I gave him a slight lead time, and squeezed off a round. His arms flailed like he’d been poleaxed, and he tumbled forward, his rifle clattering off to his side. I figured it for a good hit, or he wouldn’t have dropped his gun, but I was taking no chances. I immediately changed positions by rolling to the base of another tree. I took a few deep breaths and sighted him through the starlight scope again.
No movement.
There were so many things I wanted to do. Check the magazine to see how many rounds I had left . . . scan the rest of the area to make sure I wasn’t being stalked by anyone else. But one thing I didn’t hesitate on. I squeezed off another round into Viktor. His body reacted with the ever-so-slight jerking motion that told me he was feeling no pain.
Not so tough, I thought.
It took me about five more minutes to satisfy myself that there were no other assailants. They must have figured three were more than enough. I left them where they were and made a beeline back the way I’d come. They could lay there until the cops came to clean up this mess. I had to get back to the car and figure out a way to find Alex. I had half a magazine of ammo left, and I grabbed the one from Viktor’s rifle as well. Taking out my cell phone I pressed the button turning it on. If I tried to call her, it would alert Bayless that I’d gotten the best of Viktor and his buddies. But how could I find them?
A message signal appeared on the screen and I checked my voice mail. George’s happy voice came on.
“Hey, Ron, I’ve got some good news for you, buddy. You’re not gonna believe this. I been doing some working while you been partying in Las Vegas. Give me a call and I’ll give you the scoop. Bye.”
I quickly dialed his cell number.
He answered on the second ring. “About time you fucking called.”
“I been busy.”
“So have I. Guess where I’m at?”
“Look, I ain’t got time for games.”
“Ooooh,” he said. Then he got serious. “You all right?”
I took a deep breath, still trying to figure out what to do. Who to call. “Yeah, sorry. You know any coppers in Vegas?”
“You in some shit?”
“Up to my knees.”
“Christ, I was afraid of this. No, I don’t know anybody out there I can call. What you got?”
I debated telling him, but didn’t want to get into a long-winded explanation or debate. He’d just tell me to call Las Vegas Metro, and let them take over. I didn’t feel like sitting in a police station answering a million questions while Bayless still had Alex. “What you got?”
He didn’t answer immediately, probably figuring out the reason I was holding back. “We hit Sunset Manor Funeral Home with a search warrant.”
“I thought you didn’t have any PC?”
“We didn’t.” He laughed. “Two uniforms happened to be doing a premise check of the place and found the back door had been kicked in. Investigating what was obviously a break-in, they did a security check of the building and guess what they found?”
“Surprise me.”
“The guy’s got a whole morgue in this place, and it’s loaded with body parts. Legs, arms, torsos. I ain’t never seen nothing like it. They also found a corpse. Big guy who appeared to have been gut-shot. Sound familiar?”
It had to be the Russkie from the alley.
“So anyway,” he continued, “they knew Cate and Norris had been watching the place, so they backed off, called them, and we walked through a quickie warrant.”
“Sounds like good police work.”
“Yeah, I just wish I could put the guy who kicked in the back door in for a citizen commendation award. If we could ever find out who he is, that is.” He laughed.
“How about if I just buy him dinner when I get back.”
He laughed again, and it was a good sound to hear, even if it was half a continent away.
“We found something else that might interest you,” he said. “Maybe where our buddy Nicky is hiding.”
“Where’s that?”
“Sunset Manor Funeral Home, Las Vegas.”
“What?”
“He’s got another location out that way. Thought you might want to cruise by and take a look.”
It had to be it. That’s where they’d taken Alex. “George, what’s the address of the place?”
“You going over there now?”
“Just give it to me, dammit.”
“Jesus, you don’t have to get your undies in an uproar.” He paused, then read off the address. I took out my pen and wrote it on my hand.
“Okay, I need a big favor.”
“Name it.”
“Call Las Vegas Metro and tell them they’ve got four dead guys in an old, abandoned water park adjacent to the Arabequese Hotel on Paradise.”
“What? Oh, shit.”
“Tell them who I am and vouch for me.”
“You’re gonna wait for them there, aren’t you? So you can explain everything.”
“Of course,” I said, doing a fast trot toward the lights of the parking garage. After I rescued Alex.
Chapter 23
Alex St. James
Nicky hovered close. Too close. His pupils were huge as he stared at me. No remorse—nothing resembling humanity behind those dark eyes. With uncertain movements he reached out for me. He leaned hungrily, his mouth opening for a kiss.
Repulsed, I jumped away, my backside hitting the counter. Trapped.
Nicky halted, and held his breath for a moment as he fingered my hair. “It feels just like I thought it would,” he said, his voice raw. “Like silk.” He moved closer. His sweet cologne coaxed bile up my throat, but there was no getting away. “I’ve got a place set up for us, Alex. In the residence. Just you and me.”
Bayless interrupted. “Back off, Romeo. Plans have changed.” He pointed to me. “You. Reporter. Free up the fat guy’s hands.”
I didn’t move.
