The Will Trent Series 5-Book Bundle

by Karin Slaughter

The glass door opened when they reached the concrete steps to the entrance. Amanda shielded her eyes from the sun, staring up at an angry-looking Asian man. He was huge, his body seemingly comprising equal parts fat and muscle. The guy stood wordlessly, holding open the front door as he watched them make their way up the steps. Will followed Amanda inside. His eyes took their time adjusting in the tiny, airless front office. The fake paneling on the wall had buckled from humidity. The carpet was brown in ways that would repulse a more fastidious man. The whole place smelled of sawdust and oil. Will could hear machines running in the warehouse: finish nailers, compressors, lathes. Guns N’ Roses played on the radio.

  Amanda told the man, “Mrs. Ling should be expecting me.” She smiled at the camera mounted above the doorway.

  The man didn’t move. Amanda dug into her purse like she was looking for her lipstick. Will didn’t know if she was reaching for her gun or if she just needed lipstick. His answer came when the door was opened by a tall, lithe woman with a grin on her face.

  “Mandy Wagner, it’s been ages.” The woman seemed almost pleased. She was Asian, roughly Amanda’s age with short salt-and-pepper hair. She was as thin as a teenager. Her sleeveless shirt showed well-toned arms. She spoke in a distinctive, slow southern drawl. There was something catlike in the languid way she moved, or maybe the smell of pot clinging to her body had something to do with that. She was wearing moccasins with beads on the top, the sort of souvenir you’d find at a tourist trap outside an Indian reservation.

  “Julia.” Amanda gave a convincing smile. “It’s so good to see you.” They hugged, and Will saw the woman’s hand linger at Amanda’s waist.

  “This is Will Trent, my associate.” She put her hand over Julia’s as she turned to Will. “I hope you don’t mind his tagging along. He’s in training.”

  “How fortunate to learn from the best,” Julia cooed. “Tell him to leave his gun on the counter. You too, Mandy. You still using that old Crown Royal bag?”

  “Keeps the lint out of the firing pin.” The gun made a thud as she dropped the bag on the counter. The dour man checked the contents, then nodded at his boss. Will wasn’t as quickly compliant. Giving up his gun was not something he was comfortable with.

  “Will,” Amanda said. “Don’t embarrass me in front of my friends.”

  He unclipped the paddle holster from his belt and put his Glock on the counter.

  Julia Ling laughed as she waved them through the door. The warehouse was even bigger than it looked from the outside, but the operation was small, the sort of thing that would’ve fit into a two-car garage. There were at least a dozen men putting together cabinets. Will couldn’t tell whether they were Asian, Hispanic, or anything else, because their hats were pulled down and their faces were turned away. Whoever they were, they were obviously working. The smell of glue was pungent. Sawdust littered the floor. A gigantic Confederate flag served as a divider between the work area and the vacant-looking rear of the building. The stars were yellow instead of white.

  Julia led them through another door and they found themselves in a small but well-furnished back office. The carpet underfoot was plush. There were two couches with overstuffed pillows. A plump Chihuahua sat in a recliner by the window, its eyes closed to what little sun came through the panes. Heavy metal bars framed the view to the service alley behind the building.

  “Will has a Chihuahua,” Amanda said, because Will hadn’t been emasculated enough today. “What’s its name again?”

  Will felt barbed wire sticking in his throat. “Betty.”

  “Really?” Julia picked up the dog and sat on the couch with it. She patted the cushion beside her, and Amanda sat down. “This is Arnoldo. He’s a chunky little thing. Is yours long-haired or short?”

  Will didn’t know what else to do. He reached around to pull out his wallet, too late remembering Amanda’s revolver. It shifted dangerously, and he sat on the couch across from the women, opening his wallet to show Betty’s picture.

  Julia Ling made a tsk-ing sound with her tongue. “Isn’t she adorable?”

  “Thank you.” Will took back the picture and dropped his wallet into his coat pocket. “Yours is nice, too.”

  Julia had already tuned Will out. She ran her hand along Amanda’s leg. “What brings you here, buttercup?”

