“Told who?”
Sydney heard a sharp yap from the puppy. She scrambled out of the car, and Angie screamed. “Sarge! Come back here!”
Before her mother could stop Angie, she was out of the car, racing after the puppy.
“Angela!”
“I have to get Sarge.”
Becky Lynn struggled with Sydney. They needed to get her out of there. “Carillo!”
“Mary… my fault… Have to shpeak to Mary.”
Sydney put her in a wrist lock, pulled up. She wanted her out of there. Away from her family. Carillo ran over, took her other arm. “Let’s go,” he said.
They spun her around, started marching her down the long drive. The dog darted from the lawn to the driveway, cutting in front of them. Angie raced past, trying to cut Sarge off before she made it to the street.
“Angie!” Jake shouted. She swooped down, just behind Becky Lynn’s car, came up with the dog in her hand, then stopped short, her mouth fixed in a little oh.
Gnoble stepped from behind the hedge, his gun pointed right at her before they could move. Or draw their weapons. Before they could shout out for Angie to run, he grabbed her. Wrapped one arm around her neck, held the gun to her head.
Carillo and Sydney froze. She judged the distance, the time it would take her to draw. Gnoble’s gun was already out. Pressed against her sister’s temple… Her heart thudded in her chest. And that puppy started squirming, but Angie wouldn’t let go.
Becky Lynn tried to free herself. Sydney worried she’d say something stupid and get Angie killed. Sydney yanked up on her wrist.
The woman cried out, but Gnoble ignored her. “Convenient,” he said. “Everyone I need, and then some.”
Becky Lynn quit struggling. “I dint tell them.”
“Shut up, Becky Lynn,” he said. Tears streamed down Angie’s tiny face, but she didn’t cry out. “All you had to do was drive one block from your house, meet me at the gas station, and give me the goddamned envelope, and I wouldn’t have to leave a bunch of corpses behind.”
Becky Lynn sniffed. “I dint tell them about Cisco.”
“You’ll be dead before they figure it out,” he said, pointing his gun at Sydney and Carillo. “You two, let her go, then hold up your hands.”
Carillo and Sydney let go of Becky Lynn. She fell to the ground, sobbing, rubbing at her wrist.
“We need to talk about this,” Sydney said.
“Talk about how your father tried to bleed me dry, because I sent him and Cisco on a suicide mission? Or talk about how you forced my hand by following Becky Lynn?” he replied, and Sydney swore she could feel Jake’s gaze burning into her. “That time’s over.”
“Look,” Sydney said. “Every agent and officer in the area’s looking for you right now. You stay here, you’ll be caught for sure.”
He smiled. “Which is why I paid cash for a less obvious car right after they arrested my lovely wife, then paid someone to drive off in mine just a short while ago. They should be following it down the freeway right about now. Besides, if they thought I was here, wouldn’t they be here as well?”
And of course, he was right. They’d be all over this place. Or maybe they were, she realized. But with him holding Angie that way-unless they were sharpshooters-their hands were tied. “Let my sister go,” she said.
He held tight to Angie, but pointed his weapon at her and then Carillo. “Your guns,” he said. “We’ll start with you, Sydney. Don’t forget who I’m holding.”
She slid back her jacket.
“Now real careful. Gun from the holster. Two fingers.”
She reached down, unsnapped her holster. Gripped the gun, until she could draw it with thumb and forefinger. Her heart raced. “You need a hostage,” she said, holding out the gun so the barrel hung down. “Take me.”
“Toss it on the ground. Right there in front of Becky Lynn.”
She tossed it slightly behind Becky Lynn.
“Now drop your jacket, and make a slow turn. Hands in the air.”
Sydney shrugged out of her jacket. Let it fall. And then she turned. Slow. Saw Jake by the open driver’s door. Inching closer to it. Had to be a gun in there. Saw her mother on the other side, face pale, tears streaming. A fleeting glimpse of the house, the lawn. The scent of the eucalyptus.
When she came full circle, she saw her sister, watching her. Her lower lip trembling. The puppy squirming against her.
Sydney met Gnoble’s gaze once more. “Pants legs,” he said. “Lift them.”
She pulled up on each side.
