Cowl spun around and hissed. "Get the h.e.l.l out of my head, will you? Just for one G.o.dd.a.m.n minute, leave me the f.u.c.k alone!"

Oh, I'm sorry, but it's way too late for that.

"f.u.c.k you!"

f.u.c.k me? You're the one who wanted all this. Remember? Your 'Someday'? Now, why don't you just light up a reefer and relax. We've got a band rehearsal tonight and, personally, I'm quite looking forward to it.

CHAPTER 36.

One Minute Later...

Harlan paused before the crumbling concrete steps at the bottom of the embankment below the mansion and wiped the beads of sweat off his brow. His heart was pounding like a jackhammer. He scanned the street in both directions. Still quiet. Apparently even the rich folks were all at work somewhere making money they didn't need.

He took the gun out of his pocket, released the safety, and held the weapon concealed up inside the bottomless box. Another bead of sweat dripped from his forehead onto the left lens of his sungla.s.ses and blurred his vision. s.h.i.t. With both hands occupied, he lowered his head to the side and made an awkward swipe of the lens on the sleeve of his uniform. The attempt only smeared the lens, making it worse than if he'd just left it alone. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a police car rounding the corner. Oh, G.o.d... He held his breath, and tried to appear calm. As the car got closer, he realized it wasn't the police. It was a civilian security car with a red and blue light bar across the top. The car slowed to a crawl as it pa.s.sed where Harlan was standing. The uniformed driver of the car nodded and gave a quick, friendly wave. Harlan responded with a nod and swallowed hard as the vehicle rolled on down the street. Keep going...keep going. When the car was out of sight, Harlan closed his eyes and gasped for air as if he'd just emerged from under twenty feet of water. All right. Okay. He tried to calm his nerves. Let's do this. He breathed deeply, gave his head a shake, and headed up the stairs.

As he approached the huge front porch he couldn't help feeling like the old mansion was watching him, its dark window eyes scrutinizing his every step with suspicion.

Finally, standing in the shadows of the porch, he wondered if this was such a good idea after all. Maybe he'd gone too far. But the hesitation vanished as a vision of his precious son blotted out all doubt. He grabbed hold of the tarnished bra.s.s knocker, swung it hard against the door and stepped quickly to one side.

Cowl jumped at the unexpected sound and laid the half-smoked joint in an ashtray. Those a.s.sholes. I told them nine o'clock. Wait. I just talked to Jason. They couldn't get here that fast. He went to the door and squinted through the peephole but couldn't see anyone. "Yeah? Who is it?"

"U.P.S. Delivery for Rye Cowl."

Delivery? What the? "Hang on." He opened the door and looked at the package. "That's for me? Who's it from?"

Harlan stepped forward, one hand holding the box, the other with a death grip on the hidden gun. "From my boy, you son of a b.i.t.c.h."

The next few seconds unraveled in a blur of confusion. Cowl reached for the box, tipping it upward at the same time Harlan pulled the trigger. The bullet struck Cowl in the head and he staggered backward into the house and fell to the floor. Harlan panicked, dropped the box and turned to run but then he turned again and grabbed the door and tried several times to slam it shut but it wouldn't close. He looked down and saw he'd been slamming it against Cowl's foot. He tried to nudge the foot back with the toe of his polished black uniform shoe but the foot wouldn't move. Forget it. Go! There were blood spatters on the door. He should wipe it clean. With what? Forget it. Go! Half way down the stairs he stopped. The box! He stumbled back up the stairs, grabbed the box and shot a quick glance at the door. Oh, Christ. The foot was gone. Another layer of panic set in on top of the chaos already swirling around in his head. He bounded off the porch, flew down the stairs of the embankment and hit the sidewalk running. Suddenly, he had the presence of mind to think, what if someone was watching? He looked up and down the street and then toward the porch. The only witness seemed to be the foreboding old mansion still staring down at him with its ominous black window eyes.

