The gun flew from Riley's hand as Hatcher's arm closed around her neck. She heard her weapon clatter to the concrete floor some distance away.
Hatcher's left arm was crooked around her throat, and his right forearm was braced behind her neck. It was a familiar headlock. Riley had escaped from dozens of these over the years. She seized the front arm with both hands to keep it from tightening. She knew she needed to tuck her chin, creating wriggle room for escape. But Hatcher's grip was like an iron vise, and her head was completely immobile. He was also holding her so that her feet barely touched the icy ground. She couldn't land a good backward kick.
She started to grow dizzy. His arm was crooked cannily so that it didn't completely block her windpipe. Although she was gagging, she could still breathe. But the grip cut into the flow of her carotid arteries. She realized that he was applying a calculated amount of pressure, not enough to render her unconscious but enough to disorient her.
"I guess you've got a few questions for me," he murmured softly in her ear. "Like maybe, what happened to Smokey Moran. Well, it wasn't murder. It wasn't self-defense either. It was a good old-fashioned duel."
As if he could feel the waxing and waning of Riley's consciousness, Hatcher relaxed his grip enough to give her a little more precious blood flow. He obviously wanted her to hear every word that he had to say.
"I sent him a message when I got out," Hatcher said. "I put the word out through his minions it was time for us to set our books straight. Told him the time and place and the choice of weapons-tire chains, of course."
Hatcher chuckled grimly.
"Poor bastard," he murmured. "His conscience has been eating him up for decades about the way he ratted me out like that. You know, I don't think he wanted to live with it anymore. He showed up, and we fought, and…well, you've got a pretty good idea of the rest of it. He didn't stand a chance and he knew it. The first really honorable thing Moran ever did in his life-and the last."
Now things were starting to make sense to Riley. Smokey Moran had, in fact, told his gangbanger guards that he was probably going away to his death. With Hatcher on the loose, he'd also been pretty sure that the authorities would soon show up at his appointment building. So he'd ordered his taciturn but despairing followers to pass along the news.
She felt the crook of Hatcher's arm tighten. Had he finished telling her what he had to say? Was he finally going to plunge her into unconsciousness?
Her whole head buzzed and tingled and the world started to go black. She felt herself falling away from him, suddenly released from his grip. She hit the icy concrete flat on her face.
As blood started to flow back into her head, she could see where her gun had fallen, some twenty feet away from her inside the garage. She dragged herself to her feet, hoping to run and grab it.
She heard Hatcher's voice behind her.
"You don't want to do that."
She whirled around. He was standing outside in the snow. She was in the entrance, exactly midway between him and the gun.
"You don't want to do that," Hatcher repeated.
Riley's head was swimming. She could barely stay on her feet, much less think straight. Somehow, though, she vaguely realized that Hatcher was right. She didn't want to make a dash for the gun.
Why? she wondered.
Perhaps it was because she knew it would be futile. As nimble as he was strong, Hatcher would be gone before she could get her hands on the weapon.
Or maybe there was another reason-one that she didn't want to think about.
Her voice still rasping from Hatcher's chokehold, Riley said, "You killed Moran. You did what you set out to do. What now? Where do you go? What do you do?"
Hatcher took a couple of steps back into the snow, silhouetted again.
"Do you think I escaped on his account?" he said with a low laugh. "Sure, I had some unfinished business with him. But do you really think I went to the trouble of breaking out of Sing Sing because of that? He wasn't worth it."
"So why did you do it?"
Hatcher stretched out his arms in what almost seemed a generous gesture.
"Why, I did it for you, Riley," he said. "I'm here for you. And you need me right now. You need me more than anyone in the world."
"I don't understand."
"Do you remember Orin Rhodes?"
Still foggy, Riley reached back into her memory. Yes, the name was familiar. Orin Rhodes had been a killer-one of her first cases. She remembered that it had been in New York state and he'd been sent to Sing Sing for his crimes. But other details wouldn't come into focus for her. She only knew that the case had left her with some dark and ugly feelings.
"What about him?" Riley asked.
"He just got released. Early, for good behavior. A model prisoner, they said. But I know better. He got to know me-because I knew you, he said. He asked me all kinds of questions. I didn't give him any answers. He told me that he'd have his revenge. He told me it was going to be ugly. He's spent all his years looking forward to it."
Hatcher fell quiet for a moment. The snow swirled around his shadowy form with an eerie whistle.
"I couldn't let that happen," he said. "I had actually planned to take him out right there in Sing Sing. That kind of thing is possible. But then he got released early. That caught me by surprise and I had to change my plans."
He shrugged and shuffled a little.
"Besides, I'd been in there too long," he said. "Was getting lazy. This will be a lot more interesting. Ever since I met you, I've admired your mind. I've wanted to work with you. And now you've got no choice but to work with me. Believe me, this is a dangerous man, and you'll need me to stop him. You don't have a choice."
He took one menacing step toward her.
"Don't get me wrong, though," he said. "I don't care about anything or anybody but you. The whole rest of the goddamn world is expendable as far as I'm concerned. Let them die. Let them all die."
Riley saw the lights and heard the sound of an approaching car.
"But right now you need to look after the one you left at home," Hatcher said, turning and walking away from her.
The car pulled right past him into the garage. Riley made a dash for the gun and picked it up just as the car passed by it.
She heard his voice call from somewhere out in the darkness, "We're joined at the brain, Riley Paige."
She rushed out into the snowy night.
It was no good. He was gone. She knew that she couldn't possibly catch him.
She walked back into the garage, where noisy, happy, laughing people were spilling out of the car, completely unaware of what had just happened here.
Riley was still dizzy and confused. She couldn't fully remember Orin Rhodes, except that the thought of his name made her uncomfortable. If he was really out and bent on revenge, where was he right now, and what was he doing?
She remembered Hatcher's words.
"You need to look after the one you left at home."
The words triggered a wave of panic.
April's in danger, she realized.
The warm air of the hotel hallway hit Riley hard as she rushed in from the freezing garage. She didn't stop to think about what to do next. She took out her cell phone and dialed her home phone, desperately hoping to get Gabriela or April on the line.
Instead, she heard her own voice delivering the outgoing message. At the sound of the beep, she started yelling.
"April! Gabriela! Where are you? Pick up right now if you're there!"
But no one picked up.
"Please," Riley whispered. She heard the final beep and realized no one was going to answer.
Something had to be wrong.
Riley headed toward the elevator and pushed the button. Luckily, the car was already there and waiting. She got in and pushed the button for the third floor, where Bill was staying. The car seemed to rise more slowly than usual, but at least it made no stops along the way.
She had to get Bill up. They had to fly back to Quantico right away. Riley wondered whether the snow would be a problem. But they had to go.
Meanwhile, she had two phone calls to make-one to Blaine to tell him about the possible danger next door and the other to Quantico to get somebody sent there.
She was terrified that it might already be too late.
