Flee, Spree, Three (Codename: Chandler Trilogy - Three Complete Novels)

by J. A. Konrath

  Chandler

  “Secrets are power,” The Instructor said. “Convince others to reveal theirs, but guard yours with your life. Sometimes they’re worth more.”

  We didn’t stop again until we’d left the salt air of the Gulf of California behind and reached the town of Caborca, on the edge of the Sonoran Desert. We chose a motel just off the highway and next to yet another OXXO convenience store. It had thirty rooms, outside walkways, and a courtyard complete with rusted, greasy barbecues and stall-like picnic areas. We pulled the truck up to one of the grill spots and nestled it among several other pickups and RVs, hidden in plain sight.

  I tried to call Fleming, got voice mail. Left a coded message, explaining the situation.

  A king-size bed, a bistro table with two scarred chairs, and an ancient television were the only things in the room, but it was free of bedbugs and had a private bathroom, and that was all I needed.

  When we’d decided to stop, it had been with the idea of getting a couple of hours’ rest, a little food, and then getting back on our way. As it turned out, we skipped the sleeping and the food, and got straight to the sex.

  We explored each other with hands and mouths, taking time and paying attention to details we hadn’t had patience for back at the gas station. Heath had a talented tongue, as did I, and each time I attempted to bring him to release with my mouth, he pulled away and turned it on me, until an honest-to-God whimper issued from my throat.

  “More?” he asked, looking up from between my legs with a glistening smile.

  I nodded, not sure my voice would function.

  He gave me more, refusing to let me return the favor, and finally out of trembling frustration I pulled his hand back in a judo hold, forced him onto his back to straddle him, and rode him until I made him whimper as well.

  After a mission, my sex drive often spiked. There was something about close brushes with death that made life—and sex—precious, and the celebration of both essential. In the past, I would visit bars and pick up strangers. It had done the job on a superficial level, but I’d never felt truly satisfied.

  Lund had been different, but he’d also been a disaster. He’d made me see my life, recognize finally what I was, the shortcomings my stepfather had identified so many years ago.

  Tough to fully let go with someone judging you, especially when it led you to judging yourself.

  I climbed off and stretched out, leaning my head back on the pillow, beginning to wonder if I’d fallen for Lund because I really loved him, or because I liked the way he saw me…before he really knew what I was.

  “I thought we were having fun. Where did this broodiness come from?”

  Of course, Heath had been reading me.

  He moved up my body and stretched out beside me. After pulling the sheet over the two of us, he began playing with one of my nipples. “No answer?”

  “It’s a pain in the ass to be around spies.”

  He raised his brows. “They are some of my favorite people.”

  “Favorite? You mean the most despicable.”

  “Now, if you’re talking about The Instructor, then I agree. But…”

  “We lie and kill for a living, Heath.”

  “There are worse things.”

  “Name one.”

  “Politician? Lawyer? Movie critic?”

  “Oh, I hate those guys.”

  “Don’t you, now?”

  “But I’m serious, Heath.”

  “Having a crisis of conscience, bonita?”

  I didn’t know what I was having. A few days ago, I’d broken down. A blithering mess on the pavement, filled with self-hatred. But now, I seemed to be OK. And that bothered me. Even my sex drive was so tangled up in violence that I couldn’t seem to separate the two.

  “We are what we are. We have done what we have done.”

  Again I didn’t have to say anything for Heath to read my thoughts. “It’s not that easy.”

  “Why do you think about it so hard?” He leaned over and took my nipple between his lips, sucking and flicking with this tongue. “Why not just relax and have fun?”

  We’d been having fun for over an hour, and although I’d tried, I could no longer push back the thoughts. “What are you saying? That if I don’t think about it, it will be OK?”

  “If you accept who you are, where you came from.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  He returned to leaning on an elbow, studying me. “Why not?”

  “Because…” My throat felt thick, like I couldn’t quite push the words through. Although I didn’t know what I would say, even if I could speak.

  “You don’t like where you came from? What made you? You think any of us would be in this business if we did?”

  He had a point. I supposed Fleming was the closest thing to well-adjusted of anyone I knew, and even she had some issues.

  “The difference is that you blame yourself for the past, querida. You beat yourself up.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “I accept myself. You need to do the same. But instead, you think, and think, and since you can’t change the past, it always turns out the same.”

  It was what Hammett had said to me, in her own way, both with words and blows. After her impromptu counseling session, I’d regained my focus in the field, but I was still at a loss of how to deal with the rest of my life.

  “I’ve done a lot of bad things, Heath. How do I accept that?”

  “There has been bad in your life, but there also has been good. Consider the good as least as much as the bad.”

  “Good?”

  “You can’t think of anything good?”

  I shook my head, not wanting to dig too deep, to scrape too close to the nerve. In the Chicago alley, I’d let down that protective wall, and I’d been overwhelmed. I wasn’t going to make that mistake again. Especially with Heath watching. “Can you?”

  “Find something good in my life? Right this minute?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s easy. All I have to do is look at you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “We’re killers.”

