Exit Strategy

by Kelley Armstrong

  I remembered what Evelyn had said the night before, about another student. "Worst case of 'fuck the world' rage you've ever seen."

  I looked at Jack. "I won't screw up again. All things considered, we both know I'm not the best person for this, but I won't let you down."

  "Not worried about that."

  "Whatever you may think, I'm not suicidal."

  He rubbed his hand over his mouth. Then his eyes met mine. "I know what that's like, Nadia. Lose everything. Everyone. It makes a difference. Not like you'd jump in front of a bullet. But things go bad? First thing people think? Who they'd leave behind. Parents, wives, kids...Don't want to let them down. But if there's no one there..."

  "It's easier to take that risk," I said softly. "I won't do it again, Jack."

  He nodded, gaze down, but had he looked up, I knew what I'd see. Doubt.

  "I screwed up yesterday, on a whole lot of levels," I said. "But I have it under control this time. I swear."

  He nodded. Hesitated. Opened his mouth to say something else, then Evelyn popped through the doorway. She saw us and stopped. A murmured apology, and she started to withdraw, but Quinn poked his head in, too.

  "Jack? It's almost ten to."

  Jack nodded. "Gotta run."

  "You can take another minute--" Evelyn began.

  "Gotta be in position before Dubois gets here." He looked at me. "Everything will be ready. It goes bad--"

  "I bolt. You cover me. I got it." I touched his arm. "I really do."

  He nodded, then everyone left. And I was alone.

  Four o'clock, and the press conference, came very quickly. The furnished house had a television, so I tuned in. The conference took place in town, and was open to both media and locals. Wilkes would be there, if not in the audience, then close enough to overhear everything, anxious for firsthand news on his witness.

  Dubois played his part perfectly. It started as a "no news to report" update, then he received an emergency call about the witness. After relaying the news to the press corps and the assembled audience of locals, he whispered something to the agent beside him, probably telling him to take over, excused himself and left.

  I turned off the TV. Now my waiting began. Evelyn had instructed Dubois to get into his car and start driving. Felix would already be hidden in the backseat with the directions. Giving them to Dubois early would have been asking for trouble.

  The route was as uncomplicated as we could make it, so Wilkes could follow. Dubois was instructed to "drive normally," that is, not to speed and risk losing him, but not to go too slowly and look suspicious. He was presumably en route to meet a critical witness. He wouldn't dawdle. Meanwhile, Evelyn would be tailing him, providing countersurveillance, should any agents or members of the press decide to follow Dubois. If they did, that could delay his arrival even more...if not permanently abort the plan.

  Should everything work out, my cue would come when the front door handle turned, signaling that Dubois was there. Then he'd hurry back to the car, as if he'd forgotten something, and I'd be on, waiting for my big moment.

  There was no sense trying to figure out how long it would take Dubois to get here. Overestimate and I'd be caught off guard. Underestimate and I'd start worrying that something had gone wrong.

  I adjusted the police scanner in the living room. It wasn't tuned to the frequency the Feds were using. Even if we could find that, we didn't need to. The scanner was just a prop, set slightly off station so Wilkes could hear police-type chatter, but static choked out the words.

  At four forty-seven the front door handle rattled. I stood poised in the living room doorway and blocked out the police scanner buzz as I waited for the next signals, as Felix had explained them to Dubois. First, he'd jangle the handle. Second, he'd open the door, just a few inches, then slam it shut again. Finally, he'd turn and walk past the front window, where I'd see him and know, if all three events occurred, that it wasn't someone delivering pizza flyers.

  The doorknob turned. It opened. And...

  The clomp of footsteps, a firm one-two. Then the door clicked shut.

  He'd come inside.

  I tensed, fingers tightening around my gun. Had Wilkes figured out the right house before Dubois arrived? Jack had included that in his list of possibilities--the drawn blinds could give it away as soon as Dubois's car slowed a few doors down. But to walk in the front door? That was ballsy.

  The squeak of shoes. Following the siren's call of the police scanner. Too late to back up to my post down the hall. No problem. You want contingency plans? Jack had dozens of them.