  Amanda did a good job of blocking out Will, too. “I trust you’ve heard about Evelyn?”

  “Yes,” Julia said, drawing out the word. “Poor Almeja. I hope they are kind to her.”

  Will fought to keep his mouth from dropping open. Evelyn Mitchell was Almeja.

  Amanda laid her hand over Julia’s. Instead of taking it off her knee, she left it there. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything on her whereabouts?”

  “Not a peep, but you know I’d come straight to you if I did.”

  “Obviously, we’re doing everything we can to make sure she’s returned home safely. I would pull some considerable strings to make this come out right.”

  “Yes,” Julia repeated. “She’s a grandmother now, right? Again, I mean. Such a fertile family.” She laughed as if there was a joke between them. “How is that dear, sweet child doing?”

  “This is a difficult time for everyone in the family.”

  “Yes.” It seemed this was her favorite word.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard about Hector.”

  “Bless his heart. I was thinking of trading down for a Cadillac.”

  “I thought business was going well?”

  “It’s not really the time to drive something so flashy.” She lowered her voice. “Carjackings.”

  “Awful.” Amanda shook her head.

  “These young boys are such a problem.” She tsked her tongue. Will thought he understood at least this part of the conversation. Julia Ling was referring to the young men who had broken into Evelyn’s house. “They see all the gangsters on TV and think it’s so easy. Scarface. The Godfather. Tony Soprano. You can see their little brains spinning. Before long, they get these notions into their heads and they pop off without considering the consequences.” She tsked her tongue again. “I just lost one of my workers through this kind of careless action.”

  She meant Benny Choo, the man in the Hawaiian shirt. Will had been right. Julia Ling had sent her strongarm in to clean up the mess Ricardo and his friends had made. And then Faith had killed him.

  Amanda must have known this, too, but she treaded carefully. “Your line of business isn’t without its risks. Mr. Choo understood this as well as anyone.”

  Julia Ling hesitated long enough to make Will worry for Faith, then finally let out a slow, “Yes. The cost of doing business. I think we’ll let Benny rest in peace.”

  Amanda appeared as relieved as Will felt. “I hear your brother’s coping with his new surroundings.”

  “Yes,” she said. “ ‘Coping’ is a good word for it. Roger’s never liked the heat. Savannah is practically tropical.”

  “You know, there’s a vacancy at the D&C. Perhaps I could see if they’ll take Roger? Might be nice to give him a change of scenery.”

  She pretended to think about it. “Still a little too warm.” She smiled. “How about Phillips?”

  “Well, that is a nice facility.” It was also where Ignatio Ortiz was serving his manslaughter rap. Amanda shook her head like she was very sorry to say that that particular holiday had already been booked by another family. “Doesn’t seem like the right fit.”

  “Baldwin is a better drive for me.”

  “Baldwin isn’t really suited to Roger’s temperament.” Most likely because the prison only handled minimum to medium security inmates. “Augusta? It’s close but not too close.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “With the sex offender release site?”

  “Good point.” Amanda seemed to think on it, though she must’ve already cleared the deal with the state attorney’s office. “You know, Arrendale has started taking in some maximum security prisoners. Only with good behavior, of course, but I
’m sure that Roger could swing that.”

  She gave a chuckle. “Oh, Mandy. You know Roger. He’s always getting into trouble.”

  Amanda’s offer was firm. “Still, I’d think about Arrendale. We could certainly make sure his transition was a pleasant one. Evelyn has a lot of friends who want nothing more than to see that she’s returned home safely. Roger might as well get something for himself in the process.”

  Julia stroked the dog. “I’ll see what he says the next time I go visit him.”

  “A phone call might be better.” Amanda added, “I’m sure he’ll want to hear about Benny from you rather than a stranger.”

  “God rest his soul.” She squeezed Amanda’s leg. “It’s horrible to lose people you care about.”

  “It is.”

  “I know that you and Evelyn were close.”

  “We still are.”

  “Why don’t you get rid of Tonto here and we can comfort each other?”

