One of them whispered in Grady’s ear. For a moment, his pleasant expression, and his confidence, flickered. His gaze met Dewey’s and order was restored, but Dewey felt the crack in his control. Something had happened. Something Mr. I’m-in-control-of-my-universe hadn’t expected.
Dewey felt a measure of his own confidence return. Reminded him of that moment in Lord of the Rings, when the Dark Lord’s control of his minions faltered. The next question, how did he use it?
“Wait here,” Grady said. “Help yourself to a drink if you’d like. Or Al here can get you another beer from the kitchen?”
“I’m fine,” Dewey said, eyeing Al, who was at least twice his width and half again taller. No surprise that Grady had trust issues. He loosened his jacket and shoved his hands in his pockets.
Grady started toward the stairs, then stopped and looked at him. “Actually, why don’t you join me? If you’re with me, you’re with me. Right?”
“Right.” Dewey wasn’t excited about going with him, but then, staying with Al wasn’t that appealing either. The walk upstairs was short. They turned left, heading for a room at the end of a short hall. Its door stood open. Over Grady’s shoulder, Dewey saw another goon kneeling on the floor by someone, his hands bloody from trying to hold a pad over his wound. Blood was splattered on the wall and pooling on the floor. The guy’s eyes were open—barely—the lids drooped and his gaze was dull and angry. On the bed, another goon, this one wearing nothing but long johns, lay holding an ice pack to his temple, a murderous rage in his slightly crossed eyes.
Grady stopped between the wounded guy’s out flung feet. “Leslie.” He sighed. “How bad is it?”
Dewey had heard the name. Must be Leslie Merryweather. Bryn said he’d killed a woman. This was not good, but at least it wasn’t the girl, Prudence Knight.
“He’ll live,” the goon said.
“That’s too bad,” Grady said. Time slowed as Grady pulled the gun from his waistband and pointed it at the fallen man. The edges of Leslie’s mouth curved in a grotesque mimicry of a smile.
“Did I ever…matter…to…you?” he asked hoarsely.
It would have been easy for Grady to say yes, Dewey thought. He was going to kill him. Dewey knew it. On some level, he felt like he should do something about it, but a sort of weird thrall held him motionless as events played out. He saw Grady smile back and knew he wasn’t going to do it.
“No,” he said. “You never mattered to me.”
“Guess…you win…this…round…”
“I won them all, Leslie.” His finger tightened on the trigger. “You just didn’t notice.”
* * * *
It felt like they were trying to sneak up on Grand Central station, Bryn thought, when the second chopper came in. They’d heard the first one arrive as they were approaching the rise, but hadn’t been able to see it until it left again.
Bryn had opted not to partner with one of the Kirby brothers. It was easier to be with someone who didn’t know her too well right now. Too many feelings churning in her insides to work under the knowing scrutiny of a Kirby. She needn’t have worried. By the time she finished fighting her way to their present position, she was numb with fatigue and cold. She hadn’t gotten this close to nature since she left the farm. Didn’t help that her pride wouldn’t allow her to let Joe, her partner, outpace her. She needed to work on her competitive instinct. It was going to be the death of her. Despite her good intentions, she’d felt petty satisfaction when she noted that Joe sounded just as winded when they dropped into a crouch behind a boulder on the hillside above the cabin.
It was a peaceful scene that met their gaze. The cabin was postcard perfect as it nestled against the snow-covered, evergreen tree-dotted hillside. The clearing in front of it was a bit big for perfect symmetry, but it was a small nitpick in a scene that was mostly charming. The cabin even had puffy white smoke drifting out the chimney. A few lights showed in the windows. She almost expected Santa and his sleigh to appear over the top of the mountain and land on the roof.
She’d pulled out the GPS, but Dewey still hadn’t turned on his transponder. It had been too long since his meeting. Did the delay mean he hadn’t seen Prudence Knight yet or that he wasn’t able to turn it on? It was hard to feel optimistic. It wasn’t in her nature to see the good side, to believe in a happy outcome for herself. Happy endings were for other people. It was the law of universe. By allowing Dewey into her life, she’d cursed him. If he died in there, it would be her fault.
