Vigilante Dead

by DV Berkom

  Sam didn’t move, his expression unreadable.

  “They didn’t see me at first, until someone let out the dogs. I tried to run, but they caught me.”

  “Jesus, Kate.” Sam put his hands on his hips and looked at the floor. When he finally raised his head, his eyes were the darkest I’d ever seen them. “You could have been killed.”

  “I realize that.”

  “How did you get away?”

  “A neighbor complained about the dogs and the police showed up. As Chacon was dealing with them, I made a deal with one of his guys. He looked the other way while I climbed out a window.” I figured Sam didn’t need every little detail.

  “I think Chacon sent that guy.” I nodded toward the door, indicating the hit man lying dead outside. “He knew what I was driving.”

  “And you’re telling me this because you think the house is compromised?”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s the case. How else did the guy know that I was headed to the coast?”

  “Did he ever have possession of your cell phone?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. I put it inside the Jeep before Chacon’s goon grabbed me.”

  “You might want to check the battery, just to be sure.”

  I rummaged inside my purse and pulled out my phone. A quick check showed nothing unusual.

  “How about the Jeep?” He crossed his arms again. “They could have attached a tracker.”

  “I didn’t think of that. Wouldn’t the batteries have run out? I mean, we’re a week out from the night in question.”

  Sam nodded. “They could have switched it out, or put a tail on you. Or he tapped into the battery. Takes longer, so I’m leaning toward either a tail or a slap and go.”

  “I wonder why he waited so long?”

  “I imagine Chacon had other concerns occupying his time, like moving his operation. Add to that the fact that we both keep strange hours. There’s no discernible pattern, which makes it difficult to stage a clean hit. He probably figured he’d be able to isolate you eventually.” He opened the door. “We’ll have to wait for daylight to run a thorough check on the Jeep, but I can give it a quick once-over before we leave here.”

  “So.”

  “So.”

  “I suppose this means you won’t trust me again, right?”

  Sam closed his eyes and shook his head. “No. I trust you, Kate.” He glanced out at the team of law enforcement working the area under bright spotlights. “God knows why, but I do.”

  Why did I always screw things up? I was a walking disaster. People needed to stay far, far away from me. The bad spirits that guy told me about in Mexico a lifetime ago still hadn’t left me alone.

  Um, you can’t blame bad spirits, Kate. That was too long ago.

  I never said I wasn’t good at denial.

  Grabbing a flashlight from his rig, Sam did a quick check underneath the Jeep for a tracking device but didn’t find anything suspicious. As soon as all my stuff was secured in the back, we headed for home. The drive gave me time to consider what happened and to try to formulate a plan to keep Chacon from coming after me again.

  I’d have to do something, and do it quickly. But what? If he hadn’t already, Chacon would be moving into a new place to conduct business. Sure, I could use Momo again to find the guys in the van and track them to Chacon’s new location. That was if Chacon was the only supplier they used, and if Momo would sell me another big order.

  Big ifs.

  And then what? The DEA was no longer interested in dealing with me. Chance’s anger at what I’d done, coupled with not having a contact familiar with the case, spoke volumes. I couldn’t blame them. They acted on information I gave them and ended up with a big fat nothing. And, Chacon made them look foolish. I’d be pissed off, too. I was lucky they didn’t bring me up on charges for interfering with a federal investigation.

  There was still time.

  Three hours later, we were home. Exhausted, I dumped everything in the closet, intending to sort it out later. Sam cooked some eggs while I glanced through the news on my tablet.

  While Sam plated the eggs, I laid the tablet on the counter in front of me and cleared my throat. “I was thinking.”

  “That’s dangerous,” Sam said without turning around.

  “Funny man. But seriously, when that guy pointed a gun at me, I didn’t know how to respond, and I had a gun. What should I have done in that situation?”

  Sam turned away from the stove, a plate in each hand, and set them on the island. He’d added some strawberries and a couple of slices of melon on the side. I stabbed a strawberry with my fork and ate it. He picked up the salt and pepper before coming around the island to sit beside me.

