The Chaos Kind (John Rain #11)(89)

Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. “Please, it hurts.”

“Come on!” Livia shouted. “Little Miss Muffet! Just say the words, say the fucking words!”

“We need to take that seal off,” Carl said. “Or vent it. Labee, look at him.”

She was looking. The veins on the sides of his neck were bulging. She knew he had only minutes. Maybe seconds.

Diaz touched the side of his face and turned his head so he was looking into her eyes. “Andrew,” she said, so calmly it was almost a coo. “Say the words with me. Like you promised. Just a few words and we’re done. Ready? Little Miss Muffet . . .”

Schrader said it with her. “Little Miss Muffet . . .”

Livia was gripping the microphone so hard it was beginning to shake.

“Sat on a tuffet . . . ,” Diaz and Schrader said together.

“Eating her curds and whey,” Diaz said. But Schrader didn’t finish. He made it through eating, then stopped, his breathing fast and shallow.

“It’s no good,” Carl said. “He’s going into shock.” He pulled a catheter out of its packaging.

“Say the words!” Livia shouted.

Carl shoved her aside. “Damn it, Labee, he’s not going to be able to say anything if we don’t get that air out of his chest!” He felt for the space above the third rib and plunged in the catheter. There was a loud hiss as the air around Schrader’s injured lung whooshed out.

Little Miss Muffet, Livia thought, as though she could will Schrader to say it. Little Miss Muffet, come on . . .

Schrader moaned, and for a moment, she thought he might rally. But then his breathing got faster, and shallower. His skin went gray and his eyes rolled up.

There was a portable defibrillator in the medical kit. Livia grabbed it and tore open the zipper.

“Give it up,” Larison said from the doorway. “He’s not going to say the words. He’s not going to say any words. Ever. And even if he could, you could give him all the beta blockers in the world and that voice-stress analyzer isn’t going to buy it. We gave it our best shot. Now we need to get the fuck out of here.”

Carl put a hand on Livia’s arm. “Larison’s right,” he said. “Labee, come on. He’s done.”

“Help me shock him,” Livia said. “It’s just a few words, we could—”

“He’s done,” Carl said again. He started policing up the medical gear and shoving it into the pack. “He was bleeding internally. We can’t do anything for him. Nobody could.”

All at once, Livia felt the familiar dragon of hate flare up inside her. She grabbed Schrader by the shoulders and shook him. “Say the fucking words!” she screamed. “You created this fucking doomsday device, now help us reset it or tomorrow those girls are going to be violated all over again!”

Schrader’s head lolled to the side. Froth bubbled from his mouth. She might as well have been shaking a rubber doll.

Diaz put a hand on her arm. “Livia. Come on. We did the best we could.”

Livia looked at her.

“We can’t win every round,” Diaz said.

Livia knew that, of course. At least intellectually. But what Diaz didn’t understand was that every time Livia lost a fight, every time she couldn’t save someone from some horror, it was like losing Nason all over again.

But she would deal with that later. Like always. For now, there was nothing to do but leave.

And wait for what would happen to those girls, tomorrow at three o’clock.





chapter

sixty-one





RAIN


Rain listened while Dox briefed him from the road. The bad news was the plan had failed. Schrader had been shot before he could get anyone into his system. The good news was no one else had been hurt. Apparently Dox and Livia had both been hit, Livia at Schrader’s house and Dox earlier, but their vests had prevented anything beyond bruising.

“What’s the plan now?” Rain said.

“Still under discussion,” Dox said. “We already made an anonymous call about where Schrader can be found. That ought to take the pressure off Diaz at least.”

“Are Rispel and the others going to know Schrader didn’t help you before he died?”

There was a pause. “That’s a good point. I was thinking there might at least be some upside when the dead-man switch triggers again tomorrow and releases a batch of videos. But maybe they won’t be so sure it’s a dead-man switch. Maybe they’ll think it’s us. Hard to say. I guess we’ll find out if someone tries to kill us all again. Goddamn. I’m sorry I dragged you and Delilah into this, I really am.”

“How’s Livia?”

“Taking it hard. Most of the girls Diaz interviewed were afraid to cooperate. And now they’re going to be tabloid fodder, and worse, for the rest of their lives.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I won’t lie to you, it feels like we won every battle but maybe . . . maybe we lost the war. The worst part is, apparently with Schrader dead, those videos might not even be admissible in court against the men who appear in them. Diaz says there are ways around it, but anyone charged will claim hearsay or lack of foundation or some such. Besides which, nobody’s going to want to prosecute the men after Schrader’s death any more than they did before it. I mean, the attorney general? The director of National Intelligence? So realistically, if the girls won’t testify, and maybe even if they do, the men won’t face charges. Well, at least maybe they won’t get invited to the same dinner parties.”