  I ducked into the living room and crouched behind the entertainment stand we'd moved into position facing the doorway. I could aim my gun right through the opening above the TV, which was turned off so it wouldn't attract Wilkes's attention. He'd slip up to the doorway, and look at the recliner beside the scanner--

  Footsteps sounded in the hall. Not moving very quietly, was he? He stepped into the doorway. My finger touched the trigger...

  "Jesus Christ!" I hissed as I stepped from behind the stand.

  A flicker of surprise as Dubois's gaze slid over me, as if I wasn't what he'd envisioned, then his face went taut.

  "Change of plans," he snapped. "This is my roust. You're standing down."

  "The hell I--"

  I swallowed the rest. Any moment now, that patio door could open and Wilkes could walk through. I glanced at the recliner and considered suggesting Dubois take a seat, provide me with a real guard to draw Wilkes's first fire. The thought cheered me enough to push back the surge of frustration.

  "Stand down," Dubois said.

  I resisted the urge to flip him off. No time for confrontation. No time to get him out of the house. The best solution? Compromise. And fast.

  "We think he'll come in the kitchen," I said, speaking softly and quickly. "The radio should draw him in here. You can lie in wait--"

  "Don't tell me where I'll lie in wait."

  "Fine. You pick then."

  I turned and headed for my bathroom hiding spot, trying not to snarl as I stalked off. Of all the stupid stunts. We'd arranged it this way to protect Dubois. All the glory and none of the risk. And this was how he repaid us? There are capable, bright agents all across the nation...and we had to wind up with an idiot.

  This was a possibility Jack hadn't accounted for. We'd discussed the chance that Dubois would back out before the press conference, or on the way here, or before he got out of the car. Or that'd he'd get overeager and rush in too soon afterward, before we could leave. Or that our departure would be met with squad cars. The thought that he'd walk through that door and demand to take down Wilkes himself had never crossed our minds. Why? Because it was stupid!

  As I brushed past Dubois, he made a move to stop me. I turned a glare on him.

  "You want to take him down?" I whispered. "Then get ready. Before he comes through that door and finds us bickering in the hallway."

  Dubois returned my glare, but let me pass. When I got to the bathroom, I looked back and saw him ducking into the living room. In other words, he was counting on Wilkes coming through that patio door into the kitchen. And if he didn't? Well, that was Dubois's problem. I wouldn't stand back and watch him get shot, but nor was I going to risk losing Wilkes to ensure Dubois's safety.

  I slipped into the bathroom and looked around. Still a good hiding spot, with only one door and a window too small for Wilkes to climb through. I got into position, then turned on my radio, keeping the volume down, unit at my ear.

  "We know," Jack said before I could speak. His voice was hard, words clipped. "Can't worry about it. You in position?"

  "Affirmative," I whispered. "Quinn?"

  "Here."

  "Wire?"

  A soft exhale, and I knew he'd been worrying about the same thing: whether Dubois was wired, either with a single partner backing him up or as a full operation, with a battalion of agents waiting to swoop in. There was no way to know for sure, and given how Dubo
is had treated me so far, he wasn't about to submit to a search.

  "Fifty-fifty," he said after a moment.

  "Shit."

  "Forget it," Jack said. "Have to. Visitors show up? We'll know it. Warn you. Get you out. Meanwhile? Watch what you say. Stay on task."

  An hour later, I was still waiting. Finally, I heard footsteps in the hall. Heavy footsteps. I sighed, but took up position anyway, in the corner by the door, gun drawn, watching through a mirror over the sink. Sure enough, within seconds, Dubois appeared.

  I considered shooting him. Nothing fatal. Maybe a bullet through the right shoulder. Whoops, you can't fire a gun with a wounded shoulder? Guess we'd better get you out of here. Next time you're in a house with an armed stranger waiting for a serial killer? Don't come creeping down the hallway.

  "Get back in position," I said through my teeth.

  "It's been an hour. He's not showing up."

  "No? Well, maybe that's because you're in here, and he needs to plan a little. If you'd left, he would have made damned sure he got in here before you returned."

  "So this is my fault?"

  I didn't dare answer that.

  "Stand guard," I said. "I'll call my partners, and see whether anything's changed from their end."

