Killer Instinct (Instinct #2)(8)

“Yeah, only this is the first time the Needle didn’t really do the trick,” said Tracy. “I’m still numb.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“I tried calling you,” he said.

“Me, too,” I said.

“All cell service was—”

“Shut down, I know. It still is.”

“I used that old pay phone at that Greek diner on 83rd and tried to reach you on campus. Someone in the psych department said you left as soon as you heard the news.”

“You’d told me that you and Annabelle were—”

“Going to the Disney Store,” he said. “I know.”

We both smiled. We used to make fun of couples who finished each other’s sentences. Now we were one of them. Again, I hugged him.

“What a day,” said Tracy. “What a horrible, scary day.”

“Tell me about it,” came a nearby voice.

We all knew who it was even before we turned to look. Even Annabelle knew. It was her favorite “aunt” in the world, although Annabelle was still working on her name. Actually, in that moment it sounded absolutely perfect.

“Liz-bet!”





CHAPTER 9


IT WAS the middle of the afternoon, but this was no time for coffee or tea. We never even entertained the thought of beers. Instead, we went straight to whiskey once we all got up to the apartment. Johnnie Black, heavy pours. Elizabeth, Tracy, and me.

As for Annabelle, it was sugar-free apple juice in her favorite sippy cup. Straight up.

“Guys, are you sure it’s okay?” asked Elizabeth as we settled in around the kitchen table. “My staying here?”

Gingerly didn’t even begin to describe how slowly she was moving. She was bandaged to the hilt on her arms and legs. They were cut up pretty badly, and she had some seriously bruised ribs. In fact, all of her was bruised.

“We’re more than sure it’s okay,” said Tracy. “Stay here as long as you like.”

To think, it wasn’t too long ago that Tracy questioned my feelings for Elizabeth. Now they’re BFFs.

“It should be only one news cycle, two at most,” she said. “Then they’ll move on and leave me alone.”

The terrorist attack—make that multiple attacks—on Times Square would be a story for weeks and months, as well as remembered forever. Elizabeth was referring to the video now making the rounds on the news and YouTube and everywhere else. Somehow a freelance cameraman captured her saving Evan Pritchard’s life. She was being branded a hero, and all the news networks suddenly wanted to shove a camera in her face.

“They were literally camped outside my apartment building, at least a half dozen satellite trucks,” Elizabeth said. “I told the cabbie to keep driving.”

“Why didn’t you tell us about the new job?” I asked.

“It literally just happened. Monday morning I was in Deacon’s office at City Hall; Monday afternoon I was officially part of the Task Force,” she said. “Apparently the mayor has some pull. Go figure.”

Elizabeth had been promoted to detective first grade after the Dealer case but Mayor Edward “Edso” Deacon knew he had to do more. For good measure, I’d been sure to remind him.

“He did promise to help you,” I said.

“And he kept his promise,” she said. “Go figure again.”

“Now Deacon’s going to exploit you like crazy, isn’t he?” asked Tracy. Although it was hardly a question. More like a given.

“Yeah, but at least I won’t be a campaign prop,” said Elizabeth.

Fortunately, Edso Deacon didn’t have another election any time soon. His days of running for mayor were over.

“Thank God for term limits,” I said, raising my whiskey.

We all leaned in to clink glasses. Elizabeth let out a moan. Moving only a little had her reaching for her ribs in pain.

“Here,” I said, pouring her a refill. “More medicine.”

“Do I look as bad as I feel?” she asked.

I was all ready to be the diplomat when Tracy couldn’t help himself. He always tells it like it is. Or maybe it was the whiskey kicking in.

“You look like s-h-i-t,” he told Elizabeth before glancing at Annabelle in her high chair. He always made sure to spell out curse words around our little girl. I was still forgetting to the point where Tracy was threatening me with a swear jar.

Meanwhile, Annabelle was blissfully still going to town on her apple juice. She looked so happy, and I was relieved that she wasn’t old enough to know what had happened today in her newly adopted hometown, so to speak.

The world she’s growing up in scares me like crazy. Is she really that much safer here than in the Nyanga township of Cape Town?

Before I could dwell on that too long, my cell started beeping with a flood of incoming texts and phone messages. Within seconds, Tracy’s cell was doing the same, followed by Elizabeth’s. Service had been restored.

Like teenagers, we all buried our heads in our screens, but it was something Elizabeth muttered that had me stopping to look at her. It was only one word, and barely a word at that. Still, that’s all it took.

There wasn’t much I didn’t know about Elizabeth Eliot Needham by now. The facts as well as the quirks. She was her high school’s homecoming queen in Crosspointe, Virginia—a reluctant one at that—and a criminology major at the University of Maryland, where she ran track. She had one sibling, an older sister who lived in Boston. Her mother, Brenda, lived in Seattle, and her father was “somewhere else” ever since he cheated on Brenda when Elizabeth was a teenager. The guy was essentially off-limits as conversation topics went, which actually told me everything I needed to know about Elizabeth’s relationship with him. I didn’t push.