Two minutes. The clock on the dresser. Halle spun, grabbed the cord and yanked it from the wall. She held the cord in both hands and swung the clock in an ever-vicious circle. Willie took a cautious step back, holding the knife and his free hand in front of his chest.
“What the hell…” he said before Halle lunged. The clock caught him square in the temple. Willie crashed backward into the door and bounced to the ground. The knife flew from his hand, and Halle dove for it.
* * *
“So who the fuck are you?” Antonio asked, the barrel of the gun biting into Jake’s forehead.
“The Schwan’s man,” Jake said. “Didn’t you guys place an order?”
“Comedian, huh?” Antonio kicked Jake’s Glock down the hall. Apparently the man had no sense of humor. “Let’s go talk to the boss.”
He grasped Jake’s shoulder as something smashed into the door behind them. Halle’s room. Antonio startled and Jake rammed his elbow back with all his might, connecting with Antonio’s nose. Before the bones could stop crunching, Jake buried his shoulder into the man’s chest, driving him backward. They both hit the wall at the end of the hall and crashed to the floor. Jake swung his knee up as hard as he could, landing so solidly with the man’s chin that his leg went numb.
He crawled down the hall, dragging his numb leg behind him, going for his gun. He reached for it. A pair of black cowboy boots stopped in front of him, the right one resting squarely on his Glock. He rolled over on to his back. Shane Langston regarded him with his black, marble eyes and a gun big enough to make Dirty Harry cry with jealousy.
“Who the fuck are you?” Shane asked. The question of the day.
* * *
The Drug Enforcement Tactical Strike Team leading the charge on Langston’s house was short a few men. Bear surmised the eight they had would have to do.
By flashlights on the hood of Jake’s truck, Bear drew a rough map of the house and surrounding land. Three agents would enter from the left side and back. Two others on the right side through the woods. Bear, Team Leader James Rouse and Agent Lonnie Hashagen would tear through the front gate. They planned a synchronized hit on the house with a mix of flash bangs and tear gas. Bear described Jake so the team wouldn’t take him out.
Agent Hashagen led the charge, floating through the woods like a ghost and tasering the guard at the gate. He reached into the guard’s SUV and found a button opening the gate. As he secured the guard with thick zip ties, Bear rolled the truck forward with the lights dark, using the scarce moonlight to navigate the quick drive to the house. Hashagen hopped on the tailgate and rode the truck.
“So far, so good,” Rouse called into his collar mic. “Team A approaching the front of the house.” He got call backs saying the other two teams were in place and ready.
“We’ve been waiting a long time for this, Jimmy,” Bear said.
“Let’s not mess it up. Everyone gets out alive.”
They climbed out of the truck. Hashagen grabbed the ram to bust through the front door and took his position. Bear and Rouse crouched ready.
Rouse hit his collar mic again. “Move in.”
* * *
Hashagen busted the front door wide open with the ram. Rouse tossed in a couple of flash bang grenades, which erupted in sound and blinding light. Following the toss, Bear and Rouse charged through. The next sixty seconds were a chaotic mass of screams and gunfire. Bear tackled one of Langston’s staggering men in the living room. Rouse dropped another with two well-placed shots to the chest when the man grabbed a shotgun off the dining room table. Bear quickly zip-tied his man and scrambled to his feet, moving room to room to find Jake and Halle.
* * *
Jake opened his mouth to provide a smart-ass answer to Shane’s question when the front door exploded. Shane whirled at the sound in time to catch a face full of light from the flash bang. He collapsed against the wall, hands on his eyes. Quickly gaining his composure, he darted for the stairwell. With bulbs of light dancing in his eyes, Jake rolled over and grabbed his gun, swinging it toward the stairwell in time to glimpse the back of Shane’s shirt. Shaking the cobwebs, he started to climb to his feet when Antonio tackled him from behind. He crashed to the ground under Antonio’s immense weight, the behemoth raining blows on the back of his head. The next punch bounced Jake’s forehead off the hardwood floor and black spots of looming unconsciousness appeared. Jake bucked, gaining some room and tried to get to his feet, sweeping the floor with his hands to find his gun. Antonio slammed him back to the ground, straddled him and pointed the Glock at Jake’s head.
