by Karen Rose
‘Soft, baby. But not too soft. You couldn’t have survived all this time otherwise. You would have pulled the trigger on that bastard Bracken and you would have beaten the child abusers. You wouldn’t be Detective Bishop. You might have cracked, but you didn’t break.’ He hugged her to him and gave her a little shake. ‘And if you’d talked to someone – like your father – then all this anger wouldn’t be building up to the level where you’re doubting yourself.’
‘I didn’t want you to see the anger,’ she confessed. ‘I didn’t want you to know how close to the edge I was.’
‘So you kept your distance. All this time.’ He sighed heavily. ‘Dammit, girl. So what are you going to do about it?’
‘Stick with Marcus. He said he can’t see the anger I’m so afraid of. I think it’s because I’m not angry when I’m with him.’
Understanding flickered in his eyes. ‘He’s your valve.’
‘Like Mom is yours.’
‘Well then. Bring him to dinner on Sunday. Your brothers will want to meet him. We’ll all have a little chat.’
She laughed. ‘Don’t worry. He got the talk from Tommy this afternoon.’
‘Tommy? You mean Shoeshine Tommy?’
‘The very same. I keep track of him and some of the others. He’s spending time at the Meadow these days. He witnessed one of the perpetrators in my case fleeing the scene yesterday. His and Edna’s testimony will ensure that a little prick named Drake Connor gets charged with murder here in Ohio on top of the murders he’s done in Michigan. He shot that girl in the alley and tried to kill Marcus too.’
‘I didn’t know you were keeping track of Tommy too.’
‘Too?’
‘Sure.’ He shrugged. ‘I still need my shoes shined and sometimes I don’t have time to do it myself.’
Scarlett knew better. Her father had never gone to Tommy for the actual shoeshine. ‘But he doesn’t have his stand anymore.’
‘He still has his shine kit. I seek him out when I have a free minute or two. Not as frequently as I’d like. But he never mentions seeing you.’
‘Because I threatened him if he told anyone. He wasn’t supposed to tell Marcus.’ She scowled. ‘I take care of him and the others and they make sure I get informed when they see trouble. Just like you used to all those times we’d go see Tommy for a shoeshine. I was telling Marcus today how you used to take me with you.’
‘You looked so cute in your pink tutu,’ he said, a smile in his voice. ‘You had to have your ice cream too. Black Raspberry Chocolate Chip from Graeter’s. Always.’
‘Always.’ Scarlett’s throat thickened again, her chest so tight that it hurt. But it was a good hurt. ‘I didn’t understand why you went to Tommy for a shoeshine back then, but I do now. I didn’t need the Academy, Dad. I learned how to be a cop by watching you.’
His chest expanded on a sudden deep breath that he shuddered out, followed by another harsh exhale. ‘Thank you, baby.’
‘It’s the truth. That’s why it hurt so much when I heard what you said. I wanted to be like you.’
He cleared his throat roughly. ‘You know I love you, right?’
‘Yeah.’ She leaned her head on his shoulder. ‘You know I love you back, right?’
He hugged her to him, hard. ‘Yeah. So are we okay? There are no other misunderstandings we have to deal with?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said cheekily. ‘I’ll think about it and get back to you.’
He was laughing softly when her cell phone began to buzz with incoming texts. Instantly focused, she read each one, smiling with satisfaction. ‘CSU decrypted Drake Connor’s flash drive and found all kinds of interesting stuff – including pictures.’ She clicked on the first one. ‘This is the unidentified man in that graduation photo, except in this photo he’s shaking hands with Chip Anders.’ She glanced up at her father. ‘Anders is the asshole who bought Tala and her family.’
Fury sparked in his eyes. ‘Explosives where the sun don’t shine.’
‘You got that right. The photo is tagged – the man’s name is Kenneth Sweeney.’ She tilted her phone so that her father could see. ‘This next one is Anders and Demetrius Russell. Anders is taking delivery of the Bautistas. That’s Anders’s living room. I was there yesterday. These are grainy photos, but the decor is recognizable.’
‘The photos were taken with a hidden camera,’ her father said. ‘Anders wanted assurance that he wasn’t going to be double-crossed. No honor among criminals.’
