“Or so you would come.”
“I’m willing to risk it, Max. We have to find this guy. He killed our brother and he’s not going to kill that baby!”
Max turned on him. “You think I don’t know that? But I’m still on the police force. I have to follow protocol. We have policies and procedures for good reasons. If you go in there like an action hero and get blown to smithereens, I have to deal with another dead brother! You want me to face Mom with that bit of information?”
Michael sat down on a crate, his head in his hands. “Then let’s think this through. Barker is Miller’s bomb guy. We were watching him all night and all day, until he got away in the alley. We know the bomb was placed on the baby’s car seat in the past hour. He’s only had time to go to Holly’s and plant the bomb. No time for a car wash.”
“He could have rigged the place yesterday.”
Michael thought it over. “No, I don’t think so. Miller expected Creed and me to both be dead. He needed time to regroup after his failures yesterday. I doubt he would have instantly had a Plan B. He probably came up with this plan last night, at the earliest, and we know that Barker didn’t leave his house last night.”
“The question is, are you willing to stake your life on that?”
Michael checked his watch. Time was running out. “Yes, Max. I am. I trust my gut on this.”
Max turned to Dex. “Do you trust his gut?”
“No,” Dex said. “But I do trust his facts. I’m willing to go. It’ll make a great story to attract chicks.” He grinned.
Michael glanced at Dex, wondering if the kid was taking this seriously enough. He turned to the satellite image of the car wash and pointed out his route. “We’ll go on foot, come up through the woods.”
Max stared at the map for a moment.
“It could work. I can do this, Max. You know I can.”
“But what about Dex? He sits in an office all day.”
Dex shoved his glasses up his nose. “Throw me this bone so I can prove I’ve got some chops. I’m all in.”
Michael smiled.
Max raked his hand through his hair, then nodded. “All right. But whatever you do, don’t let Miller see you on camera. And give Creed a warning not to give away the fact that he sees you or is talking to you. If Miller has a detonator, we don’t want to give him a reason to set it off.”
While the team went ahead of them to search for snipers, Michael armed himself, then made sure Dex was armed. Though the computer whiz might be rusty with a gun, he would have had some training before joining the force. Dex loaded his computer into a backpack, and they set out to run through the woods to the building, with Michael praying that Dex would be a help and not a bumbling detriment.
They hid in the trees just behind the car wash. The team hadn’t found any sign of snipers, but a helicopter circled suspiciously overhead, lower than Michael would have expected this far from an airport. Did Miller have someone monitoring the building from the air, or was that a police helicopter? No, Max never would have ordered air surveillance. He would know it could set Miller off. It had to be Miller’s.
When the chopper turned north and vanished from view, Michael signaled to Dex and they both ran to the building. Pressed against the wall, they worked their way to the door. It was still unlocked, but they couldn’t use it, because the camera would pick them up.
Michael went to a window on the side where the camera was mounted. He looked in, saw Creed sitting on the tarp, talking into his phone. Slowly, he opened the window. Creed jerked, but Michael held out a hand to silence him.
He could hear Miller’s voice taunting Creed on Creed’s speakerphone, telling him to pull the trigger and save his child. So that was what he wanted. Michael climbed in. He pressed flat against the wall in the camera’s blind spot. Dex came in the window behind him, set his stuff on the floor as quietly as possible, and pulled out his laptop.
Michael pointed to the camera overhead, showed Creed that he was out of the camera’s sight. Creed seemed to understand. He kept talking into the phone. “You want me dead, free my child. Until then, we don’t have anything to talk about.”
“You’re not running this show, Creed. I am.”
Michael signaled for Creed to cut the call off.
“Call me back when my daughter is out of danger.” Creed ended the call and looked down at the tarp.
“They can’t hear us unless you’re on the phone,” Michael said in a normal voice, “and we’re out of the camera’s view. They don’t know we’re here, so keep looking down, and don’t let them see you talking to us.”
Creed covered his mouth and kept his eyes on the floor. “Have you freed Lily?”
“Not yet, but I’m told that the bomb may not even be connected. It may be just for show. Just keep putting him off. You’re doing great.”
A vein on Creed’s forehead had swollen with the strain. “I’ll do what I have to do to protect my child,” he said behind his hand. “If I have to . . .”
“Creed, listen to me. Nothing will be gained if you kill yourself. If he has the power, he could still blow up Lily after you’ve done what he says. Just hold on.”
Creed looked up at the camera, his skin shining with sweat. He still held the gun to his head.
“Lower the gun,” Michael said. “You don’t know that weapon. It could have a hair trigger. Keep it down.”
Creed slowly lowered the gun, pointed it toward the floor.
Michael glanced at Dex. He was typing feverishly. “Every cop in Southport is working on this, Creed. We’re trying to track the link where this camera is being monitored. This is Dex. He’s working on it right now, and it’ll tell us the location of the computer linked to it.”
Creed glanced at them but didn’t let his gaze linger.
“If we can find the computer monitoring this camera, maybe it’ll lead us to Miller, but I need you to hold out. I need you to promise me that you’re not gonna pull that trigger. Can you do that?”
