Double Image

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.”

Je

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. Je

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 Je

“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 Je

“He’s right,” Je

“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 Je

“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!” Je

“Lady, I warned you to stay out of this!”

“Men keep killing each other because of her!” Je

“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 Je

Walt was poised to reverse the swing of his bat, aiming at Je

“I-”

Whatever he meant to say, it was too late. Coltrane charged. The terror in Je

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.