"Sorry. Just McDonald's, but there's a lot."

"Sounds great," said Harley. "What's the pa.s.sword?"

"Pa.s.sword?"

"Yeah, you know, there's always a pa.s.sword."

"The pa.s.sword is --" The sound of a shot.

"Go!" yelled Harley to Gary, backing into room 156 and slamming the connecting door shut, locking it. Gary opened the outside door, glanced out, stood back as Harley took a look out. Then Harley, gun in hand, ran past Gary.

Peering around the doorsill into Room 154, gun aimed in, Harley said, "Drop it."

A shot answered him, smashing into his car where it stood parked in front of the door. Harley fired an answering shot and ducked back. Two more wild shots sounded from Room 154, with no provocation. "Lucky he favors knives," Harley muttered to Gary. "No aim. Get me a pillow."

Gary opened and closed his fists, then, blowing out breath, went to get a pillow.

A head poked out of room 152. Harley gestured the man away, hoping he would take the hint and hoof it out of range. He glanced behind him, saw someone else peering out. He flashed his badge and the person ducked out of sight.

Gary handed him a pillow. Harley held it out in front of 154's open door, attracting two more shots.

Harley jerked the pillow back, whispered to Gary, "Sound like a service revolver?"

"Uh-huh."

"Six shots. With the one he used to shoot open the door, that should do it. I think Mac carried a revolver. You think he knows how to reload?"

"He always used knives," Gary said, his voice flat and harsh. He noticed the police cruiser pulled up behind Harley's. The heat inside him was making him light-headed. He was having trouble paying attention, finding it impossible to drop down into the cool, calculating mindset he had used when police work had demanded it before.

"I'm pretty sure I winged him," Harley muttered. He edged close to the door and yelled, "Throw the gun out or I'll open fire."

Sounds of movement, the skitter of a wheel on one of the beds as the furniture shifted.

"Come on," Harley said, "we have you trapped, and you're out of bullets. What are you going to do? Might as well give up."

The revolver clattered out the door to land on the concrete walkway outside.

"Okay. I'll be coming in now," said Harley. "Don't do anything foolish." He peeked around the edge of the door. The sound of a rifle c.o.c.king sent him jumping back. The rifle blast smashed the grill of his car.

Two more cruisers pulled up, lights revolving, sirens silent. Car doors opened, cops hiding behind them. "Got him trapped in room 154," Harley yelled, "but he's got a rifle. Stay out of the line of fire."

He turned to Gary. "Get D.J.. out of here," he said.

Gary wanted to argue. He flexed his fists, wishing Morgan had more muscle, Gary wanted to get his hands around Chase's neck, watch as the life left his body.

How could he trust Harley to get Chaise, when Gary couldn't even trust himself?

He had known Chase was going to kill him, but he had given Chase the information he wanted anyway. He knew he would have done anything Chase asked in the end, just to get the pain to stop.

He needed to destroy Chase. He never wanted to face that dark weak place in himself again.

"Get her out of here," Harley said again.

Gary closed his eyes. The rage was so hot inside him he couldn't think straight.

"Come on," whispered Valerie, "Consider Doro. Life's more important." In the dark stage that was Morgan's mind, Valerie reached out and touched Gary's forehead. Her fingertips were cool. The red rage ran out of his soles as cool flowed from her hand. Gary took a deep breath, nodded to Harley, then went to knock on the bathroom door. "Come on, Doro, we have to run."

"Is it really you?"

"Who else? Come on!"

She opened the door a crack and looked out, towel rod at the ready. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her out the door. They ran away from the room where Chase was trapped and around the side of the building.

"Where are we going?" she demanded, still gripping the towel rod. "What are we doing? All we need is a tank. We could ram fight through the building and run over him. Turn him into slime." Her breath was coming in ragged gasps and her face was bright red.

Gary said, "It's almost over. He's trapped. He's got to surrender or he's going to die." His voice was tight with residual rage. He still felt a terrible need to go back, walk into the hail of fire, and take Chase out himself.

"We can't leave now!" D.J. said.

"We can't help, Doro. Somebody else will do it."

"What if they don't? What if he gets away again?" A tear streaked down her face.

"What if it starts all over?"

He took a deep breath and let it out, then gathered her into his arms, wishing he had Valerie's healing touch, wishing Doro's arguments didn't echo his own. He could feel how stiff and tight she was, but after a long moment her shoulders eased, relaxed.

"I hope he dies," she whispered. "Can't trust prison to hold him. I don't think I could stand it if this happened again. I'd kill myself first."

"Sometimes that's not a final solution," Saul muttered.

"Shut up," Clift said. "Deej, we have to delegate this time. Lord knows we're used to that. We have to trust somebody else to do the job for us."

After a silent moment, she said, "I just want it to be over."

They stood quiet for a little while, and then he sighed and released her. He said, "Let's go to the motel office, get the evacuation of the other rooms in motion."

D.J. sat in the waiting area of the motel office drinking instant Sanka and trying to relax. Every time she let her mind go, she thought of Chase; legions of "what-ifs" rattled their spears, p.r.i.c.king her composure. Instead of thinking she stared at her hand, watched it shake as it held the coffee cup; watched the tremoring of the dark liquid.

Morgan sat down beside her on the fatty brown couch, staring at the police officer at the motel desk. The officer had a hand-held radio, and he was talking alternately into it and the phone. Tension radiated from him.

D.J. handed Morgan her coffee cup. "Unleaded," she said.

He took a sip, grimaced.

Distant pops sounded. The officer at the desk tensed.

Morgan jerked and dropped the paper cup. Coffee spilled on the brown rug.

"Morgan?" D.J. said.

Morgan stared at her, his eyes so wide she could see the whites around the irises, his mouth open slightly.