The Holdouts (Buddy Lock Thrillers Book 2)

by James Tucker

  Ward said to Brick, “In three miles, take a right on Burlingham. There’s an airfield a mile or two to the northeast.” Ward held up the phone he was using to track Ben’s watch. “They’re between us and the airfield.”

  Buddy worked to keep his breathing even. He was shaking with adrenaline, but he could only look out the windows. They were getting close to failure or success, and there was nothing in between. But at the speed Brick was driving, everything would happen in the next few minutes.

  Ward’s voice rose as he said, “Two miles to Burlingham, and they’re three miles from us.”

  Buddy tightened his right hand around the Glock. He kept his vision outside the car.

  He watched as a Suburban drove toward them in the oncoming lane. He strained to see the driver, the color, and year of the SUV. In the rapidly fading light, it was difficult to see it well. He opened his mouth to say, Hold on!

  But at the moment the Suburban passed them, he saw that it was at least ten years old, with a middle-aged woman behind the wheel. Letting out his breath, he leaned back in the seat and transferred his gaze to the right side of the car. He saw snow-covered fields and wires stretched between telephone poles that ran along the side of the road, seemingly to infinity. To the north lay a forest of evergreens, tall and dense and dark in the fading light.

  Two minutes later, they passed Burlingham.

  Ward stared at his phone and said, “They’re not moving.”

  Buddy’s stomach churned. He felt both the car rise as it climbed a steep hill and then a bump that briefly shook the Tesla. At the crest of the hill, he looked forward. He’d expected to see a broad vista on the right and only the forest on the left, but instead he saw the red taillights of a black Suburban on the shoulder of the west side of Highway 17. The right rear door was open. The left front door was open.

  The Tesla was doing close to ninety and would soon pass the Suburban.

  He put a hand on Brick’s shoulder.

  He shouted, “Slow down!”

  95

  As the Tesla slowed, Buddy glanced right at gray rolling fields. He saw no movement, no sign of Mei or Ben or anyone else.

  Brick swerved across the southbound lane and pulled slowly up behind the Suburban. Buddy waited until the car was nearly at a stop and opened the door.

  Barking. Frenzied barking. He heard it clearly as he stepped from the car. It took him a moment to figure it out. But then he crouched down, Glock drawn, and jogged toward the Suburban.

  Dogs in the back, he told himself.

  He checked the SUV’s interior, but it was empty. When he turned, he saw Ward and Brick behind him. Ward held his Beretta M9. Brick held the Tesla’s key fob.

  Buddy said to Brick, “You need a gun.”

  Brick shook his head, his sun-bleached hair swaying in the dusk. “No way, man. Not me.”

  Buddy looked at Ward and held out his hand.

  Ward reached into his jacket, pulled out a second M9, and set it on Buddy’s palm.

  Buddy offered the gun to Brick. “Take it.”

  Brick took a step back. “Hey, man. I’m a pacifist.”

  Buddy narrowed his eyes and stepped forward rapidly, shoving the gun at Ward’s driver. “Take the gun. You’re not in fucking Malibu.”

  Brick looked down at the Beretta as if it were poison. Reluctantly, he took the weapon. He said, “How do I use this?”

  “Point and shoot,” Ward told him.

  Buddy said, “Here’s the plan.” He pointed at Brick. “You go in straight. Ward goes left and I go right. Don’t shoot before you confirm it’s not one of us or Mei or Ben. Got it?”

  The other men nodded.

  They turned toward the densely growing evergreens that reached almost to the edge of the road. Buddy led, peeling off to the right, followed by Brick heading straight in, and by Ward, angling left.

  “Buddy!” Brick called in a hoarse whisper.

  Buddy stopped, looked left. “Yeah?”

  “We won’t be able to see shit.”

  “Use your head, Brick. Use your ears. And stay calm.”

  He didn’t wait for Brick’s response. Instead, he crouched down and in the last wisp of twilight walked into the dark evergreen forest.

  96

  Buddy could hear his breathing in the quiet of the wood. Few cars passed behind him on Highway 17. The night was still.

