“Maybe, sir. Still. There’s a protocol.”
“Ah. Yes. Of course. Protocol.” He waves toward the door to the office. “Go ahead, Officer Rogers. Check it out. And let me know if there’s another problem we need to deal with.”
“Yes, sir, thank you, sir.” As Rogers exits, Burnham shakes his head and sighs. He turns to Marie. “Do you and Ben need a moment alone? Before the deputies get here?”
Marie grits her teeth. “I should be backing up SRO Rogers, sir.”
Burnham nods. “I applaud your dedication,” He looks over at Ben, slumped miserably in a chair in front of the desk. “Except the threat, such as it is, is here.”
“My son’s not a threat. Sir.” Marie hates the desperation that she can’t seem to keep out of her voice.
Burnham nods toward the pistol on the desk. “That would seem to indicate otherwise.” He reaches out and picks up the weapon by the barrel, as gingerly as if he’s picking up a rattlesnake by the neck. “I’ll just take this someplace safe. Until law enforcement arrives.” He walks out, leaving Marie and Ben alone. Ben continues to glare at the empty desktop.
Marie hears him mutter something underneath his breath. “What?” she says.
He looks up, and she feels sick as she sees the rage in his eyes. “I said, you’re such a fucking hypocrite.”
She shakes her head in confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t.” He slumps back down in the chair, unmoving.
“So help me out here, Ben. Tell me what I’m missing. Tell me why I’m such a hypocrite.”
He shakes his head. She steps over, puts a hand on either arm of the chair, and leans down until her face is inches away from her son’s. “Tell me, god damn it.” Her voice is low and intense, but it has the force of a scream.
He looks up at her. “All I was trying to do was stop someone from threatening us. You. Me. Frank. And for that you’re going to let them take me to jail. Your precious Jack Keller shot someone down in cold blood. In front of us. To protect us. And you’re fucking him.”
She has to hold tight to the arms of the chair to keep from slapping him in the face. He looks away, blushing furiously at his own boldness. After a long moment, she takes a deep breath and stands up. She walks to the other side of the room and leans her head against the wall, eyes closed. She straightens up and turns to face him. “Ben,” she says in a shaky voice, “it’s true that Jack Keller is a part of my life. He probably always will be. If for no other reason than he’s Francis—Frank’s father.” She walks over and crouches down beside his chair, looking up into his face. “But, son. I say this from the bottom of my heart. Whatever my feelings for Jack Keller, I would do anything, literally anything in this world, to keep you from being like him.”
Ben looks away. Marie stands up, her eyes brimming with tears. She has a sickening, gut-twisting feeling that it may be too late. The damage may already be done, and may be irreversible. She feels a sudden surge of panic as she looks at her watch. Shit, she thinks. Whatever happens next, it’s going to take a while. And that means she’s going to have to call the one man she really doesn’t want to talk to right now.
SIXTY-ONE
Keller sees Alia and Bassim standing by the curb as he pulls up. He doesn’t recognize the skinny figure with the close-cut hair standing with them. He assumes this is the “one other” that Alia mentioned. He can’t tell if it’s a boy or a girl.
Alia yanks the door open before the truck is fully stopped. The three of them scramble in, Alia and the new person in the back, Bassim in the front as usual. “Drive,” Alia barks.
Keller bites back the retort that comes to his lips. The girl is clearly holding herself together by sheer force of will, and if taking charge is helping her do it, he’ll let her take charge, at least for the moment. He steps on the gas and roars away from the school.
The person in the back leans forward. From the delicate features and the high voice, Keller surmises they’re a girl. “Hi,” she says in a bright yet shaky voice. “I’m Meadow.” She holds out a hand.
Keller takes it. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Jack. So what’s going on?”
Alia is slumped in the backseat, her arms folded across her chest. Keller can see her shaking.
“There was a lockdown,” Meadow says. “Ben Jones brought a gun to school.”
“What?” Keller nearly swerves off the road as he turns to the pair in the back seat.
