by Sam Sisavath
“You’re not going to touch her,” Allie said.
“Oh, I’m going to touch her, all right. Then I’m going to do more than that to you, missy.”
Missy? she thought. Maybe that was his way of trying to intimidate her, but Allie had heard worse things, seen worse things, and all it did was make her want to snicker. But she didn’t, because she was too busy preparing for what was coming next.
“Jack thinks you’re someone,” Jones said. “Some kind of super secretary, maybe. Oh, sorry. They don’t call you guys secretaries anymore, do they? Ahem. I meant super executive assistant.”
“You can call me whatever you want, but you’re still not taking her,” Allie said.
“We’ll see about that,” he said, and began walking toward her.
She relaxed her arms around Lucy and felt the girl react, turning her head slightly to look questioningly up at her.
Allie concentrated on Jones, on his large legs—like tree trunks—and the size of his arms. His neck was almost bigger than her thigh and he waddled more than he walked, the result of his bulk. The man had to be north of 260 pounds of muscle, and well over six-five.
Jesus, he’s going to break me in half with his bare hands.
She gritted her teeth at him anyway. It didn’t matter how big a person was; they all had weaknesses. All she had to do was find Jones’s in the two or three seconds it would take him to walk from the door to her and Lucy—
A growl from the door stopped Jones in mid-stride.
It sounded familiar. Very familiar.
She could see the gears turning behind Jones’s eyes in the second or two it took him to process what he had heard. He began to turn around, his right hand stabbing down to his hip for the Glock at the same time.
Allie glimpsed moving white fur between Jones’s legs and thought, Oh, you beautiful thing, you, just before Jones let out a surprised grunt and toppled backward, landing like a chopped tree (“Timber!” she wanted to shout) on the floor. She swore the whole room vibrated for at least a few seconds after the impact.
Apollo, almost entirely white with patches of brown fur sprinkled along the length of his long body, had all four legs scrambling for purchase against Jones’s chest even as his mouth clamped down over one side of the man’s neck. Somehow, the dog managed to growl while his teeth tore at Jones’s flesh.
Bright red blood arced through the air, and Allie thought, Now, now, now.
Chapter 6
“We should get rid of her,” Jerry said. “You should learn to trust your instincts more. She’s trouble.”
“Maybe,” Jack said. “But not yet. We might still need her if the kid isn’t enough motivation.”
He looked across the room at Walter, sitting at the desk with his back to them. His hands were in his lap, which was the problem. Those fingers should have been dancing across the laptop’s keyboard by now, getting Jack closer to his retirement fund.
“The girl’s family,” Jerry said. “She’s the only one we need.”
“Maybe…”
“You keep saying that.”
“I’m just hedging my bets. You never know what kind of effect taking out the girlfriend will have on him. Last thing I need is for him to go spastic on us.”
Jerry was clearly unconvinced. “I want it on the record that I wanted to nip her in the bud. She’s trouble.” He held up his right arm, with the bandage bulging noticeably underneath the sleeve. “That dog’s probably hers, too. Troublemakers, the both of them. You know I’m right.”
Jack shook his head. Knowing what he should do, and actually doing it, wasn’t the same thing. It was just one of many hard lessons he’d learned in less civilized parts of the world.
“This whole thing’s too important to start executing people on what we think might happen,” Jack said. “My retirement’s on the line. Yours, too.”
“You don’t have to tell me that. You know how much shit I had to put on the backburner to come do this?” Jerry chuckled. “The old lady wasn’t happy.”
“I didn’t know you were married.”
“I’m not.”
“You said ‘old lady.’”
“Doesn’t mean we’re married.”
Jack sighed. “Whatever, man.”
Jerry chuckled again. “I’m just fucking with you. I’m married, with two kids. Both hell-raisers, but they’ll grow out of it. If not, I got this as incentive,” he added, tapping his holstered sidearm.
“You show your armory to the kids?”
“Whatever works.”
Jack wasn’t sure how to respond to that, and before he could come up with something clever, a loud bang! exploded across the house.
A gunshot!
Jack spun, right hand drawing the Glock even before his mind had a chance to process where the shot had come from.
Next to him, Jerry had unslung his MP5SD at the same time.
“Jones!” Jack hissed as he made a run for the open door with Jerry on his heels.
How long had it been since he talked with Jones on the radio? Ten seconds? Twenty? A minute? No, it couldn’t have been a minute. Thirty seconds at the most. So what the hell had happened between the time he clicked off with Jones and the gunshot? What the hell was Jones doing next door?
He lunged out of the open door and turned left, and slid to a stop when he saw a flurry of white fur darting out of the guest bedroom down the hallway.
It was a dog. A big white dog, and it was heading for the living room.
Jack lifted his gun and took aim after the animal—
A flicker of movement, also up the hallway and coming from the same door that the dog had just come out of, followed by the familiar sight of a black barrel sticking out of the doorframe and pointing in his direction, and one half of Allie’s face appearing behind the gun’s iron sights.
Bang! as the round sailed over his head, so close he could feel the bullet actually parting a couple of hairs as it missed by inches, before slamming into the master bedroom door at the end of the passageway.