  “That is what we do. But it is not what we are. We are more than that. This bond we have, I know you feel it, too. You are more than just an assassin, bonita.”

  “Our bond is because we’re both amoral, highly trained, and like to fuck each other.”

  “And it’s good, no?” He smiled, so wide I wanted to either punch him or kiss him, I couldn’t tell.

  Maybe both.

  “You’re no help,” I said.

  He shrugged, his smile not fading even the tiniest bit. “My mother was the sweetest, most nurturing, most gentle person I’ve ever known. Like La Virgen de Guadalupe, you know?” He added a wink.

  I was sure some sort of trick was coming, although I wasn’t sure what. But when Heath brought up the La Virgen, I figured I’d better watch out.

  “What does your mother have to do with this?”

  “When I was ten years of age, I was approached by a cabrón who called himself El Sol. He saw that I could work, saw I could fight, heard my father was American, and wanted to recruit me into the Cártel de Guadalajara.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I did what any smart boy at that time would. I said I’d consider it.”

  “You said yes.”

  He tilted his head to the side in acknowledgment. “But when my mother found out, she was not so agreeable. She went to see him.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “So what happened?”

  “Two days later, his body was uncovered by a bulldozer in el dompe.”

  So much for sweet and gentle. “She killed him?”

  “Mama never admitted it, but I know it to be true. She did it to save me.”

  “Blessed be the Virgin.”

  “When tending a garden, you must care for the seeds you plant, and be ruthless with the weeds.”

  “So why are you telling me this story?”

  “Because you a
re like my mother.”

  I shook my head. “If that story was true, and if your mother really did kill El Sol, she did it to protect you. I’m not a shield. I’m a sword.”

  “Really? How about the girl from the lighthouse? You haven’t been protecting her for years?”

  “Trying.”

  “Sometimes trying is the best you can do. And it doesn’t have to be someone you care for. You could have fought back outside the Plaza Mexico, but you chose not to. All I had to do was threaten the civilians. And look at how hard you worked to keep me from spreading The Instructor’s virus.”

  “So your mother tried to keep you from a life of crime, but you wound up being a killer anyway.”

  “How could I not? I am her son. And like her, I am good at pulling weeds.”

  I wasn’t sure if Heath was completely self-aware or completely oblivious. “So tell me about your father.”

  “Trying to change the subject?”

  “I’m interested. Did you know him?”

  He looked away. “I don’t talk about my father.”

  “So you aren’t as open as you want me to be.”

  “We all have bad people in our lives. That doesn’t make us bad, understand?”

  I let his words hang in the air unanswered, my mind too knotted and exhausted to come up with a response. Instead, I thought again about the tank of Ebola. As a minute passed, then two, I listened to the rhythm of Heath’s breathing, hearing it slow down, the snores starting to come.

  “You’re faking it,” I said.

  He peeked his eye open and stared at me. “So full of mistrust.”

  “I don’t trust you, because you’re trying to fool me.”

  “I must fool you to get you to trust me.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “If I can convince you to sleep, it will allow me to sleep. Neither of us can run out if we are both sleeping.”

  I didn’t correct him, preferring to let him think my silence was strategy instead of—as he called it—thinking too hard once again.

  Minutes ticked by.

  “So what are we going to do?” I said. “Each pretend to sleep until one of us tries to sneak out and steal the truck?”

  “I was hoping to induce a mindless stupor in you through multiple orgasms.”

  “And I appreciate the effort, but the mindless stupor is not happening.”

  “What about more psychoanalysis?”

  “Not if you ever want to get laid again.”

  He propped himself up on his elbow to look at me. “How about I tie you to the bed and pleasure you until you can no longer stand it? Imagine: lying there, helpless, exposed, as I teased you beyond endurance.”

  “And then left me there while you took the truck.”

  “Perhaps. But the offer stands. It is preferable to shooting you, no?”

  “How about I poke out your other eye?”

  “That’s cold. Did you know they are selling 3-D televisions now? A whole world of entertainment, lost to me.”

  “I could shoot you in the leg.”

  “Here, my gun is closer. You can use it. Just give me a few minutes, and it will be ready again.” He pulled up the sheet to show me the evidence.

  “I’m serious about this, Heath.”

  “I’m serious, too, querida. Look.”

  “Seen it already.”

  “Ouch. So cold.” He lowered the sheet.

  “Where are my guns?”

  “I should tell you this so you can threaten me with them? I thought we were beyond that.”

  “I can’t let you have the virus, Heath.”

  “It’s for the greater good.”

  “No good can come from biological warfare.”

  “It’s the threat of warfare that’s good. Think about it. We can manipulate governments. Change policies.”

  “We? Sleep with the devil, and he includes you in his plans.”

  “I’m el diablo now? A moment ago I was el ángel del orgasmo.”

  “It’s terrorism.”

  “It’s a tool against widespread government corruption.”

  Heath was right about one thing. I wasn’t going to shoot him. Not just because I had feelings for him, but because part of me trusted him to do the right thing. At the same time, I wasn’t entirely sure he was above shooting me, so I couldn’t let him know I wouldn’t shoot him. So maybe I would shoot him.

