Free Gatekeeper by Archer Mayor Page B

for that. Don't forget why you made that initial offer. Her life was a mess back home."
    "It doesn't help, Joe. I've told myself all that."
    "Where are her parents? Right now"
    Gail looked at him, startled. "I . . . in Connecticut."
    "They're not here? They didn't come up?"
    "They will," she said weakly. "They're making plans. They know she's safe . . . that I'm here with her."
    He let his long silence speak for him.
    "I've got to put things right," she finally murmured.
    "You're not seeing her as a victim only, are you?" he asked eventually
    "What do you mean?"
    "That the Lauries of the world, no matter their backgrounds, do have some responsibility for how they end up."
    "I know that," she said, her voice tensing.
    "It's not just good and evil," he continued, ignoring the warning. "Most dealers are users, and most users end up as thieves, prostitutes, mules, you name it. It's a mixed-up mess, but it's a mess most of them acknowledge right up to the end. That's why some of them actually beat it and get better—because deep down they know they can. They're the only ones accountable."
    She was angry at the condescension she heard in his words—the platitudes that allowed him the distance he needed to function in his job. But she also knew what he was attempting, and so merely placed her hand against his mouth and said, "Stop."
    He straightened, caught off guard, and studied her closely.
    "I don't care about all that," she explained. "I don't care how people rationalize their way clear. I saw how that works when I was raped and reduced to an unidentified victim in the paper. I see part of me in Laurie, Joe, in ways you'll never understand, and I won't put up with it any more now than I did back then."
    Gunther was vaguely confused by parts of what she was saying. He thought about asking her what her plans were, knowing how capable she was of setting almost anything in motion.
    But he also finally recognized the anger in her eyes, and with it an extra element he thought might be pure bewilderment. There was a shift going on here he'd never before seen in this woman he thought he knew so well.
    He stroked her shoulder instead of responding, and simply informed her, "This probably isn't the right time, but I mentioned that the guy you met in Laurie's room had been caught. He was actually killed in a shoot-out with the PD. I didn't want you to hear that on the news."
    "Who was he?"
    "Roger Novelle. Meant nothing to me, but Willy knew him. Local bad boy. He was dealing heroin when he was shot."
    Gail stared into the darkness of her bedroom for a few seconds before asking, "He was Laurie's supplier?"
    "We don't know yet. Sam's talking with Tony Brandt, and VSP is doing the shoot investigation. Right now everyone's playing connect-the-dots. I wouldn't be surprised, though."
    Gail laid her head back against the pillow, her expression implying that she'd come to some sort of decision. "Thanks, Joe. And thanks for coming by."
    He hesitated and then stood up, hearing the dismissal in her tone. He was anxious about what he'd just witnessed, and a little irritated at being shut out. The only saving grace, if it even qualified, was that he thought she might know less about what was going on inside her than he did.
    For the moment, though, he would let things lie. He leaned over, kissed her, and retreated through the dark, empty house the same way he'd arrived.
     
    * * *
     
    Sammie Martens turned on the car's dome light and checked her makeup in the rearview mirror. She hadn't worn the stuff since the last time she'd been undercover, at Tucker Peak, and harbored a neophyte's insecurity about how long, or even if, it would stay put. Not that she was slathered with it—just some eye shadow, a little mascara, a touch of blush, and, of course, lipstick—but it still felt like she was wearing clown paint. She then twisted the mirror to see her hair. That, she was more comfortable with—a simple blond dye job—even if the effect still