine," he coughed. "Whatever. Gwendolyn Morse is out of it."

  Fully aware of the clock ticking on her freedom, Lance stepped back and went to the bed. There was nothing she could do about her shirt, but she put her belt buckle in her pocket and picked up her boots. She didn't take time to put them on as she ran from the room and its two dead men. She turned toward the elevators, hoping no one would pay attention to someone going up. Her plan was to find a room on an upper floor, break in and lay low until she could come up with a plan. She had only taken a few steps when a voice shouted at her from the other end of the hallway, "Claire Lance! Freeze!"

  Lance's stomach dropped and dread immobilized her. Her skin suddenly felt tight and she was sure her heart had stopped beating. "No. Fuck, no..."

  "Turn around," Mallory said. Her voice was ice, trembling with barely contained rage and tears. "Turn the fuck around."

  Her boots dangling from her fingers, Lance held her arms out to the side and slowly turned to face Mallory. The FBI agent's face was bloody, her cheeks smeared with tears. She had her gun drawn and centered on Lance's chest. Suddenly, being handcuffed seemed like the best case scenario. Mallory was standing in front of the door to the emergency stairs, out of breath, as if she had run the entire way from the lobby.

  Mallory's hand didn't shake as she held the gun on Lance. She smiled, but it looked garish amid the gore on her cheek. She advanced slowly, watching Lance for signs of resistance. "Detective Acheson was right. Hadley was registered on the third floor."

  Lance couldn't speak. Her throat had closed, a tight band wrapped around her chest that was keeping her from drawing a breath. She was ludicrously aware of the scent of carpet cleanser. It was lemon and stung her nose when she tried to draw in a breath.

  Mallory moved forward, cautious, eyes on Lance every step of the way in case she tried something. She would extend her right foot, then slide the left up to meet it, wary of an ambush. "Where are G
arrett Hadley and the others?"

  Lance swallowed. "Hadley is...in the room. The others are dead."

  Mallory sniffed. She glanced into the room as she passed the open door, noting the bodies on the floor before she continued forward. She took a deep breath and let it out in a low exhalation. When she spoke, her voice had a forced steadiness. Her eyes glistened in the harsh light of the hallway. "Claire Elizabeth Lance, you are under arrest for the murders of Garth Pope, Kevin Keating, Roy Morse...and for the murder of Elaine Rae Mallory. Put your hands on your fucking head."

  Lance dropped her boots. They hit the floor with a heartbreaking finality, two sudden thumps. Mallory, apparently thinking it was a distraction, jerked her gun forward and never let her eyes waver from Lance's. Lance slowly brought her hands to her head and laced her fingers together. Tears burned in her eyes. Almost a year of running had come down to this — a lonely hotel hallway, just her and Mallory, as she had always known it would be. She was out of tricks. There was no way out of this.

  Or so she thought, until the door to the emergency stairs opened and Gwen Morse stepped into the hallway.

  Lance tried not to react. She focused on Mallory. "Faye, please, don't do this. I loved Elai—"

  "Don't say her name!" Mallory shouted. "You think you deserved her? You think you were worthy of her love?"

  "No," Lance said without hesitation. She was crying now. She was sure she was dead, and now was just praying that Gwen didn't do anything stupid and get killed for her trouble. Her mind flashed through happy memories with Elaine: long mornings in bed, watching her paint, the sun catching her hair as she made breakfast. She had never deserved Elaine. She had been blessed, gifted, and that gift had been stolen from her just as surely as it had been stolen from Faye. Her tears dripped off her chin. "Please, Faye."

  "You have the right to remain silent."

  "Don't do this."

  "Anything you say can and will—"

  Gwen lunged forward and pressed the contacts of her Taser against Mallory's throat. She pressed down on the trigger button and squeezed her eyes shut as Mallory screamed. Her body convulsed as the blue light flickered wildly. Lance ducked out of the way as Mallory's finger tensed and she squeezed off two shots and then dropped the gun. Mallory's hands were halfway to her throat before they couldn't go any further, and she dropped her knees.

  Lance was watching everything with wide eyes, her mouth hanging open. She didn't believe it was really happening, that Gwen was really here, and that Mallory was...Mallory. She rushed forward and shouted, "Stop! Gwen, stop!"

  The Taser crackled for a few more seconds and then Gwen yanked her hand back. She was sobbing, her hand shaking as she threw the Taser at the far wall, as if it was a living object that she had no control over. Mallory was twitching on the floor, her arms and legs drawn in to her body as she suffered the seizures. Lance gathered Gwen in her arms and hugged her tightly, inhaling her familiar scent. "What are you doing here? What are you—"

  "I told the pilot not to fly me anywhere," Gwen said, her body racked with sobs. "He was leaving for the night, so I asked him for a ride. We saw the accident and saw Hadley grab you. We saw them and I asked the pilot to follow you. He dropped me off here, and I was down in the lobby pacing, and then there were all these cops, and I heard gunshots and—"

  Lance silenced her with a kiss. She cupped Gwen's face and kissed her until Gwen stopped talking. When they parted, Lance smoothed Gwen's hair. "Thank you. You saved my life, but you have to go."

  Gwen closed her eyes and turned her head. She pressed her cheek against Lance's palm and kissed the inside of her wrist. The little gesture was almost too much for Lance to take. It pained her to see Gwen again, and she knew if she pushed it any further, she would never be able to say goodbye for good. And she had to, for Gwen's sake. She couldn't stop running, and it wouldn't be fair to ask Gwen to start.

  "If you leave with me, you'll be a fugitive. I can cover for you, but only right now, this second. Do you understand? You have to go back. Your life is going to be hell for a while, but then it will become your life again. You can have a fresh start. Trust me, it's a better deal. It's what I want you to have, Gwendolyn."

