by CJ Lyons
But what grabbed Leah’s attention and had her plunging down the final three steps and sprinting across the space was the wrought-iron cage in the far corner. The grilled walls were old, clearly intended to protect the most precious wines, but Jessica had turned it into a jail cell. Beyond the twisted rows of iron were Ruby and Emily.
Ruby stood over Emily, her expression fierce, a splintered length of shelving held in her hands like a baseball bat. Emily curled up in the corner, awake and clearly frightened, hands over her face. Leah rattled the cage’s door. Its lock was modern, electronic. “It’s all right, pumpkin. I’m getting you out of there.”
She felt Brody’s presence behind her but ignored him to focus on Emily, crouching down to her level. “You okay? No one hurt you, did they?”
“They didn’t lay a finger on her,” Ruby answered. “I wouldn’t let them.”
Jessica and Radcliffe joined them. The cage door buzzed. Leah tugged it open, placing her weight against it so that Ruby and Emily couldn’t be locked in again. Ruby led Emily out, Emily hiding behind Ruby’s legs, her eyes wide, tears streaking her cheeks. Leah gave Emily a quick hug, all she could afford before returning her attention to the threat they still faced. She straightened, edging her body between Ruby and Emily and the others.
A loud chime sounded from a speaker on the wall. Jessica glanced at her tablet. “Oh look. More company. Your friend, Detective Jericho.”
Brody’s grip on the knife tightened. His emotionless mask had vanished, replaced by sheer anguish as he fought the commands Jessica had programmed into his brain. Free will. The ultimate weapon against tyranny. No wonder Jessica needed to construct an entire alternative reality, keeping his son alive, burying his real memories, in order to take control, force him to kill.
Ruby of course had no idea what was going on; she merely saw an opening and tried to take a swing at Brody. Leah grabbed her arm and stopped her before Brody could respond—or rather, before Jessica could force him to respond. They stood no chance. Unless she could somehow get Brody to fight back.
Jessica laughed. Then she turned to Radcliffe, slipping her tablet into her pocket and drawing his pistol, so that she held a gun in each hand. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? If the cops find them alive, you’re in this as deep as I am.”
Radcliffe’s mouth worked as he stared at her, stunned. “What do you mean, exactly?”
“Brody will do the dirty work, take care of our guests. You just need to back him up. Save your job—and save your life. Or, shall I tell Brody to take care of you first?”
Radcliffe’s expression crumpled, his shoulders drooped, and he nodded. Jessica handed him back his gun. Leah held her breath, expecting Radcliffe to jump Jessica, take control, but he didn’t. He shuffled his feet, edged a glance at Brody, and avoided looking at her or Ruby and most especially Emily.
Jessica started up the stairs and then turned back. “Oh, don’t worry about the noise—no one upstairs will be alive long enough to hear you.”
Forty-Seven
Leah waited for Jessica to move beyond earshot before making her play. It was clear Radcliffe was terrified of Brody—and she thought she could get through to Brody, or at the very least slow him down long enough for Ruby and Emily to escape. The one thing she couldn’t do, though, was outrun a bullet. “Radcliffe, you have to go help Jericho—she’s going to kill him.”
The DIA agent didn’t move. Instead, he finally raised his face to stare at her, his expression stony. “I never planned for any of this, you know. They said to bring Dr. Kern back, her and her research. No matter the cost. That’s all. I’m just following orders.”
“Fine, then let us go.”
He raised his gun slowly, shaking his head as he aimed it—at her. “I can’t risk anyone talking.” He turned to Brody. “Go ahead. Do it. Let’s get this over with.”
“No!” Leah whirled to Brody. She tugged on his arm, but he threw her off effortlessly. His shoulders tensed with effort, biceps bulging as he raised his knife. Leah stepped in front of Ruby and Emily, holding Brody’s gaze.
“Please, Brody.” She spoke softly. “You don’t want to hurt anyone. Please. I know you loved Charlie. I know how much it hurts now that he’s gone. You wouldn’t let that happen to another child. You’re stronger than that.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Radcliffe shouted. “The cops are here—we can’t waste any more time. Go on. Do it. Now!”