‘None,’ she agreed. ‘Drake stole them from Anders’s computer to blackmail him later. Now this one . . .’ She frowned at the photo for a moment, trying to figure it out. ‘That’s Chip Anders’s hand. See his ring? He’s signing a register at a reception desk. This was taken with a camera somewhere on his suit. Probably the pen in his pocket.’
‘And there’s your sniper, sitting at the receptionist desk.’
Indeed it was. Scarlett clicked to the last photo, another taken with a pen-cam. Yes. ‘Jackpot. It’s Kenneth Sweeney with Demetrius Russell and Alice Newman all together. Marcus didn’t have to remember her voice,’ Scarlett said, relieved. She’d put too much pressure on him asking him to make the ID.
‘I have to say I was impressed with your reporter,’ her father said. ‘He could have made a positive ID, giving you the arrest and himself a story. But he didn’t.’
‘No, he didn’t. It wouldn’t have been the right thing to do. I think you’ll like him once you get to know him, Dad.’
‘I’m looking forward to it, Scarlett Anne.’
Thirty-four
Cincinnati, Ohio
Wednesday 5 August, 7.15 P.M.
Ken drove around the block three times before choosing a parking place behind the Ledger building. There was a back door and a loading dock, although the dock didn’t look like it had been used in decades. He didn’t have much time to draw O’Bannion out. He needed to be on the road to Toronto by daybreak, ten A.M. at the latest.
He was not going to miss his flight tomorrow night. Beaches, palm trees, half-naked women – and freedom – awaited.
He felt the buzz of adrenaline race across his skin as he got his gear ready to go. He had two assault rifles and three handguns and enough ammunition to take out at least a hundred people. Luckily there wouldn’t be nearly that many at the main Ledger building. More than half of the eighty-five Ledger employees worked at the printing facility on the west side of the city. Most of the staff in the main building would have gone home, but because Ken had done his homework, he knew that at least four of O’Bannion’s team were still here. He’d seen their cars parked on the street – Gayle Ennis, the office manager; Cal Booker, the general manager of operations; Stone O’Bannion, reporter and Marcus’s brother; and Elvis ‘Diesel’ Kennedy, chief IT wizard and all-around pain in the ass.
Of all the employees, Stone and Diesel were his prime kill targets. Stone had written the McCord story and someone had hacked into McCord’s computer to find evidence of his kiddie collection. That the hacker was the IT wizard was a logical conclusion. He’d shoot Cal Booker if he had to, but the guy was in his sixties and overdue for retirement, so killing him seemed overly cruel. He would take Gayle Ennis with him. He’d seen the way Marcus had behaved around her at Mikhail’s funeral.
Marcus would come for Gayle.
Everyone else in the building was fair game if they got in the way of his bullet stream.
Ken had donned body armor from his neck to his balls. He looped the two rifles over his chest, Rambo style, then shoved the handguns into holsters at his waist and ankle. Then he pulled his oversized coveralls up and pushed his arms through the sleeves. The coveralls would hide the guns until he got inside, then he would lower the zipper and go to town.
He hadn’t done anything like this in twenty-five years. Not since his and Demetrius’s prime income came from the drugs they transported up I-75 from Florida. Those were the days. Joel had still done their books, but Ken and Demetrius had made t
he rules. And had broken them whenever the hell they wanted.
Shit. When did we get old? Except there was no ‘we’ anymore. Demetrius was gone. Dumb bastard. You had to go and make me kill you.
He pulled on a ski mask, then bunched it up so that it was perched on the top of his head and topped it with a ball cap. He zipped up the coveralls, pulled the cap’s bill down to cover his face.
Showtime. He got out of his car feeling a giddy nervousness. Like he was going on his first date. He should have done this all along instead of depending on other people to do it for him. The day he stopped getting his hands dirty was the day he’d started becoming soft. Old.
He circled the building and came in through the front. He’d work his way to the back.
He drew a breath as he pushed open the front door, pulled the mask down over his face and the coverall zipper down his chest. He had the rifle cradled in one arm and a handgun in the other hand when the woman at the front desk looked up and Ken smiled.
Excellent. He’d already found Gayle Ennis. He’d grab her and run.