  * * *

  FIFTY

  "You gotta get him out of there," Jack said.

  "You think I haven't tried? If you can do better, then I'll hand the radio over, because I want him gone even more than you do, but he won't go without a fight...and a fight will give Wilkes the perfect opportunity to strike."

  "Or run," Jack muttered. "He hears arguing? He'll suspect a trap. Fuck."

  "So I should...?"

  "Stick to the plan. Holding pattern."

  I lowered the radio and turned to Dubois. "Agent Dubois? Nothing's changed on their end. There's no sign of him outside, so they want us to stay the course."

  Dubois's eyes narrowed. When he reached for the radio, I pretended not to notice, turning my attention back to it, tightening my grip. He paused, then stalked to the dining room.

  "Back on track," I said to Jack. "For now...though I'm not sure how much longer he'll take orders from me."

  "Dee? Quinn here."

  "Hey."

  "I was just going to say you're doing fine. Dubois won't like you running the show, but don't forget, he's on his own. Outgunned and outnumbered, and if we don't pull this off--out of a job. He's taken a big risk and broken a shitload of rules. He can't go back without Wilkes's head on a stick. As long as he knows that's what you want, too, and you don't get in his face too much, he'll toe the line."

  "Good. Thanks."

  I signed off and resumed my position.

  Another hour passed. The light on my radio flickered. I turned it on and said hello.

  "Me," came the response.

  The reception in the bathroom wasn't clear enough to recognize the voice, but the terse greeting gave it away.

  "He's waiting for night," Jack said.

  "I was starting to suspect that."

  "If Dubois left? He'd have taken a shot. Now? Too late. Damage done."

  "Because he'll assume Dubois has already interviewed me, so there's no need to rush into a house that might be full of federal agents. Speaking of the Feds, they must be looking for Dubois and his car is right--"

  "Evelyn hot-wired it. Moved it."

  "I'm guessing you don't want me to stay in this bathroom all night. I could, if you think I should--"

  "No. He'll wait for night. Expect you to be sleeping. Guards resting."

  "Do you want me to go upstairs and stake out new positions?"

  "Yeah. Me and Quinn? Going scouting. Wilkes has to be around." He paused. "You should eat."

  He was right. Eating was the last thing I wanted to do, but I had to keep my blood sugar up. I'd brought a rucksack of food--trail mix, protein bars and water--and I told him I'd make myself a meal.

  "Threw some candy in there, too."

  I laughed. "Thanks, Jack."

  "Go on, then. Talk to Dubois. Bring him up to speed." A pause. "But hide the food. Fuck him."

  And so the night began. We expected Wilkes to wait until past midnight, when whoever was going to sleep would have drifted off. That meant Dubois and I had time to get ready, which we did...separately.

  Maybe the guy had just been in charge too long, or maybe he couldn't stomach the thought of partnering with a criminal, but he made it clear this wasn't a team effort. So we split territory--I got the upstairs and he got the down.

  My plan was simple. If Wilkes wanted a sleeping victim, I'd give him one. The old pillows-under-the-comforter trick, which was a hell of a lot tougher without pillows and a comforter. The house came with furniture, but not bedding. I had to jury-rig something using a couple of towels and a sheet I found in a box in the basement, plus cushions from the living room. It wouldn't fool anyone who got close, but in the dark, it would get Wilkes in the doorway. I'd be in the closet waiting.

  I don't know what Dubois's plan was, and I knew he wouldn't tell me if I asked. So when everything was ready, and it was only eight o'clock, I sat on the bed, munched my snacks, drank my bottled water and kept in radio contact with Evelyn and Felix.

  Quinn and Jack were still on the prowl, presumably without result. Since they'd given their radios to Evelyn and Felix, though, one of them could have been ambushed by Wilkes and be lying in a backyard somewhere. I tried hard not to think about that, and to remind myself they were both experienced hunters, but I felt a lot better when my radio flashed at eight forty-eight, and Jack came on, telling me he and Quinn had returned.