He continued on down the block at a brisk walking pace. The block seemed like a mile. He finally made it to the car, got in and pulled out onto the street.

When he came to the corner he hit the brake. d.a.m.n it. I should have shut the door. Gotta go back. He slipped the car into reverse and backed into the driveway of one of the neighboring homes to turn around. Then, in his peripheral vision, he thought he noticed someone looking out the window of the house at the end of the driveway. He stole a quick glance toward the window but if someone had been there, they were gone now. Had they seen him? Were they calling the police? Why would they call the police? He was just using the driveway to turn around. People do that all the time. His hands were sweating. He slammed the gear into Drive. Screw it. Get the h.e.l.l out of here.

Just as he was about to hit the gas, the security car drove by. Harlan's heart levitated to his throat but the car pa.s.sed without incident. The driver didn't seem to notice him.

Harlan swallowed hard and pulled out onto the street. He drove to the corner and waited, watching the security car in his rear view mirror. It cruised slowly down Millionaire's Row toward Cowl's place. The closer the security car got to the old mansion the tighter Harlan's fingers dug into the wheel. He was sweating profusely. Dear G.o.d... But the security car cruised on past Cowl's home and continued down the road until it was out of sight.

Harlan shook his head, breathed a sigh of relief. What the h.e.l.l are they paying that security guy for, anyway? He eased on the gas and headed toward the Lake Union Bridge to dump the gun before going home.

CHAPTER 37.

That Evening...

9:05 p.m.

The sun was long gone but it was still a muggy 70 degrees outside. A half moon was floating in and out of a partial layer of thick clouds when Jason parked his car in front of Cowl's home. He stepped out of the car and lugged his guitar out of the back seat.

Billy pulled up behind him, waved, and popped the trunk. He got out, went around to the back of the car and grabbed his ba.s.s. He looked around. "Rick's not here yet, I take it."

Jason shrugged. "Yeah. Probably still loading his drums into the van."

"Wanna wait for him? Smoke a doob?"

"No. He'll show up sooner or later. Let's go in and get set up."

"Rye's gonna be p.i.s.sed if Rick doesn't get here pretty soon. d.a.m.n, it's hot."

"Tell me about it."

The black window eyes of the old mansion watched them as they sauntered up the embankment toward the porch.

"Place gives me the creeps," Billy said. "You'd think he'd at least have a friggin' porch light on. I mean, look at that. The whole place is dark. Is he even home?"

They climbed up the porch steps, set their instruments down and noticed the door was slightly ajar.

Jason pushed the door another inch or two, poked his head into the dark and called out. "Hey, Rye. You there? It's me and Billy." He looked at Billy and shrugged, then called out again.

Billy left the porch and walked around the house to see if he could see a light in any of the windows. He came back shaking his head. "Place is dark as a tomb. Think we should go in? Maybe he's asleep. Or drugged out or something."

"Yeah. You're probably right." He gave the door a push but it wouldn't budge.

"What's the matter?"

"Door's stuck."

"What do you mean?"

He tried again. "I don't know. I think something's blocking it."

"Let me try."

Jason stepped back and Billy gave the door a nudge. "The f.u.c.k?" He pushed harder and got it opened wide enough so they could squeeze in. "After you," he said, stepping aside.

Jason moved forward and stepped into the darkened room. "I can't see a d.a.m.n ths.h.i.t!" He tripped and fell, landing on what he knew was a body. His own scream got stuck in his throat as the shock sucked the wind out of him. He scrambled backward, jumped to his feet and flew back out the door, his eyes wide with panic.

Billy leaped back. "What the h.e.l.l?

Jason grabbed Billy by the arm and pulled him down the stairs.

"Jesus Christ," Billy said, pulling his arm free. "What is it?"

Jason explained between gasping breaths. "There's a... G.o.dd.a.m.n... body... in there... laying... on the... floor."

"What? Is it Rye?"

"I don't... I don't know, man. Too dark to see."

"Wait here."

"Where you going?"

"Got a flashlight in the car."