Brody didn’t move, frozen like a marble statue, each muscle chiseled in tense relief. Except for his face. His mouth twisted in anguish and a single tear shone against his cheek.
It was working. Leah was getting through to him. “Brody. Please. For Charlie.”
Slowly his knife lowered.
“Damn it all. I’ll do it.” Radcliffe tried to shove Brody aside.
Instead of yielding, Brody spun on the government agent, the knife now aimed at Radcliffe. His struggle as he forced his body to take another step away from Leah and the others, despite Jessica’s orders, showed in his ravaged expression and sharp grunts of pain.
Radcliffe backed up awkwardly, totally off balance as he raised his gun almost as an afterthought. Brody stood between Radcliffe and the women. Leah used the opportunity to motion Ruby to get Emily ready to run. Ruby handed off her makeshift weapon to Leah.
“Stop or I’ll shoot,” Radcliffe shouted as Brody marched toward him, each step stiff and ponderous. Radcliffe’s voice was reedy, pitched high with fear, but his gun didn’t waver. He also didn’t pull the trigger.
He’d never shot anyone before, Leah realized. Had probably never encountered violence in real life. But still, the instinct of self-preservation would kick in—and once Brody was down, Emily and Ruby and Leah were next.
“Run. Take Emily down the tunnels,” Leah implored her mother. “Don’t stop until she’s safe. I’ll keep them from coming after you.”
For once, Ruby didn’t stop to argue. Instead, she grabbed Emily’s arm and fled down the closest tunnel. It didn’t matter where it led—there was no way in hell Leah was letting anyone go after them. This ended here. Tonight. She hefted the broken piece of wood, splinters gouging her palms, and whirled.
Brody had closed in, backed Radcliffe up against the stone wall, stood close enough to grab Radcliffe’s wrist. Radcliffe struggled to take aim at Brody, but Brody held his arm tight, forcing his aim away from Brody’s body, over his shoulder. Brody still clutched his knife in his other hand, but that arm dangled loosely, as if he’d forgotten it—or maybe it required all his focus and strength to resist Jessica’s commands and attack Radcliffe.
Leah took a step toward Radcliffe, and raised the length of shelving, ready to strike. “Drop it, Radcliffe.”
His gaze flicked toward her but so did Brody’s. The break in concentration was enough for Radcliffe to wrench his arm free. He pivoted toward Leah. She swung her makeshift bat in a chopping motion, bringing it down hard on his gun arm. The pistol went off. Leah felt the rush of the bullet as it raced past her before burying itself in one of the wooden shelves behind her.
Brody pounced before Radcliffe could adjust his aim. The two men struggled for the gun, buying Leah the time she needed. She ran toward the stairs—the only way her family would be safe would be with Jessica in custody, plus she had to warn Jericho that he was walking into a trap.
Two more gunshots were followed by the thud of bodies hitting the ground. She looked back. Brody straddled Radcliffe. His knife flashed, dripping blood. He rolled off Radcliffe, panting with exhaustion. Radcliffe lay face up, covered in blood from a variety of stab wounds, not breathing.
Leah hesitated. Radcliffe’s final shot had torn through Brody’s abdomen. Left upper quadrant through and through—no way the bullet could have missed the spleen. Brody was a dead man unless she could get him help and soon.
Following well-honed reflexes more than thoughts or emotions, she rushed over to him, placed pressure on his wound. Ian’s body flashed before her eyes—
Brody had done that. He should die. She should let him die.
Except… that wasn’t the real Brody. The real Brody had just risked his life to save Emily.
“No. Leave me.” His head arched back, neck muscles taunt, as pain seared through him. Not pain from the gunshot wound—it was more like a Taser hit ripping through his muscles. Jessica’s electrodes, misfiring, shocking him over and over. He flailed one hand up, grabbing Leah’s arm. “Go. Stop her. Please.”
“Let me help.” He saved Emily—Leah wasn’t about to let him die.
