The Promisor: A Suspense Thriller

by Dustin Stevens

  Pausing for only an instant, Grimes processed what was just shared. Details he put in order before asking, “What happened?”

  Sliding his hands down the length of Billie’s neck, he moved them over her shoulders and down along her legs, barely grazing her with his fingertips. A light touch over her limbs, continuing to determine how bad it might be, fears of the worst hurtling through him.

  An ongoing assessment that she was yet to fight in any way, remaining flat to the ground, her body still tight against him. An inspection he had no doubt would be infinitely worse if he hadn’t strapped on her Kevlar vest before approaching the gate.

  One that might not even be necessary if he’d just been a bit slower on his approach.

  “Brooks Reese is our guy,” Reed said.

  “Reese?” Grimes repeated. “Who the hell is Reese?”

  Eschewing Grimes’s question for a moment, Reed went straight to the unstated. A way to determine how long he had been unconscious. “Did Deke call?”

  “No,” Grimes replied. “Was he supposed to?”

  Based on the request Reed had made before approaching the gate, that meant he hadn’t been unconscious more than a couple of minutes. Given the throbbing in his head and the blurred vision when he woke, he would likely have at least a mild concussion, but hopefully no worse.

  “Captain, I will tell you everything I know,” Reed said, “but first I need you to get a SWAT team here ASAP and to put out an alert for whatever Reese is driving. I also need you to get on the horn with McMichaels and Jacobs, tell them to come in with lights and sirens, running hot.

  “All that after you get a vet here ASAP.”

  A single syllable made it out of the captain in reply. An initial response that was likely to be some sort of follow up question before he cut himself off, instead finishing by merely asking, “Is she alright?”

  Returning his hands to the fluffy undersides of Billie’s face, Reed lifted her nose up toward him. “I think so, but she’s looks pretty beat up. Definitely need to get her checked out ASAP.”

  “Standby,” Grimes replied, leaving any further questions there. “I’m on it, will call you back when everyone is rolling so you can tell me what the hell happened.”

  Saying nothing in return, Reed listened as the phone cut out, the forest returning to relative silence around them. His hands still cupping the underside of his partner’s face, he tilted his own down to match it, feeling the damp warmth of her fur against his skin.

  “This girl just saved my ass,” he whispered. “That’s what the hell happened.”

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Reed knew the medic meant well. Working diligently from one side to the other, the woman meticulously scoured him, asking him to remove the body armor and t-shirt he was wearing before going over every nick and scratch on his body.

  A process that, under the best of conditions, would be annoying as hell. Attention Reed didn’t want or ask for, Grimes having suspected that Reed was in need of care as well and having called for a medic along with the emergency veterinarian. Exposure he did not appreciate, standing bare chested on the driveway a few feet off the road.

  A scene made that much worse by the fact that his only true concern was for his partner nearby.

  Perched in the back of a mobile veterinary clinic van just a few feet away, Billie sat with her backside lowered to the carpet in the rear compartment. Her front legs extended straight down before her, she sat fully erect, her gaze locked onto Reed.

  On her face was an expression hinting that she loathed the experience just as much as her partner, a series of low whines passing from deep in her diaphragm. Calls begging for him to put an end to it, making the pair of gloved vet techs going over her in much the same way as the medic stop.

  “Holy hell,” a familiar voice said, the sound of it pulling Reed’s attention away from Billie and the medic both. Remaining fixed in place, he turned his head to the side to see Officer Jacobs approaching, McMichaels the one who had spoken by his side.

  Both pulled away mid-shift, they were dressed in full uniform, weapons strapped to their hips.

  Something Reed was glad to see, for a variety of reasons.

  “What happened?” Jacobs asked, glancing from Reed and Billie to the driveway behind them. A lane that appeared even more ominous than before, the changing angle of the sun keeping almost all light from penetrating, shrouding it in darkness.

  Letting out a sigh, Reed raised his hands to either side, allowing them to see the smattering of welts and bruises already lining his torso. A mottled mess made worse by a few stray bits having skittered across the vest, grazing the exposed flesh of his biceps and thighs.

  Wounds that were more cosmetic than damaging, though when mixed with Billie’s blood smeared across him, made for a look that resembled an extra from an old zombie film.

  “Buckshot,” Reed muttered, his ears slowly returning to normal, the echo of his voice mercifully receding. “Bastard booby trapped the gate. If I hadn’t been wearing a vest or was a few inches shorter...”

  Seeing the wince that formed on Jacobs’s features, Reed stopped there. No need to state the obvious, both of them having been around enough shotgun blasts working in The Bottoms to know exactly what he meant.

  And it wasn’t exactly like he escaped unscathed as was.

  “Billie too?” McMichaels asked.

  Turning back the other way, Reed watched as the vets continued to work on her. One male, the other female, they both wore gloves stained with blood, the man attempting to apply antibacterial ointment to some of the smaller injuries while the woman worked sutures into some of the larger wounds.

  A process that Billie visibly loathed, Reed getting the impression she would much rather face down the Oxiles twins or even the pit bulls again over the treatment she was receiving.