Jack ducked—belatedly, but he couldn’t have stopped himself even if he wanted to—and stumbled backward, aiming for the open doorway behind him. He crashed into Jerry as the other man was in the process of coming out, the barrel of Jerry’s submachine gun jamming into his back, making him grimace in pain.
“Fuck, man!” Jerry shouted.
Jack spun away and hugged the wall next to the door with his back. He ignored the stab of pain from contact with Jerry’s gun barrel and spat out, “She’s got a gun!”
“Who’s got a gun?” Jerry said, crouching next to him. He had smartly deduced that there was a reason Jack had retreated back through the door and hadn’t gone out himself.
“The woman. It’s probably Jones’s gun.”
“You think he’s dead?”
Jack shook his head, too busy sucking in a series of ragged breaths to answer properly. He was in control enough to keep his ears open for any sounds coming from the hallway. He expected to hear running feet, but there weren’t any. He was almost one-hundred percent sure she wasn’t going to attack them head-on. That would be stupid, especially with just Jones’s handgun, because Jones had left his shotgun behind.
And there was nothing he had seen about Allie Krycek in the last few hours that told him she was stupid.
Jerry was right. I should have nipped her in the bud. Fuck.
“Well?” Jerry said, one eye on him, the other on the door. “Are we just going to sit here holding our balls? Jones might need help.”
Jones was likely already dead. Why else would the big man give up his weapon? There was absolutely no reason Jack could think of.
He heard movement and glanced back past Jerry and at Walter. The man had climbed off the chair and was huddled behind the computer desk, peering around the corner at Jack, then at the door, then at Jack again. He’d been so quiet since the second gunshot that Jack hadn’t realized he was even still back there—
Footsteps!
They came from the hallway outside, and were fading fast.
“They’re making a run for it!” he hissed, before throwing himself through the open door and back into the narrow corridor, praying there wasn’t a gun out there pointing and waiting for just such a stupid move from him.
There wasn’t, he saw, as he slammed into the far wall, legs fighting to stay upright under him. His gun hand was extended, and he glimpsed two figures in the process of crossing the living room. They were halfway to the foyer when he spotted them, and one of them threw a quick look over their shoulder and—
The woman, Allie, pushing the girl around the corner with her left hand even as she threw her right backward and—
Bang!
But she’d fired too fast, without aiming, and her bullet slammed into the left-side wall a good five feet in front of him. She hadn’t come close to hitting him, but the shot had the intended effect and his return fire missed its mark and disappeared into the kitchen, before pinging off a refrigerator on the other side of the house.
Then she turned and was gone.
“You missed!” Jerry said, rushing out of the open door and darting up the hallway.
Jack started to follow, but quickly stopped.
Jerry, almost out of the hallway, glanced back. “You coming?”
“Walter,” Jack said.
“Right,” Jerry said, and turned around and kept going.
Jack hurried back to the second guest bedroom.
As soon as he stepped inside, he expected to find Walter making a play for Jones’s shotgun leaning in the corner, and was mentally prepared to wound him with a shot, but instead the man hadn’t moved from his spot behind the desk. Jack wasn’t quite sure if he was impressed with Walter’s lack of aggression or disgusted by it.
Walter seemed to know what Jack was thinking—or maybe he just read it on his face—and lowered his head to avoid Jack’s gaze.
Jack pulled the zip cuffs from one of his pockets and walked across the room. “Looks like we have a bit of a situation, Walter. Sorry, but I’m going to have to make sure you don’t try to run off while I deal with it.”
Two bangs! rang out from outside the house. Gunshots.
It had to be Jones’s stolen Glock, because Jerry had his suppressed MP5SD.
Another shot—bang!—and then silence.
Walter, sitting on the floor, was listening closely to the chaos outside, too.
“That’s one hell of a woman you got there, Walter,” Jack said.
“Don’t hurt them,” Walter said.
“Hurt them?” He shook his head and grunted. “Right now, it’s not them I’m worried about…”
*
Jones’s body was still fresh and lying in a wide pool of blood that had spread liberally underneath his large form. He had thrashed around before succumbing to his wound and had attempted to stanch the bleeding, if the position of both hands were any indication. To no avail, as it turned out.
Jack was careful not to get blood on or underneath his boots. To accomplish that, he’d had to tiptoe around the room until he could get close enough to see where the dog had clamped down on the side of Jones’s neck. The teeth marks were easy to spot under the bright ceiling lights; they had dug deep and one (maybe two, or three) of those sharp fangs had punctured the carotid artery. Poor Jones hadn’t had much of a chance after that.
The woman had taken the big man’s Glock 41, which meant she had thirteen bullets when the night started. She’d fired twice at him (missing both, thankfully), and he’d heard her letting loose with three more rounds as Jerry chased them outside the house. Which left her with eight shots.
Wait, no. His count was off, because someone had squeezed off a round earlier. That was probably Jones, likely trying to shoot the dog. Was that before or after the beast mauled him? Not that it mattered. Since Jack had seen the dog racing away on all fours like the Devil was on its tail, it meant Jones hadn’t connected.