“Watch the road, please,” Alia speaks up.
Keller looks back through the windshield and steadies the truck.
Alia goes on. “Someone shot at his mother last night. Officer Jones.”
Keller grits his teeth. “I know.”
Alia nods. “Of course you do.” She shakes her head. “Ben thinks he knows who’s responsible.” She looks at Keller shrewdly. “And you do, too. Don’t you?”
“Brandon Ochs,” Bassim offers.
“Yeah,” Keller says. “We had a little run-in with him last night. At a bar where he wasn’t supposed to be.”
“So,” Meadow says. “He takes a shot at Officer…at Marie. Ben gets a gun and sets out to do the same. And you, Jack, you knew about Brandon?”
Keller looks at her irritably. “Just who are you again?”
She smiles wearily. “Just a friend. The kind who asks annoying questions. I’ll shut up now.” She sinks back in the seat.
“Yeah. You do that.” He looks in the rearview at Alia. She’s chewing nervously at a thumbnail. “Alia. Want me to take you guys home?”
The girl thinks for a minute, then nods.
“Okay,” Keller says. A thought occurs to him. “If there’s a lockdown, they’re going to try to account for everyone. Right?”
Bassim answers. “Yeah. At least that’s what I remember when they told us about lockdown.”
“Glad someone was paying attention,” Meadow says.
“So I guess when I get you home, I need to call and let the school know where three missing students are.”
Meadow sighs. “I guess.” She leans forward again between the seats, her face bright. “Maybe you should call Officer Jones. I’m sure the two of you have lots to talk about.”
“Weren’t you supposed to be shutting up?” Keller says.
She gives a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”
“Meadow,” Alia speaks up. “Enough. Okay? Just not any more right now.”
The girl looks chastened as she leans back into the back seat. “Okay. I’m sorry.” Her next words are a murmur, almost too low for Keller to make out. “I’m worried about Ben, too.”
“I know,” Alia whispers back. “I know.”
They make the rest of the drive home in silence. As they pull into the driveway, Keller’s phone rings. He checks the screen. KHOURY.
“Yes, sir,” Keller answers.
“Mr. Keller,” Khoury says. “There has been an incident. At the school. They called me.”
“Yes, sir. I know. I have your children.” He looks at Meadow. “And a guest. We’re at your house.”
Khoury doesn’t answer at first. Then, all he says is, “Good.”
“Is that my dad?” Bassim asks.
Keller nods.
“Is he coming home?”
Good question, Keller thinks. “Sir. Are you coming home?”
Khoury’s voice is impatient. “Do you not have the situation under control?”
Keller shakes his head, hardly able to believe what he’s hearing. “Yes, sir. But they’re pretty upset.”
“I will be home as soon as I can. Until then, do your job.”
“Yes, sir,” Keller says through gritted teeth. But Khoury’s already hung up.
“He’s not coming,” Bassim says, dejection in his voice.
“He is,” Keller reassures him, “as soon as he can.”
“He has to work, Bassim,” Alia says, but her heart’s not in the defense.<
br />
“He’s a real piece of work, that one,” Meadow says from the backseat.
Keller looks at her, ready to tell her to shut up, but one look in her eyes tells him she’s as shaken as the other two. Everyone’s dealing with this in their own way. “Go on inside,” he tells them. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Bassim gets out first and holds the seat forward to allow his sister and Meadow to exit the vehicle. Alia puts her arms around her brother’s shoulder as they walk to the house.
Meadow lags behind, standing in the door of the truck for a moment. She’s dropped the brittle facade, and Keller can see the fear in her eyes. “We’re going to be okay, right?”
Keller nods. “Yeah. Everything’s going to be fine. Now get inside.” The girl looks as though she’s about to say something, but then she just nods and runs off after the Khourys. Keller watches the three of them until they’re safely inside, then pulls out his phone and dials Marie. The call goes straight to voicemail. “Marie,” he says. “It’s Jack. Call me as soon as you get the chance.” He kills the call and leans back against the seat.