  “The shotgun blast tossed me against the car, knocked me cold. Billie saved my ass when the pair of pit bulls the guy also has watching over the place came to finish me off.”

  Again, Jacobs winced, imagining the scene that must have played out. Beside him, McMichaels kept his gaze on Billie, offering a small nod of approval.

  As the three of them spoke, the medic continued working Reed over. Roughly his age or a bit older, sandy brown hair was pulled straight back, formed into a wide ponytail by a tie at the base of her skull. According to the various patches on her uniform shirt, her name was Louisa, based out of Lancaster.

  Seemingly oblivious to the conversation playing out around her, she kept her focus fixed on the task at hand. Having ensured there were no bits of shrapnel embedded in his skin, she moved on to scrubbing down the wound sites with gauze pads soaked in some sort of salve that smelled like alcohol but stung twice as much.

  A sharp burn that caused Reed to suck in sharp breaths through his teeth, his caretaker paying them no mind as well.

  “What is this place anyway?” Jacobs asked. “This what Grimes called you in for yesterday?”

  “It’s connected,” Reed said. “The guy that owns it had crossed our radar as a possible suspect.”

  “Guessing he just got an upgrade,” Jacobs replied.

  Beside him, McMichaels nodded. “Nothing says innocent like a damned shotgun rigged to your front gate.”

  Before Reed had a chance to respond, his attention was drawn past the officers to the road running behind them. Grabbed by the low rumble of an engine, he fixed his gaze into the distance, waiting until a boxy black van rolled into view.

  A behemoth of a vehicle that looked to almost shove its way through the dense forest, the light bar atop it swirling with red and blue flashers.

  The last piece Reed had requested, Captain Grimes having gotten everything moving before calling back to get a full rundown. An impromptu debrief Reed suspected was as much for the captain’s edification as it was to keep anger and adrenaline from getting the better of them.

  Forced conversation to ensure he and his partner didn’t go tearing down the dr
iveway and storm the house on their own, making them wait for backup.

  A notion Reed had to admit he did consider, wanting to make sure his partner was okay first being what ultimately caused him to capitulate.

  “Here we go,” Reed said, lifting his chin to gesture to the van easing forward, air brakes sounding out as it shuddered to a stop behind the EMT squad the medic had arrived in.

  Following his motion, McMichaels and Jacobs both turned.

  Beside him, Louisa did the same, pausing her antiseptic assault for only a moment before going back to work. As if sensing her access was dwindling, she worked with renewed vigor, scrubbing hard enough to twist his body slightly to either side.

  Renewed stinging Reed barely noticed as the side and rear doors on the unmarked van opened and a handful of men in tactical attire began to spill out.

  Five of them in total, the one that had been riding in the front passenger seat peeling off from the others and making his way down the muddy drive.

  “Detective Mattox?” he asked upon approach. Hand extended before him, he added, “Sergeant Hank Ellis, 14th Precinct, CPD.”

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Sergeant Ellis had all the hallmarks of a man that had spent his life in hazardous situations. Somebody that had likely served in the military for multiple tours before moving into law enforcement, making the jump to SWAT the moment it was available.

  A post he would maintain until age or injury forced him to retire, any offers for advancement summarily dismissed, the thought of giving up the adrenaline for a desk job something akin to torture.

  A sentiment Reed recognized immediately, having been around plenty of like-minded individuals throughout his career.

  A character trait that Riley had often audibly opined Reed might have a bit of himself, any veracity in the claim something he had always taken great pains to avoid delving into.

  Dressed in full gear, everything except his face was cloaked in black. A square jaw lined with dark scruff, he stood just outside the gate, his team fanned across the width of the driveway behind him. Four men spaced in equal intervals, a gap in the middle that Ellis himself would soon be filling.

  One final check with Reed and the others before beginning their approach.

  “I wish there was more I could tell you,” Reed offered. Standing in the exact spot where his sedan was previously parked, the aftermath of his prior approach was still plainly obvious.

  Blood and paw prints etched into the muddy ground. The smell of gunpowder in the air.

  “I know the front gate was rigged and he has at least two dogs onsite,” Reed said. “Otherwise, this is as far as we’ve been.”

  If there was anything else waiting up ahead, any reason for the SWAT team to even be present, Reed could not be certain. All he knew for sure was that Brooks had killed at least two people with a long-range rifle and by all rights should have chopped him in half less than an hour earlier.

  To say nothing of the fact that he was responsible for the injuries to Billie.

  A sum total leading him to want a crew to lead the breach, a decision he couldn’t imagine anybody finding fault with.

  “Daughtry is armed with non-lethal rounds for dealing with the dogs,” Ellis replied. “The rest of us will secure the house and grounds. You all are welcome to come up behind us, all I ask is that you stay beyond range of fire until we have everything cleared.”

  Given the assessments handed down by the medic and veterinarians both, the terms were something Reed accepted readily. Diagnoses that included at least a mild concussion for Reed, abrasions covering everything outside of the scope of his Kevlar vest, and what he suspected was at least a cracked rib or two.

  A collection that made every movement – including the very act of breathing – painful, his entire upper half sure to be painted with bruising by morning.

