“The next thing I remember was being held at gunpoint.”
“And who held the gun on you? Would you be able to point them out in this courtroom?” Simon asked.
“Yes.” She raised her finger toward the defense table. “Anatolli held the gun on me, but Sergey encouraged him.”
“Now, you were also armed, correct?” Simon asked.
“Yes, I was.”
“What happened next?”
The gun barrel slammed into my jaw…blood coated my tongue.
They pushed me into a dark room where I imagined shadows danced as waking nightmares and where the whispers of the dead called out to me.
The click of the revolver…the sound of my heartbeat as I anticipated the bullet.
You can’t kill the devil…
The memories washed over her in intensive waves, but somehow she managed to get the words out, her voice sounding as if a stranger’s to her own ears.
“Thank you, Detective.”
“Would the defense like to question the witness?” the judge asked.
Madison’s heart palpitated.
“No, Your Honor.”
“Very well then. Detective, you may leave the stand.”
She took a seat back at the prosecution’s table, and SWAT Officer Dunn was called on to state the condition in which he’d found her.
When he spoke, she let her mind drift and it was almost as if he discussed finding someone other than her. If only it weren’t for the tactile recollections—the scent of blood, the taste of it on her tongue, the pressure applied to the barrel of the gun, the tight constraints on her arms and neck.
“Does defense have any final words?” The Honorable Judge Keller asked.
Blake stood, pressing a flattened hand against his suit jacket. “Defense would like to move that the charges against my clients be dismissed.”
Simon remained seated but projected his voice. “Ludicrous, Your Honor. We have heard convincing evidence that they held one of Stiles PD’s own, hostage with the intent to torture and kill her.”
On the count of three, pull the trigger.
The phrase kept repeating in her mind as if pulled from her subconscious on an endless reel.
“Defense, your request for the charges to be dismissed is hereby declined. Prosecution has provided enough evidence to prove that a crime did occur and that the defendant probably committed the crime. All charges will be handed over to the next level.”
The judge passed a glance to Madison. His eyes didn’t communicate empathy for her but held a deep sense of finding justice. The Russians hadn’t gotten to him—yet anyway.
The judge banged his gavel. “Hearing dismissed.”
Terry walked back to Madison. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Just fine,” she said while on the inside she quaked. The source wasn’t fear or anger, it was uncertainty. Would they find a way to get off again? Would they slip through the fingers of justice?
“I still can’t believe they’re free men for now.”
“And, this really surprises you, Terry.” She didn’t have any preconceived ideas that they would continue their stay behind bars—even if that’s where they belonged, caged like the animals they were. She knew that life went according to its own code of divvying out retribution, but often it fell short of the bar she set.
-
Chapter 26
OUTSIDE THE COURTHOUSE, the media was congregated, clamoring at everyone coming out. Madison pushed through and made it down to the sidewalk, when Leland King stepped in front of her, a mic in his hands and a cameraman behind him.
“You do TV now?” Madison brushed past him.
“How did it go in there? Are they going to walk for their crimes?”
It was bait, a trap that Madison could have recognized from quite a distance. “It is fact that they held an officer with Stiles PD hostage with the intent to kill.”
“Yes, and we all know that you are that officer.”
The words from his mouth might as well have been filtered through a megaphone. A rush of reporters headed over.
“Is it true that you are the one the Russians held hostage?”
“You’re Detective Knight?”
“Why did you go into Homeland Logistics?”
“Were you on duty at the time?”
“Do you still think they killed that lawyer?”
Madison glanced past them to King and angled her head to the side, communicating the silent and sarcastic, thank you.
“I’m not going to answer anything at this time,” Madison said. It occurred to her how odd it was for the media to be here in the first place. They had struggled to keep the date and time of the preliminary hearing out of the public’s knowledge. Did it have something to do with King’s anonymous source? Was that the chief?
“Just tell us. Are you her?”
“No comment.”
The reporters started talking among themselves and seemed to come to the same conclusion at once. They all faced her.
“This is her.” A young reporter with a thin waist was gesturing emphatically, her arm raised, her hand pointing down toward Madison.
When Madison didn’t think any more reporters could place a microphone in front of her, she realized how wrong she was.
A hand grabbed her upper arm from behind and tugged her backward. Ready to deck the person, she spun to see it was Terry.
“Thank God for you.”
He smiled. “Remember that the next time you’re pissed with me.”
They worked away from the crowd, walking backward, and then turned to watch their next step. When they made it to a clearing, where the tide of people had receded, she came face to face with Sergey. Anatolli stood to his left, and Blake to his right.
“You didn’t think you’d keep us behind bars forever, did you?”
She stood her ground, held eye contact, and was determined not to allow her composure to falter. “I’m not finished with you yet.”
“Oh, I think you are, sweetheart.”
Anatolli and Blake were already on the move, headed toward a waiting limousine.
Sergey blew her a kiss a second before the spray of pink mist enveloped the air.
