Blindside

  Ruiz reached the door of the car, yanked it open and hauled the driver out on to the road with one hand. The man didn’t resist, a handgun slipping from his grasp and skittering away across the road. Ruiz put him face down on the tarmac, crouched over him and pinned the man’s neck with his knee.

  Martinez told the passenger to turn around. When he did, Martinez stepped up and kicked the back of his knees hard. As the man fell forward with a shout, Martinez pushed him in the back. He moved quickly to put plastic ties around the prone man’s wrists. Ruiz did the same with the driver.

  ‘Sedan secured,’ Ruiz said over the radio.

  He turned his head to the side, felt like vomiting on to the road. Managed to hold it in.

  24

  Webb had been watching the diner on the monitor when the gunfire at the truck started. The radio traffic that followed was brief. Both vehicles were secure, but he had lost an agent.

  When he looked back at the monitor, the two agents at the front of the diner were now out on the street sprinting towards the sound of the gunfire. Webb had not told them to leave their positions.

  The homeless man was walking around the internal dividing wall of the diner.

  Webb turned and ran for the door.

  Logan smelled the man before he saw him, his nose wrinkling at the stench. Cahill saw him come in and the gunfire started outside.

  Cahill stood, his chair clattering back against the wall.

  Logan noticed the homeless man did not even flinch at the sound.

  Hunter got up and walked to the front of the diner as the FBI agents there drew their weapons and ran out the door.

  Collins stayed seated.

  The homeless man walked to Matt Horn’s table and stopped in front of Horn. He had on several layers of old clothes, including a hooded sweatshirt with the hood up. He reached up, pulled the hood back off his head and raised his other hand to point a gun at Horn.

  Logan reached for his gun. Knew he wouldn’t make it in time. No one else was watching.

  ‘I loved you like a son,’ Seth Raines told Horn.

  Then shot him in the face.

  Horn toppled back off his chair, blood, bone and brain matter splattering the wall behind him.

  Raines turned in a sweeping motion towards Hunter, pulling the trigger of his gun.

  Hunter had flinched when Raines shot Horn, the movement saving his life.

  Raines fired twice at Hunter as he turned, the motion taking his aim just a little off and Hunter’s flinch bringing his head down under the trajectory of the bullets.

  Raines kept on turning and firing.

  Cahill shouted out in pain and went down.

  Logan saw blood on Cahill’s head.

  Raines aimed at Logan.

  Logan raised his gun and fired.

  The bullet tore through the layers of cloth on Raines’s gun arm, grazing a shallow track along the flesh of his forearm. Raines dropped the arm to his side.

  Danny Collins shot Raines three times.

  Part Ten:

  Blood

  1

  Logan sat on the kerb as blue light strobed around him, the place awash with cops and paramedics.

  It had been an hour since Collins shot Raines.

  Randall Webb walked to Logan and stood over him on the sidewalk. Logan looked up at him.

  ‘The next thing you’re going to do,’ Webb said, ‘is go back to your hotel, pack and get on the first flight home.’

  Logan frowned.

  ‘What about the guns? Our guns.’

  ‘What guns?’

  Logan nodded and bowed his head.

  Webb walked away from him.

  Logan stood, his legs still unsteady. He wasn’t sure if they would hold him. They did.

  He walked to the far side of the street to an ambulance which was parked with its rear doors open. As he came around the doors Cahill looked up from the ambulance steps and smiled at him.

  ‘How’s your head?’ Logan asked.

  ‘Feels like someone hit me with a hammer,’ Cahill said, touching the padded dressing a paramedic was securing on the side of his head.

  ‘He’ll be fine,’ the paramedic told Logan. ‘Bullet just grazed him. But he should get it looked at when you get home.’

  Cahill thanked the man and stood.

  ‘Webb told us to go home,’ Logan told him.

  Cahill shook his head. ‘I can’t. Not yet.’

  Logan stared at him.

  ‘I need to ask Webb a favour.’

  ‘Don’t you think that we’ve used up all our goodwill already?’

  ‘Maybe. But I need a favour anyway.’

  ‘You are a stubborn—’

  Cahill waved him off and started walking across the street to find Webb. Logan didn’t have the energy to follow him so he sat on the steps of the ambulance and watched.

  Jake Hunter and Danny Collins walked over to the ambulance from the chaos of the diner.

  ‘How is he?’ Hunter asked, looking at Cahill.