  To say nothing of the damned ringing that, despite continuing to fade, was still present in his ears.

  Beside him, several long gouges were visible on Billie’s shoulders and torso. Creases carved into her matted fur, held together by sutures and highlighted by the glossy antibacterial ointments smeared over them.

  A collection she didn’t seem to notice, absolutely refusing to be left behind as Reed put on a clean t-shirt and strapped his body armor back into place, nothing short of locking her in the backseat of the sedan able to keep her behind.

  And even then, probably only for as long as it took her to fight her way free.

  “On your call, Sergeant,” Reed replied.

  Ending things with a nod, Ellis turned and jogged forward to his place in the center of the group. A post a few feet ahead of the others, each successive person in order falling back a bit further.

  A classic spear-tip formation, each of the men carrying MP5 submachine guns at shoulder height, enough concentrated firepower to mow down most of the forest around them.

  Remaining fixed in place, Reed watched as the SWAT unit began to move forward. A deliberate pace that was just shy of a trot, the gap between them growing wider with each successive second.

  An expanse Reed allowed to reach forty yards before drawing his Glock from the tactical holster on his thigh. Glancing to his side, he saw McMichaels and Jacobs both do the same, the three of them forming a line straight across, Billie filling the gap between Reed and Jacobs.

  “Ready?” Reed asked, his voice a bit louder than intended to accommodate the dull hum in his ears.

  “Let’s go,” McMichaels replied on the far side, the three of them moving off at a pace to match the SWAT unit. A light jog that kept the gap between them at a constant spread.

  Crossing over the threshold of the gate, Reed felt his pulse start to rise. A reaction to the situation and the exertion of the run and the assorted aches and soreness clutching his body.

  A state that brought sweat to his skin, the shirt beneath his vest instantly feeling damp. Pulling in shallow gasps to avoid the sharp stab of his ribs, he swung his gaze to either side, alternating between the forest wall beside them and Ellis and his men up ahead.

  A multi-part sequence that continued as they made their way forward, the woods around them seeming to tighten the further they went. Encroaching on either side, it narrowed to the point Reed could barely envision a vehicle getting through before starting to open up again.

  More than a quarter mile they covered before finally things began to trend in the opposite direction. The dense cover of trees started to lighten. The oppression of limbs and foliage peeled back.

  A trek that lasted more than a half mile in total, ending at a small home tucked deep in the woods.

  A place Reed was able to take in for only an instant before his focus was ripped away by the rising sound of gunfire.

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  The Promisor knew he only had one chance. A single shot to take advantage of the very narrow window between when his target arrived home from his afternoon game of golf and the assortment of officers gathered in front of his home swarmed to usher him away.

  Forced inside to be protected and surrounded at all times or - more likely – taken somewhere far away, to be under guarded custody for the foreseeable future.

  An option that, had it been provided to others the way it was supposed to have been, would have prevented all of this from happening in the first place.

  The fishing gear and lawn chair still plainly visible along the bank of the community lake a few yards away, The Promisor was tucked up into the small thicket of trees nearby. A grove of aspen and pine trees matching the handful of other groves equally spaced around the body of water. Pockets of landscaping meant to break up sight lines between the various homes and add a bit of rustic charm to the setting.

  Faux wilderness perfectly suiting what The Promisor needed, allowing him to rest flat on his stomach atop a bed of felled leaves and pine needles. A shooting mat provided by nature itself, vastly superior to either of those he put together in Gallipolis or Newark.

  A spo
t redolent with the scents of the woods, calling to mind the deck affixed to the side of his house. A place that, with any luck, he might get to see again at some point in the future.

  And if not, he could live with it, provided that he was able to complete his last promise instead.

  Tucked beneath the low-hanging boughs of a pine tree, The Promisor’s entire body was hidden from view. Anybody that happened to pass by would be immediately drawn to the vacant fishing spot nearby, easily dismissing it as his needing to use the restroom or grab a beverage.

  A quick break before returning, not even bothering to gather his things, planning to be back shortly.

  Items he had no longer had any intention of retrieving, the only thing he would be taking with him being The Mossberg currently tucked up against his shoulder. The gun that had spent the day hidden in the exact place he now rested, tiny bits of natural detritus clinging to the gun oil on its barrel.

  Minor annoyances The Promisor would get to in time, his focus right now on the home across the way. The enormous house that was easily three or four times the size of the cabin he resided in, despite only two people living there.

  An audacious display of excess, in line with every single other part of the target.

  And most definitely the woman he shared a home with.

  Silently counting seconds in his head, The Promisor kept his gaze affixed to the dwelling a few hundred yards away. Moving the barrel of the rifle no more than a couple of inches at a time, he swept the scope across the front of the property, checking over the officers standing guard out front.

  A pair of teams, one remaining in their cruiser at the end of the driveway, the other standing on the front walk. Thirty-somethings in full uniform, right hands resting on their hip as they stared in opposite directions.

  Stances that made them look more like actors or models than actual law enforcement. Men more interested in hitting their marks or attaining the right look, on display for all to see.