People screamed and dropped low to the concrete.
Terry wrapped his arm around her and pulled her to the ground.
Another shot rang out.
Anatolli’s hand, which had been extended to the roof of the car, quickly dropped as he fell to the sidewalk. A black hole in the middle of his forehead seeped blood.
Madison watched through blood-soaked lashes. The urge to vomit nearly unavoidable. Blood was all over her. Her stomach lurched. The gagging sensation puffed out her cheeks and compressed her esophagus.
Terry.
She became aware of his hand encased around hers, squeezing it tightly.
“I’m okay.”
Blake.
She swallowed roughly. Her eyes taking in the area on ground level, surveying the damage.
Just like Anatolli, Sergey had a wound to match, his eyes vacant. Yet, even in death, he appeared arrogant, untouchable as if he had the ability to haunt from beyond the grave.
Anatolli’s face was relaxed and he would have appeared to be in a blissful slumber if it weren’t for the blood cascading as a curtain over his facial features.
“Blake!” She yelled out his name when she couldn’t see him. Tears, blood, and adrenaline hindered her vision.
“Blake!”
Hunched over, he walked to her. “I’m right here.”
At that moment, truth reflected in their eyes. They were connected by their past. There was an underlying respectful camaraderie brought out by their circumstance.
“I’m all right.” He leaned in, putting an arm around her.
She was speec
hless and near emotionless. She had to place herself out of body and focus. She was made for this situation.
Yet the smell of blood rose into her sinuses with each breath, inundating her and threatening her resolve.
Seconds had passed—or had it been minutes—since the last round fired?
She looked over her shoulder to the right, trying to spot the ideal sniper perch. The sun was right there, shining in her eyes.
Sirens wailed, increasing in volume as they approached. The noise impaired her ability to form solid thoughts.
She went to stand and both men, Terry, and Blake, took an arm, tugging her back down to the sidewalk.
“Let me go.” She shook free and rose to full height. She shielded her eyes with a hand and looked up to the roof across the street.
She didn’t know what she expected to see—a glint in the sunlight? Professionals would ensure everything was black for this purpose.
A man standing on top of the building? He would avoid the edges that would disclose his position.
A sniper rifle sticking out of an open window? The sniper would be long gone.
“We have to get across the street. Now!” She had taken three steps before Terry hauled her to him.
“You stay here. Wait for backup. Stay with the bodies.”
“Terry—”
“Not an option.”
They locked eyes and she knew he wasn’t going to let her win this one. She wouldn’t be going anywhere.
A hand touched her shoulder.
THE CHAOS INFUSED HIM WITH LIFE, a heartbeat of its own, which pumped and propelled him forward. He had accomplished what he had set out to do and there would be no way the Stiles PD—or anyone—would bring him down. He was the one to be feared. He took life from a distance, with lethal accuracy. The victims of his rifle would never be given the chance to make amends, to dwell on regrets. Really, he was doing them a favor, pardoning them for their sins and providing them a pass into the next world.
He picked up the spent casings and did one final survey of the area to ensure he left no evidence behind. He was to disappear into the breeze, to become a non-existent shadow, a ghost that leaves disorder in its wake.
Now he had good news to give the boss.
-
Chapter 27
MADISON TURNED AROUND TO SEE that it was Troy Matthews who had his hand on her shoulder. His eyes were piercing through hers again, and, for a second or two, it felt like the world had gone quiet around her.
“We should move these people inside,” Matthews said.
Blake was pacing around her as if needing to relieve himself. His face was flushed, and his hair, which was usually perfectly set, was disheveled.
“They weren’t after you,” Madison tried to talk him down. “If they were, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
He blinked slowly. His jaw shifted slightly askew as he looked between her and Matthews, and he nodded.
“Now, I need you to get it together.” Speaking those words reminded her of the blood that soaked her face, and, looking down, stained her shirt. For a brief moment she had left the present, her mind compiling everything and analyzing what the next step should be. First, she needed something to wipe her face. She couldn’t carry on in this state. A sensation of panic followed, her heartbeat speeding up and her thought process scattered. Her attention went to the limousine. “Do you have any tissues or wet cloths in there?”
“Yeah,” Blake said before setting out in a slow jog to reach the car. His steps stalled when he reached Anatolli’s body. He stared down at it.
By the way he looked at it, Madison wondered if he had ever seen a dead person.
Her legs took her to Blake, but her insides tangled as she neared the blood pooling around Anatolli. The gagging sensation was strong, but she couldn’t let herself succumb.
Focus somewhere other than here, she coached herself, but the smell of blood crept into her sinuses. There was no time to refuse the involuntary reflex.
She emptied her stomach on the sidewalk just inches from the blood.
She stood, refusing to acknowledge Blake, fearing what he would think of her vulnerability and how he might use this to his advantage as a defense attorney. She didn’t want to look at Matthews either as if by doing so it would confirm that she had just puked in front of the guy. She wouldn’t be able to handle the empathy she was certain would show in his eyes.