  Then Buddy heard Ben’s scream.

  An invisible hand grabbed his heart. Took hold. Squeezed until he began to sweat.

  He pushed forward, using his left forearm to bat away the low, brittle tree branches. The trees were so close together that in the darkness, his visibility was no more than twenty feet.

  Boom!

  The sound of a gunshot echoed through the woods. Terribly loud and final. Yet from which direction, Buddy couldn’t tell.

  Buddy felt the earth fall away from him. Ben! Mei!

  Now he heard Mei, her voice faint, maybe straight ahead, maybe to the right. He knew she had the same fear he had: Ben was dead.

  She called out: “Ben! Where are you? Ben!”

  If the boy made a response, Buddy didn’t hear it.

  If Ben was gone, he could try to save Mei. He had to save Mei.

  Resisting the urge to run headlong through the woods, he crouched into combat position and proceeded toward his one o’clock. Rapidly. There were at least two killers with him in the woods. He kept his breathing even, his eyes alert to shapes that didn’t belong.

  Stopping, he turned and swept his eyes behind himself and to the sides.

  Clear!

  Forward again. Faster, careful to avoid branches that might crack if he stepped on them.

  Movement. He saw it. At two o’clock.

  He squinted in the charcoal-colored light. Not Mei, he thought.

  Buddy followed, closing the gap. He could see the man more clearly now. Not tall but wide, with a shaved head.

  Yet he saw no sign of Mei. Not her dark hair or her slender frame. He didn’t know if she might be creeping to where she believed Ben’s scream had come from, or if she were lying, immobile, on the fine layer of powdery snow, hoping to be invisible.

  Buddy continued, getting closer and closer to the man with the shaved head. Drawing nearer, he saw the man touch his left hand to his neck. The man groaned audibly.

  Injured.

  Buddy thought proudly of Mei and what she must have done to the man.

  Still, Buddy couldn’t see Mei. He was forty yards from the man with the shaved head, who suddenly jogged forward and then abruptly stopped. The man seemed to be staring at something or someone hidden.

  97

  Ward could see Ben. The boy was trying to run—hobbling on his good leg—through the woods just inside the tree line, along the fields to Ward’s left. The echo of the gunshot had deceived everyone, but not Ward.

  Thirty yards into the wood, he’d seen a tall blond man raise a gun and shoot at Ben.

  But the shot had missed.

  Now Ward sprinted, going deeper into the wood but moving northeast, slightly away from the line Ben and the man following him were making as they strove northwest, so that the man was to the left of Ben. They were two points of a triangle, with Ward the third point.

  Ward gained on them, pushing branches away from his face as he ran.

  He saw the man again raise his gun.

  Ward stopped and knelt down. He aimed the Beretta and pressed the trigger.

  98

  Buddy sprinted, faster than he ever had. He raised his gun, but even as he neared the man, he knew that at that speed, racing through the woods, with his arms in constant motion, he’d miss the guy and might hit Mei.

  He lowered his gun but kept going.

  Closer.

  Closer.

  99

  Mei heard a second gunshot from a direction she couldn’t determine.

  Falling to the ground, she curled up and lay still. Her left cheek rested on the snow. Its cold soothed her. Her he
art slowed just a little. Above her towered evergreens whose tops rose so far she couldn’t see them. And these trees hid her, for a moment at least, from the man with the shaved head and his gun. In the stillness, she thought of Ben.

  Is he alive?

  She didn’t know. She couldn’t see anything out here in the cold woods.

  She heard footsteps in the snow. A soft, dangerous sound.

  Listening carefully, she heard a man trying to catch his breath. He was near, so close she could hear the wrinkling of his jacket as he moved his arms.

  Slowly, she turned and looked behind her. He stood ten yards from her, and she realized why he’d stopped running.

  He sees me.

  Although his features were obscure in the moonlight, she could tell he was facing her. She could see the dim outline of his shaved head and of the gun in his hand.

  She knew it now: she was going to die.

  In an instant she made a resolution. I’m not going to lie here and wait to be shot. Like an animal. Maybe my death will give Ben some advantage, and he’ll escape. I’m going to lose, but I’m also going to fight.