  They had scoured every bit of land within sight of the house, and found no trace of Wilkes. Quinn thought he'd given up. Felix thought he hadn't been able to follow Dubois. Jack thought he'd hadn't fallen for the trap in the first place. Evelyn told us all to pipe down and be patient. So we waited.

  While Quinn and Jack took a breather, Evelyn and Felix went on patrol, in the hope that if the guys had missed a nook or a cranny, fresh pairs of eyes would find it. An hour later, they got back with nothing to add. Even Evelyn now suspected our trap had failed. We'd hold on until morning, then come up with something new.

  "You need sleep," Jack said as I yawned into the radio for the umpteenth time.

  I laughed.

  "I'm serious."

  "One, I'm waiting for a professional killer who wants me dead. Falling asleep tops the list of stupid things I could do. Two, it's not even ten."

  "You're tired. Three nights, almost no sleep. Wilkes waited this long? He's waiting until late."

  "Jack's right," Quinn cut in on the other radio. "He'll be waiting for as many people in that house as possible to fall asleep, and be deeply asleep. My guess is you won't see him before two. And if you're tired now, you'll be beat by then. Can you catnap?"

  "Sure, but--"

  "Then we'll give you a half hour. Leave your radio on, and we'll wake you up at ten thirty."

  I hesitated.

  "You're okay, Dee. Everything's covered. Jack has your front, and I have your back." A pause, then he sang. "For a fee, I'm happy to be your backdoor man."

  I sputtered a laugh.

  "That didn't sound right, did it?"

  "I think that's a whole different kind of pro."

  Jack came on. "Suppose you want a story."

  "Oh, I've got one," Quinn cut in. "You'll like it. A little tale about Martin Dubois. This isn't the first fix he's gotten himself into, but the last time he was lucky, managed to wriggle out..."

  * * *

  Dubois

  Dubois looked across the room at the girl. Unbelievable. It wasn't even ten thirty and she was asleep, as if she was home in bed after a long day's work. And this was the same girl who'd lured a killer into an alley? Planned to take him on all by herself? Spent two hours poised in the downstairs bathroom like a pointer holding position on a duck? But, hey, night comes and the killer hasn't shown up yet? Yawn, I'm getting slee
py...and this bed looks so comfy. He was surprised she hadn't ordered pizza and a video.

  Professionals, his ass. They reminded him of his stepson, who had ADD or whatever they called it these days. Put the kid on a task and he'd go full blazes on it for an hour and then...oh, look, a pretty butterfly. Didn't matter what so-called specialists said, what the kid needed was discipline. That's what differentiated real cops from these "detective wannabes."

  He looked at the girl's hands on the pillow, beside her gun and radio. She was still wearing her gloves. Damn. He'd hoped to get a print. Maybe if he could slip off the wig and snag a hair...but just his luck, it wouldn't contain a DNA tag. And what the hell would he do with it? Ma Barker from the coffee shop had made it clear that "her boys" weren't going to give him the chance to turn the tables on them. If he tried, she had their conversation on tape.

  At the time, he hadn't cared. Hadn't cared about anything. Rushed in headfirst. But that wasn't his fault--they hadn't given him enough time to think, only to react. Now,it looked as if he'd be heading home with no Helter Skelter killer to explain why he'd lied on camera and fucked off midinvestigation...

  He ground his teeth. Something had to be done. His gaze traveled to the radio--her connection to the guys running this show. As long as she was in charge of that connection, she was in charge of things within these walls. He should have taken it from her, by force if necessary, hours ago. Yet, as the situation had unraveled, even as he'd raged against the loss of control, some panicked part deep inside him had been happy to cede that control, to continue hoping they could pull this off.

  If everything went tits up, he could claim he'd been duped and kidnapped. That wouldn't work if he'd had the radio all along. But now, as failure seemed imminent, he was seeing a new way out. Yes, he'd been duped and taken hostage, but he would redeem himself by handing over, not the Helter Skelter killer, but a handful of hitmen.

  Time to take back what rightfully belonged to him: control.

  He took a few careful steps. No floorboards creaked, and she seemed to be sleeping soundly. Another step...

  Her eyes flew open.

  In that split-second, Dubois measured the distance between them, assessed his chances of lunging across it and disarming her before she fully awoke--