Tears fell, due to the vomiting and mingled with the blood as they streaked down her cheeks. She wouldn’t think about that. She had to be there for the people still huddled to the ground in the aftermath.
She wiped her mouth with her hands, pinching her lips with her fingers. She would see this through.
On the count of three, pull the trigger.
His voice was so clear she spun around expecting Sergey to be standing there—only to see him lying dead on the ground. Her legs buckled beneath her, but she regained her composure.
“Here.” Blake extended a white towel toward her.
She took it from him and wiped it down her face. The blood had already become tacky and it clung to the fibers of the towel, sounding like Velcro being pulled apart. The noise, combined with the feeling of it adhering to her flesh, had her stomach swirling again.
Focus.
She stared through Blake to a point beyond him, to the car at the curb. She had to calm the crowd that was scurrying around behind her. They looked as if they were scattered marbles seeking a hole to sink into.
A woman reporter hurled toward her and lost her footing, only avoiding full impact with the concrete due to a talented balancing act. She was facing Madison when she regained full height and made no steps to close the distance. She went to direct her cameraman to find that he was gone.
“We need you to go into the courthouse.” Madison gestured with the bloody towel dangling from her hand, to the building that, due to the traumatic events, didn’t seem quite so daunting.
“In there? Why?”
Where the hell was backup?
Her head spun and had her legs wanting to give out again, but Matthews held her by the arm. She glanced at his grip, then up to his face, shy of making eye contact. What was he now? Her guardian angel? She didn’t move to shrug him off.
“We’ll have to question everyone who is here,” Madison said, proud that her voice came out authoritative, despite her internal struggle.
“But, I...I didn’t see anything.” The reporter’s chin quivered, ever-so-slightly, her dam of cool reserve about to break.
“Please, ma’am, I know you want nothing more than to get out of here, to go home and have a drink—am I right?” Matthews asked, without waiting for an answer. “But we need you to stay. Two men are dead.”
The woman’s eyes filled with tears.
“They were evil men,” is all Madison could say, hoping that somehow that would tone down the tragedy.
Somewhere between the eye contact and the words spoken, the woman had touched Madison emotionally. No longer fighting against each other, Madison striving for a conviction, and the reporter for the latest scoop no matter the cost, both were in this unfortunate—and surreal—experience together.
“All right. I will go inside.” The reporter touched the back of Madison’s hand and left.
The intimate contact in a scene of turmoil, in which the world had been flipped on its head, righted things again. Madison went around and directed everyone she could into the courthouse. She had made it through the bulk of people, in part thanks to Matthews’s steady hold on her.
Cruisers screeched to a halt, their tires leaving black skid marks on the road. She breathed a little lighter—help had arrived.
Higgins came running over to her.
She held up her hand. “I’m fine. Everything is okay.” She gestured toward Sergey and Anatolli. “Two
casualties.”
“Glad to see you’re okay.” Higgins stood there watching her as if she were a china doll that had fallen off a shelf from a great height. His energy questioned how she had survived without a mark.
She wondered if she had. But for right now, she had a job to do.
“There are a bunch of people inside the building. Terry has gone across the street looking for the sniper.”
“He won’t find anything.” Higgins’s eyes went to Matthews for the first time.
Madison gestured to the courthouse. “We’ve got to get in there and start taking statements.”
Higgins directed a couple uniformed officers to get inside the building. By the time he would have faced her again, she would be halfway up the stairs. She felt bad leaving him like that, but she couldn’t remain static or everything came in on her—the way the red bloomed from Sergey’s forehead, her fear for Blake’s safety, a man she thought she had zero feelings left for, yet that wasn’t what was eating at her at the most. As much as Madison figured the world to be a better place without these Russians in it, their deaths needed to be accounted for.
She panted, trying to derive a full breath.
For the last five years, she had fought to have them held accountable for the defense attorney. Before that, she’d sought retribution for her past. And now, when she had come so close, death had swept in ahead of her and claimed them into its prison of darkness. Was she going to be satisfied with that?
Somehow, she’d have to find a way to at least accept that they were no longer within her grasp. She would still confirm, without a doubt, who killed Lexan and what happened to Calin. They had his watch. Somewhere, they’d find his body. Maybe if they found the shooter, they would be that much closer to resolving everything.
She turned around to see Matthews hadn’t followed her but was headed across the street. She already missed his presence.
THEY SPENT HOURS COLLECTING STATEMENTS from everyone and came away with nothing more than a lot of excited stories and proclamations about needing a stiff drink. Some people hugged themselves and shook, their eyes blank and distant. They were the ones who’d never seen a dead body before today. They were the ones who had let the media sensation of violence hypnotize them into thinking it mirrored real life. As a result, they were ill prepared for the all-encompassing experience, the sights, the smells, and the feelings—the reminders of their mortality.
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