‘I’m sorry, we’re closed for deliv—’ She had a moment of stunned shock, then she started to scream. In seconds he was behind her, his arm slung around her front, the handgun shoved up under her chin.
A burly security guard who’d been standing in the corner rushed forward. He hit the ground running. Literally. His feet were still propelling him forward when Ken’s bullets ripped his head open. The guard dropped like a rock. As did the second guard, who rushed Ken from the offices at the rear of the lobby.
Gayle screamed long and loud, warning her fellow office mates.
‘Go ahead and scream, Miss Ennis,’ Ken murmured in her ear. ‘I want them to come. I’m ready for them.’
She clamped her lips shut, trembling so hard he thought she’d faint. He dragged her away from her desk and checked the main office that had ‘M. O’Bannion’ on the name plate. It was empty. ‘Where is he?’ Ken asked.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Doesn’t matter. He’ll come for you.’ He found the woman’s cell phone in her pocket and quickly dropped it into one of his own pockets, just as the first employee ran into the room and went down in a burst of bullets from Ken’s gun.
Gayle screamed and Ken approved. ‘Very nice,’ he murmured in her ear. ‘That’s how this is going to go down. I shoot, you scream. Your friends come to save you and I shoot some more. Got it?’
He dragged her from the lobby through a door into the newsroom, where a group of cubicles sat in the middle of the room. A third guard fired, then retreated behind a bay of cubicles as the bullet whizzed past Ken’s ear. That was too close.
‘I’ll kill Gayle,’ Ken called to the guard, pulling her a little closer, completely unashamed to be using a woman as his shield. Whatever works. ‘Show your face.’
Ken saw a shadow on the newsroom wall, and he aimed for its source. Ken saw the guard’s uniform sleeve emerge seconds before the man’s full body came into view. Another burst of bullets sent the third guard sliding to the floor.
A door to the left had ‘S. O’Bannion’ on the name plate. Stone.
Ken pushed the door open, but once again found the office empty. Sonofabitch. ‘Where are they, Gayle?’ he asked quietly, but she clamped her lips together and refused to answer.
He dragged her through the cubicles, most of which were empty. The last one had a middle-aged woman huddled under the desk, trying to hide. Ken fired another burst of bullets and Gayle began to sob.
‘Stop,’ she moaned. ‘What do you want? We’ll give you what you want.’
‘Yes, you will.’ Because what he wanted most was Marcus O’Bannion. ‘I want Stone and Diesel. Where are they?’
‘I’m here.’ Stone O’Bannion came through a doorway, his hands out. ‘Let her go. You want me, take me.’
‘Drop your weapons on the floor and kick them over here and then we’ll talk.’ Ken waited as Stone took a handgun from his pants pocket and another from an ankle holster and kicked them away.
‘Let her go,’ Stone demanded. ‘Take me instead.’
‘I don’t want to take you. I want to kill you.’ Ken fired another burst, most of the bullets hitting Stone’s broad chest. Stone was thrown back, rolling to his side in agony so that the next burst hit his left leg.
Gayle whimpered. ‘Stone. Nooo. Please no.’
‘Where’s Diesel?’ Ken demanded.
‘I don’t know,’ Gayle gasped. ‘Not here. He left hours ago.’
‘I don’t believe you. His car is outside.’
‘He leaves his car here. No parking on the street where he lives.’ Gayle grabbed his wrist and pulled it down, trying to get away from the gun under her chin. Ken just shoved the barrel into her chin harder.
He’d started to drag her toward the back door when he heard the cocking of a rifle. To his right was Cal Booker, holding a shotgun in his hands.
Cal lifted the shotgun to his shoulder. ‘Let her g—’
Cursing, Ken shot another spray of bullets into Cal’s chest. The older man staggered and fell to the floor and Ken resumed dragging the now-hysterical Gayle out the back door. Opening the door set off an alarm, ironically enough. ‘Watch your step, ma’am,’ he said as he dragged her down the back stairs to his vehicle. He shoved her through the front passenger door and told her to kneel on the floorboard with her head on the seat. Then he set the child locks so she couldn’t escape and cuffed her hands behind her back. He tossed an old blanket over her trembling form and drove away.
Not the best op he’d ever done, but he had been out of practice.