Creed gritted his teeth. “No, I don’t think so,” he muttered without moving his mouth.
Michael tried again. “Creed, your life is more valuable than this.”
“No, it’s not,” he said behind his hand. “It’s not more valuable than hers.”
“Both of your lives are valuable. You’re her father. She needs you.”
“I’m dispensable,” he said.
“You’re not. Don’t give Miller that power.”
Creed just kept his eyes on the floor.
The phone rang again. Creed looked down. “It’s a different number every time,” he muttered behind his hand. Michael signaled for him to answer.
Dex continued to work frantically.
“Don’t hang up on me again,” Miller said. “And put that gun back to your head.”
“Is my baby free yet?” Creed asked.
“Of course not. Looks like we have a standoff here.”
Creed swallowed, and the vein on his forehead throbbed.
Miller’s voice sounded impatient. “The ball’s in your court.”
Creed looked up at the camera. “This is not a negotiation.”
“Come on, Creed, what have you got to lose?” Miller asked, his voice as slick as pond sludge. “You’re going to be charged with murder, you’ve shamed your family, you have all of us gunning for you, you’ve brought nothing but danger to your baby and her mother. Let’s face it, kid. You have nothing to live for.”
“I have a daughter,” Creed choked out.
“Not for much longer. She’ll be waking up soon.”
Creed swallowed and closed his hand over the gun. “If I do it . . . how will you free her? The bomb could still go off.”
“I’ll call Holly and tell her how to disconnect it.”
Michael shook his head, signaling Creed.
“I’m hanging up now, Creed. The minute you do the deed, your baby will be safe. I’m watching you.”
“Why should I trust you? You’re a sadistic, psychopathic li
ar.”
“Yes, but I’m all you’ve got.” The phone clicked off, and Creed wilted.
“If that bomb is connected,” Michael said, “he’s going to kill her no matter what you do. If it’s not, then what a waste that would be.”
“I just want this to be over,” Creed muttered under his hand as he rubbed his face to hide his words. “Why can’t they disconnect that bomb? What is taking them so long?”
Dex was sweating, working frantically on his computer.
“Creed, just drag it out a little longer.”
Creed’s face twisted in confusion, and the gun shook in his hand. He dropped his head as sobs overtook him. “I don’t know what to do.”
Finally, Dex shouted, “Got it!”
Michael knelt beside him, studied the monitor, saw the server and the address where the camera was linked. “We have an address, Creed!”
Creed looked up at the camera.
“Do you hear me?” Michael asked. “Put the gun down. Your daughter and her mother need you.”
Creed didn’t answer.
“I’m patching this feed into the command center so we can keep monitoring him,” Dex said.
As soon as Dex had closed his laptop and loaded it into his backpack, Michael said, “Creed, we have to go, but you’re not alone. The command center is watching you now too. All you have to do is trust me, and believe that your life has value. God isn’t finished with you, Creed. I don’t think Holly is either.”
Creed lowered the gun, stared down at it. Michael didn’t know if he’d gotten through to him, but he had to go. He motioned for Dex to climb back out the window, then he followed.
They paused outside and listened for the telltale whine of the helicopter’s engine. They couldn’t hear it, so they cut back through the woods, running back to the command center. On the way, Michael called Max. “Did you get the address Dex sent?” he asked, out of breath.
“Yeah. Good work. And the patch works—we can see and hear everything. Creed’s really sweating. Is he gonna hold out?”
“Does he have the gun to his head?” Michael asked.
“Not right now,” Max said.
“Let’s get the SWAT team assembled and get over there.” Michael prayed Creed would give them time.
CHAPTER 57
It seemed to Holly that the three men on the bomb team worked as slowly as an underwater dance team, videotaping the car seat from every angle, examining it via a camera out of the bomb’s range. Holly stood against the wall of her garage in the hot, padded jumpsuit they’d forced her to put on. When her baby’s head turned and her sleepy eyes came open, Holly lunged toward her.
“Stay back!” Saginaw told her.
“But she’s going to kick and cry. The wires . . . she’ll hit them.”
She could see the sheen of his sweat under the mask and helmet. The suit must weigh fifty pounds, and the padding was suffocating.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” she said in a soft voice.
Lily looked around, disoriented. She grunted and swung a tiny fist.
Holly couldn’t breathe. “I have some breast milk in bottles in that bag on the floorboard,” she said. “I could try to feed her. It would keep her still and calm.”
“Too dangerous.”
When Lily began to cry, Holly moved anyway. Wiping the sweat off her forehead, she reached for the baby bag on the floorboard. There were no wires attached to the bag—she had heard the bomb techs say that earlier. She slid the bag as slowly as she could until she had it out of the car.
Lily saw her mother and cried more loudly, her arms flailing.
Holly unzipped the diaper bag. She had six bottles there, each with three or four ounces. Five had been refrigerated, but one was still warm from her latest pump before leaving. She pulled out the small bottle and, making sure not to jiggle a wire, put it gently into Lily’s mouth.
Lily instantly stilled and began to suck. Holly drew in a deep, long breath.
The bomb tech in the backseat bent down and moved some screwdriver-shaped object along the wires. When would this be over? What would she do with Lily when the bottle was empty?