Ben brought a gun to school. Probably to kill Brandon Ochs. Keller hadn’t had any kind of plan, just to track down the asshole who’d fired at his son and the woman he still loved. And then what? He didn’t know. It wasn’t going to be pretty. And if Brandon still had a gun…
Keller closes his eyes, grips the wheel, and leans his head on it. It never ends. The harder he tries to get away from the violence that’s marked his life for years, the more it seems to find him. Now it’s passing down to a new generation like a genetic condition. And it’s his fault. Ben had gotten drawn into a world of violent death at an early age. His father dying in front of him from a killer’s gun, Keller killing that man, in turn, in front of Ben. He’d done it, picked up the gun and pulled the trigger, to protect the people he loved. It had seemed the only thing to do at the time. But now Ben’s doing the same. Picking up the gun. Using it to go after a threat to the people he loves. And risking his future, and his very life, in the process.
It never ends, Keller thinks again. It just never fucking ends. He sits up, takes a deep breath. There’s work to do, unconnected with his revenge. There are still people depending on him. He’ll think about all that other shit when he has the time.
He gets out of the truck, walks around to the bed where a large Craftsman tool box sits behind the cab. He opens the box to reveal a Mossberg tactical shotgun nestled into a special compartment he’d built himself into the tool box. He checks to see that there’s a round chambered, then walks to the house, gun held down by his side, looking around the yard and vicinity for threats. His doubts and fears threaten to bubble up into his psyche, but he ruthlessly pushes them back down again. It gets easier to do, he’s found, as he gets older. And for some reason, probably encroaching age, being able to do that doesn’t worry him as much as it used to. Work to do, he thinks. Work to do.
SIXTY-TWO
Blair’s dead, Iris Gray thinks. It’s the only explanation for this long a silence.
She sits in her rental car, tapping on the steering wheel as she considers what to do. Being down a man hurts a lot worse when it’s a two-person operation. Not that poor Ted Blair, aka Wilson, had known that. He’d assumed he still had the full power of the US intelligence apparatus behind him when he was carrying out her orders. She sighs. He’d been a good intelligence officer with a promising career. Then a screwup that wasn’t even arguably his fault had gotten a couple of local assets tortured to death in Islamabad. He’d been sidelined after that, with pressure building to force him out. He’d still had talent and dedication, but the burning desire to get back in the game had made him pitifully easy to manipulate. He still hadn’t been able to tease out the information as to where the man living under the name of Adnan Khoury had stashed the funds he’d appropriated before he’d fled Iraq. And now, she understood, Al-Mansour had followed him again, and brought some contract muscle along. That implies he’s getting ready to exert more direct pressure on the Khourys, probably using the children. She needs to get to them first. But this bodyguard the father has hired, this Keller fellow, is going to be in the way.
Gray wonders if she’s made a mistake in not trying to co-opt Keller rather than push him away. But the information Wilson had gathered, supplemented by her own inquiries, convinces her she made the right decision. Keller’s a loner, not easily controlled, and suspicious to the point of paranoia. She’d have to spend as much time keeping an eye on him as on the targets. So, not an ally. Not an enemy either yet, thank goodness. She’d read what happened to some of his enemies. There’s still time to get him out of the way while she makes her move. It doesn’t have to be for long. And suddenly, she knows what she needs to do. She takes out her smart phone and Googles the address of the local sheriff’s department. It’s less than a mile away. She starts the car.
SIXTY-THREE
Fletcher’s at his desk, writing up a report on an Obtaining Property by False Pretenses case reported by the local Wal-Mart, when his intercom buzzes. “Brock,” the young woman at the front desk says, “there’s a lady here to see you. Asking about any unsolved homicides.”
Fletcher sits back and stares at the phone. “Say what now?”
“She asked if there were any unsolved homicides in the county. I said maybe she needs to talk to you.”
