by Geonn Cannon
Gwen put her hand to her mouth and clung to Acheson's jacket. She buried her face against his shoulder and began to sob. He held her for a moment, patting her back as she cried. When the tremors started to subside, Acheson stood and handed her off to the SAC. Her face was red, her eyes swollen from tears. Acheson said, "Get her downstairs. Make sure she isn't left alone. I think the kidnapping is catching up with her."
The FBI agent left with Gwen, and Acheson stepped into the bathroom to look down at Mallory's unconscious form. He sat on the closed lid of the toilet, glanced at Perry Rinehart's dead body in the tub, and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. He closed his eyes and waited for either the EMTs to come gather Mallory or for her to wake up on her own. He didn't want her to be alone when she found out Claire Lance had likely escaped again.
Epilogue
"Claire Lance never hurt me. She never intended to hurt me." It was the ten thousandth time she said it, and it seemed like they would never take her word for it.
"You claim she kidnapped you after killing your husband, took you to Oklahoma against your will."
"Yes, but—"
"So which is it? Either she kidnapped you or—"
"She was trying to help me. She saw my husband for who he really was, what he was doing to me. She killed him because he was beating me. We didn't find out about the counterfeiting until later, when Hadley and his people came after us."
"And you never knew about the counterfeiting before Claire Lance enlightened you?"
"Roy was a relic of the Fifties. He thought a woman's place was barefoot in the kitchen, making him dinner. He didn't believe I should worry about the finances, so no, Agent Purdue, I didn't know anything about it."
"Surely you were suspicious about where he got all his money."
"Garrett Hadley ran the bank. I just assumed Roy was getting loans he couldn't support and Garrett was covering his ass so it didn't come back and bite him."
Agent Purdue leaned back and sighed. He flipped through his file. "How did Agent Mallory end up stunned?"
"Garret Hadley came to, followed Lance out into the hallway, and saw the FBI agent. He used the Taser he had taken from Lance...and he shocked Agent Mallory from behind. Then he and Lance fought. She overpowered him and ran away."
"And left you behind with a dangerous criminal. Left you behind, tied up in a room with two dead bodies."
"I told her to leave. I knew she was trying to help me, and that the FBI swarming the building was bad news. I wanted her to get out while she still could. She risked her life to get me out of a bad situation, I figured it was the least I could do for her. I wasn't in any danger. The FBI and a thousand cops were right outside."
"It's quite a story, Mrs. Morse."
Her bright blue eyes didn't waver from his. She could tell he didn't believe a word of it. "It's the truth, I swear to you. You can ask me to say it a thousand times, and I'll say it the same every time — Claire Lance saved my life."
#
Mallory felt like a pariah from the moment she woke up and realized what had happened. Detective Acheson explained the situation and she felt herself shut down. She sat with her back against the bathtub, the heels of her hands pressed against her eyes. Acheson stayed with her until she finally pushed herself up. She put her weight on her knees, and they immediately buckled. She fell, saved from hitting the ground only by Acheson grabbing her arm. She ducked her head, clenched her jaw, and forced herself up. She jerked her arm away from him, took a deep breath, and walked out of the bathroom under her own power. She didn't even look at the hotel room. She had zero interest in Hadley or the damned Saxe shit if it didn't lead her to Lance.
Every FBI agent she passed on the way out of the hotel stared at her. Every single one of them was well aware of just how monumentally she had failed. She had broken protocol, gone in alone, and she had lost Claire Lance again, this time letting her slip out of a surrounded building. Thorpe had warned her that she would be on her own as far as accountability was concerned, and she knew he would stand by that. He was going to leave her to twist in the wind. Not that she minded. She deserved every scathing comment and withering look.
She ignored their stares and ignored the EMTs when they insisted she get checked out. The physical effects of the Taser were already beginning to dissipate and the burn on her neck would fade. She walked past the command center without a thought about giving her report. She got behind the wheel of Lazareva's truck and drove it from the parking lot. The cops blocking the street started to make a stink, but she showed her badge and made it clear that she wasn't going to be stopped. She didn't care about leaving the scene; all she cared about was getting gone. She wanted to be alone to hate herself in private.