“You a dead motherfu…” Antonio said before his face exploded. One minute a triumphant snarl, the next a crimson wreckage. The giant swayed and toppled off to the side. Jake pulled his legs out and craned his neck to see Bear in a shooter’s stance in the hallway holding a smoking gun.
“Thanks,” Jake managed. Bear ran over and helped Jake to his feet. Jake grabbed his Glock from Antonio’s dead hand.
“Halle?”
“In here,” Jake replied. They flung the door wide. Halle hovered over Willie wielding a large knife. Willie cowered in the corner, his legs drawn to his chest and hands raised in the air, blood oozing from the side of his face.
“Halle?” Jake asked.
Tears sprang forth from her baby blue eyes. The knife shaking in her hand.
“He was going to kill me,” she said. Jake slid the Glock into his waistband and gently took the knife from her.
Bear yanked Willie to his feet and cuffed him. “You’re under arrest, needle dick.”
“He was going to kill me,” Halle repeated, in shock. At last, the tears flowed and her shoulders shook. She moved to Jake and he held his daughter for the first time. Pangs of regret filled him that he’d missed sixteen years of doing this. Now wasn’t the time. He focused on the moment. After a minute, she seemed to calm down.
“It’s okay, Halle,” Jake said.
She pulled back; her eyebrows furrowed. “Who are you?”
“It’s a long story.”
Agent Rouse entered the room, a bloody hole in his shoulder, leaning against the wall for support. “House is clear, but I can’t find Pater and there’s no sign of Langston.”
“Pater on the rear entry team?” Bear asked. Rouse nodded.
Out the back window by the dock, a muzzle sparked twice in the darkness along with the distinctive pops of a handgun.
“Langston went down the stairs,” Jake said.
“Come on.” Bear bolted out the door.
“Stay with this man, Halle,” Jake said, nodding to Agent Rouse. “I’ll be back.”
He followed Bear out the door and down the stairs. They’d no sooner hit the patio before a boat motor roared to life from the boathouse. Seconds later, the Regal Sport Coupe shot on to the lake speeding northeast across the black water. Langston was gone.
Chapter Forty-Five
“Son of a bitch!” Bear screamed as Shane tore away across the lake. A form lay crumpled on the ground by the boathouse. Jake tugged Bear by the sleeve and ran down the steps. The black-clad agent was dead—shot once in the chest and once in the throat. His gun missing.
“Pater,” Bear said, baring his teeth. “Had a wife and two kids.”
“What now?”
“I’m going to get that little fucker,” Bear said, the anger radiating off him in a red wave.
“How? You swimming after him?”
Bear’s eyes darted around for a moment, then smacked Jake on the arm. “My brother-in-law. Roy’s got a boat. Come on.”
They ran up the hill and into Jake’s truck, Bear behind the wheel since he knew where they were going. Jake pulled out his phone and groaned at the spiderweb of cracks in the glass face. Probably happened when Antonio landed on top of him. He worked his way around the cracks and tried to call Maggie to let her know Halle was safe, but she didn’t answer her phone. He redialed the number and got her voicemail again. Jake wanted nothing more than to take Halle t
here himself, but they had to take Langston down.
Back on M, they headed east, Bear gunning the truck too hard and spinning them out on the blacktop. He flew a couple hundred yards to the east and swung into the Dell’s driveway where they’d made their original entry hours earlier. Bear jumped out and ran to the house with Jake close behind.
“What the hell are we doing? Bear?”
“We’re taking Roy’s boat and going after Langston. I know where he keeps the boat keys in the house.”
Bear tried the back door. Locked. He pulled out a flashlight and the two of them quickly scanned the ground around the porch for anything that might house a hideaway key. They came up empty. Shane got farther away with every second they wasted here.