Jason grabbed Billy's sleeve and pulled him back. "Wait a minute. What if it's not Rye? Or what if it is him and what if there's still someone else in the house?"

"s.h.i.t. I didn't think of that."

They hurried back down to the curb. Jason pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and turned to Billy. "You got your cell with you?"

"Yeah."

"You get hold of Rick and tell him what's going on. I'll call nine-one-one."

CHAPTER 38: 45 Minutes Later....

Kane arrived back at his apartment after spending two hours having dinner and a couple of drinks with Ravenwood at the Chinese place down the street from the Precinct building.

He grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, plopped himself down in front of the TV and wondered how the h.e.l.l that ever happened. Did he bring up the idea of having dinner? That didn't seem likely. Maybe she did. He couldn't remember. It had been a long day. All he knew was that sometime around 7 p.m. they had both realized they were hungry and one of them said, "Chinese?"

The next thing he knew, they were walking down the street on their way to the Dragon Palace. The thing that mystified him more than the fact that he'd just had dinner and drinks with the one woman whom he'd often wished he'd never met, was the fact that he'd actually enjoyed those two hours. Maybe the first two hours he'd enjoyed in weeks. Months? Their conversation started with talk about the case and about Cowl and something about that Cromwell character but soon, somehow, they were talking about musicwhat they liked, what they didn't likeand, before he knew it, he was bragging about his daughter, Sarah, and that she was due home from music camp in just a couple days and how he couldn't wait to see her. The rest was a bit of a fog.

He slouched back into the couch and took a swig from the bottle. Ravenwood's not so bad, he thought. A little weird. Great legs. He reached for the remote to click on the TV, then the phone rang.

"Yeah, Kane here. What? Are you sure? What hospital? Yeah, I'll be right there."

He grabbed his cell phone and called Ravenwood as he flew out the door.

Ravenwood was waiting outside the front of Virginia Mason Hospital when Kane arrived.

He pushed the door open for her and followed her in. "How the h.e.l.l do you always manage to show up ahead of me?"

She flashed him a wink. "Broomstick."

They hurried down the hall toward the elevator. When they got there, the doors slid open and Wheeler stepped out.

"Hey, Lieutenant," Wheeler said. "Glad they got hold of you. I was just leaving."

"So what's the story?" Kane asked. "Is it Cowl?"

"Yeah, it's him all right. Gunshot wound to the head. He's in a coma."

"A coma?"

"Yeah. That's all I know. There's a doctor up there with him right now. Dr. Halverson, I think his name is." He pulled his note pad out and checked it. "Yeah, Halverson. He'll fill you in. You got the room number?"

"Yeah, thanks. Go home. Get some sleep."

Wheeler left and they took the elevator to the second floor and headed down the hall to room 207.

"Even the room number fits," Kane said.

Ravenwood turned and looked at him as their hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor. "What?"

"Two plus seven. Nine."

"Why, Lieutenant. I am impressed."

Kane paused when they got to the room. "Yeah. Scary, ain't it? You must be rubbing off on me." He pushed the door open.

The doctor looked up from his patient's chart and Kane flashed his badge.

"Lieutenant," the doctor said. He hung the chart on the end of the bed and walked over to greet them. "I was told you were coming."

Kane introduced Ravenwood and cast a glance over the doctor's shoulder. "Well, well. The magickal musician. Sleeping like a baby."

Cowl was hooked up to the standard array of machines and the top of his head was wrapped in crisp white bandages.

"So," Kane said, "what's the prognosis? He gonna live?"

The bottom line of Dr. Halverson's long and complicated reply was that Cowl's comatose condition was not a direct result of the gunshot wound as the bullet had only grazed his temple. The more likely cause was the blow to the head when he fell onto the hardwood floor. After administering a series of tests, Cowl's condition registered a fairly high mark on the Glascow coma scale. The doctor explained that meant the chances of recovering from his unconscious state were fair to good.

Kane shook his head. "Fair to good. So what does that mean, exactly?"