  A tear slipped free and Gwen said, "I do love you." She kissed Lance's lips again and pushed her back. She held her breath, eyes closed, and said, "Goodbye, Claire."

  Lance bowed her head and watched as Gwen's hands slipped away from her body. "Goodbye, Gwen."

  Gwen sniffled and rubbed her sleeve under her nose. She looked down at Mallory, who had stopped seizing and lay unconscious at their feet. "You'll never get out of the building," Gwen said suddenly. "They have the entire place surrounded. And they'll know I helped you."

  "No, they won't. Mallory never saw you. There's no reason for you to get in trouble for what just happened," Lance promised. She stepped back and knelt next to Mallory. "Help me get her straightened out."

  #

  Lazareva was loaded into the ambulance, with an EMT holding the bandage against her throat. She was still frightfully pale, but she was conscious again. Her hand and shirt were soaked with blood. The bullet had sliced through her neck, leaving a thick gash that would require stitches. The medics didn't think it was life threatening, but it was, as one said, "a bad-ass wound", and they wanted to take every precaution. The medics were calling ahead for a blood transfusion.

  The Oklahoma City Special Agent-in-Charge had evacuated the hotel and had sent in an advance team before he realized that one of the other agents had vanished. He found Acheson and said, "Where did Agent Mallory go?"

  Acheson looked around. "Last I saw her was just after the Ranger was shot."

  The SAC pulled open the front door of the hotel and stood aside to let two FBI agents out. He was about to step inside when another agent said, "Hold the door, please." He held the door open, looking at the front desk as the third agent slipped past him.

  Lance kept her head down, the collar of Mallory's stolen FBI jacket up against her cheeks as she walked by the SAC. The night was cold, a remnant of the earlier storm. She walked through the swarm of people, becoming less and less tense as the crush of people increased. There were literally dozens of agents moving among the sea of Bureau vehicles, speaking into walkie-talkies and shoulder-mounted radios. A few police cars blocked the entrance of the hotel parking lot, light bars flashing to warn people away until the crime scene could be contained.

  Lance walked swiftly to the end of the parking lot and stepped into the grass. It was wet with dew and she stuck her hands in the pocket of the coat to keep them warm. The fingers of her right hand brushed something small and square, a piece of paper. She frowned and withdrew it, ready to toss it aside, but at the last minute she turned it around to see what it was. She stopped breathing when she saw that it was her picture of Elaine, the last picture of Elaine she had ever taken. She had thought it was lost forever.

  Elaine's look of surprise had always struck Lance as a little angry, but she loved it all the same. She ran her fingertips over Elaine's face and remembered the morning she snapped the photo. They had just woken and Lance only bothered to dress in a white T-shirt and boxer shorts. Elaine insisted on doing the dishes. Lance grabbed the camera to chronicle the artist "actually doing housework" and Elaine grabbed for it just as the flash went off.

  It was her prized possession and now, through a quirk of fate, she had it back. Suddenly everything — the whole damn ordeal that had started in Saxe — felt like fate. She had been meant to break down outside of town, meant to wander into the bar, meet and save Gwen. Lance had never believed in an Afterlife, or that ghosts visited those left behind, but then she started having conversations with her dead lover. And now this. It was as if Elaine had blessed this entire thing to help Lance move on, had helped her take the steps to healing, no matter how much it hurt.

  "Hi, Lainey," she whispered. "Welcome home."

  Blinking the tears from her eyes, she transferred the picture to her shirt pocket. She
crossed the street, putting as much distance between her and the hotel as possible, and then shrugged out of the FBI jacket. She folded it over her arm so that the bright yellow letters weren't visible, and started walking toward Will Rogers Airport. She had emptied out Hadley's wallet and had his credit card, and money that she hoped and prayed wasn't counterfeit.

  A cold drizzle started to fall as Lance started walking along the shoulder. She held out her left hand, thumb extended, and waited for someone to pick her up.

  #

  A phalanx of agents swept the stairwells and blocked every way in and out of the building. There was no sign of Claire Lance anywhere. Their guns drawn, Detective Acheson and the local FBI Special Agent-in-Charge stepped into Garrett Hadley's hotel room.

  Gwen looked up and said, "Thank God you're here!" Her face was streaked with tears and she was tied to a wooden chair with strips from a suit jacket. Garrett Hadley was sprawled unconscious on the floor, his hand cuffed to the bed frame.

  "Mrs. Gwendolyn Morse?" Acheson said. He checked the bathroom and found another dead body sprawled in the tub. Agent Mallory was lying on the floor in front of the sink, sans her FBI jacket.

  The SAC stepped into the bathroom, knelt down and felt Mallory's pulse. He looked up and said, "She's alive."

  "Yes," she said. "These insane people...they-they grabbed me and the other woman..."

  "Claire Lance?" Acheson said.

  Gwen nodded. "She..." She swallowed and looked away. "She told me I had to come with her, to be safe. Down in Texas. She forced me to come up here with her after she...shot my husband."

  "It's all right," Acheson assured her. "She's not going to hurt you anymore."

  "She was never going to hurt me," Gwen said in a meek voice. "She never was."

  Acheson used his fingernails to undo the bonds holding Gwen to the chair. They were surprisingly easy to release. Offering a hand, he helped her out of the chair. He had seen this sort of thing in a lot of other kidnappings. Once the victim was free, they still didn't believe their tormenter was really out of the picture. Lance had apparently gotten away, and Acheson was fairly sure she wasn't coming back. He put a hand on Gwen's shoulder, looked into her eyes, and spoke in a quiet, soothing voice. "You're all right, Mrs. Morse. Claire Lance is gone. You're never going to see her again."