As soon as he got his new guest settled in the basement cage, he’d call Marcus. That was a call he was totally looking forward to.
Cincinnati, Ohio
Wednesday 5 August, 7.20 P.M.
Marcus really wanted to get out of the interview room, but Agent Coppola had asked him to stay. He guessed it was because his presence seemed to be keeping Alice Newman on edge and that was what Coppola wanted. The redheaded agent was waiting for something. From the way she kept checking her phone, she wanted Alice to know that.
He hoped Coppola would get whatever she was waiting for soon, because he wanted to get back to Scarlett, who he knew was waiting for him behind the glass. He couldn’t see her there, but he knew.
He hadn’t even looked at the mirror, actually. There was no way he was taking his eyes off the viper in the chair next to him. Alice was facing dead forward, one hand cuffed to her chair, but her uncuffed hand was curled into a claw and he had not a single doubt that she’d take off a layer of skin or even go for his eyes if she had the chance.
He wasn’t going to let her touch him. His skin and eyes belonged to Scarlett.
The thought made him smile despite the seriousness of the situation.
‘You think this is funny?’ Alice murmured, not looking at him directly. She was staring at his reflection in the mirror.
He sobered abruptly as his blood ran cold for the umpteenth time since he’d walked in the room. ‘No, Alice. I don’t think this is funny at all. I think it’s terrifying that someone as reprehensibly evil as you is walking around among decent people. I think it’s terrifying that evil can wear such a pretty face. I think you’ll go on deceiving people until you draw your last breath. But you’ll have your work cut out for you, because I’m going to make sure people know who you are. Who he is.’ Marcus pointed at the photo of Alice with the older man. ‘I’m going to make sure that anyone with a TV, a radio, a newspaper or a computer knows exactly how inhuman you are.’
Alice raised her brows. ‘Should I start humming “Glory Hallelujah”?’
‘I wish you wouldn’t,’ he said mildly. ‘Your voice is like a rusty gate.’
‘Oh pardon me, please.’ She shot him a smiling look that instantaneously changed her from evil and rotten to the happy, caring young woman who’d visited him in the hospital. She was taunting him, showing him that she could wear her sweet face
anytime she wanted to. ‘I didn’t mean to offend. You singers have such sensitive ears.’
Marcus went still. He’d never told her about his music when she’d visited him in the hospital. He’d been too raw when Mikhail died to think about singing, and he couldn’t imagine where else she might have heard him sing. His first thought was that she had been stalking him even in the park, and that was entirely possible. Except that she probably would have gone after Tala earlier had she seen her. Especially if she was the woman who, along with Demetrius, had brought the Bautistas to Chip Anders.
Since Alice hadn’t eliminated Tala in the park, it was more likely that she had heard him singing through the girl’s ankle tracker. It was another link in the chain connecting her to Demetrius. He owed it to Tala to make that chain as thick and as strong as he could.
Behind him, Agent Coppola’s phone buzzed. ‘Yes,’ she hissed.
She’d finally received what she’d been waiting for. Thank God. Marcus rocked back in the chair he straddled, still not taking his eyes off Alice. ‘You want her to hum “Glory Hallelujah”, Agent Coppola?’
Coppola’s chuckle was delightfully happy and confident. ‘No, Mr O’Bannion. But she can start practicing the theme song from Dead Man Walking.’ She walked around to Alice’s cuffed side and put her phone on the table. ‘Your customer kept records.’ She flicked through a series of photos showing Chip Anders with the man in the graduation photo, then with Demetrius. ‘Do you remember this day, Alice?’ She flicked to the third photo, in which Alice sat at a desk. ‘Chip Anders came to visit you.’
Alice’s ‘pretty face’ had slid away, leaving her hard and grim.
Coppola flicked to the fourth photo. ‘And here you are with Demetrius Russell and Kenneth Sweeney.’ A flicker in Alice’s eyes was the only reaction she had to Coppola revealing the man’s name.
‘Are you sure you don’t want to start talking to me?’ Coppola asked soberly. ‘Attempted murder for hire would have gotten you a lengthy sentence on its own. Now I can connect you to a conspiracy to traffic human beings. And successful murder – that of Agent Spangler. You seem like a sharp woman, law degree and all. Think carefully about this.’