I was ready to move out. Bullock and Pockmark, to the best of my knowledge, were disarmed. But I had to get myself and Angie down the hall, out the door, to the garage, get the door open, get us into the Virtue, get it started (fingers crossed), and drive away. Once I was out of this room and no longer able to keep a gun on Bullock, he’d probably come after us.

And Blondie was still out there.

A phone rang.

I looked at Bullock, who looked at me. The ringing was coming from inside the cardboard box where he’d found the Snapple bottle.

It was my cell phone.

Tentatively, I moved closer to the desk, still holding the gun on Bullock, and reached in with my left hand for the phone. The phone was damp, but there wasn’t time to be squeamish about picking it up. I pressed the button after the third ring and put the phone up to my left ear, half expecting it to be Bertrand Magnuson, checking in with me to make sure I wasn’t using a weapon in the performance of my duties as a Metropolitan staff member. No, I could say honestly, I was only shooting people in my off-time.

“Hello,” I said evenly.

“Mr. Walker? It’s Trevor.”

Jesus. Just what I needed.

“This isn’t really a good time, Trevor. I’ve kind of got my hands full.”

“Okay, listen, I’m sorry, but I wanted to know how it was going, because if you haven’t found Angie, I think I can tell you where she is.”

“I know where she is, Trevor. She’s here with me.”

“So you’re at the house on Wyndham Lane?”

I felt blood pounding in my temples. “That’s right, Trevor. We’re in a house on Wyndham Lane.”

“Excellent.”

“Trevor, where are you?”

“Well, I’m sort of in the bushes, by the house. I didn’t think you were here, because I didn’t see your car or anything. But that big black SUV? The one they used to take away Angie? It’s here. But if you’re with Angie, I’m assuming everything’s okay, right?”

“Not entirely, Trevor. There are still a few things to work out. How, exactly, did you know where to find us?”

“Okay, I’ll tell you, but you’re gonna be pissed.”

Chapter 37

37

“Go ahead,” I said to Trevor, trying to keep my voice even. “I won’t get mad. I promise.”

Angie was feeling a bit unsteady on her feet and plopped back onto the couch while I continued to hold a gun on Bullock. Pockmark had lost a fair bit of blood, and his head hung down onto his chest as he gripped his thigh. The guy needed to get to a hospital.