Instead of leaving town as planned, driving the long road back to Chicago for her punishment, she found herself taking side roads. She stopped to get directions at a gas station and eventually pulled into the parking lot of the hospital where Lazareva had been taken. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the polished surfaces in the hospital lobby and was taken aback. Her eyes were sunken black pits in a pale face, and her short hair stood up in spikes from repeated rakings of her fingers. She adjusted her collar so that it covered the burn on her neck before she showed her ID to the desk nurse.
"Texas Ranger Antonia Lazareva's room, please."
The nurse on duty informed her that Lazareva was still in surgery, but pointed her to the closest waiting room. Mallory muttered, "Thank you," and rode the elevator up. She found the empty waiting room and slumped in an uncomfortable blue chair. She alternated between dozing and staring at the TV in the corner, castigating herself for the scene in the hallway. All she could see was Claire Lance at the far end of her gun barrel, frozen, trapped, out of options. Then, darkness, pain, and Acheson's worried face looming over her and telling her that Claire Lance was gone. Again.
If only I had pulled the goddamn trigger. I hesitated. I played by the rules. And now Lance is gone again. Free again. And I'm stuck here. Imprisoned.
Mallory reached up and touched her neck, flinching when her fingers touched the burned skin where the Taser had made contact. She could still hear the electrical buzz as it shocked her, and she was only just starting to trust her knees not to buckle when she put weight on them. Lance had not only won, yet again, she had humiliated Mallory in the process.
When Lazareva was finally out of surgery, a doctor came and found Mallory to let her know that she had pulled through. She was resting comfortably, and Mallory would be allowed to see her briefly in an hour or so. Mallory waited for the doctor to leave and then went down the hall in search of Lazareva's room. She found the post-op area, got past suspicious interns with a flash of her badge, and closed the door to the private room. She pushed aside the curtain and looked down at the pale form in the bed.
Lazareva was unconscious, whether from sheer exhaustion or anesthesia, Mallory couldn't tell. Her neck was wrapped with gauze. Mallory stepped up next to the bed and slid her hand around Lazareva's. Her tears finally slipped free, but she didn't want to release Lazareva's hand to wipe them away.
"You were right, Toni," she whispered. "Claire Lance is my white whale. I won't let myself stop until Elaine's death has been avenged. But there is one thing that I have control over. Captain Ahab killed the entire crew of the Pequod with his obsession. I can't stop chasing Moby Dick, but I can prevent myself from taking anyone else down with me. If you had died, I..." she squeezed Lazareva's hand, "I wouldn't have been able to deal with that. I know I made you a promise, but I'm backing out on it. If I had just pulled that fucking trigger when I had a chance...but now...because I hesitated..." She ducked her chin and a tear dropped onto the mattress. She took a breath and said, "I'm sorry, Toni. I just can't do this again. I can't put anyone else at risk for my obsession, but I can't stop, either."
She stepped closer to the bed, bent down, and kissed Lazareva's lips. She squeezed her hand and said, "Goodbye, Toni."
Mallo
ry released Lazareva's hand, smoothed her hair where it had come free against the pillow, and stepped around the curtain. She pushed her hair out of her face and walked down the hallway, tears rolling silently down her cheeks. She stopped crying as her shoes began pounding a harsh rhythm against the tile. She reached up and wiped her tears away with angry sweeps of her fingers as she worked out the logistics of staking out Lance's mother's house in Colorado.
#
Gwen was surprised to discover the Secret Service investigated counterfeiting crimes. She had always thought of them as just the President's bodyguards.
A group of agents took over the back room of the Four Roses, poring through the files Roy had left behind. They were all but convinced Roy had been working for a Georgia outfit, and they were hoping that his office would provide the connection they needed to make it official. The bar was closed down and, if Gwen had her way, it would never open again. There were too many bad memories, not to mention the fact that the place would probably be bankrupt in a couple of weeks now that it was solely dependent on legitimate income.