“Dump the gun. Nice and careful.”
And briefly Sydney thought she could draw it, fire as she came up.
Except her sister was in the way.
And Sydney knew he knew.
She pulled at the Velcro, held out the ankle holster, and tossed it by her semiauto. Heard him tell Carillo, “Now you. Same thing.” And Sydney knew he wasn’t bothering with hostages. They meant nothing to him. Just a hindrance. He was caught. Needed the envelope Becky Lynn spoke of. Something important. A new ID and fake passport. A quick getaway…
Sydney pretended to look at Carillo. Saw Jake near the truck door. And she realized then what she needed to do. Even if it meant her own life.
She looked at Angie. Willed her sister to look at her again.
She did. Sydney dropped her gaze to the ground, trying to tell her to get down. Gave a slight nod. Saw her brows raise.
How to get the message? Sydney needed her out of the way…
Angie hugged the puppy tighter. Protected it.
Sarge.
The police dog.
Sydney wiggled her fingers on her right hand. Saw Angie’s gaze flick over. Sydney lifted her palm. Gave the signal for stop.
Angie bit her lip. Kept her gaze on her hand.
Good girl.
She waited until she heard Carillo being ordered to turn around. Sydney knew he’d see Jake, see him edging toward that truck door. Sydney took the chance. Said, “Slowly, Carillo.”
“Shut up!” Gnoble yelled.
“Trying to be helpful. Don’t want anyone hurt by flying bullets.”
Gnoble kept his gaze fixed on Carillo. She pretended to do the same. Saw Jake. Nearer. Nearer.
She took a breath. Please God…
And then, waited until Carillo was back around.
Sydney stood with her palm still out. Turned it. Slowly. Until it faced the sky. Then jerked it up. The sign for sit.
Angie bit Gnoble and dropped to the ground.
Gnoble started to grab her.
“Donovan!” Jake shouted.
Carillo and Sydney dove.
Shots rang out.
Her mother screamed.
“Daddy!”
Sydney grabbed her gun. Rolled to her right. Fired at Gnoble. Again and again. Something hit her. Burned her chest. “ Daddy! ”
Gnoble slumped to the ground. Becky Lynn gathered herself up. “No
… No!” she cried, stumbling over to him. Angie ran past them, her puppy forgotten, and Sydney forced herself up. Ignored the burning in her chest. Kept her gun trained on Gnoble. Carillo was at her side, doing the same. They rushed forward, just as Jared Dunning and three other men burst onto the driveway, their guns drawn, one of them saying they couldn’t get a shot, because of the kid. Carillo pulled Becky Lynn back, shoved Gnoble with his foot.
He was not going anywhere. And the truth was, Sydney wanted to shoot him again. Just to make sure.
Breathe, she told herself. It’s over. Just breathe. “You okay?” Carillo asked her.
“Something hurts.” Sydney felt her chest, realized one of Carillo’s casings had landed in the little hollow between her bra and her skin. “Damned things are hot,” Sydney said, reaching down, digging it out.
“I can get it for you.”
She was about to quip something really smart-assed, just as she turned back, saw her mother. Saw Angie.
Saw Jake on the ground.
&nbs
p; Her heart thudded.
She’d done this. She’d brought all this on.
“Oh my God…”
“Go,” Carillo said, holstering his weapon, then pulling out his cell phone. “I’ve got her.”
Sydney ran over, knelt beside them. Saw Jake’s gun on the seat of his car. He’d never even reached it. Just diverted Gnoble’s attention to save Angie.
She couldn’t see through the blur of her tears. Couldn’t see anything but the growing red stain in his gut as her mom applied pressure. “Mom. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Angie was sobbing. “He’s okay, right, Mommy?” “Ambulance en route, Fitz,” Carillo shouted.
Her mother pressed down harder, and Sydney put her hand over hers, tried to help. Her mother looked her right in the eye, her voice calm. “He’ll be fine. Get me a towel, Angela.”
Angie ran into the house, just as Jake opened his eyes. Tried to take a breath. “God… it hurts.”