  She sprang up, with her feet at shoulder width. Defenseless, she found her voice. “Why are you chasing me?” she shouted at the man with the shaved head. “What do you want from me?”

  He didn’t answer, didn’t move.

  Clenching her fists in front of herself, she rushed toward him and saw him raise his gun.

  100

  Buddy stood behind and to the right of the man with the shaved head. He couldn’t see Mei directly. His vision blurred, his eyes watering from being struck by branches. He saw two men, and then his vision cleared, revealing a single man whose right arm was extending out.

  Mei screamed furiously.

  He didn’t hesitate or think. He had no time for either. He aimed and pressed the trigger.

  He fired two rounds, both at center mass.

  The man fell forward as if he’d been shoved from behind, collapsing on the snow-covered ground as the piercing sound of the gunshots echoed through the woods and quickly faded.

  Buddy ran toward the man in the snow. As his ears cleared, he heard Mei shouting. He could see her now. She’d jumped on the man and was hitting him, hitting him in the face as he lay motionless. She struck him over and over. But the man didn’t resist.

  “He’s dead,” Buddy told her, putting his arms around her as gently as he could and pulling her away.

  For a moment she fought him, pushing toward the man, punching at air. But then she slowed her movements and stood quietly. She turned to him, embraced him, kissed him once, briefly, on the mouth, and then pushed him away.

  “You,” she said loudly, her eyes wild. “You’re here.”

  “I’m here. So is Ward. And Brick.”

  Her brow winkled with worry. “What about Ben? Is he—”

  “I don’t know,” he told her.

  For a moment, she stared at him before returning through the woods toward the Suburban. He followed her, relieved she was alive. Yet he felt a lead weight in his stomach as he thought about the gunshots he’d heard moments ago in the near distance, and the boy who’d run away by himself.

  101

  Buddy wound his way out of the woods, moving toward the headlights of the Suburban. Although Mei had jogged ahead of him, he kept close to her. With the Glock at his side, he remained alert. He didn’t know what had happened to the large man or to Ben.

  And then he was clear of the woods. In the thick dusk on the west shoulder of the remote highway was the Suburban and behind it, Brick’s Tesla. From the back of the SUV came the barks of dogs. Hysterical, angry, perhaps afraid. The Suburban’s doors had been closed, and behind it stood four figures.

  Her breath visible in the cold, Mei stood with Ben but apart from Ward and Brick. Brick walked past Buddy to the Tesla, climbed into the small car, switched on its driving lights, and remained in the front seat. Mei’s arms crossed over the boy’s chest. Ben’s face bore scratches, undoubtedly from running through the trees. His hair was wet with sweat. But when he saw Buddy, he grinned.

  “Buddy!” he said, breaking free of Mei’s arms and rushing toward him. Ben stumbled over a crack in the asphalt, caught himself, and lurched into Buddy’s arms.

  Buddy had crouched down and now held the boy, taking in his warmth and his boyish scent. He hugged Ben tightly, holding him and not letting go. He didn’t want to let go—ever. Ben’s chest pressed in and out against him, and Buddy savored the sensation of Ben’s warm breath against his neck. “Thank God you’re okay,” Buddy said.

  Ben squeezed harder. “I knew you’d find us. I knew we wouldn’t die.”

  Buddy didn’t remind him how close he’d come to losing them, how they’d nearly died.

  Ben pulled away and looked him in the eye. “They killed Jessica,” Ben said. “They shot her.”

  “What?”

  “They shot her.”

  “Who’s Jessica?”

  “From Porter Gallery.” Mei spoke clearly, her voice low, resigned, melancholy. “My friend. Jess came up to the house to see us, to make sure we were okay. And they killed her at the bottom of a ravine when we tried to escape.”

  Jesus.

  Buddy stood up slowly. A cold tremor passed through him. “I’m sorry. I’m so goddamned sorry.”

  Mei stepped forward and put an arm around Ben. She said, “I’m sorry, too.” For a moment she watched him, her eyes meeting his.