Joe tugged on her arm then indicated a point a few yards away. He leaned close to whisper, “Kincaid was right. There is a faint heat signature down there. Can you see it?”
Bryn took the binoculars he handed her and studied the hill side. “I see it. You ready?” He nodded. “Right, let’s roll.”
Joe went first. It was his area of expertise. Bryn rose wearily and followed on his six. She wished she knew how the other teams were faring. They’d decided on radio silence, at least until it wasn’t necessary. Donovan had warned them Grady had scanning equipment. They couldn’t afford to risk early detection with such a small group. It felt like she and Joe were alone in the wilderness until the second chopper arrived. They’d dug into the hillside as it swept over the top of them. It turned, a searchlight beaming from the base to light up its landing zone. It seemed to hover for a long time, then unhurriedly dropped into the clearing.
Snow curled up around the spinning blades as two figures jumped out. Their bodies bent, they ran toward the cabin. Bryn had had her glasses on them from the moment the chopper touched down. The first face wasn’t familiar. The second was.
Dewey.
She was, she thought, going to kill him for making her worry like this.
* * * *
“Okay, here’s our bad boy,” Donovan said, his lips against Luke’s ear. “Follow my lead.” The sound of the chopper in the clearing was giving them some good sound cover, and they took advantage of it.
Luke had no problem with the procedure. He was a cop, not a soldier. Donovan’s attitude troubled him a bit though. At first Luke thought he had a hero complex, but he was beginning to think it was more like a guilt complex. Donovan was an unstable wild card in a situation that was already dicey.
He also wasn’t law enforcement, which meant that, for all his training, he wasn’t bound by the same rules they were. It had surprised him that Bryn permitted him join their expedition, even as he realized she probably couldn’t have stopped him with a bullet.
They slithered through the snow toward the bunker on their stomachs. It was an odd set-up. Luke couldn’t figure out if Grady didn’t trust technology or he needed busy work for his men. From what he could tell, they were a combination of a pill box and a hunter’s blind. Dug into the side of the mountain, they must have cave access of some kind inside, since there were no footprints or trails anywhere outside. The top was a circular piece of cement or something like it, with what appeared to be netting thrown over the top, then camouflage added to hide the location. It had to be damn cold in there, though they must have some kind of heat source, since the bunker gave off a slight heat signature, which was how Donovan had located it and not x-ray vision, though Luke didn’t call him on it.
The construction provided the guard inside with a three hundred and sixty degree sight line—in theory. But with all the angles of the mountainside, the camouflage and snow cut down that advantage. Donovan had a canister of knock-out gas with him. Luke didn’t ask him where he got it. He didn’t want to know. How could they deliver it before the guard could sound the alarm?
“I’m going to try to cut through the netting,” Donovan hissed in his ear. He started to move away, then Luke caught sight of what looked like the barest wisp of smoke from the center of the bunker top.
“Wait. Look.” He pointed to the smoke. “Ventilation, maybe?”
Donovan smiled. “When I give you the signal, pull the pin and drop it in. Don’t forget your mask.”
Luk
e took the canister, pulled down his mask and climbed as quietly as he could onto the bunker top. Behind him the chopper was rising again. He dropped down, pressing into the bunker roof, as it swept his way, the search light on its base still on, but just before it reached him, it went dark again. Luke used the racket to reach the ventilation pipe. He popped the top. A faint glow from the light deep inside was no competition for the moon. A puff of warm air fogged his mask briefly and he heard the muted sound of a radio.
He looked at Donovan, got a thumbs up. He pulled the pin and dropped it down the hole. It hissed like a pissed off snake. The guard coughed, staggered around a bit, and then fell with a crash. Donovan disappeared from sight. Soon Luke saw him wave up at him, then signal him to move on. It seemed the idea of staying with your partner was alien to him. And he couldn’t call him on it without breaking radio silence.