Seven, then. The woman had seven more shots left in the Glock.
Jack stood up and looked toward the barred window, but it was difficult to see anything with the curtains pulled. After the three shots he’d heard outside, there hadn’t been any follow-up. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
But he had other problems right now, because Allie had fired those shots.
Three very loud shots.
What were the chances some of Walter’s neighbors might have heard? It was night, which meant the world was very quiet, so the gunshots would travel a pretty good distance. How much would the woods, and the army of trees, dampen the noise, if any?
And things were going so well, too. Done by morning. Rich by afternoon. A first-class plane ticket to the Caribbean by evening.
Yeah, right.
He sighed and keyed his radio, then said into his mic, “Jerry, come in.”
“Yeah,” Jerry said through the earbud, breathing a little too hard. “What’s the word?”
“You tell me.”
“They’re in the woods.”
“No shit. Where?”
“I don’t have a clue, but I’m tracking them. Unlike with the dog earlier, the girls aren’t nearly as good at hiding their trail.”
“Those gunshots were loud. Someone might have heard them.”
“I figured that,” Jerry said. “You think we should bail?”
Jack didn’t answer right away.
“Hey,” Jerry said. “You think we should bail?”
“No,” Jack said.
“You sure?”
“We’re in the boondocks, and Walter’s neighbors are at least half a mile away. If we’re lucky…” He paused.
If I’m lucky. When has that ever happened?
“We’ll play it by ear,” he finished instead.
“Shit, why not,” Jerry said, “we’ve come this far. Besides, what kind of law enforcement could they have out here? A couple of country bumpkins?”
“Hopefully we won’t have to find out. Until then, keep me apprised.”
“What about Walter?”
“What about him?”
“It’s still all about him, isn’t it?” Jerry said. “I know we wanted to keep him in one piece for this, but maybe we don’t have a choice anymore.”
Jerry had a point. Jack wanted to avoid it, because a bleeding worker was a slow worker. He’d learned that lesson in another shitty part of the world a few years back, too.
“You get me?” Jerry was saying through the radio.
“I’ll handle it,” Jack said.
*
Walter was where Jack left him—sitting in the corner next to the window, his hands zip-tied in front of him, ankles similarly bound. Jack had placed duct tape over his mouth, realizing later that it was probably overkill with all the gunfire.
Walter immediately started to say something when Jack returned, his voice muffled against the tape.
“I can’t hear you,” Jack said. “But you don’t need to say anything anyway, because it doesn’t matter.”
Jack crouched in front of Walter, then reached down and pulled the Ka-Bar out of its sheath. Walter’s eyes widened at the sight of the large combat knife.
“Here’s the deal,” Jack began. “Things have…gotten complicated. Your daughter and girlfriend are running around out there with a handgun, and Jones is dead. I would have liked to do this the easy way, but things have gotten a lot more difficult, and we’re running out of time.”
Walter’s eyes got bigger.
“Yeah, shocked me, too. Anyways, that dog. Yours?”
Walter shook his head.
“The woman. Allie.”
A nod.
“Why am I not surprised?”
He turned the knife over in his hand. Walter’s eyes predictably followed its rotating motion, as if entranced by it.
“So we’re running out of time,” Jack continued. “Your neighbors may or may not have heard those gunshots. I don’t know. Either way, the timetable’s been s
ped up and I really, really need you to start working on those files I gave you.”
He sighed for effect.
“Let me ask you a question,” Jack said, looking Walter in the eyes. “Do you really need all ten fingers to type?”
Chapter 7
“Go with Apollo!” she shouted after Lucy. “Stay with him! Don’t leave his side!”
To her credit, Lucy did exactly as she was instructed, and the girl and dog vanished into the trees. Allie’s last glimpse of them was Lucy’s jeans being swallowed up by the darkness. Then she was turning, looking back toward the house.
The smallest of the three gunmen, Jerry, came out at the same time she finished her turn. He had the MP5SD in one hand, the other pushing the door open, and was sticking his head out when she fired. Her round hit the door almost a foot over his head (Dammit!), sending splinters flicking at his face, and made him duck. Despite his awkward position, the man somehow managed to twist, turn, and dart back inside the house as she fired a second shot.
Another miss!
Allie wanted to think the reason she had missed that first shot was because she was too far away—almost forty yards. It had been a while since she had fired a gun and wasn’t prepared for the recoil. It didn’t help that she was still flooded with adrenaline from the brief gunfight with Jack inside the house. Then there was all the running, which had resulted in her heartbeat sledgehammering against her chest, further throwing off her aim.
Of course, then she’d missed the second shot, too…
What’s your excuse for that?
She ran for the woods, heading in the same direction that Apollo and Lucy had gone seconds earlier. She was very close to the tree line—less than twenty yards—but she hadn’t made half of it when she heard a sharp whining sound and the ground began kicking dirt into the air around her.
She stuck her gun hand back and squeezed off another shot without seeing what she was shooting at, hoping it might do enough to throw off Jerry’s aim—
No such luck, because the buzzing bullets were getting closer and dirt was ricocheting off her pant legs and shirt and cheeks—