  Amanda’s laughter sounded genuinely delighted. She patted Julia’s knee, then stood up from the couch. “Oh, Jules. It’s been nice seeing you again. I wish we could do this more.”

  Will started to stand, but then remembered the revolver. He put his hands in his pockets to keep his pants tight enough to hold it in place. All he needed was to break up whatever game Amanda was playing by dropping a gun through the leg of his pants.

  Amanda said, “Let me know about Arrendale. It really is a lovely place. The windows are four inches wider in the close-security wing. Lots of sunshine and fresh air. I think Roger will love it.”

  “I’ll let you know his decision. I think we can all agree that uncertainty is bad for business.”

  “Tell Roger I am at his beck and call.”

  Will opened the door for Amanda. They walked back through the shop together. The crew had obviously taken a break. The machines were idle, the stations vacant. The radio had been turned down to a low hum. He mumbled to Amanda, “That was interesting.”

  “We’ll see if she does her part.” He could tell she was hopeful. The bounce was back in her walk. “I’d bet my left one Roger knows exactly what happened at Ev’s house yesterday. Julia probably told him herself. She would’ve never let us step foot in here if she wasn’t willing to deal. We’ll know something within the hour. Mark my word.”

  “Ms. Ling seems eager to please you.”

  She stopped and looked up at him. “Do you really think so? I can never tell if she’s just being affectionate or …” Amanda shrugged in lieu of finishing the sentence.

  He thought she was joking, then realized she wasn’t. “I guess. I mean—” He felt himself start to sweat. “You’ve never—”

  “Grow up, Will. I did go to college.”

  He could still hear her chuckling as they walked toward the front office. Will guessed that he was doomed to have this woman play him like a banjo for the rest of his life. She was almost as bad as Angie.

  He was reaching for the doorknob when he heard the first pop, almost like a champagne bottle being uncorked. Then he felt his ear sting, saw the door splinter in front of him, and knew that it was a bullet. And another. And another.

  Amanda was faster than Will. She had pulled the gun from the back of his pants, swung around, and fired off two shots, before he hit the floor.

  The sound of a machine gun ripped the air. Bullets sprayed inches from his head. There was no telling where the threat was coming from. The back of the warehouse was dark. It could be Ling-Ling, the men who had been working on the cabinets, or both.

  “Go!” Amanda yelled. Will shouldered open the door to the front office. Of course their guns were gone from the counter. The disapproving Asian who’d let them in was dead on the floor. Will felt something hard hit him in the back of the head. He was stunned for a few seconds before he realized that Amanda had thrown her purse at him.

  Will tucked the bag under his arm and slammed open the front door. The sudden, sharp sunlight blinded him so badly that he tripped down the concrete stairs. The old railing bent under his weight, softening what could’ve been a catastrophic fall. Quickly, he righted himself and headed straight across the parking lot toward the parked SUV. The contents of Amanda’s purse scattered behind him as he searched for the key fob. He thumbed the button and the trunk was open by the time he got to the back of the vehicle. Will pressed the numbers on the combination lock. The drawer rolled open.

  In Will’s experience, you were either a shotgun person or a rifle person. Faith preferred the shotgun, which was counterintuitive considering her diminutive stature and the fact that the kick from a shogun could tear your rotator cuff. Will liked the rifle. It was clean, precise, and extremely accurate, even at a hundred fifty feet—a good thing, considering this was the approximate distance between the SUV and the entrance to the building. The GBI provided agents with the Colt AR-15A2, which Will rolled up to his shoulder as the front door shattered open.

  Will put his eye to the scope. Amanda handled the sunlight better than he had. Without missing a beat, she bolted down the concrete stairs, firing backward, her shots missing the stocky-looking man who was chasing her. He had on dark sunglasses. A machine gun was in his hands. Instead of taking the easy shot at Amanda’s retreating back, he held up the gun in the air as he jumped down the flight of stairs. It was a cowboy move, which gave Will equal opportunity to pull one of his own. He pressed back on the trigger. The man jerked midair and dropped to the ground.