* * * *
The shot was loud in the tiny room. Leslie’s body flinched, then even the dull light in his eyes faded to nothing. Shock held Dewey immobile. It wasn’t the first time he’d been in the presence of violent death, but it wasn’t something he planned—or even wanted—to get used to. If you devalued life, even scummy life, then you became one of them.
Grady holstered the pistol and looked at his men. “Do we know where she is? How long she’s been gone?”
“Not long,” the kneeling goon said, rising to his feet. When he was upright, he towered over Dewey and Grady. “He’s only been here maybe ten or fifteen minutes.”
Jeez, Dewey thought in a distant way, didn’t goons ever come in small, or even medium? Was this where they’d kept Prudence Knight? It appeared she’d managed to have affected her own escape, if she was the “she” they were referring to. And he had no way to let Bryn know. And wasn’t even sure he knew something.
Should he trigger the transponder? The deal was, he set it off when he found her, or was sure he wouldn’t find her. They hadn’t planned on an option number three, the I-don’t-have-a-clue option. He needed space, a little time to think. “Mind if I get myself a beer?” Again. He hadn’t drunk the last one. Trying to keep a clear head, but it wasn’t easy.
Grady looked at him. Dewey just stared back. His face gave nothing away. He knew because this was how his face felt when it gave nothing away. He hoped.
“You still with me?” Grady asked, his eyes a laser cutting through the layers of disguise Dewey had put on.
It took everything he had not to look at the body. How would Grady expect him to act? He hadn’t planned this part of the disguise. He needed his pathphinder, but she wasn’t here. All he could do was wing it.
He shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
It must have been the right answer. Or Grady was too smart to show disbelief. Why should Grady worry anyway? Al was downstairs. And who knew how many more like him were scattered about the area?
“I’ll be down in a minute. Get me a cold one, too. I’m thirsty,” Grady said.
Dewey turned and left, finding the air outside the room better than inside the room. Blood did smell. So did fear and…he fumbled for the right word, but all he could come up with was malicious intent. The room had reeked with it.
Al looked up at him as he came down the stairs.
“A beer?”
He nodded toward a door, but to Dewey’s relief, he didn’t follow him through it. He got the beer, then leaned against the counter with a sigh of relief. He popped the top and drank just enough to get the taste of that room out of his mouth. Then, despite the cold in his bones, he held the cold can to his head. It helped some, as much as anything could when you’d just witnessed an execution.
He couldn’t say when he realized he was being watched. It came over him like fog in a swamp. Creeping up on him from the ground. The feeling full-blown when he finally noticed it. He tried not to stiffen but wasn’t sure if he succeeded. He lifted the can again, using it to block his face as he glanced right, then left. The only place someone could be hiding was in the shadows of the open pantry. He tried to quiet his thoughts, sort through the vibes, but his thoughts were too chaotic to pick up on them. He took a step in that direction and the barrel of a rifle popped out of the shadows, pointed directly at his chest.
He hesitated, then said softly, “Miss Knight?”
There was a small gasp in the darkness.
“I’m a friend. Dewey Hyatt.”
The barrel wavered, then lowered slightly. “From Wal-Mart?”
“Yes—Amelia?”
“Did you win your game?” Amelia asked, her voice spooky sounding.
He’d have to thank Bryn and Luke for not mentioning that Amelia and Prudence Knight were the same person.
* * * *
The single shot from inside the cabin sent Bryn’s adrenalin surging.
“Break radio silence?” Joe asked.
“Hell, yes.” She sounded calm, in control, but inside her stomach was churning. She should never have let Dewey do this. He wasn’t trained for this kind of infiltration. Okay, so he was good at pretending to be someone else, but this wasn’t his usual operation. He didn’t have Phoebe in the trenches with him this time and they were too far away to be much help if the situation in the cabin had gone south.
Dewey, she mentally reached out to him. I’m here. Hang on. Don’t get killed now. I need you, damn you.