“I’m sorry. Jake. I’m sorry…”
He closed his eyes again, and Sydney wondered if he’d ever forgive her. If any of them would forgive her…
The sirens grew louder, echoed off the house. Scotty arrived first, saying something about a neighbor walking over, telling them that Gnoble had taken off in a different car just before they’d gotten there. Two radio cars pulled up. Officers got out, ran up. Carillo with his creds out, holding Becky Lynn. “FBI. Two down. This one in custody.”
But it seemed an eternity before the ambulance came. Angie ran out with a towel, gave it to her mom, who placed it over Jake’s wound, pressed down, her voice calm, soothing, urging Jake to be still.
And then they came to put him in the ambulance, this man who had raised Sydney after her father had died.
And Sydney watched them working on him, afraid to say anything. Afraid to move.
Her mother came over to her, took Sydney’s hand in hers, while her gaze remained on Jake. “This is not your fault.”
“I-”
“Becky Lynn came to see me. You didn’t bring her.”
“Why?”
“Because this morning when she called, I told her not to call again. Every year around the anniversary, she’d get drunk and call to apologize about the explosion that injured your father, and then his murder. I guess this time… I just wanted to move on.”
Her mother looked at her, tried to smile, failed. She reached out, brushed a bit of something from Sydney’s cheek, dirt, grass, who knows, and said, “Call your aunt and uncle. Watch Angela.”
“I will.”
She kissed Sydney, walked over to the EMTs as they put Jake on the gurney. Efficient. Just another body to them.
The next thing Sydney knew, they were wheeling Jake toward the ambulance, her mother walking beside them, holding Jake’s hand. Sydney looked down at him, still as death on that gurney, and all Sydney could whisper was “I’m sorry, Jake,” over and over as she walked on the other side. Just as they were getting ready to lift him into the ambulance, he opened his eyes, looked at her. “Syd…” His voice was quiet. Sydney leaned over, not sure what to say, what to do.
“If Angie… grows up to be a goddamned cop… I want… want her… to be… like you.”
Sydney squeezed his hand, and he looked at the EMT and said, “How
… fast… can you drive this thing?”
50
Two days later, Sydney picked up a file folder containing her Jane Doe sketch. The tentative ID was verified, and they now had a name to put on her headstone. Delia Jones. The forensic odontologist had positively identified her killer from a reconstruction of the bite made from the broken teeth of the purse snatcher Carillo had arrested a few nights ago. “You’ll turn this in for me?” she asked Carillo, handing the file folder to him.
“Yeah, sure.” He was quiet, watching her place the last few odds and ends in the box on her desk. “You could fight this transfer. Wasn’t that the plan?”
“It was. Until the moment I saw Gnoble with a gun to my sister’s head. Maybe even before that moment. I don’t ever want to put my family through that again. I’m not sure I could go through that again.”
“Just when I was getting used to working with you.” “You’ll find another naive agent to torture, Carillo.” “Not like you. I mean, look at what you’ve done. The
Democrats would roll out the red carpet for you anywhere you went in this state. You single-handedly took out their candidate’s biggest contender for senator.”
“Funny,” she said, throwing him a dark look. “But I’ve made up my mind.”
“But Quantico?”
“Why not?”
“Because nothing happens there. You’re walking down hallways filled with recruits and marines and cops. It’s evidence and paperwork and teaching. Boring.”
“After the past week I’ve had,” she said, “boring sounds perfect.”
“Yeah, yeah. But just remember. Once you come to the dark side, Pollyanna, it’s hard to go back.”
Doc Schermer walked up, eyed the boxes on her desk, then gave an overly bright smile as he stuck out his hand. “Good working with you, Fitzpatrick.”
“You, too, Doc,” she said, shaking his hand. “And keep Carillo in line.”
“Always. So, what’s the good word on Wheeler? He out, yet?”
“Soon,” she said. “Apparently there’s a lot of red tape to clear up a man wrongly accused.”
And Carillo said, “Especially when they can’t publicly release ninety percent of what Gnoble was involved in that led up to that false accusation. It’ll be interesting to see how this plays out in the press.”
“Won’t it,” Schermer said. “You think they’ll go public on Mrs. Gnoble’s involvement?”