The FBI was still hounding her. They didn't believe she was as innocent as she claimed, but the Secret Service seemed protective of her. She was their witness. So long as she was cooperative and helped them cinch their case against the Georgia syndicate, they were going to do all they could to make sure Gwen Morse was free to testify against Garrett Hadley. When the Secret Service brought up the Witness Protection Program, the FBI backed off. They would rather have Mrs. Morse where they could find her than hidden someplace with a fake identity.
True to his word, Hadley was preaching Claire Lance's version of events in the hotel room. He swore that Gwen had been tied up in the room for the entire ordeal. He seemed to deflate once he was taken into custody, giving everyone a thousand-yard stare as he was led handcuffed into jail. Half the town of Saxe, Texas was closed down due to the Secret Service investigation.
Gwen spent the first couple of days back in Saxe sleeping at Clara's. Clara offered Gwen a room downstairs for free, for as long as she needed until she was back on her feet, and Gwen jumped at the offer. She went back to her apartment over the bar only to pack things up and take them over to her temporary home at the bed-and-breakfast. She lost track of time one night, sitting on the floor of her bedroom over the bar and going through the artifacts of her life with Roy. She finally wept for everything she had lost and everything that was changing in her life. The tears were cathartic, not mournful. The truth was that losing Lance was going to be the hardest thing to get over.
She stayed up half the night and, when she realized the time, it was too late to walk back to Clara's. Not that she had the energy to do so. She put on a flannel shirt that was a few sizes too large for her and sat on the edge of the bed to button it. She had taken the shirt from Lance's bag the night they slept together. On some level, Gwen had known she wouldn't be with Lance forever, so she took the clothing as a reminder, something to keep Lance alive in her mind. She stretched out on top of the covers and fell asleep quickly.
The next morning, she slept late for the first time in years. When she finally woke, it was nearly noon. She lifted the collar and pressed it to her face, closing her eyes and pretending it still smelled like Lance. Gwen rubbed her eyes, climbed out of bed, and pushed back the curtains as always. Then she turned, looked at the empty bed, and exhaled sharply. The sound was neither a laugh nor a sob, but something caught in between. She swallowed, made the bed, and then went into the bathroom for a long shower. She wrapped a towel around herself and carefully applied her make-up to flatter her features rather than to hide some mark or bruise. She smiled at her reflection and dropped the towel.
Gwen took her time dressing. The night she got back home, she'd retrieved her quilted shirt from the trash. She ran her fingers over it now, feeling the thick material under her fingers. Taking it from the garbage was like officially moving past Roy's domination. She stood in front of the mirror and buttoned the shirt carefully, then smoothed it against her body. It looked good, damn it, and she smiled at her reflection. She winked at herself as she left the bathroom.
She put on her shoes and went downstairs, ignoring the men in their suits going in and out of the back room. They had taken off their dark jackets to reveal sweat-stained white shirts, their sleeves rolled up despite the air conditioning, their ties loosened and hanging around their necks like nooses. She crossed paths with a pair of agents at the door of the bar, exchanged "good mornings" with them, and continued out into the sunlight.
The sun was high in the sky, beating down on her as she walked down the street. She ignored the news vans from Dallas parked on a side street, hoping the reporters and cameramen were too occupied with their breakfasts at Benedict's Diner to notice her. She walked undisturbed through the quiet streets of her stunned town, the innocent people tucked behind their doors whispering about how they'd never seen it coming. Gwen was something of a celebrity, the only living, free person who had been involved with the seedy underbelly of Saxe. She was content to be their scapegoat, the face her neighbors put on the scandal, but not today. Today, she needed a bit of privacy for what she planned to do.
Jolly's Garage was one of the few places still open in the midst of the investigation. The Secret Service had checked out his books, of course, but they determined he was just poor enough to have not been involved in the counterfeiting scheme. All the money in his register was legal tender, so he was let off the hook. He was quoted in the newspaper as saying he had never been more happy to be broke in his life.