This was surrender indeed. Last night she’d let herself want him, but need? She’d thought need was weakness, but she didn’t feel weak at all from needing him. Vulnerable, yes, but weak? If he was in danger, she’d leap mountains to get to him. Or kick any butts she had to. And if he was already dead? The thought was a kick in the teeth. And filled her with cold resolve. She rarely colored outside the Bureau lines, but if Dewey was dead, someone would pay for it tonight, not years from now.
“Let’s get in there,” she said. She didn’t remember pulling her piece, but it was in her hand.
“Wait.” Joe grabbed her arm, pulling her back to the ground. “Look.”
The back door of the cabin opened and two figures in camouflage emerged. They talked for a minute, then, their weapons ready, started walking in the direction of the road.
“What do you want to do?” Joe asked.
“Let them go. We can’t get to them without being seen. If they raise the alarm—”
But they didn’t have to. Someone inside the cabin was raising it for them.
TWENTY
It was like a pot suddenly coming to a boil. One minute the scene was quiet, almost serene under the scant crescent moon, the next it was alive with moving figures and lights as about twenty men poured out of the cabin and fanned out in a search pattern.
Bryn and Joe looked at each other.
“Definitely time to break radio silence.” Her team agreed with that assessment.
“What happened?” Matt said in her ear.
“Who knows,” Luke said. “Any idea how many we’re up against?”
“I can see about twenty men,” Jake said.
“Donovan?” Luke asked. “Where are you?”
There was no answer.
Bryn felt her heart jump. “Where is he?”
“He went into one of those bunkers and I haven’t seen him since,” Luke said.
“Without backup?” Bryn swore silently. “What do you think? Can you go after him?”
“Sure. I’ve always wanted to backup Rambo.” Luke’s voice was dry, but resigned. “If you lose contact with me, you’ll know it’s the bunker and not us.”
“Somebody’s kicked the ant hill up good. Call in your backup, Bryn,” Matt said. “And let’s get our butts in gear.”
“Right.” She sent the signal to the additional men she had standing by. They’d moved into their previous staging area when she and her team had moved out. She realized she couldn’t see the two men who’d been walking down the road. “Did you take out the two guys walking toward the road?” Bryn asked.
“Didn’t see two guys,” Matt said, “but got about six he
ading our way.”
“Take ’em,” Bryn said. “Joe and I are going to check out the cabin.
She slipped and slid down the hill ahead of him. At the door, she paused so Joe could open it, then went in, low and fast. A kitchen. Someone had conveniently left the light on. She did a sweep, then signaled for Joe to come in. As she was heading for the next door, she stepped on something and looked down.
It was Dewey’s glasses.
* * * *
Grady ran down the echoing halls of the underground bunker. He’d emptied it of men to join in the search for Phagan and Prudence as soon as he found Al, dressed only in his long johns, holding his head in the kitchen. He wasn’t sure they were together, but it was an interesting coincidence that they were both missing. Or that Phagan would take off after so much effort to arrange the meet. It seemed his instincts about him were right, just a bit slow to get going. And now that he thought about it, he remembered what it was that Phagan had said that started his instincts in high gear. Something about a criminal enterprise. Dewey Hyatt had said that when Grady had called his number. Did the Feds know, he wondered, that Dewey and Phagan were the same person? That little tidbit hadn’t been in any of the news reports, but it wouldn’t be if they were planning to use him undercover.
His instincts—like those of a deer scenting danger—were telling him it was time to cut his losses and move on. He took a sharp right into his communications center and sat down. Right off he noticed some of his monitors were down. Had his security been breached? He pressed a switch.
“Bunker one, come in. Bunker one, come in.” No answer, and it was the monitor to that hallway that was down. He brought up an outside camera. Cameras and motion detectors weren’t his primary security system. He knew, thanks to Phagan, how easy electronic surveillance was to breech. It was useful in moments like this however.
Right now he was glad of it. The grainy picture showed his men kneeling in rows. A quick count only turned up five figures covering them, but he’d bet his ass there were more out there.
The Lonesome Lawmen Trilogy Page 85