Lightning came and went in a quick, rhythmless dance. The room was pockmarked, in the flashes, with the image of the rain that patted against the window glass. The couches had been moved to this end of the room, and Mick Skinner occupied one of them. His had been the warning voice. He sat very straight, his hands pressed together between his tight-closed knees, his hair tangled and filthy, his pretty stolen face hollowed out and blank. Tom stood in front of him, a pistol in his hands aimed professionally at me. Behind him was the other door into the room, where Cassidy had died.

“Surprise,” Tom said. Then he moved closer, and I heard the frown in his voice. “God damn — you’re not Frances. Shit, I didn’t figure she’d miss a chance like this.”

I sucked air in, quivering, uneven. It hurt, it hurt, and my stomach cramped with fear. I pressed my lips against my upraised knee to hold back whimpering and bile. Then I turned my head just enough to say, “No… I’m me. You didn’t… you didn’t send for her.”

“Hell, no. I thought this way I’d get Frances’s head and the cheval body. I always did like one-of-a-kind shit. But Franny was supposed to try to sneak in on you. That’d make you a Trojan horse, huh? That’s just the kind of joke she always liked. She turn yellow, maybe?”

“Lost her… sense of humor.”

He was too dangerous not to watch. My breath stumbling loudly through my open mouth, I lifted my head from my knee and my gaze from the floor. Tom’s face was bright with sweat in the lightning flicker. “Well, one out of two ain’t bad.”

I tried to send a look of appeal to Mick, but he couldn’t see it for the backlighting, or he didn’t care. It was time to say something brave and witty, and do something creative. Nothing occurred to me. It seemed I hadn’t seen enough movies after all. But Frances had. The door banged open under her kick, showering splinters from the frame. She’d gotten a handgun from somewhere, and was taking aim while the door was still swinging. Tom dropped to the floor like a felled tree and fired three shots, all of which hit Frances somewhere between the shoulders and the knees. She sagged back and slid down the door frame. I could hear the drag of air into her lungs.

“Stupid bitch,” Tom muttered. He scrabbled across the floor and kicked her pistol out of her reach, farther into the room. “Did you think I’d believe this shit? I knew you had to show up.”

It was more than I had known. I wanted to say so, but my tongue was frozen.

“So go for it, Franny,” Tom went on. He got to his feet, grinning. “That horse is gonna die. Make the jump, girl, just like you wanted me to. Only this time I’ve got the gun. Ain’t nobody to ride but your pals, and if you ride ’em, I’ll kill ’em. Unless you want to try to take me again.”