“She killed me a long time ago.” He gasped as another shockwave hit. “At least this time, I die on my terms.”
“I can’t—”
“She’ll do it again. She’ll steal more lives. Do it, please. Stop her. Before it’s too late. Plea—” Pain choked off his words, his entire body spasming.
Leah hesitated. It would be easier to try to save him and fail. So much easier than making the decision to walk away, do nothing. Andre Toussaint had been right about her: the truth was, when it came to making the tough choices, she was a coward.
“Go.” Brody thrust the word through clenched jaws. “Please. For Charlie.”
Brody’s wasn’t the only life at risk. Somewhere upstairs was Luka Jericho, who had no idea he was walking into a trap.
Leah turned to leave. Brody grabbed her arm, pulling her down, close to his lips.
“So-s-s-sorry…” he said.
She wanted to forgive him, give him that solace in his final moments, but the memory of Ian’s body held her heart hostage. How could she ever forgive the man who’d destroyed everything she held dear? Leah rocked back on her heels, her eyes shut tight against the tears that threatened. She was so angry—and terrified—and for the first time in her life she felt true hatred in her heart.
It wasn’t Brody she hated.
She opened her eyes and gazed into his, nodding her understanding.
“I’ll stop her,” she promised. Then she laid her palm against his cheek. “Thank you.”
Exhaustion trembled her muscles; she could barely stay upright. Weary. Drained. Not only her body, her soul. Leah honestly no longer cared what happened to her—as long as Emily was safe.
She had to buy time for Ruby to get Emily to safety. Had to trust Ruby to save Emily. Her mind rebelled against the idea but quickly surrendered the fight.
Leah pried Radcliffe’s pistol from the agent’s dead hand and raced up the steps. She had no idea how to use a gun, no idea if she could even take another person’s life, no idea if the cops had seen through Jessica’s lies or if they were already upstairs, lying dead in their own blood.
Forty-Eight
Luka radioed their situation to McKinley. There was a kid inside and they had no time to wait for backup. “We’re going in.”
He met Ray’s gaze as they stood before Kern’s front doors. Ray nodded his readiness. Luka guided the door fully open, bracing himself for what might be waiting. The foyer was empty and Ray moved past Luka, hugging the righthand wall, glancing into the well-lit living room, while Luka shone his flashlight into the darkened dining room on the left. Empty.
“Clear,” Ray whispered. “Lights are on in the rear, but I don’t see any movement.”
The house was silent. Too silent. There was a hallway leading to the back of the house behind the righthand set of stairs. Luka motioned to Ray to clear the living room side while he approached from the foyer side. As much as he hated splitting up, with a space this large they had little choice if they wanted to avoid an ambush.
Luka pressed his back to the wall and began down the narrow corridor. A servant’s passage, he guessed, since all the doors he opened led to a variety of different pantries: one for dishes, one for pots and pans, one devoted to glassware. Then a small half-bath, which, given its sparsity of decor and utilitarian design, was meant for servants, not guests. Followed by a final door that led to a kitchen.
Ray’s passage had been more direct, because when Luka arrived, he was helping a woman out of a narrow broom closet on the far end of the expansive kitchen. Jessica Kern, her hair astray, tears washing rivulets in her makeup.
The overhead lights reflected from gleaming marble and steel, all polished to a mirror finish. In the center of the space stood a large island, marble on top, brushed steel surrounding the base. Beside the door Ray had entered through was a taller door, arched at the top, crafted out of heavy, dark-stained wood.
“Don’t open that,” the woman cried out as Luka reached for the door. He turned to her. “That’s where they went. I hid. Maybe I should have tried to stop them.” She hauled in a sob, sagged in Ray’s arms, her weight forcing him to set his shotgun aside as he walked her over to a stool at the island. “They took the little girl, Emily. They had guns.”
“Who?” Ray asked. “Broderick?”
“And Leah.” Her head bobbed up and down in a nod. “She let him in. He had a gun. He hit Ruby, and I, I ran. I’m sorry, I didn’t know what else to do.” Her shoulders shook and she grabbed Ray’s arm with both hands. Then she lunged from the stool toward the sink, hauling him with her. “I’m going to be sick.”