He frowns. “Be out in a minute. You seen Sergeant Cameron?”
“He just got back in from that meth bust out near Flat Branch.”
“Tell him to join me, okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
In a moment, Cameron appears in the doorway to his tiny cubicle. He’s still wearing his tactical uniform and his bulletproof vest. “How’d it go?”
Cameron shrugs. “No one home. Lots of empty two-liter bottles, bunch of empty boxes of precursors, but whoever lives there was long gone.”
“Think someone tipped them off?”
“Or they got locked up somewhere else. Property owner says they were renters. Hasn’t seen them in a week or more, and they hadn’t paid rent in two months. Anyway, what’s up?”
“Lisa says there’s a lady here to see us. Asking about unsolved homicides.”
Cameron raises an eyebrow. “Think she’s come to confess to our crispy critter?”
“That shit only happens in the movies, Lauch. She’s probably a nutcase.”
“So you wanted me in on it.”
Fletcher grins. “Wouldn’t want your life to be without entertainment.”
“Gee, thanks.”
The short, skinny woman in the lobby doesn’t look like the average looney tune, but Fletcher knows you never can tell till they open their mouths. Sometimes even then it takes time. She stands up and regards him solemnly through her thick glasses as he approaches and sticks out a hand. “I’m Detective Sergeant Fletcher.” He nods at Cameron standing behind him. “This is Detective Sergeant Cameron.”
She takes the offered hand and shakes it. Fletcher’s surprised at the firm grip. “My name is Iris Gray,” she says. “I’m going to reach into my handbag and pull out a set of credentials. Will that be all right?”
Fletcher tenses as she doesn’t wait for the response and reaches inside. He hadn’t thought to wear his sidearm in the lobby, and he’s in Cameron’s line of fire if she comes out shooting. He’s relieved when all she produces is a thin leather wallet. The relief fades when she opens it and shows him the card inside. Well, things just took a turn for the weird.
The woman sees his discomfort and gives him a thin smile. “Is there someplace private we can talk, Sergeant?”
SIXTY-FOUR
Keller sees Meadow’s eyes widen with shock as he walks into the living room with the shotgun. “Easy, kid,” he reassures her. “You’re safe here.”
“Am I?” she asks. “Am I really? You think guns keep people safe?”
“They do when I’m the one holding them.”
She rolls her eyes. “How theatrical.”
He puts his annoyance aside. Work to do. “Lucky for me I’m not looking for your approval. Where are Alia and Bassim?”
“Bassim’s in his room. Alia’s washing her face. You know, violence just leads to more violence.”
He looks at her, a grim smile on his face. “Sweetheart, I think I know that a lot better than you do.”
She bristles. “Don’t call me sweetheart.”
“Fine,” Keller says. “Just let me do my job.”
She shakes her head and gestures at the shotgun. “This seems like a real overreaction, even for a bunch of assholes like Brandon Ochs and his little pals.”
“You’re right. It is. But that’s not all that’s going on.”
She blinks in surprise. “What?”
“I’ll let them tell you. If they want. But there’s a reason I’m here, and it’s not that idiot Brandon. Although if I do get a chance to have a word with him, I’m not going to pass it up.”
Alia comes in, deftly wrapping her headscarf back around her face. “Ben wanted to have a word, as you put it. Now look where he is.”
“He’s a kid,” Keller says. “He needs to let adults deal with—”
“He’s afraid of you,” Meadow blurts. “He told me what happened. When you killed that man. In cold blood.”
All conversation stops at that point. Alia stares at Meadow for a moment. “You need to know the whole story,” Meadow says defensively.
Alia turns to Keller. “What is she talking about?”
Keller takes a deep breath. Before he can explain, his phone rings. He grits his teeth and fishes it out. The screen says MARIE. “Sorry,” he mutters, “I need to take this.” He answers. “Hey. How’s Ben?”
“Under arrest,” Marie says, her voice tense. “This may take a little while. So I need you to pick Francis up again.”
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