  ‘He’s got a hard head.’

  Hunter laughed.

  ‘I noticed. And you?’

  ‘I’m okay. But if you don’t mind I won’t stand.’

  Hunter reached out a hand. Logan took it and they shared a firm handshake. Collins did the same.

  ‘You probably saved someone’s life in there,’ Hunter told him. ‘We owe you a thanks.’

  Logan didn’t know what to say, so said nothing.

  ‘I heard that Raines is still hanging on,’ Collins said. ‘Tough son of a bitch. Took three slugs.’

  ‘And the rest of his crew?’ Logan asked.

  Collins shook his head.

  ‘That guy Grange,’ Hunter said. ‘He’s some cowboy.’

  ‘Still an asshole,’ Collins added.

  Logan wanted to laugh but found that he couldn’t.

  ‘Take care,’ Hunter said.

  They turned to leave Logan at the ambulance. Hunter stopped halfway across the street and turned back to Logan.

  ‘They got the guy over in Scotland,’ he shouted. ‘Shot a cop before he went down.’

  The words rattled around in Logan’s head like a bullet, tearing through the delicate tissue of his brain.

  Shot a cop.

  Becky.

  2

  Cahill found Webb outside the door of the diner talking to an FBI press officer.

  ‘Is he dead?’ Cahill asked. ‘Raines.’

  Webb turned to look at Cahill and told the press woman to give him a few minutes. She headed off to a wooden barrier where the massed ranks of the press had already assembled, their flashbulbs popping as she approached.

  ‘No,’ Webb told Cahill. ‘Not so far, anyway.’

  ‘Will he make it to trial?’

  ‘Initial indications are that he will.’

  Cahill looked back over at the ambulance where he had been treated and saw Logan walking away from it frantically punching a number into his phone.

  ‘Why did he do it?’ Webb asked. ‘The suicide mission. I mean, walking into a place full of men with guns and opening up.’

  ‘Maybe he got tired of it all. It happens.’

  Cahill scuffed his feet on the sidewalk. ‘Sorry to hear about your agent,’ he said.

  Webb nodded.

  ‘I appreciate that,’ he said. ‘But I want you and your friend out of here, like, yesterday. I don’t need the headache.’

  ‘Logan’s leaving today.’

  Webb’s head tilted to one side. ‘And you?’

  ‘There’s something I need to do.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I need your help doing it.’

  ‘You’ve got stones, I’ll give you that.’

  ‘It’s been said before.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Irvine told Logan as he walked away from the noise and the crowd outside the diner.

  He put a finger in his ear as another ambulance whooped on its way to the hospital. Or maybe it was the morgue.

>   ‘It wasn’t me who got shot,’ she said.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘I’ve got the time.’

  ‘We were following up a lead. Going to speak to some witnesses – a couple of prostitutes. Turns out this guy Butler had been hiding out with them and he came out shooting. He got Kenny Armstrong.’

  ‘Is he okay?’

  ‘Yes. Lost a couple of fingers, though.’

  ‘What about Butler?’

  ‘He’s dead. I watched a truck crush his car while he was still inside.’

  ‘How do you feel about that?’

  ‘Probably for the best.’

  Logan was surprised at the cold venom in her voice. Had never heard her sound that way before.

  ‘He was a bad guy,’ she said, as if feeling the need to explain her reaction.

  ‘I’ve seen my fair share. You don’t need to apologise for saying that.’

  ‘I know. It’s just …’

  Neither of them knew what else to say.

  3

  Twenty-four hours later Logan embraced Ellie in the airport arrivals area until she started to squirm. He released her and hugged Sam Cahill briefly.

  ‘Everything okay?’ Sam asked, squinting at Logan. ‘I mean, you look a little pale.’

  ‘I’m fine. Jet lag.’

  She didn’t look convinced. ‘And Alex?’

  ‘Said he’d be back in a couple of days.’

  ‘I know that, Logan. I meant, how is he?’

  ‘He’s, you know. He’s just Alex.’

  Sam did some more squinting before turning and leading them towards the escalator up to the car park. Logan put an arm around Ellie and squeezed.

  ‘How was your holiday?’ he asked.

  ‘It was good.’

  She sounded less than enthusiastic.

  He stopped and turned her to face him.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  She blinked and he saw tears shining in her eyes. Sam Cahill watched from a distance.