  “That depends.” He ground a liberal dose of pepper on his eggs and offered me the grinder. I shook my head and he set it down. I reached for the hot sauce and poured it on my eggs until the Scoville heat unit would kill a rhino.

  “On what?”

  “Size and position of your assailant, for starters.” He shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth, chewing as he thought. “Your ability to handle a gun, which, in your case is pretty good, especially since you’ve been practicing at the range.”

  “But what should I have done? I couldn’t have just pulled out the Beretta and shot him. Even though he didn’t know I had a gun and I had the element of surprise, I don’t have the confidence or speed to try something like that.” I nibbled on a piece of melon. “What would you have done?”

  Sam shrugged. “From the scenario you described, I would have most likely feigned surprise, spun around, and blinded him with the Maglite while drawing the Beretta.” He speared his fork into one of the strawberries. “Of course, I’ve had a lot more training than you and I’m pretty fast. But for your skill level, you did just fine.” He smiled as he popped the berry into his mouth. “You survived. That was the main objective, right?”

  “I guess.” I played with my eggs. “Can you teach me? I learned a lot training with Quinn’s guys, but it’s been awhile since I’ve used any of the moves. I’m rusty.”

  Sam nodded. “Good idea. I can show you what they taught me in the Academy, and add some specialized martial arts into the mix. That way”—he brought his hand up and stroked my cheek—“I won’t have to worry so much.”

  ***

  Later on, after I’d gotten a few hours of sleep, I called Chance.

  “If you don’t already have one, I would suggest that you and Sam install a security system at the house,” he said. “Make it the best you can afford. A man like Chacon—if indeed it was Chacon—will have access to thugs who know how to avoid detection.” He sighed. “Until this is over you’re in danger, and by proxy, so is Sam.”

  “Have you heard whether the DEA is going to bring me up on charges?”

  “I haven’t heard, but I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks, Chance. I owe you.”

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Kate. If anybody owes anyone, it’s the DEA. Because of you, two of the most elusive drug traffickers in recent memory are dead, and the Feds are well on their way to finding the power behind the drug cartel throne. I’d say that’s damned fine work. You just need to tone things down, stay the hell out of their way for a while.”

  We ended the call with Chance promising to have someone at the DEA contact me for my version of events at the cabin. He also promised to put in a good word toward getting someone assigned as a new contact.

  The next day, Sam purchased an alarm system for the house, complete with audio and video feeds and a computer backup. When I offered to pay for it, he brushed me off, telling me he’d been thinking about installing one for years but hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

  I just hoped it was enough.

  Seventeen

  SAM AND I started training that weekend. Sessions were broken up into morning and evening, and divided between weapons handling and hand-to-hand combat. He taught me foundational skills like assessing an opponent’s stre
ngths and weaknesses and how to play to my own strengths while being aware of weaknesses in my defenses.

  One of my aha moments came when Sam taught me to work with my opponent’s moves rather than try to block them with force. There was energy in an attack that I could use to my advantage. Learning how to guide the force of the attacker so that his body ended up in a position where I could better immobilize him was key to giving me more confidence in my abilities. Even at a rudimentary level, the art of reading the other person’s subconscious physical cues took work, but Sam was a firm taskmaster and didn’t give me any slack. I practiced over and over until identifying common initiating moves started to become second nature.

  During our weapons sessions, Sam glossed over semiautomatics, AK-47s, MP5s, and Uzis, since I’d already been trained on those kinds of guns. First by my bodyguard, Eduardo, when I lived in Sonora with Salazar, and then by Quinn and his group when I joined forces with the commandoes deep in the Yucatán. Instead, we concentrated on non-traditional methods of self-defense: using a pen, a set of keys, or a telephone cord to shut down an opponent. He tested me on a person’s most vulnerable points—the groin, throat, and eyes were the best choices, followed by the wrists, instep, kidneys, and if you had enough room to make it count, the back of the knee. After training with Sam and going over what others had taught me, I felt better able to handle whatever Chacon or someone like him would try to throw my way.