  Shit. This was precisely the reason I didn’t get close to guys.

  “How about we get dressed, get something to eat, and discuss it?”

  “So you can slip something in my food?”

  He smiled. “You were thinking the same thing, eh? Did you have anything I could borrow? I’m out of Special K.”

  “You want me to give you something to slip in my food?”

  “What if I promise I won’t use it on you?”

  “Why don’t I just slip it in my own food?”

  “Why don’t you just let me have the Ebola?”

  “If you threaten with Ebola, you’ll have to show them what it can do.”

  “So a few bad people die. The world can do without weeds.”

  “But it won’t be just the weeds. It will destroy your whole stupid allegorical garden. You haven’t seen what it can do. It’s a thousand times worse than el dompe. Trust me, it’s awful.”

  “Is there any biological weapon that isn’t?”

  I rubbed my face, my eyes. Maybe just running for it was the smart move. We were both naked. If he was self-conscious and looked for pants, I’d have a ten-second head start.

  Then again, how far would I get driving a truck naked? And what would I do once I destroyed the virus? Hitchhike to the border?

  “Please don’t make me chase you naked,” Heath said.

  I groaned. “Reading my mind again?”

  “I considered it myself. But I know you would run right after me.”

  “How about rock-paper-scissors?” I suggested.

  “Rock-paper-scissors for the future of the world?”

  “Or we could go back to you trying to subdue me with orgasms.”

  “And psychoanalysis?”

  “No, save that for yourself.”

  He resumed playing with my nipple. “We could flip a coin.”

  “If I won, would you really let me have it?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Back to square one.”

  The problem was that in our brief history together, Heath had outsmarted me more times than I had him. I couldn’t let it happen again. Especially not when the stakes were so high.

  “So we’re not going to eat, drink, sleep, or take our eyes off each other,” I said.

  Heath smiled. “Sounds like love.”

  “Love requires trust.”

  He laughed. “I’ve been in love many times, and trust has never been part of the equation.”

  I thought about Lund. I realized now that I hadn’t known him long enough to call it love. Yet I had trusted him. I felt affection for Heath, and God knew, I felt lust, but the trust was noticeably lacking.

  Maybe shooting him was the way to go.

  “I see that look in your eyes, bonita. You’re thinking about finding your guns again.”

  “If you keep doing that mind reading thing, I might.”

  “Just reading your body.”

  “Like always,” I finished for him.

  “You win. No eating, drinking, sleeping, or clothes.” Heath’s eye twinkled. “It really is love.”

  He leaned over to kiss me just as I heard a footfall on the walkway and spotted the shadow pause outside the window of our room.

  Julie

  Julie sat on her bed in her locked room, staring at the wall, thinking about Derek Fossen and his poor sister. Dead. Because of the monster in Julie’s blood.

  When the popping sound began, Julie had no idea what it was.

  Then she saw people running past her room, obviously panicked.

  More pops. Her heart felt lik
e it was stuttering in her chest.

  Gunshots? Had the police found this place?

  Had Chandler?

  She needed to get out of her room. Now.

  The door was locked, as expected. But now that no one was paying attention to her, escape wouldn’t be that difficult.

  She went to her bed, unlocked the wheels, and with a running start, rammed it against her door.

  Once. Twice. Thrice. Four times was a charm, the knob coming off and the door swinging open. She hurried into the deserted hallway, her vision hazy.

  No, not her vision. The hall was smoky. It stung her eyes and singed the back of her throat. A fire?

  That’s what it smelled like. But she knew the police had smoke grenades. Maybe Chandler would have them, too. She needed to get out of there, to find—

  “Help! Help me!”

  A man’s voice, accompanied by a pounding sound. She followed it, came to a door with a dead bolt.

  “Who’s there?” Julie yelled at the door.

  “Please help me! They locked me in here, and I smell smoke!”

  Julie turned the dead bolt and opened the door to face a man her age, a bloody bandage covering his ear. His face flushed with relief when he saw her.

  “Thanks, I—”

  “Stay back!” Julie warned, almost tripping to stay out of his reach.

  He immediately halted, spreading out his palms. “It’s OK. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  That wasn’t what Julie was worried about. “No, you don’t understand.”

  “I’m Bradley. I was grabbed and taken here. Where are we?”

  “I don’t know,” Julie said. “I was grabbed, too. But…I’m sick. You need to keep away from me.”

  Bradley nodded at her, like she was a slow child. “OK. Do you have a name?”

  “Julie.”

  “Do you know where the exit is, Julie?”

  She shook her head.

  “OK. I’m going to go look for it. Stay with me. There are some very bad people here.”

  You have no idea, Julie thought. But when Bradley headed down the hallway, she followed him.

  Heath

  “Everyone has their weaknesses,” said The Instructor. “Be mindful of yours at all times, because you can be certain others will be.”

  Heath could feel the ripple of Chandler’s muscles tensing, and he knew his were coiled as well. Whoever had come to visit didn’t have their health in mind.