Finders/Keepers (An Allie Krycek Thriller, Book 3)

by Sam Sisavath

  “You’re the one trespassing on private property; you tell me,” the man said.

  She could make out a shock of white hair on a long, lanky body. The man was wearing black (or was that blue?) slacks and an equally dark windbreaker. There was some kind of embroidery on his shoulder, but it didn’t look like any law-enforcement shield she’d ever seen. As he stepped into the Ford’s ring of lights, she could just make out the word Security stenciled across his jacket’s left breast pocket.

  “We’re just parking for a while, to rest a little,” Reese said. The security guard walked right up to him, no doubt drawn to Reese because he was the only one speaking (probably just as Reese had planned, too). “It’s been a long trip, and everyone was tired.”

  The guard shined his flashlight on the Ford, then at Dwight, who squinted and looked away. Dwight’s right hand, Allie saw, didn’t drift away from his hip. Like the rest of them, including her, Dwight had a gun holstered behind his waist. It was the most effective way to hide a weapon from a curious pair of undiscerning eyeballs, like now.

  The security guard’s light finally made its way to Allie, then the two men behind her, before resting on the side of the black and red trailer.

  “All of you together?” the guard asked. He had turned in her direction, and in doing so gave her a good look at the belt around his waist—he had a radio on one hip and a revolver on the other.

  So he wasn’t unarmed after all, which made the odds slightly better. Slightly, but not by a whole lot. However she wanted to look at it, it was still two guns against four, and what were the chances the stranger wasn’t going to react badly when he saw her drawing her sidearm?

  Not yet. Not yet…

  “Yep, we’re together,” Reese was saying to the guard.

  “What’s in the trailer?” the man asked.

  “Furniture.”

  “You guys movers or something?”

  “Just those two,” Reese said, nodding at the big rig’s drivers. Then, without missing a beat, “We didn’t know this was private property.”

  “You didn’t see the sign across the entrance?”

  “Afraid not. If we had, we wouldn’t have thought it was okay to park here for the night.”

  Reese wasn’t lying. She hadn’t seen any signs, a gate, or anything that would indicate this was private property when they turned into the entrance, either.

  “Dammit, kids must have stolen it again,” the security guard said. “They’ve been getting drunk inside the building,” he said, indicating the empty structure next to them. “We found everything from beer cans to half-smoked joints to used condoms in there. That’s why we’re here now, to keep an eye on the place. Owners have big plans for the area; they want to put up some kind of strip mall or something. Last thing they want is some stupid kids to OD or drink themselves to death on the property.”

  Even as the man was talking, Allie saw the recognition flashing across Reese’s face: The security guard had said we. Which meant he wasn’t alone.

  Maybe…

  “We had no idea,” Reese said. “Sounds like a real headache.”

  “Nothing we can’t handle,” the security guard said with more than a little hint of pride. “But you folks still have to move on. Can’t have people using this place as a rest stop, you understand.”

  “I completely understand, but would it be okay if we stayed here for just a few more hours?”

  “Sorry, no can do. Like I said, private property.”

  “One hour—”

  “No, sorry,” the man said, cutting Reese off. His voice rose slightly when he added, “You guys gotta go, or we’ll have to report you. Owners are real strict about this, and that means we gotta be, too.”

  Reese and Dwight exchanged a wordless glance. It was very brief—not even a second as far as she could tell—but it was apparently all they needed.

  Oh, dammit.

  “You guys have to go,” the guard said again. He had casually switched the flashlight over to his left hand while resting his right palm on the grip of his holstered revolver. It wasn’t a very subtle move, an attempt at intimidation if she had ever seen one, and Allie thought, You have no idea what you’re up against, you poor bastard.

  “Are you sure we can’t talk about this?” Reese asked.

  “Sorry. I’d let you stay as long as you needed if it was up to me, but it’s not.”

  “We understand,” Reese said.

  He held out his right hand—for a handshake—and took a step toward the guard, and at the very same instant she glimpsed Dwight reaching behind his back.

  No, no, not again.

  Allie started reaching for her gun, praying the two men behind her didn’t take that as an indication to do the same. If she could grab a brief moment of surprise, maybe—just maybe—she could find a way to save the security guard and herself, and then Sara and the girls. She might have laughed out loud at the odds against her accomplishing any of those things if she took even a second to actually think about it, but thank God she didn’t have the luxury at the moment—

  Bright headlights came out of nowhere and washed over Reese and the guard before it moved over to the Ford and Dwight, who winced at the sudden brightness and turned his body to protect not just his eyes, but also the sight of the gun still in its holster behind him. Allie gripped the Sig Sauer at her back but didn’t draw it, even if her chest tightened.

  She turned toward the source of the lights—a golf cart, its motor whirring in the darkness—gliding smoothly across the parking lot floor toward them. The security guard with white hair glanced over his shoulder before turning and waving.

  Reinforcements?

  She looked back at Reese and Dwight and saw another quick exchange between the two men before Dwight casually brought his right (gun) hand out from behind his back. Allie did the same thing, then glanced over at the two men behind her. They hadn’t moved from their spots, and their hands remained exposed at their sides.

