3rd Degree

Lemouz walked calmly to his family and took the gun from his son. He kept it aimed at us. Then he kissed his wife, his daughter, his son. The kisses were tender and heartfelt. Tears were in his wife’s eyes. Lemouz whispered something to each of them.

He backed out of the living room; then we could hear ru

A gunshot sounded loudly inside the house.

Molinari and I ran in that direction.

We found him in the bedroom—he’d killed himself, shot one bullet into his right temple.

His wife and children had begun to wail in the other room.

So many soldiers, I was thinking. This won’t stop, will it? This Third World War.

Chapter 108

Charles Danko didn’t spray me with ricin. That was what the doctors were saying, hovering over me all morning at the toxicology unit at Mof?t.

And the vice president wasn’t going to die. Word was that they had him two floors below me, that he had even been on the phone to his boss in Washington.

I spent several hours with a maze of tubes and wires sticking out of me, monitors reading my blood and chest scans. The contents of Danko’s canister were identified as ricin. Enough to kill hundreds of people if he had gone undetected. Danko had ricin in his lungs, and he was going to die. I wasn’t sorry to hear it.

About noon I got a phone call from the president, as in the president. They stuck a phone to my ear, and in my daze I remembered hearing the word hero about six times. The president even said he was looking forward to thanking me in person. I joked that maybe we should wait for the toxic glow to settle down.

When I opened my eyes after a snooze, Joe Molinari was sitting on the corner of my bed.

He smiled. “Hey. I thought I said ‘no heroes!’”

I blinked and smiled, too, a little more groggy than triumphant, embarrassed at the tubes and monitors.

“The good news,” he said with a wink, “is the doctors say you’re fine. They’re just holding you for observation a few more hours. There’s an armada of press waiting for you out there.”

“The bad news?” I said, hoarsely.

“Someone’s go

“New fashion look.” I squeezed back a smile.

I noticed that he had a raincoat draped over his arm and was wearing the navy herringbone suit I’d seen him in the first time. It was a very nice suit, and he wore it well.

“The vice president’s recuperating. I’m heading back to Washington tonight.”

All I could do was nod. “Okay …”

“No”—he shook his head, inching closer—“it’s not okay. Because it’s not what I want.”

“We both knew this would happen,” I said, trying to be strong. “You have a job. The interns …”

Molinari scowled. “You’re brave enough to go after a man holding a canister of deadly poison, but you’re not ready to stand up for something you want.”

I felt a tear creep out of the corner of my eye. “I don’t know what I want, right now.”

Molinari put down his raincoat, then drew close and put a hand to my cheek, brushing away the tear. “I think you need some time. You have to decide, when things calm down, if you’re prepared to let someone in. Like a relationship, Lindsay.”

He took my hand. “My name’s Joe, Lindsay. Not Molinari, or Deputy Director, wink, wink. And what I’m talking about is you and me. And not trying to joke it away because you’ve been hurt before. Or because you lost a really close friend. I know this’ll come as a disappointment, Lindsay, but you’re entitled to be happy. You know what I mean. Call me old-fashioned.” He smiled.

“Old-fashioned,” I said, doing exactly what he accused me of, making jokes when I ought to be serious.

Something was stuck inside me, the way it always seemed to stick when I wanted to say what was in my heart. “So, you get out here how often?”

“Speeches, security conferences …a couple of national crises factored in …”

I laughed. “We can’t help the jokes, neither of us.”

Molinari sighed. “Even you must know this by now: I’m not one of the assholes, Lindsay. It can work. The next step is yours. You have to make a move to try.”

He stood up and brushed his hand over my hair. “The doctors assured me that this is perfectly safe.” He smiled, then leaned over and planted a kiss on my lips. His lips were soft, and mine, chapped and dry from the night, clung on. I was trying to show him how I felt, knowing I’d be crazy not to tell him and let him walk out that door.

Joe Molinari stood and draped the raincoat over his arm. “It’s been a privilege and an honor getting to know you, Lieutenant Boxer.”

“Joe,” I said, a little scared to see him go.

“You know where to reach me.”

I watched him head to the door. “You never know when a girl might have a national emergency…”

“Yeah”—he turned and smiled—“I’m a national emergency kind of guy.”

Chapter 109

Later that afternoon, my doctor came in and told me there was nothing wrong with my system that a good glass of wine or two wouldn’t cure.

“There are even some people here who want to take you home,” he said.

Outside my room, I saw Claire and Cindy peeking in.

They took me home about long enough to shower, change, and give Martha a long-overdue hug. Then I had to go down to the Hall. Everyone seemed to want a piece of me. I made a date to see the girls later at Susie’s. It was important that we get together now.

I did the news spots on the steps of the Hall. Tom Brokaw was patched through and interviewed me on a video link.

As I recounted the story of how we had found Danko and Hardaway, I felt a tremor snaking through me, distancing me even as I spoke. Jill was dead; Molinari was gone; I didn’t feel much like a hero. The phone was going to ring, some other homicide called in, and life would slam back the way it always did. But this time I knew nothing was ever going to be the same.

It was about four-thirty when the girls came to get me. I was doing reports. Although Jacobi and Cappy were bragging they had the best LT on the force, I’d actually felt depressed. Lonely and empty. Until the girls showed up, anyway.

“Hey,” Cindy said, twirling a little Mexican cocktail flag in my face, “margaritas await.”

They took me to Susie’s, the last place we had been with Jill. Actually, two years before, it was where we had welcomed her into our budding group. We took our places in our corner booth and ordered a round of margaritas. I ran them through the terrifying struggle at the Palace the night before, the president’s call, then today, Brokaw and the evening news.

It was sad, though, just the three of us. The conspicuous empty space next to Claire.

Our drinks came. “On the house, of course,” the waitress, Joanie, said.

We raised our glasses, each of us trying to smile, but fighting back tears. “Here’s to our girl,” Claire said. “Maybe now she can start to rest in peace.”

“She’ll never rest in peace,” Cindy said, laughing through tears. “Out of character.”

“I’m sure she’s up there now,” I said, “sizing up the pecking order, looking down at us. ‘Hey, guys, I got it all figured out.…’ ”

“Then she’s smiling,” Claire said.

“To Jill,” we all said. We clinked glasses. It was hard to think that this was the way it was going to be from now on. I missed her so much, and never more than that moment at our table, without her.

“So,” Claire said, clearing her throat, her gaze landing on me. “What happens now?”

“We’re go

“I think she was actually saying, what’s with you and Deputy Dawg.” Cindy winked.

“He’s heading back to Washington,” I said. “Tonight.”