Chapter 13: The Run Sheet

"Show me," I said.

Brooke dug her phone out of her bag with both hands shaking.

She held it up so I could see the screen in the mirror.

It was a photograph of a paper run sheet, taken at a slant on a desk I knew.

It was Vincent's desk, with the gold pen stand he had once let me hold.

*8:41 TRIBUTE. Mrs. Falco center stage, spotlight 4. Husband holds her hand. V. speaks, two minutes.*

Under it, in a different typeface, there was one more line.

*ROOF, Hargrove. Call 8:38. No radio. Stand down on V's word only.*

"No radio," I said.

"So nobody can say afterward that anyone gave the order."

"And Gabriel holds my hand."

"So he's standing right next to you when it happens," Brooke said. "So the whole city sees a husband holding his dying wife."

I turned off the tap.

My own voice came out very even.

"You asked Vincent on that tape if I was dead yet. Don't tell me you thought it was a scare."

Brooke flinched as if I had slapped her.

"I wanted the desk," she said. "I didn't want to think about the rest."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I have."

I looked at her red eyes in the mirror.

She was lying about something, and I knew it the way you know a bad step in the dark.

I also knew I needed her.

"What do you want?" I said.

"A lawyer. A plane ticket after Saturday. And your brother nowhere near my face."

"You're not in a position to want things."

"Then I'll walk out of here and tell Vincent that you know," she said, and her chin shook. "And you'll never see the stage plan again."

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