“Screw it.” Bear returned to the door. He reared back then threw his shoulder into the door, which flew open. “I’ll reimburse him.”
Inside, Bear flipped on the lights revealing a spacious kitchen with stainless steel appliances and decorated with country-quaint wall paper. Bear darted to the pantry and disappeared inside. A second later he emerged with a key on a green plastic fob.
“Now we’re cookin’ with gas,” Bear said.
He ran out the back door. Jake followed, and tried for a few fruitless seconds to close the door Bear bashed in, but his friend had trashed it beyond redemption. He left it. Thirty seconds later they managed to navigate the stone path through the trees and reached the covered dock. The only sounds from the dark lake were water lapping against the boat, buzzing cicadas and the distant hum of a high horsepower motor. Jake hopped in the thirty-foot Watercraft after Bear who made a call on his cell organizing roadblocks.
“You know how to drive this thing?” Jake asked.
Bear huffed. “I’ve lived on a lake my entire life. I drive a boat better than I drive a car.” He fired up the engine while Jake cast off the lines holding the boat to the dock.
“Like that’s any accomplishment,” Jake said. “I’ve seen how you drive.”
Bear put the boat in reverse and backed out of the dock.
“How in the hell are we going to find him? There’s miles of shoreline.”
“I think I know where he’s going.” Bear wheeled the boat around, flipped on the headlights and put it in drive. He gunned the motor and Jake flew back into a thankfully cushioned seat. “Shane has another house off Grover’s Cove by Cooney Creek Road. We tracked it through a real estate front and had it under surveillance for months but got nothing useful. Think I can find it in the dark. If he’s not there, I don’t know what the hell we’re gonna do.”
The Watercraft sliced through the dark water and Jake kept a wary eye out for other boaters. They crossed the lake at an angle and hugged the far shoreline running southeast for a couple of miles. The lake took a sharp curve to the northeast and Bear slowed, scanning for the cove entrance.
“Gotta be here somewhere,” Bear said. “Me and Roy hit this up a couple of weeks ago. Caught a helluva catfish that morning.”
Along the bank, lake houses lit up the shoreline as the weekend folks arrived for some last days of summer fun. People sat on the docks drinking beer and listening to music while their kids jumped off the wood structures into the warm lake water. Bear idled toward one of the docks with a group of men and women hanging out. A stocky, pot-bellied man with no shirt and a Santa Claus beard rose from a folding chair and waved as Bear approached.
“Hey, Bear,” the man said as they idled up. “Steal Roy’s boat for the evening?”
“You could say that, Professor. Looking for a guy in an expensive-ass power boat who might’ve come ripping through here a few minutes ago.”
The Professor cast a wary glance at Jake then back at Bear. “You’re wearing a bullet-proof vest. Anything I need to be worried about?”
“Depends. You see anything?”
“Yeah,” the Professor said. “Guy came tearin’ through here a few minutes ago. Yelled at his dumb ass to slow down, but he buzzed past. Think he turned into Grover’s Cove.”
Bear thanked him and threw down the throttle. A few hundred yards on, the houses grew farther apart. Bear found the entrance to the cove and spun the wheel. They split the gap in the shore measuring fifty feet across. The lights of the boat caught a glint of the eyes of an animal that darted back into the thick woods. After another hundred yards, Bear killed the spotlight and trolled forward.
An illuminated house loomed atop a jagged bluff, connected to the water by a long, wooden staircase. Shane’s getaway boat bobbed in the water at the bottom. Jake and Bear drew their guns as they approached the dock but lowered them at the sight of the empty boat. Jake hopped out and quickly tied Roy’s boat to a cleat bolted to the dock. They stared up the long staircase.
“You ready for this?” Jake asked.
“That’s a lot of fuckin’ stairs. I might have a heart attack before I reach the top.”
“I was gonna mention something about your weight, but I didn’t want to get my ass kicked.”
“Tell you what. You help me take this dickhead out and you can make all the fat jokes you want.”
“Deal.”
They climbed the stairs to the house, keeping a wary eye out for Shane as they ascended.