  Allie looked back at the approaching golf cart and saw a single head bobbing behind the steering wheel. She couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, not that it mattered. It was one more gun, which meant the odds had improved significantly.

  Or had they?

  They were security guards. What were the chances either one of them were ex-law enforcement and had any experience? What were the odds they could stand up against Reese and Dwight in a gunfight? Both Reese and Dwight were killers. Reese, in particular, was going to be a handful.

  Kill him first. Then Dwight. Then…the two behind you.

  She was wrong. The odds weren’t any better. As soon as she shot Reese or Dwight, the two behind her would open up…on her. Could she really count on the two security guards to back her up? Maybe, maybe not. The only thing the guard standing in front of her right now knew for certain was that she was a part of Reese’s group. To him, she wasn’t a potential ally. To him, she would just be a stranger with a gun.

  Not yet. Not yet…

  The decision was easier for her to stomach because Reese and Dwight weren’t going to act. If there had been just the one guard, they wouldn’t have hesitated. But with two, and potentially more out there somewhere…

  “I guess we should get going,” Reese was saying to the guard. “We’ve got a lot of miles ahead of us.”

  “Sorry about this,” the guard said, and Allie thought he actually did sound sympathetic. He had also removed his palm from his gun. “But you know how it is—what the bosses say, goes.”

  “No worries,” Reese said, and turned around and nodded at Dwight, then over at her.

  Dwight climbed into the Ford as Allie walked over.

  “Sorry, miss,” the older man said to her. “I would if I could.”

  Then we’d probably both be dead, and God knows who else.

  She gave the man a half-smile then climbed into the backseat.

  In front of her, Reese closed his car door and glanced up at the rearview mirror. “You good?”
>
  She nodded. “Yeah.”

  Dwight started the car and turned them around using all of the empty parking lot space, then pointed the sedan back toward the way they had come. Both Dwight and Reese checked their side mirrors the entire time to make sure the semi, which took longer to get moving, not to mention turn, was still behind them. It wasn’t until they were back on the interstate and moving with the flow of traffic that Allie finally allowed herself to breathe a little easier.

  Reese picked up the radio from the dashboard and said into it, “Nest, start distancing yourself, but keep us in sight the entire time.”

  “Roger that,” Nest answered through the radio.

  Reese put the radio back on the dashboard, and they drove in silence for a while.

  Ten seconds, then twenty, before Dwight finally said, “What the hell was that about? That place was good when I scouted it a month ago. There wasn’t any damn security on the premises back then.”

  “A lot of things can change in a month,” Reese said.

  “Fucking kids.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “So what now?”

  “These moments are why I put in all those backup plans that you never think are necessary, partner.”

  Dwight grunted. “Yeah, yeah. Save the told you so’s for later, will you?”

  “Remember you said that,” Reese said. He had taken out his phone—it was a cheap burner, Allie saw—and was punching in some numbers from memory. He waited a moment before speaking into it: “Where are you now?” He listened, then, “Change of plans. Proceed to the second alternate route.”

  Dwight snorted when Reese put the phone away. “We’re gonna run out of alternate routes pretty soon.”

  “When that happens, we’ll make up new ones.”

  “I was being sarcastic.”

  “I couldn’t tell.” Reese turned in his seat to look back at her. “You’re being very quiet back there.”

  “I’m just the den mother, remember?” Allie said. “You guys are the brain trust. I’ll leave all the squawking to the two of you.”

  “How are the girls?”

  “I never got the chance to check up on them.”

  “There’ll be other opportunities. We still have a long road ahead of us. A lot of miles.”

  “The security guard back there…”

  “What about him?”

  “You were going to kill him.”

  Reese shrugged. “Couldn’t be helped.”

  “Like with the state troopers?”

  “That, on the other hand, could have been avoided if Vanguard had kept their cool.”

  “This is what we get for working with locals,” Dwight said. “Worthless shits.” Then, grinning at her in the rearview mirror, “No offense.”

  “Oh, I don’t believe that,” she said.

  Dwight chortled, and Reese smiled.

  “Tell me something: Is it always this dramatic?” she asked.

  “Not at all,” Reese said. “Usually it’s pretty boring. Pick up, drive, and deliver. Today’s been an exception.”

  “Must be the company,” Dwight said. “Maybe you’re just bad luck, Alice in Wonderland. Maybe Juliet sent us a dud.”

  “I guess you should take it up with her,” Allie said.

  “Where is she, by the way?”

  “Last I heard, she was in Mexico.”

  “Maybe we should give her a call,” Dwight said. Then, looking over at Reese, “What do you think?”

  “I think Alice proved herself back at the diner,” Reese said. “And she’s done very well since, under very trying circumstances.”

  “Bull chips. She should have shot that old guy in the back of the head, not give him that paper cut in the leg.”

  “When did you become so bloodthirsty?”

  “Since this job started going off the rails, that’s when.”

  “We’re doing fine. A couple of hiccups here and there were bound to catch up to us. The law of averages, partner. You didn’t think it was going to be easy peasy forever, did you?”