  ‘Ellie?’ he said. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘It was fun, you know,’ she told him.

  ‘But?’

  ‘I didn’t know when you’d be back.’

  ‘You knew I was coming back though, right?’

  She looked uncertain.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere any time soon,’ he said.

  She smiled and hugged him as tight as she ever had. Sam Cahill smiled and turned her head away, bringing a hand up to her face. Logan hugged Ellie back.

  In the car Sam explained that they were having dinner at her house and she wouldn’t entertain any debate on the subject. Logan was hungry after the long flight and didn’t argue.

  It only occurred to Logan that the Cahill girls had not been with Sam at the airport and that someone must have been looking after them when he followed Sam into the living room of her house. Irvine stood up from the couch and beamed at him. He went forward and hugged her without hesitation. He pulled away from the embrace and looked at the ugly bruising still on her face.

  ‘Glad to be back?’ she asked.

  It was Logan’s turn to beam. ‘Like you wouldn’t believe.’

  She put her hands on his cheeks and kissed his mouth.

  ‘Get a room,’ Ellie said.

  4

  The house was a modest two-storey affair with a small front yard and a late model Toyota in the driveway. Cahill didn’t know Kansas City, but it looked like a good neighbourhood. He stood at the foot of the path leading to the front door and patted the rear pocket of his jeans, feeling the slim presence of the gift he had brought here.

  The doorbell chimed inside when he pressed the button by the side of the door. After a few seconds a woman not much younger than his own wife answered the door. She put a hand up to her face to shield her eyes from the glare of the low sun.

  She looked better than he had expected, though her face still bore the tell-tale signs of grief. Her hair was blond and cut short, shaped to her face. Her eyes were the palest blue he had ever seen.

  ‘Melanie,’ he said. ‘I’m Alex Cahill.’

  Her hand dropped to her side. Cahill had no real expectation of how she would react to his presence. Her expression was neutral but she stepped back and told him to come in.

  He waited on a couch in the living room while Melanie Stark made coffee in the nearby kitchen. She handed him a mug and sat in a chair by the window, watching him drink.

  He felt self-conscious because she did not have a drink so he took two quick sips and set the mug down on the floor at his feet.

  ‘You must have seen the news reports?’ he said.

  She nodded. ‘They didn’t mention Tim,’ she replied.

  ‘I know. But they will.’

  This time her face was more animated.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I spoke with the FBI chief in Denver. He’s going to make sure that Tim’s part in all of this is put front and centre.’

  ‘I’m not sure what you mean, Alex.’

  ‘I mean that he was a hero. He set in motion a chain reaction that broke an international drugs ring. He saved who knows how many lives.’

  She stood and looked out of the window.

  ‘You mean his death set that in motion?’

  ‘I suppose that’s right, yes. I’m sorry.’

  She sniffed with her back turned to him.

  ‘But that’s the job. We put ourselves in harm’s way every day. That’s what we signed up for. Tim knew it.’

  ‘Doesn’t make it any easier.’

  Cahill reached into his pocket and took out the wallet. He ran his hand over the smooth surface.

  Melanie Stark looked round at him, watching him turn the wallet over in his hands.

  ‘What’s that?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s why I came here.’

  Cahill got up and walked to her, placing the wallet in her hand. Her skin felt dry and rough. He saw up close that she had no make-up on and had probably given up on looking after herself since Tim’s death. He hoped what he had given her would speed the healing process. It was all he could do.

  She looked at the wallet, the skin between her eyes creasing into a frown.

  ‘Open it,’ he said.

  She put her fingers at the edge of the wallet and pulled it open.

  A hand fluttered to her mouth. Cahill wondered if she might faint, but she held it together.

  On one flap of the wallet, her husband’s photograph was set in an official FBI identification card behind a clear, plastic sleeve.

  On the other flap was the gold shield of a special agent.

  A single tear splashed on the plastic sleeve holding the photograph.

  ‘Tim …’ She crumpled. Fell into his arms and sobbed.

  Cahill held her up, feeling her tears soak his chest.

  Her sob turned into something more. All the raw emotion of the last week pouring out as the dam burst.

  And all the time she held the wallet tight, her fingers splayed against the image of her husband’s face.

  When the tide subsided, he heard her say something, but it was muffled as her face was still pressed into his chest.

  He asked her what it was.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  I did it for you, Tim, he thought. You were one of the best.