  Will lowered the rifle. He looked for Amanda. She was walking back toward the man on the ground. She held her gun down at her side. She must’ve been out of ammunition. Will pressed his eye to the scope again to give Amanda cover in case anyone else came out of the building. She kicked away the machine gun. He could see her mouth moving.

  Without warning, Amanda dove behind the concrete steps. Will took his eye away from the scope so he could locate the new threat. It was the man on the ground. Impossibly, he was still alive. He had Will’s Glock in his hand. It was pointed toward the SUV. He fired off three shots in rapid succession. Will knew the heavy-gauge steel cabinet would shield him, but he still ducked as metal pinged against metal.

  The shooting stopped. Will’s heart was pumping so hard that he could feel his pulse throbbing in his stomach. He chanced a look back at the building. The shooter must’ve been hiding behind the Mercedes, probably on the other side of the gas tank. Will lined up the rifle, hoping the guy would do something stupid like poke up his head. The Glock came up instead. Will shot, and the gun quickly receded.

  “Police!” Will yelled, because it had to be done. “Show me your hands!”

  The guy shot blindly toward the SUV, missing by several yards.

  Will mumbled some choice words. He looked at Amanda as if to ask what the plan was. She shook her head, not to tell him no, but in exasperation. If Will had made the first shot, they wouldn’t be having this conversation.

  He couldn’t think of a way to gesture to her that he had made the shot—not without getting fired—so he pointed to the magazine jutting out from his rifle to pose the question. Was she out of bullets? Her revolver held five rounds. Unless she’d gotten her speed loader out of her purse, there was not much she could do.

  Even from this distance, he saw her annoyed expression. Of course she had gotten her speed loader out of her purse. She had probably stopped to put on some lipstick and make some phone calls, too. He checked the Mercedes again, scanning the sights along the contour of the big sedan. When he looked back at Amanda, she had already spun open the S&W, dropped the empty shells on the ground, and reloaded. She waved her hand at him to get on with it.

  “Sir!” Will yelled. “I am giving you one more warning to surrender.”

  “Fuck you!” The man shot at Will again, hitting the side door panel of the SUV.

  Amanda did a crouched walk to the edge of the concrete stairs, then bent her head to the ground to try to see where the man was hiding. She sat back up. She didn’t look at Will. She didn’t paus
e to line up the shot. She simply rested her hand on the third step from the bottom and squeezed the trigger.

  Television had done a great disservice to bad guys. They didn’t show that bullets could go through Sheetrock walls and metal car doors. They also didn’t explain that a ricochet was nothing like a rubber ball. Bullets came out at a very high velocity, and they wanted to go forward. Shooting a bullet into the ground does not mean it will pop back up in the air. Shooting one into the ground underneath a car means it skips across the pavement, pierces the tire, and, if you are sitting the right way, lodges into your groin.

  Which is exactly what happened.

  “Jesus Christ!” the man screamed.

  Will ordered, “Show me your hands!”

  Two hands shot up. “I give! I give!”

  This time, Amanda kept her gun trained on the man as she walked over to the car. She kicked away the Glock, then jammed her knee into the man’s back, all the while keeping her eye on the office door.

  She was watching the wrong door. One of the cargo bays flew open. A black van screeched out, sailing through the air. Sparks flew as it skipped across the asphalt. Rubber burned. The wheels slid in place before they got purchase. Will saw two young men in the cab. They were wearing black warm-up jackets and matching black baseball caps. The van momentarily blocked his view of Amanda. Will raised the rifle, but he couldn’t shoot—not without risking the bullet cutting through the van and hitting Amanda. Two more quick pops sounded. Gunfire. The van screeched away.

  Will ran into the parking lot to line up a shot. He stopped. Amanda was on the ground.

  “Amanda?” He felt his chest tighten. His throat didn’t want to work. “Amanda? Are you—”

  “Dammit!” she screamed, rolling over so that she could sit up. Her face and chest were covered in blood. “Goddamn it.”

  Will dropped to one knee. He put his hand on her shoulder. “Are you shot?”

  “I’m fine, you idiot.” She slapped away his hand. “This one’s dead. They tapped him twice in the head while they were driving off.”

  Will could see as much. The man’s face was gone.