Nicky’s jaw dropped. “What do you mean plans changed? You told me that before this was over . . .”
“That was before they tracked us to Vegas. If they told anybody what they were up to—and I’m sure they did—this place is going to come under scrutiny fast. We have to get them both done tonight and get rid of all trace before morning.”
Nicky rubbed his leg. “I’ve done everything you told me to do . . .”
“Yeah and look where you got us.”
“Come on,” Nicky said. “If you keep an eye on the old fart and just give me . . .”
“I said plans changed. Now get moving.” Bayless glowered at me. “And I told you to free the old asshole’s hands.”
Nicky squinted at Bayless, and for a moment I thought Nicky might push it. If he did, and if they were distracted, I might have a chance to try something. But Nicky did as he was told and reluctantly moved away from me.
Hal’s lower lip trembled and tears gathered at the end of his jaw, dropping onto the tile floor. He wasn’t paying attention because I had to physically turn him around in order to get at his duct-taped hands. He obeyed without looking up.
I pulled at the tape, which twisted and ripped at my tugging. Hal wobbled, and I was afraid he’d fall, so I gently pushed him forward, to lean him against the counter. Nicky kept busy next to us.
Hal pressed his forehead against the wall cabinets. The man had nothing left. His hands were limp as I worked at them. He’d given up.
Nicky was about three steps to my right, Bayless about five steps farther. The whole time I worked, I kept watch on the two of them, hoping for an opening—a chink in their armor.
“How long will this take?” Bayless asked Nicky.
Nicky shrugged. He’d returned the Glock to his waistband and was pulling out instruments from the storage above the countertop: sharp stainless steel things. Tubing. Scissors. Instead of answering Bayless, he pulled out two disposable jumpsuits, two paper face masks and two sets of goggles. “Here, put these on.”
Bayless backed away, hands up. “Not a chance.
This is your thing.” The gun pointed toward the ceiling.
In the split second he directed the weapon away, I thought to rush him, grab the gun and hope that Nicky wouldn’t react fast enough or think fast enough to pull his gun out. But I’d have to run past Nicky to reach Bayless. And I knew I’d never make it.
If it’d been Ross with me, we might have had a chance.
Hal let loose a groan so loud it startled us all. His knees began to buckle and he clenched his eyes shut.
Bayless whipped the barrel in our direction again. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Hal’s voice was rasping. “I really gotta go.”
Ignoring Hal, Nicky shoved the protective wear at Bayless a second time. “Take these. Put them on. There’s going to be a lot of blood.”
Bayless shook his head. “I’m not doing the dirty work. That’s what you get paid for.”
“I can’t do them by myself. Not if we want them both done tonight.”
Bayless grimaced. “Shit.”
Hal held his hands just below his stomach. “Please.”
Carrying his own protective wear, Nicky moved to the nearside of the porcelain table. He turned to face us. “You,” he said to Hal. “Strip.”
Next to me, Hal started to retch.
I grabbed his arm. “Don’t do it, Hal,” I said, hoping I sounded strong, desperately trying to stall. “Make them do it for you. Don’t make it easy.”
Not that he could. His knees finally did give out and he dropped to the floor. “I can’t,” he said. “I gotta go.”
“Shit,” Bayless said again.
Unperturbed, Nicky kept working. He donned the white Tyvek-like garment, and pulled on heavy rubber gloves. Turning his back to us, he sprayed the porcelain table with a strong disinfectant that stung my throat and made me cough
Hal continued to moan.
Bayless shouted, “Shut up!” He pointed his gun at Hal. “You shut up or you get one in your head right this second.”
“Hal’s not kidding,” I said, drawing their attention to me. I needed to see the looks in their eyes. I needed to gauge them. Did they see me as a threat? Did they think they had me beat? Let them think I was helpless. Then maybe they would let their guard down, just a little. Maybe then I’d have a chance.
I cleared my throat, tried to make it sound as though I were on the verge of breaking down myself. It didn’t require much acting ability—I was shaking as I spoke. “He has a problem,” I continued, studying them both as I talked. “I mean, like a urologist kind of problem. He’s not faking.”
“Too bad,” Bayless said.
Nicky twisted around. “Just take him to the damn bathroom.”
Bayless made a face that told me he didn’t like taking orders from Nicky. “Like hell.”
“You want his parts? Then let him do his business. The minute I stop the bastard’s heart he’s gonna piss and shit all over the place.” Nicky grimaced. “Get him out there and empty the guy out. And while you’re there, make him strip. I’m not undressing a stiff if he can do it himself first.” He leaned over to the shelving unit again, this time pulling out the trocar. He affixed the sharp, three-sided point to the end of the two-foot metal pole and was about to hook up the other end to a waste tube, when Bayless interrupted.
“You take him,” he said. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”
Nicky started to protest.
“There’s no way I’m trusting you alone with the girl,” Bayless said. “You take the bastard to the shitter while I keep her quiet.”
Nicky worked his jaw for a minute before finally giving in. “Come on, asshole,” he said, grabbing Hal’s arm and hoisting him up.