  When I asked him to teach me the best way to kill someone, Sam gave me a strange look and said, “We’re not doing offense. Only defense. Offense is a whole other mindset.”

  “Okay, then let’s play what-if.”

  Sam crossed his arms and leaned against the garage wall, where we’d been practicing throws and kicks.

  “What if someone kidnaps you and leaves a note saying that the only way I’ll see you again is to come to such and such an address? What should I do then?”

  Without missing a beat he said, “Call the FBI.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, of course, but what would you do in that situation?”

  “Call the FBI.”

  Shaking my head, I blew out a frustrated sigh. “You’re not going to work with me on this, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  Leaving it for the time being, I talked him into doing some worst-case scenarios. We continued sparring and role-playing well into the night. The more I learned, the more I wanted to try. Training made me feel powerful, like I could handle anything that came my way. Sam must have sensed it, because the holds grew more difficult to outmaneuver. More than once I ended up on my back on the mat, staring up at him, trying to catch my breath.

  I got the feeling he enjoyed the training a little too much.

  Sunday evening, my parents came to dinner. Maureen was subdued, and I found it easier to talk to her. Dad even noticed. He came into the kitchen to help with the dishes and joked that he didn’t know what we put in the water, but he wanted to bottle it.

  “Maureen seems distracted. Is there news about Lisa?” I’d been to see my sister the day before, but it was possible something had happened since then.

  Dad shook his head. “No, I think she’s just homesick. You know, all of her lady friends are back at the country club having their lunches and whatnot, and she’s been out here, tending to her daughter.” He shrugged as he dried a wine glass and put it in the cupboard. “You know how they talk, and Maureen’s not there to run interference. I’m sure the rumor mill is running amok in our absence.”

  Maureen cared a lot about what everyone else thought, trying to control what was being said about the family and keeping up appearances. Not only was Lisa’s condition emotionally devastating, but the fact that her biological daughter was in intensive care because of a drug overdose had to be terribly embarrassing.

  At least when I messed up, she could blame someone else’s DNA.

  “It’s got to be exhausting trying to control what people know about you and your whole family. Maybe this will help her not to care so much about what people think.”

  A smile tugged at his lips as he stifled a laugh. Pretty soon we were both guffawing at the thought of Maureen learning that particular lesson. When the laughter subsided, I gave my dad a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. Releasing some of the pent-up emotions I had surrounding my stepmother’s disapproval went a long way toward lowering my anxiety levels. I hadn’t felt this light since Lisa had asked if she could move in with me.

  “Thank you, Dad.”

  “Anytime, sugar pie.” He paused. The towel in his hands grew still.

  “Looks like something’s weighing on your mind. Can I help?”

  Dad frowned before he resumed drying the pan he was holding and put it on the counter. “Maureen and I are leaving the day after tomorrow.” He stared into the distance for a moment and then shook his head. “The doctor says it could be months, hell, years before Lisa comes out of the coma, if she ever does. We’ve got a life back in Minnesota, and Maureen’s not happy here.”

  I knew what he was going to say next, and it twisted my insides. I didn’t want to lose the tenuous attachment I’d regained with my younger sister.

  “Maureen—I mean, we, think that Lisa would do best if she was moved to a care unit in Minneapolis, close by where we can check in on her.”

  Even though every cell in me wanted to protest, I realized he was right. Lisa needed to be home. Maureen and my sisters would visit her every day and give her the care she needed if she ever came back to us. It wasn’t my decision. It was never my decision.

  There was no guarantee that Lisa would ever come out of the coma. Yes, if she stayed I would visit her as often as I could, and I assumed that Ian would do the same, but that wasn’t going to be enough. The finality of my father’s words hit me hard. My dream of having a normal relationship with my family evaporated.