  “Easy peasy?” Allie said.

  Reese glanced back at her and grinned. “What? That’s not something you guys say?”

  “It is, but it sounded strange coming from you. You barely have an accent, by the way.”

  “I worked hard to get rid of it.”

  “Where are you from originally?”

  “What is this, the dating game?” Dwight asked.

  Reese ignored him, and said to her, “Southeast London. A charming little district called Peckham.”

  “I heard it was a real piece of shit,” Dwight said.

  “Only to tourists.” Back to her: “But I haven’t been home for some time. That’s one reason for the lack of an accent; the other is that I’ve tried very hard to get rid of it. I’m impressed you noticed. Most people don’t.”

  “Don’t let him fool you,” Dwight said. “He can still be a real snobby British motherfucker when he wants to be.”

  “Thank you, Dwight.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I was being sarcastic.”

  “I figured,” Dwight said.

  Eight

  “Jesus, Hank, why aren’t you at the hospital?” Jane Mayer said. Her early thirty-something face looked at least ten years older since the last time he saw her a few months ago. It might have just been because he was looking at a pixilated version of Jane on the tablet’s screen, but Hank was sure that wasn’t the only reason.

  “I don’t need a hospital,” Hank said, and thought, Kent Whitman already gave me the good stuff, but of course he didn’t say that part out loud.

  “Since when did you get a cell phone?” Jane asked.

  “I didn’t. I’m just, uh, borrowing someone’s…phone, I guess.”

  “You guess?”

  “It’s like a tablet or something.”

  He looked over at Lucy, sitting on the other side of the bed where Jane couldn’t see her. The sixteen-year-old nodded in affirmation and gave him an almost pitying smile.

  Hank smirked back at her before returning to Jane’s furrowed face on the small screen. He wasn’t quite sure how far he should hold the device from his face since it was hard to make out his own features in the even smaller box-within-a-box at the lower right corner. Whose bright idea was it to let the caller see himself while talking?

  “Hank Pritchard with a tablet,” Jane said onscreen. “As I live and breathe.”

  “I’m not a Luddite, kid. Well, not entirely.”

  Jane smiled. “No one’s called me kid in a long time.”

  “Yeah, well, ten years from now, or twenty years from now, I’ll still be a lot older than you.”

  “Thank God. Now what do you want?”

  “This afternoon’s shooting…”

  “Jesus, that was bad,” Jane said, and ran her hands over her face. “You heard about that, huh?”

  “Hard not to; it’s all over the news.”

  “Yeah, I guess it would be. Worse thing to happen to us since, well, you know.”

  Hank nodded. Oh, he knew, all right. It was one of the reasons he was sitting in a motel with a sixteen-year-old kid and not on the other side of this phone call.

  “What about it?” Jane asked.

  “Where are you guys on that?”

  “Hank, what are you asking me?”

  “I just wanna know what you guys have on the shooters.”

  “How did you know there was more than one shooter?”

  “You mean there were?”

  She nodded before glancing over her shoulder as if she were afraid of being overheard. Jane was sitting in her car in a parking lot, and by the angle of her face he guessed she had her phone resting on the dashboard pointed back at her. He recognized the background, and given the time of day, it wasn’t hard to surmise she was outside the main building. How many times had he parked at that exact spot?

  “Two,” Jane said, looking back at the screen.

  “What hap
pened?”

  “They were stopped for a speeding violation. Nothing major. They pulled over to the side, and while the troopers were getting information on their onboard computer, they were killed. Nine millimeter rounds. There were so many holes in the front windshield that we don’t know how the whole thing didn’t collapse in on itself. Both men were killed on the spot.”

  “Suspects?”

  “We don’t have any. Right now we’re busy setting up roadblocks, checking vans and even regular sedans, in case they might have switched vehicles.” She shook her head. “But we’re searching blind, Hank. The troopers only had information on a white van but nothing on the drivers before they were killed.”

  “What did you find on the car?”

  “That’s where things get weird.”

  “Weird how?”

  “The tag came back registered to a Gloria Donovan from two states away. The problem with that is, Mrs. Donovan is seventy-nine years old and living in a group home, and she has no idea she bought a used van nine months ago.”

  “Identity theft?”

  “Looks that way. Someone got a hold of her personal information, name, and Social Security Number. That’s why the license plate didn’t trip any warning flags when they were initially spotted. The troopers never saw it coming.”

  “Did I know them, Jane? The men who died?”

  Jane shook her head. “They came on the job after you left, Hank.”

  He nodded, but instead of relief, it left more questions. Just because the men had entered the force after he retired didn’t mean he didn’t know them. He might have known their brothers, or fathers…

  Jane was leaning slightly forward, as if she was trying to get a better look at him on the other side of the screen. “Hank, I have to ask, what’s going on? Is this just curiosity? And where exactly are you right now? That looks like a motel room…”

  He felt a flush of pride. Besides knowing he could trust her, Hank had another reason for contacting her and not someone else: A little (Okay, a big part) of him wanted to stick it to John “Mr. Perfect” Miller.

  “How did you know I’m at a motel?” he asked.