  He saw they were strangely blank, as if a wall had formed behind them.

  She continued, “But that isn’t enough, Buddy. I’m leaving. With Ben.”

  Good, he thought, as a car passed them on the highway, a rush of air waving over them and then subsiding into silence. They need to disappear for a while until I solve this case. He said, “Where are you going?”

  Her expression was cold. “Somewhere,” she replied. “I don’t know where, and I wouldn’t tell you if I did.”

  Now he understood. She was hinting at more than taking Ben to a safe place. No, he realized, she was doing more than hinting.

  The solid ground beneath his feet cracked, and he was toppling over the edge of a bottomless crevasse. Something tore within him. He thought it might be his heart.

  He tucked the gun into his waistband at the small of his back and held out his hands, palms upward. “We can do this,” he urged. “We can make this work.”

  Slowly, she shook her head. And then she pulled off her engagement ring and offered it to him.

  Buddy stared at the ring and lowered his hands to his sides. “Please, Mei. Please don’t do this. I love you more than anything.”

  Ben began to cry. “Mei, we can’t leave Buddy. We can’t leave him. What will we do? What will he do?”

  Yet Mei stepped forward and dropped the ring in Buddy’s coat pocket. Standing on her toes, she leaned forward, kissed his cheek, and backed away.

  He caught her lemon scent, he feared for the last time. He said, “Would you reconsider?”

  “No. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not this month or next. Maybe never.”

  His mind spun, searching for a way to prevent what was happening, to halt time, to change the consequences of all that had happened over the past few days. He could think of only one way to stop her from leaving. “If we don’t stay together,” he argued, “we’ll lose Ben. The court won’t give us custody.”

  Raising her chin defiantly, she said, “Better for him to live with his aunt and uncle than to stay with us and die. No, Buddy, I can’t jeopardize his life and his future because of your job. And don’t use him as a bargaining chip to talk about us.”

  Buddy knew he was guilty of doing just that, but fear and anger squashed any remorse he might have felt. His voice rose. “It’s not a bargaining chip, it’s reality.”

  She put a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “We’re leaving. Now.” She pulled Ben toward the Suburban’s front passenger door and helped him climb inside. She buckled him in. The barking of th
e German shepherds grew fiercer, sharper. After closing the door, she walked around the Suburban.

  “I’ll quit!” Buddy called after her, more loudly than he’d intended. This was a decision he’d just made. He’d never considered leaving the force. He was a police detective, and his work defined and motivated him. His work gave his life purpose. Quitting meant not knowing what to do. Quitting meant having no money, and having no money meant having to return to the concert stage. He wasn’t sure he could do that. Yet he had to make a choice.

  Mei put a hand on the driver’s door, stopped, then turned to face him and Ward.

  When she hesitated, Buddy spoke rapidly. “I’ll quit my job. I’ll go back to the piano and learn to perform again. Maybe make another album. We can have a normal life, a safe life.”

  Her face showed no sign of agreement or disagreement. Thinking for a moment, she breathed deeply, once, twice. Then she sighed. “I don’t believe you. You are who you are, Buddy. You can’t change. You’re a detective, a hunter of criminals. I love you, and I love how you work so hard for other people, including Ben and me. But”—she shook her head—“I can’t be part of it anymore. Part of you. I want to have children and a career. I want to live to be old. And I don’t think those things are possible with you. I mean, Jesus Christ, Buddy—those men killed Jessica, then you and Ward killed them. And now that they’re dead, what will happen?”

  He was silent. He knew this wasn’t the time to tell her he’d been thrown out of an airplane, and the same had nearly happened to her and Ben.

  “What?” she demanded.

  He couldn’t move. Every part of him felt paralyzed. At last he said, “I don’t know.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “But I do. I know that others will come for us. They’ll keep coming. Until we’re dead. So the only way Ben and I can survive is if we leave you. I’m sorry, Buddy, but this is over. You can stay in our—in my—home for another week, then you need to be gone. Goodbye.”

  My home, he thought. Hers, not ours. Not anymore.

  She pulled open the driver’s door, climbed into the Suburban, and started the ignition.