“They might,” Sydney replied. “Only because Prescott managed to tape a few of their conversations, particularly one very incriminating statement in which she said that once Wheeler was executed, the only thing standing between her and becoming first lady was my repressed memories.”
“And Becky Lynn?” Schermer asked Sydney.
“I have a feeling she’s going to make a deal.”
“A deal?” Carillo said. “I’ll bet she asks for witness protection and a new identity. She was sitting on millions upon millions of missing BICTT funds that the Black Network wouldn’t hesitate to kill over.”
“Okay,” Schermer said. “I’m a little confused. If she had the money in the offshore accounts all this time, then why’d Gnoble kill your father?”
“To cover for the black op, the one where Wheeler’s father was killed and mine was injured. That was how they acquired the BICTT funds. Not only wasn’t it sanctioned, the government didn’t even know about it. Gnoble was after the money, plain and simple.”
“Your father, too?”
“You mean was he in it for the money? I’d like to think he didn’t know it wasn’t a government op. But I do know he felt guilty enough to try to make it up to Wheeler for the loss of his father. The only problem was that Gnoble couldn’t risk moving any of that money, beause of the paper trial he was worried would follow.”
Carillo nodded in agreement. “Something that had less to do with his political career, and more to do with BICTT’s Black Network, who had taken lives for less.”
He was right about that, she thought. It was that same paper trail that the CIA wasn’t willing to divulge to the American public, citing national security issues, as they were either still hunting down BICTT’s Black Network, or they were covering for their own involvement in using the bank. Hence the hush-hush about the real story. For now, Sydney could live with that. She knew the truth, and in a sense some form of justice had been done. For Wheeler at least. She still had questions about her father’s involvement, still wondered how the man she’d known and loved could have been involved in something so wrong. Perhaps one day she might come to understand him, learn to accept he wasn’t the man she thought he was. For now, she was going to have to accept her mother’s mantra, tell herse
lf it was time to move on-no matter how much it hurt. She had her mother, and sister, and Jake, she thought, looking from Schermer to Carillo, then at the boxes on her now empty desk. “I think that’s everything. Any last words of wisdom?”
“Actually,” Carillo said, lifting one of the boxes to help her carry it down to her car, “I was hoping for some from you, since you know Dixon so well. He’s, uh, not going to keep watching me close, is he? I can’t even turn around without him wondering what the hell I’m doing.”
“He’ll get over it. He’s probably more upset about you having corrupted me than anything else,” she said with a smile. “And even if he’s not happy with you, his boss is.”
“Only because he got to go on live TV, stand next to the governor, and state that the FBI was instrumental in solving the twenty-year-old wrongful conviction of Johnnie Wheeler, who was falsely accused of murder.”
Which of course got the governor good exposure, because he got to overturn a conviction with lots of fanfare, and the trickle-down effect was noticeable-until it came to a screeching halt at Dixon’s desk.
If it didn’t get him to Tahiti any faster, he wasn’t impressed.
She looked around, grabbed her briefcase and the smaller box left on the desktop. “Ready when you are.” She’d already said her good-byes to Dixon and Lettie. Now all she needed to do was go home, finish packing her things there.
When they got to the elevator, Carillo asked, “How’s your mom taking all this?”
“I think she’s finally finding peace.”
“You finding any?”
“Only if I don’t think about it too much,” she said, reminding herself what her mother had told her, that her father had loved her, and she should just remember him before that time. “Jake gets out of the hospital tomorrow,” she said, changing the subject somewhat. “Angie keeps asking when she can take a photo of his scar, so she can brag about it to her little friend whose daddy works for the sheriff’s office. She’s one up on him, you know. His dad’s never been shot.”
“That kid is one tough cookie.”
“If Angie ever becomes a cop, watch out for the bad guy.”
The elevator door slid open, they stepped on, and Carillo pressed the down button. As the door swished closed and they started their descent, he said, “So. About the copies of the bank numbers we kept. I’m not sure I buy that they only belong to a few offshore accounts, but then it’s certainly none of our business if they’re still hiding something, still in operation… Of course, now that you’re heading to your nice, safe, and, I might add, boring job in Quantico, maybe we should turn them in.”
Face of a Killer Page 37