Luka eased the door open a crack. Stone walls, stone steps, well lit—but that could be a disadvantage, coming from above, moving down what was a classic fatal funnel. One time when the high ground was not an advantage. “What’s down there?”
Jessica was dry-heaving, Ray supporting her, holding her hair away from her face. “Wine cellar. Tunnel leading out,” she gasped. “Maybe they left?”
The faint echo of gunshots—no way to tell how far away they were—bounced off the stone walls. “Maybe not. Ray, watch her.”
“No, I’m coming—”
“Only room for one on the steps. I’ll get eyes, see what we’re up against and then retreat to wait for ERT.” Luka could tell Ray was pissed off about missing any potential action, but if Luka did this right, there would be no action. He hoped.
He considered taking the shotgun, but the stone steps were steep and narrow. The Glock would be better, he decided. As he edged his way down the first flight, he tried to imagine Leah putting her daughter in harm’s way. It didn’t seem in character—had she fooled him so thoroughly?
He reached the first landing and turned past it, keeping his back to the rough-hewn wall as he began down the next flight. Only four steps to the next landing. Steps echoed from below, getting closer. He stopped, edged his gaze around the corner. Leah, running up, carrying a pistol. Luka planted himself and raised his weapon. He’d never shot anyone before, never even had to draw his weapon before, and he hated that hers might be the first life he took.
But he didn’t let that slow him down. “Stop,” he ordered. “Or I’ll shoot.”
Forty-Nine
Leah sprinted up the steep steps, her heart racing with adrenaline. She’d forgotten how many landings there were, each with a short flight of slippery stone steps staggered between them, but she thought she was getting close to the top. She rounded a corner and came face to face with Luka Jericho, aiming his weapon at her, his eyes wide.
“Stop!” he shouted. She didn’t hear much after that, all her attention was on his gun, but the essence of his commands filtered through the thunder filling her mind. Slowly, she turned her back to him, keeping her hands out wide, and placed Radcliffe’s gun on the ground, stepping away from it. He grabbed the gun, then pushed her against the wall, his hands patting over her body. “Who else is down there?”
“Radcliffe. Dead. But Brody is injured. He needs help.”
“Broderick’s here?” She felt him tense behind her.
“He’s no threat. It’s Jessica. She’s behind all this. And she has a gun. Did you arrest her?”
“Arrest her?”
“She said she was going to kill you, fool you into thinking she’s the victim—” Before she could finish, he was racing up the steps.
Leah followed after him, no idea what she could do, but it was the best way to
get Brody help and make sure Jessica didn’t go after Emily and Ruby.
They reached the last flight of steps. Two loud pops came from above, sounding small and tinny compared with the loudness of the shots Leah had heard in the confined space of the stonewalled cellar. Or maybe it was just the pounding of her heart and rasping of her breath muffling the noise. Jericho pushed off the steps, sprinting even faster. He stopped at the top, using the partly open door as cover, glancing around it. Then he sprang forward, shoving the door aside.
Leah reached the top in time to catch the door before it closed on her. She pushed it all the way open. The window above the sink was shattered, cold air whistling through like the soundtrack of a horror movie.
Jericho aimed his gun at Jessica, who was crouched over a man’s body. It was the other detective, Acevedo. He was alive, gasping for breath, his hands clutched over his groin. A thin stream of blood flowed out from beneath his leg, not stopping until it hit Jericho’s shoe.
Jessica held her gun at Acevedo’s temple. “He’ll die unless you let me go.” Her voice was calm, certain. “Put your gun on the floor and kick it to me.”
“You know I can’t do that, Dr. Kern.” Smart of Jericho to use Jessica’s title, Leah thought. Treat her with respect, play into her ego. “What do you want?”
Leah moved around the island, hoping to distract Jessica, give Jericho a chance to grab her gun or tackle her. But Jessica didn’t take her eyes off Jericho. “Stay where you are, Leah,” she said in a level tone. “Unless you want one more man’s death on your conscience.”