Gwen walked past the open garage doors and into the air-conditioned front office.
She rang the bell and rested her elbows on the counter as she waited for someone to respond. She picked up one of the calendars that lay next to the cash register and thumbed through it — three-hundred and sixty five days without Roy waking up next to her, without Roy beating her. Putting it down, she glanced behind the counter and found her gaze drawn by the centerfolds tacked up to the bulletin board. There were four, in various stages of undress but none completely naked — brunette, redhead, blond, and raven-haired beauties. Something for every taste.
It was not the first time that Gwen had noticed the centerfolds, and the generations of pin-ups that came before, but she had never let her eyes linger. But lately, ever since spending the night with Lance, she had been far more open about admiring other women. She had even flirted with the check-out girl at the local supermarket, which led to them making plans to go out for dinner on Friday.
Gwen kept thinking of the last thing Lance said to her: get a fresh start. That was just what she planned to do once things settled down. She felt free, released from a prison into which she had been locked before she was old enough to really live. Roy had stolen so much of her life, and Lance had given the rest of it back to her.
The mechanic finally pushed through the door behind her and waddled around the counter. "Mrs. Morse! Nice to see you out and around. Quite a bit of excitement around here the past couple of days, huh?"
"I suppose," she said. She half turned and pointed through the door at the powder blue 1966 Mustang parked in the garage. "I'm guessing that's taking up a lot of your work space."
Jolly scoffed, "You bet you're a—" He cleared his throat, remembering he was speaking to a lady. "I mean, yeah, you could say that," he said. "But the FBI chick told me to keep it around."
"I'm pretty sure she's forgotten all about it," Gwen said. She smiled sweetly. "I mean, come on, Jolly, when was the last time you saw the FBI 'round here?"
He rubbed his jaw and squinted out the door. Gwen could practically see the gears turning in his mind. The Secret Service was running the show now, pretty much. Who knew when, or if, the FBI lady would come back. And the car was taking up a good lot of his work space, space that could be filled with a couple of jalopies out back waiting to be worked on.
Gwen decided to sweeten the deal. "How about I pay you for the work you did? Would you let me
take it off your hands?" Jolly hesitated, but she could tell his interest was piqued. Gwen put her hand on top of his. "Please, Mr. Charles. If the FBI lady does come back for it, you know where to find me. And in the meantime, it won't be taking up valuable space in your shop."
"Well...I guess, for you, Mrs. Morse...I guess I could make an exception. Repairs came to two hundred twelve, even," he said.
Gwen was shocked at the price, but paid him in full, with cash. He looked at the bills and arched an eyebrow. "This ain't none of that funny money your husband was making, is it?" Gwen was about to correct him — Roy hadn't made the money, just passed it — but Jolly laughed before she could speak. "Ah, hell, I'm just joking with ya." He reached under the counter and pulled a set of keys off a hook. "Here you are, little lady. Drive safely."
Gwen thanked him and went into the garage. She got behind the wheel of the car, reverent, as if she was afraid of disturbing the ghosts the car had accrued. She ran her palms over the steering wheel, looked down at the ashtray and its assortment of junk, and tried to feel Claire's presence in the upholstery.
Finally, she put the key in the ignition and brought the Mustang to life. She carefully backed the car out of the garage and drove back to the Four Roses. Instead of going around back, to the employee parking area, she took one of the spots in front of the door. The Secret Service cars were parked along the opposite side of the street in deference to the businesses next door to the bar, not that there were any customers in those shops, not today. The owners, friends of Roy, stood in the front windows and watched with disdain and frustration as the suits came and went.
Gwen climbed out and pretended to stretch, really checking to make sure no one was watching. Moving casually, she dropped the keys on the ground. She crouched down next to the front tire to pick them up. Instead of stowing them in her pocket, she reached out and put them on top of the tire. She placed them far enough back that the sun wouldn't glint off them until late afternoon, stood up, and brushed her hands on the seat of her jeans. She sighed, looked down the road, and then walked into the bar.
