Hadley & Grace(65)

But O’Toole is not congratulating him on being found alive or on his escape; nor is he bewitched by Hadley and Grace in the least. “Wilkes, you know what I hate worse than schlepping my ass to Nevada?”

Mark says nothing.

“It’s having to explain to a horde of bloodsucking press why the lead agent on the case went Lone Ranger and tried to apprehend two dangerous criminals without waiting for backup.”

“They weren’t considered dangerous at the time,” Mark says, immediately regretting it when O’Toole’s face darkens.

“Even better,” he says, “to have to explain to a swarm of asshole reporters why the lead agent, a seasoned veteran, who should know better, went after two women holed up in a motel with their three kids, triggering a tornado of mother-bear instincts and causing them to suddenly become armed and dangerous.”

Mark’s skin turns warm, his screwup impossible to defend.

“You’re on thin ice, Wilkes,” O’Toole says, his eyes glinting, and Mark feels his glee. Since Mark began working with O’Toole two years ago, there’s been no love lost between them. Leaning back, he says, “You’re off the case.”

Mark tries not to flinch but does a poor job of it, and O’Toole’s smile twitches.

“That’s a mistake,” Mark says. “I know these women and this case better than anyone. Hadley and Grace are not—”

“‘Hadley and Grace’?” O’Toole interrupts, arching his eyebrow as if he’s caught Mark at something sinister.

Mark exhales slowly through his nose. “Fine. Torelli and Herrick. These women are not your typical criminals. They’re two moms who accidentally stumbled into trouble and who are now trying to avoid being caught and ending up in prison.”

“Really? My mom isn’t real keen on ending up in prison either,” O’Toole says. “Then again, she didn’t steal millions of dollars, kidnap a federal agent, then go on a shooting spree in a parking lot, not to mention mowing down some very fine machinery.”

Mark’s skin prickles as his concern grows. O’Toole is the kind of guy who follows the path of least resistance no matter the case, his only objective to clear his desk with as little effort as possible. Combine that with O’Toole’s complete lack of empathy, compassion, and common sense, and Mark knows he’ll have no problem issuing a shoot-to-kill directive on Hadley and Grace, extenuating circumstances or not.

Realizing how much rests on this moment, he tamps down his emotions and, in as level a voice as he can manage, says, “Garrett, please, these women are not violent, and I can reason with them. I spent time with them, and they trust me. I can bring them in, safely. Taking me off is a mistake.”

O’Toole grins, an ugly sliver of malice, and Mark realizes his mistake, whatever chance he had obliterated by O’Toole’s long-standing grudge against him. O’Toole knows Mark cares and has been waiting a long time for an opportunity just like this.

“Nothing to reason with,” he says. “These women think they’re above the law, and they’re not. You had your chance. Now it’s my turn.”

Hadley’s laugh and then Grace’s smirk fill Mark’s brain, and his heart lodges in his throat with fear. With all the humility he can muster, he makes one final plea. “Then put Fitz in the field,” he says. “He knows the case, and he can help.”

O’Toole squints his beady eyes, and Mark lowers his, praying complete submission will help. If he thought it would do any good, he would get on his knees.

For a long minute, O’Toole studies him before finally offering a nod, like an emperor throwing a beggar a bone. Silently Mark releases his breath. It’s not much, but at least he’ll have eyes and ears in the field. A feather in a hailstorm, but it’s something.

O’Toole glances at the paper on the table. “Our very own Thelma and Louise,” he says with a chuckle. “Damn, I liked that movie. That Geena Davis was something.”

“That movie didn’t end well,” Mark says.

“Really?” O’Toole says, leaning back and lacing his hands over his wide belly. “I liked the ending.” His gaze levels on Mark’s, letting him know he would be perfectly fine with Hadley and Grace driving off a cliff—case closed, no messy paperwork, no loose ends.





44





GRACE


The mustard’s fallen off the hot dog. It’s a Jimmy-ism. Jimmy has a saying for everything, most of them involving food: Cake can’t cure everything. It takes both hands to hold a Whopper. Think outside the bun. The man loves food.

Grace drapes her arm over her eyes to block out the morning sun streaming through the curtains she forgot to close. Though she barely drank last night, she feels hungover—her head throbbing and her stomach churning.

It’s hard to believe how quickly things have unraveled. One minute she was dancing with Burt, laughing and having a good time, and the next, she was dodging bullets and running over motorcycles.

“We need to go,” she said to Hadley when she returned from the movie theater, where she’d swiped the purse of a woman lost in a movie about aliens abducting pets to use as hosts.

Hadley was in the exact spot she had left her, the only change being that she had fallen from her knees to her butt, the vomit now beside her.