Prodigal

Chapter 29

29

Luther knew trouble was coming when he saw Dorothy’s old sedan swing into the lot in front of the Command Center, parking across two spaces and nearly taking out a federal agent’s car in the process.

Dorothy always did have a penchant for drama.

He took a quick glance around—he was alone on the front steps, which was his intent in coming out here in the first place, to get away from all the crazy for a minute. The only time anybody used this entrance was if they’d rented the front room or wanted to have a smoke.

It was JJ—not Dorothy—that came rolling out of the car. She ran at Luther, dark hair streaming behind her. Considering she’d told him to f**k off this morning, he wondered what kind words she’d have for him this time.

“Luther,” JJ panted when she reached the steps, “Dorothy’s got a gun.”

“So?” Luther asked, taking some satisfaction from noticing she was short of breath. “I hear you were aiming one at my brother last night. What’s your point?”

JJ shook her head in frustration, and turned to watch Dorothy throwing on a jean jacket as she exited the car a couple of rows over. “My point is she’s not exactly in her right mind now, and she’s got a gun with her.”

Luther noticed Dorothy’s jacket was hanging a little lower on the right side. She wasn’t carrying a purse, so it was probably just her wallet. It’s possible JJ was overreacting, but Luther figured it couldn’t hurt to pat Dorothy down before allowing her inside the building. He walked to meet her.

“Dorothy,” he called out, “we’ve got some security procedures here you need to know about.”

The woman could have been deaf and mute for all the response Luther got from her. That is, until her husband exited the building behind him.

“Otto Nicholson!” Dorothy screamed.

Luther wheeled around to see the man’s long legs descending the steps.

“Dorothy? I thought you were staying home—” Otto began.

Dorothy pulled a revolver from her jacket pocket and aimed it at her husband.

Well, s**t.

“Whoah, whoah, whoah!” Luther said. He already stood roughly between the two, but now he slowly sidestepped to help block the woman’s view of her husband. “Dorothy, put the gun down.”

“Where were you after work yesterday, Otto?” Dorothy asked. “Where were you when our daughter was being kidnapped?”

Luther did his best to keep his voice calm and outstretched hands steady, despite the adrenaline already pumping through his veins. “Dorothy, you need to put the gun down.”

“You were with her, weren’t you?”

What the hell had happened since Luther talked to the couple this morning? Did Dorothy actually believe her husband had taken her daughter? She couldn’t know yet that they’d interviewed Otto.

“Weren’t you?” Dorothy shrieked. “With that w***e!”

Ahh, a her of a different variety. Luther wasn’t sure if his chances of living to claim his pension had just gone up or down.

“Dorothy!” he barked.

Dorothy’s eyes focused on Luther, finally recognizing him as a human being instead of just an obstacle on the bullet’s path to her husband.

Luther walked forward slowly and prayed he wasn’t imagining her gun hand lowering. “You need to put the gun down, Dorothy. I know you don’t want to hurt anybody, but there’s a lot of cops in there—FBI agents, even—that don’t know you. What do you think’s gonna happen if they step outside that door?”

Dorothy wavered, and the gun lowered another inch.

“They’re gonna see some crazy woman pointing a gun at a cop, and they’re gonna shoot you. Hell, maybe shoot me, too. Now, how’s that gonna help Rachel? Huh?”

Her arm dropped the rest of the way, and the gun was pointing at the ground when Luther reached her. He took her revolver in one hand, wrapped the other around Dorothy’s shoulder and pulled her to him. She was so tiny, shaking and sobbing against his side.

“Come on,” he said.

Grant—no doubt summoned by JJ while Luther was otherwise occupied—nodded an acknowledgment to Luther from the front steps. Luther took his time with Dorothy while the Sheriff led Otto back inside. At least any subsequent altercation between the two would be behind closed doors, and unarmed.

“It wasn’t even loaded,” Dorothy mumbled.

Luther held his tongue. Stupid damn woman.