* * *
Shane darted around the lake house collecting last minute things before getting the hell out of Benton County. He’d already loaded the Navigator in the garage with several days’ worth of clothes and a stash of cash hidden in the spare tire in the back. Just needed some extra guns he kept around the house along with bags of product before he hit the road. He called in his backup on the way over but didn’t know if they’d have time to navigate the dark, winding roads before his internal escape clock ticked to zero. At least he put his insurance provision in place. He’d have to give Brad at the dealership a little bonus for his vigilance.
Bear closed the noose around his neck the second he nabbed Howie and found the cook house. With the coke found at his warehouse, it was a matter of time before Bear looped in the Feds and had him in a bind he couldn’t get out of. Should have killed that fat Boy Scout long ago. But how in the hell had the cops found the blue house? He’d bought it through a double-blind realty association a year ago and only a handful of people knew the location. Had to be Willie or someone from his dumbass crew who either rolled over for the Feds or led them there.
His stupid decision to bring the girl unnecessarily raised the stakes. He didn’t make stupid decisions. He should’ve ordered Dexter to whack the girl at the cook house and burn the place to the ground. Mistake number one. Number two? Trusting Willie and his incompetent hillbilly crew with the Devil Ice. When Shane got out of this, Willie would die a horrible fucking death. He hoped his plan of adding extra insurance to the mix wasn’t a mistake as well.
Shane grabbed his Winchester hunting rifle and a 9-millimeter from the den, and paused at the rumbling of an approaching boat. He killed the lights and looked out the window to the cove. The bright moon reflected off the water, revealing a Watercraft angling into the dock and two figures climbing out. He couldn’t make out features, but from the size of the first guy it had to be Bear. The second character must be the stranger he was about to drop when the Feds busted through the front door. A second later, it clicked. Caldwell. Matched the description Brad gave him from the dealership and the subsequent plate search on his truck. But why in the hell would Caldwell be after him? Did he know about Nicky?
Shane made his way across the darkened den to the sliding glass door leading to a large, wood deck overlooking the water. The door opened noiselessly. Shane went to the railing closest to the staircase, laid his arms across the top board and trained the rifle on the approaching men. He lined up Bear, clicked the safety off and fingered the trigger, grinning at the prospect of shooting the long-time thorn in his side. Unfortunately for Bear, Shane was a good shot.
Chapter Forty-Six
“Jesus God.” Bear hung on to the railing like it was a lifeline as they reached the hal
fway point. Jake trailed behind, amped up and ready to storm the house despite the oncoming headache from getting his head pummeled and bounced against the hardwood floor by Antonio. Still, his powerful leg muscles burned with the adrenaline to run.
“Keep going,” Jake whispered. “Almost there.”
The house lights went out the second they pulled to the dock; someone knew they were there. Jake kept an eye on the deck as he patted Bear on the shoulder for encouragement. By the light of the moon, a figure crossed over to the railing and leveled something in their direction.
“Move!” Jake yelled, pushing Bear forward. The crack of a rifle blast echoed through the cove sending sleeping birds flying and squawking. Bear cried out and spun around, falling to the steps. Jake raised his Glock and fired six rapid shots in the direction of the deck. The figure darted back inside. Jake dropped to a knee on the stairs.
“I’m okay. Get his ass,” Bear said, groaning in between words.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, he just caught me in the shoulder. Sumbitch, that hurts.”
Jake patted Bear on the leg and ran up the stairs towards the house, slapping a fresh mag into the Glock.
* * *
Shane darted through the house toward the garage, heart racing with adrenaline and anger. He missed his head shot. The way Bear spun around; he’d at least hit him. That should at least slow the pursuit long enough for him to get away. His cell phone vibrated as he got to the garage. Shane hit the door opener. He checked the number on the display and answered his phone as he hopped into the black Navigator.
“Where the hell are you?” Shane asked, cranking the engine.
“Almost there. They’re organizing roadblocks. If you want to get out, it has to be now.”
Jake Caldwell Thrillers Page 23