She concentrated on keeping her hands steady as she fed her daughter. Lily wasn’t in distress. She didn’t know any of the danger surrounding her. If only Holly could unsnap her seat from its base and take her out of harm’s way. If she could just hold her tight in her arms, smell her little head . . .
The phone vibrated, and Holly saw that it was Creed. She grabbed the phone. “Hey.”
“How is Lily?”
“She’s awake.”
“No, God . . .”
“She’s feeding from a bottle. She’s still for now.”
“For now,” he repeated.
“Creed, they told me what he’s ordered you to do. Just wait, please. They’re working on it.”
Creed cut the call off, and Holly’s face twisted in anguish. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve.
After a few minutes, the bottle was empty, and Lily opened her eyes and looked up at her mother, kicking again. Holly started to sing in a wobbly voice. “Hush little baby, don’t say a word, Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird . . .”
As she sang, she stroked the center of Lily’s forehead softly with her index finger, and Lily relaxed and stopped moving. Slowly, her eyes drifted shut again. As long as Holly kept singing, maybe her baby would be all right.
The address linked to the car wash camera was in Ashland Park, an upscale neighborhood on St. Andrews Bay. Michael drove by to do a threat assessment. The two-story house, built several feet above sea level, had a circular driveway, and the front doors were ornate with custom leaded glass. It didn’t look like a place where someone like Miller would live. Michael had pictured a cave with decaying rodents stinking up the place.
He headed to the parking lot on 23rd Street where the SWAT team would meet him. Waiting in his car, he did a Google search of the address. A real estate listing from six months ago came up, with twenty-five photos of the interior of the house. He studied the pictures, drawing a crude blueprint of the house in his small notebook. There were images of various views of the yard. The backyard was on the bay, though there was a pool close to the house. He counted three back doors, plus the door into the garage and the front door. They would have to cover them all.
There were ten windows on the front—four on the first floor, six on the second, and the back of the house was mostly glass—French doors and floor-to-ceiling windows. He did a quick search to see who had bought the property. It was a Pakistani-sounding name—Palash Khan—and there was no mortgage. Someone had paid cash.
That was the way a drug kingpin would do it. He’d hire a lawyer to make the deal, pay cash under an assumed name. If this was indeed Miller’s house, he had plunked down $1,340,000 for the property two months ago.
Michael couldn’t believe Miller had been living right here in Panama City in plain sight.
He did one more drive-by, this time analyzing the terrain, certain Miller’s guards would be watching for any sign of intruders or police. The SWAT team wouldn’t have much time once they got there. They would have to do a high-risk entry, ramming the doors at two or three breach points, then moving through the house with speed and precision, restraining anyone they found inside.
Miller wouldn’t go down without a fight. He would be willing to kill anybody in his path to get away.
He hoped Lily and Creed had time to wait for the SWAT team to get here. Anxiety pulsed through him as he waited. He picked up the phone, called Cathy.
“What’s the status?” he asked when she answered.
“They’re telling us Lily woke up. Holly’s kept her quiet, but she’s right there, in the bomb radius.”
“We found Miller’s digs. I’m waiting for the SWAT team.”
“Are you sure it’s his?”
“It’s where Creed’s camera is being monitored from. It’s a 1.3-million-dollar house, so it’s not just some hideout. I think we�
�ve got him.”
Cathy drew in a deep breath. “I wish I were there.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t let him get away this time. I can’t go in with the SWAT team since I’m not on the force, but I’ll be outside, waiting for them to drag him out.”
“Be careful, Michael. He’ll shoot his way out. I don’t want to lose another fiancé.”
“I don’t want you to either.”
“I want to live with you for the rest of my life. I want to have babies with you. I want to see your face the first time you hold our son or daughter . . .” Her voice broke off.
“You will, baby.”
“Please be careful. Let the SWAT team do the heavy lifting.”
When Max arrived with the SWAT team, Michael’s adrenaline surged as he put on his Kevlar vest. These guys, many of whom worked as patrol officers or detectives and gathered for SWAT operations only when they were needed, had trained for years to do this kind of thing. Their choreography for high-risk entries was precise and well rehearsed. There was no need to go over what they were to do when they got inside.
Michael showed them the pictures of the house and the blueprint he’d drawn, and he quickly went over the terrain and layout with them.
Max added, “You can count on these people being armed. We have no idea how many are in the house.”
“The three-car garage is closed,” Michael said, “and there aren’t any cars in the driveway out front. I’m hoping that means there aren’t a lot of people inside. Miller likes to keep himself separated from others in his operation so they can’t identify him. Occasionally, he screws up, like with Creed, but for the most part, he’s got a small inner circle. So the place is probably not full of people, but the ones who are there will be dangerous.”
The SWAT team, outfitted in all their gear, loaded into the van, and the van pulled onto the street and headed to Gulfmoor Avenue.
It pulled to a quick stop just out of sight of the house, in case Miller or his men looked out the window, and the SWAT members unloaded like Navy Seals at war. Michael waited in the van. A few of the lead men had cameras on their weapons, and he watched their progress on the video screen with Dex.
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