He spun toward the murky stairs that went up and down, aiming the shotgun. “I turned on the alarm when I left, but now it’s off. Somebody’s in the house.”
Jennifer bumped backward against the shadowy wall.
It had to be Tash, Coltrane thought. Duncan had known the secondary codes that disarmed the intrusion detector. She must have made him tell her the sequence.
“Coltrane.” The man’s voice was deep, hoarse with anger. It came from the right, from upstairs in the dark living room.
“Walt?”
Jesus, if he sees me with this shotgun, he might not give me a chance to talk, Coltrane thought. Sweating, he set the shotgun on the entryway’s floor, close to the wall, where it might not be noticed. He buttoned his sport coat, concealing the revolver under his belt. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“The feeling’s mutual.” The husky voice was unsteady with greater anger.
Coltrane flicked a light switch near the front door, activating a lamp in the living room. “I’m coming up. I’ve got something to show you.”
“What a coincidence. I’ve got something to show you.”
Coltrane took a deep breath and started up the stairs. Jennifer followed, her briefcase tight in her hand.
One step.
Another.
Coltrane gradually came up to the living room and saw Walt diagonally across from him, farthest from the illuminated lamp at the top of the stairs. His face in shadow, Walt was seated in one of the black tubular chairs, his hands on his knees.
“If you’ll give me a minute,” Coltrane said, “I need to tell you something.”
“You read my mind again.”
“Oh?”
“Because I came here to tell you something.”
“This is Jennifer.”
“If she’s smart, she’ll get out of here.”
“Let me explain. In her briefcase, she’s got-”
“I don’t give a damn about what’s in her briefcase.” Walt stood, his rigid body rising like sections of an unfolding machine. “What I do give a damn about-”
Coltrane winced when he saw that as Walt rose, he lifted something from beneath the chair.
A baseball bat.
Holding it in his right hand, patting its hitting surface against the palm of his left hand, Walt had never looked so tall and menacing.
“-is making sure you get my message this time.” Walt stepped forward.
“For heaven sake, listen. Tash has done this before.”
“I warned you to stay away from her.”
“I have stayed away from her.”
“You call following her everywhere yesterday staying away from her?” Walt came closer, patting the bat.
“I didn’t. I’ve been in Oakland!”
“Sure.”
“Ask Jennifer.”
“He’s right,” Jennifer said quickly. “Mitch was with me in-”
“You’re lying!” Walt smashed an Art Deco lamp, the impact ear-torturing, glass and beads flying.
Coltrane had never seen a more furious gaze.
“If the two of you were in Oakland, how could you have followed Tash and me to the stores she owns?” Walt demanded.
“Followed? But I didn’t-”
Walt shattered a glass table, shards exploding.
“Every damned store we went to, the minute we entered, the phone rang, and it was for her. From you!”
“Tash is the one who’s lying.” Coltrane made a placating gesture, startled to see that when Walt raised his arms to swing, his leather windbreaker hiked up and revealed a semiautomatic pistol in a holster clipped to his belt.
Oh Jesus, if he realizes I’m wearing a handgun, too, he might drop the bat and reach for – Suddenly, buying the gun seemed a terrible idea.
“She must have somebody helping her,” Coltrane said. “Maybe she phoned ahead and told somebody in each store to claim she had a phone call when the two of you walked in. Then she pretended the call was from me.”
“Bullshit! Why would she-”
“To make you so mad that you’d come after me!”
“What are you talking about? You stalked her in Malibu. You’re stalking her now. But I swear you’ll never do it again!”
Walt swung, his body movement warning Coltrane just in time for him to jump back. The bat whistled past his head and walloped against the wall.
“She likes men to fight over her!” Coltrane shouted.
As Walt swung in the reverse direction, Coltrane dodged again, and Jennifer dove to the floor. The bat missed Coltrane by an inch, the fierce movement of air cooling the sweat on his brow.
“Listen to me!” Coltrane shouted. “She wasn’t being stalked in Malibu! She was making it up! She had help!”
“You expect me to believe that crap?”
“But it’s true!” Jennifer yelled from the floor. “I’ve got the proof in my briefcase. Her name isn’t Natasha Adler. It’s Melinda Chance. She’s had half a dozen different identities and-”
“Lady, I warned you to stay out of this!”
“Men keep killing each other because of her!” Jennifer rose with her briefcase, offering it in a crouch. “Just let me open this and show you what I-”
“You asked for it!”
Walt put all his weight behind his swing, delivering the full force of the bat against the briefcase, jolting it out of Jennifer’s hands. It burst open and flipped through the air. Documents flying, the briefcase rebounded off the wall and landed among the broken glass of the table. Simultaneously, Jennifer shrieked, falling back.
Walt was poised to reverse the swing of his bat, aiming at Jennifer as she raised her hands to protect her head. Walt balked, suddenly seeming to realize what he had become.
“I-”
Whatever he meant to say, it was too late. Coltrane charged. The terror in Jennifer’s eyes had released a fury in him beyond anything he had ever felt. He struck Walt from the side and collided with the table upon which the only light in the room sat. Their combined weight slammed down onto it, buckling the table, breaking the lamp, sending the room into darkness. As they rolled, Walt had to release his grip on the bat to block Coltrane’s punches. The hard edges of Coltrane’s revolver tore against his side, making him groan. Then the revolver slipped free, falling among the wreckage, and Coltrane struggled upward with Walt. Amid the roaring fury of his frantic breathing and his savage heartbeat, he heard Jennifer shouting, “No!”
She was pleading, wailing, “Stop! This is what she wants!”
But Coltrane was far beyond reason. With no doubt whatsoever that Walt meant to destroy him, he had to do to Walt what Walt meant to do to him. They lurched this way and that, striking each other, groaning, blood mixing with the sweat on their faces. Legs weakening, Coltrane charged with all his remaining might. His body hit Walt so hard that Walt jerked backward, but the force of Coltrane’s attack propelled Coltrane with him, and they hurtled through a French door, glass bursting like a bomb going off.
Kept hurtling.
Struck the railing of a balcony.
And plummeted over.
30
FOR A MOMENT, Coltrane had the sensation of floating in darkness. Then his stomach rose. Air rushed past him, or the other way around, as he and Walt rushed through air, falling, twisting, locked in each other’s arms. Their impact was shocking, cold black water engulfing them. They struck the pool so hard that their momentum took them all the way to the bottom, jolting against it. His breath knocked out of him, Coltrane gasped, inhaled water, and panicked, struggling toward the surface. He broke through, gulped air, and was thrown underwater again as Walt gripped his shoulders and pressed down. Lungs burning, Coltrane twisted free, braced his bent legs against the pool’s bottom, and thrust himself upward, breaking the surface again, straining to breathe.
Lights came on all around him, in the living room, from which they had fallen, in the lower level that gave access to the pool, in the shrubs of the backyard, in the pool itself. Temporarily blinded, Coltrane splashed backward just in time to avoid Walt’s hands around his throat.