  “I understand.” I placed the last bowl into the rack and pulled the plug in the sink. The water receded, giving a final gurgle as the last of it drained out. I looked at my father. He gave me a sad smile and wrapped his arms around me in an all-encompassing hug.

  “I know how much you two were looking forward to getting to know each other again.”

  Hot tears brimmed in my eyes. I took a step back and wiped at them with the back of my hand.

  “Aw, sweetie, you know I love you. Lisa’s going to be fine. She’ll come out of this even better than before. I promise.”

  I smiled through the tears at his valiant attempt to try to make me feel better. It looked like I wasn’t the only one in denial.

  Eighteen

  MAUREEN AND MY father made arrangements with the hospital to transport Lisa back to Minnesota right away. When the time came, the doctors and nurses let me have a few moments alone with her to say my goodbyes. I wondered if I was ever going to see her alive again.

  She looked so peaceful lying in the hospital bed. It was almost like she’d wake up and ask me how the PI business was doing.

  My conversation with my father the day before may have brought me back to reality, but saying goodbye to her made it all seem final.

  I sat on the edge of the hospital bed and took Lisa’s delicate hand in mine, thinking about what I should say to her. Would she hear me? Would the news that Maureen and my father were taking her back to Minnesota have a detrimental effect? It sure as hell depressed me. I opted to keep that part to myself.

  “Hey, Lisa. It’s me, Kate.” I stroked her hand with my thumb, unsure if she could even feel it. “I just wanted to say goodbye for now. Looks like Maureen and Dad are moving you back to Minnesota where they can take care of you better.” I took a deep breath, fighting back the tears. “I’ll come and see you, I promise. It just might not be as often as I’d like.” The thought of going back to Minneapolis and dealing with my two older siblings and Maureen on their home turf made me shudder.

  As though she was listening, I continued until my list of current events was exhausted. A nurse appeared at the door and gave me a
kind look that said I should wrap things up. I nodded and turned back to Lisa.

  “Be well. I love you.” I leaned over and kissed her cheek. Then I stood and shrugged my purse over my shoulder. With one last, final look, I walked out of the room.

  I drove the streets of Seattle aimlessly, not wanting to go home but not wanting to stop anywhere, either. When I found myself near the house in Green Lake where Ian was supposed to meet her that fateful night, I pulled to the curb and shut off the engine.

  Why did I even bother? Every time I tried to start a new life, something I could be proud of, things went sideways. And it usually involved the ones I loved the most getting hurt. Yes, I’d made a big mistake when I hooked up with Roberto Salazar, but even after I extricated myself from that hellacious nightmare he’d come after me, upsetting all the careful plans I’d made. I’d run to Alaska to get away from him, but he found me there. Or, more accurately, Angie McKenna tracked me down with the help of a private eye who lost his life for the trouble.

  Sam helped me get away, but in doing that I lost everything. I ran to Hawaii, where I trusted an old friend who turned out to be just as dirty as Roberto, and had to leave again. Finally, I changed my name, my hair, and my address once more, hid out in the little town of Durm, Arizona, and I was safe. At least for a while.

  Five years later, John Sterling, an associate of Salazar’s, tracked me down and tried to kill me. But he died in a mine collapse, or so I thought, and I rebuilt my life yet again. Soon, he and Roberto Salazar caught up with me, and the nightmare began again. Angie made another appearance and shot the man I was involved with to try to get to me. He survived, but later events ultimately led to my losing him. Fortunately, I found Quinn and together we put my trouble with Salazar to rest.

  That was, until Vincent Anaya got wind that I still had his money. Again, I’d asked Quinn for help and he’d obliged.

  The two years that had passed since then had been relatively quiet. I was beginning to relax, to not jump quite so high when a car revved its engine, or hit the decks whenever someone lit a firecracker. Sam said I had PTSD, or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and he was probably right. Fighting for my life for so long left me with nightmares and a deep anxiety that I just assumed would be my new normal.