“You take orders from Bayless, huh?” I said, “All this time we thought you were the brains of the outfit.” I shook my head as if disappointed. My stomach gave a lurch when I thought about Shade. We’d misread the structure of this organization. Badly. Where was Shade now?
I tried again. “Guess you’re just a little worker bee, huh?”
Bayless came closer. “Shut up, bitch.”
I kept talking. “Nicky, this guy sees you as the next weakest link. You kill me and Hal, and things will get hot. Your boss here isn’t just going to skip town again. He’s going to get rid of you. Just like he did Dr. Colon.”
Bayless pointed the gun at my forehead. “I said ‘Shut up.’ ”
When Nicky stopped hustling Hal to stare at me, I knew I’d struck a nerve.
C’mon, I breathed.
“The one thing I’ve always hated about you, Alex, is your superior attitude. Even when we were kids you were always trying to make me do the things you thought were right. You were a little goody-two-shoes then, and you haven’t changed.” The goggles and the face mask around his neck, combined with the white paper jumpsuit made him look clinical—and more sinister than ever. “I’m going to enjoy taking you apart, piece by precious piece.”
He was out the door in moments, taking Hal and my last bit of hope with him.
The moment they were gone, Bayless got a terrible smile on his face. Gooseflesh popped out all over my already chilled body. We were facing one another, about five feet apart. Maybe six. My left hip skimmed the countertop where Nicky had been preparing his tools. I worked at focusing on Bayless and not allowing my gaze to waver. I had an idea. A terrifying idea. I couldn’t allow myself to telegraph it.
“You know,” he said, “Nick might’ve had a good plan after all. Why don’t you strip now. Save us time later.”
Bayless had relaxed his grip on the gun, he’d even dropped his hand to his side. Poor baby—was the firearm getting too heavy to hold? Please. I counted on that.
“Not a chance.”
He started to bring the gun up again, so I raised my hands.
“Okay, okay.”
My easy acquiescence made him smile again. He lowered the weapon and leaned his elbow on the countertop, gun pointed to the floor. I noticed his trigger finger trailed along the gun’s barrel in the “safe ready” position. Someone had trained him well.
“What are you waiting for?” he asked.
I bit my lip, then leaned down to take off my left shoe, then my right. I held them by their heels in my right hand.
“Cut the shit. Get to the good stuff,” he said. “Take off your top.”
“Okay.” Like hell, I thought.
I tossed my shoes to the far side of the room. It was a quick move and it startled Bayless. His eyes shot toward the sound and in that breathless moment, I grabbed the trocar.
It took less than two beats for Bayless to turn back, reacting to my frantic grab, but it was a two- second advantage and I didn’t wait. With the memory of Nicky demonstrating the force with which a trocar needs to be shoved into the resilient skin of a human body, I thrust the deadly instrument straight into Bayless’s chest.
He screamed.
The trocar chunked in with a satisfying sound. Still screaming, he dropped to the floor. Blood spurted—fast and furious. As he fell over I lost my grip on the tool.
From the ground he pulled his gun hand up—his eyes wild with the panic I’d been feeling moments before.
I kicked at his gun, but he didn’t drop it.
It went off, the shot going wide, hitting something metal. The hot casing popped out and struck Bayless in the face as he struggled to get back up. I kicked again, connecting hard this time. He lost his grip on the gun for a moment, but I nearly lost my balance, and he grabbed the weapon before I could.
“You bitch.” His voice was stronger than it should have been.
We were working in milliseconds here. I knew the gun was coming back and it was coming for me. Acting on instinct alone, I jammed my foot into his chest, yanked out the bloody trocar, and just as the gun went off again, I stabbed him in the throat.
The bullet grazed me. I recognized that I’d been hit with a strange sort of dispassion as heat skimmed across my left arm.
I had to ignore it. There were people
coming. Running. I heard shouting—Candice. I heard Nicky telling her to shut up.
I dropped to the floor, furiously working to pry Bayless’s fingers from the gun’s grip, but they were frozen there. A death grip, I thought grimly.
Until he coughed.
Not a death grip.
The warning came too late. His left hand reached up and with inhuman strength he grabbed a handful of my shirt, pulling me backward. “Not so fast, bitch,” he said through gritted teeth.
Although blood spurted from the gash in his throat, I must not have hit the carotid artery like I’d hoped. On my back, atop Bayless’s bloody chest, I kicked, slamming my foot against his right arm, my arms too short to reach the gun as he yanked me backward. But I thought I heard it clatter to the floor.
How the hell did this guy have the strength to fight me? How was he able to talk?
I looked. I hadn’t gotten his throat. I’d gotten him in the chest. Right side. Damn. The two-foot trocar, still wedged there, wiggled as we fought for control.
The door banged open. Nicky’s voice was a scream. “Alex! Get away from him or I’ll kill you.”
In one split second I made my choice. Fight or flight.
If I flew, I’d die.
Dead Ringer Page 37