by CJ Lyons
She was tempted to call Nick, get his advice, but there was no time. What she'd done was totally against regs, she'd be lucky if she only lost her job and didn't face charges, but it was the best way to save Ashley and stop Fletcher.
A malignant narcissist, Nick had called Fletcher. What happened when he realized Ashley didn't mirror his twisted view of the world? One false move and she'd be just another inconvenient body to dispose of—like the three corpses in the barn or Noreen.
The image of the Tastee Treet clerk's mutilated face flashed through Lucy's mind. Her shoulders hunched. It ended here, she vowed.
"I'm almost to the center of the field," Ames' voice sounded shrill in Lucy's ear. "There's no one here. I'm going to stroll over by the goal box."
"Just stay out in the open where we can cover you," Burroughs said before Lucy could say anything.
"No problem." Ames made slow progress across the field. "There's someone moving over there, in the trees. Is that one of you guys?"
"Where?" she asked, irritated by the reporter's vagueness. She trained the binoculars on the trees behind the soccer goal. Nothing there.
"To my right. Wait. There's a girl. Ashley!" The reporter's cry cut through the night. Lucy watched in dismay as Ames waved to the dark figure hidden by the trees. The reporter actually ran, as fast as possible in three inch heels, towards the trees, ignoring Burroughs' order to stop.
The figure separated itself from the shadows. It was Ashley. She was ghostly green in the night vision glasses, but she appeared unharmed. She stepped out of the tree line just as Ames reached her.
Lucy felt her heart gallop. "This isn't right," she said into her microphone. "Scan the area, Fletcher would never let Ashley go alone. It's a trap of some sort."
The cold touch of a gun's muzzle kissed the back of her neck.
"Good call, Lucy," Fletcher said as he reached around to take her weapon and pocket it.
Chapter 35
Sunday, 11:12 pm
She crouched down among the fallen leaves, cowering like a rabbit run to ground by a pack of wolves. No. Not wolves. Foxes.
Tonight she was the one doing the hunting.
She caressed the gun. It was lighter than she thought, no heft to it at all. Cradling it in her hands, she squinted along the top of the barrel like she'd seen men do in movies. Centered her sights on the woman in red picking her way across the soccer field.
Had she lied? Maybe she couldn't kill.
Vixen can, a voice echoed through her mind.
Was she Vixen? Was that who she was?
Better that than returning to her old life—or to the person she was in the black place, back in the barn. That person was weak, had given up, surrendered. She deserved to die, be left behind, abandoned in the dark.
Wind rustled the tree branches above her. She looked around, deciding upon the best route. The woods were dark but they weren't frightening, not like the other place, the place where there'd been no hope of light. Something scurried near her foot. Snakes?
She aimed the gun and surprised herself when she didn't pull the trigger. No need. She wasn't afraid, not of snakes, not of the blackness, not of killing.
She wasn't that girl anymore.
Burroughs watched Cindy through a pair of NVG's scrounged from one of the SWAT guys. His one and only job on this op was keeping Cindy safe.
His hand clenched the grip of his Glock. He couldn't believe the way Guardino had played him—she was so far off the grid on this one, NASA would have a hard time finding her even using the goddamn Hubble.
Cindy began running toward the woods. "Ashley!"
"Stop! Cindy, stop. Stay where you are!" Burroughs shout went unheeded. He left his position in the trees on the near side of the field. It left him exposed but he was the closest to Cindy's position.
He watched in horror as Ashley Yeager smiled at Cindy. Then she raised a gun and shot the reporter.
"Shots fired, shots fired!" Voices collided over the comm channel. Armed men began to swarm the area. Cindy stretched a hand out to Ashley, as if begging for help, then fell face first onto the ground.
Burroughs ran so hard his breathing drowned out the chatter on the comm. Ashley had vanished back into the woods. He skidded on the grass, stopping beside Cindy's body, placing himself between her and Ashley's last position.
Carefully, he rolled the reporter over. Her face was pale and her hand clutched her chest where a dark mark smeared her silk blouse.
"Cindy, are you all right?" he asked, tugging her blouse open to examine the Kevlar vest she wore beneath it. No sign of any injury.
"That girl tried to kill me," she finally said, her eyes fluttering open. "The bitch." She sat up, brushing mud and grass from her blouse. "She's going to pay for this."
"What happened?" Burroughs asked, still finding no gunshot wounds. No wounds at all.
"Are you deaf? She shot me." She gestured at him to help her up. "Well, at me. I tripped. Oh damn, would you look at that? Broke my heel clean off. These shoes cost me twelve hundred dollars."
Burroughs hoisted her back onto her feet. He wasn't sure if he was laughing at her adrenalin-inspired prattling or the fact that she was still alive.
"Hey. This is nothing to laugh about. Those were Manolo Blahniks."
Lucy's jaws ground together, sending a shockwave of frustration down her neck. She kept her hands out, posing no threat as she slowly turned to face Fletcher.
He wore an FBI blazer and cap. And carried a Glock-22, the same gun that FBI and ICE agents used. Forty caliber and capable of putting a very large hole into a person's body. Especially at point blank range.
"Hey there, Jimmy," she drawled, hoping someone in the tangle of voices on the comm link was listening.
"You should have left my mother alone, Lucy. That wasn't very nice of you."
"Your mother killed herself. I didn't have anything to do with it." She still held her binoculars. They were heavy but Fletcher didn't seem to see them or her as a threat. The sounds of men calling for an ambulance and searching the woods for Ashley carried through her earbud.
"She told me everything before she died," Fletcher said. "Told me it was your fault."
"Like I forced her to steal medications from her neighbor and take them just in time so she could die on camera? Yeah, Jimmy. That's my fault."
"You drove her to it!"
"She was using me just like she used you all your life. She never loved you, Jimmy."
"You don't know what you're talking about. You don't know anything about the love between a mother and child. Look at the way you abandoned yours."
An image of Megan and Nick, their faces crushed by sorrow, filled her vision. She blinked it back, focusing on Fletcher and his gun. "She wasn't even your mother, Jimmy."
"Shut up!"
"Did she ever tell you the truth about your father?" As she spoke, Lucy spotted movement from the woods. Ashley. Instead of stepping out into the open, the girl crept along the shadows' edge, behind Fletcher's back and invisible to anyone except Lucy.
"A hundred times. My father saved my mother's life. They were soul mates."
"Wrong, Jimmy. Your father was a con artist and so was your mother. And when she got too old for him, he picked up other women—girls really. Dozens of them. Did your mother ever tell you how he died?"
"He's dead? Are you sure?" His voice dropped, a wistful boy who'd spent a lifetime in search of his father. Unfortunately, the muzzle never wavered.
"He died the day you were born. Alicia killed him. And your mother." Lucy met his eyes, kept his attention cemented on her. "I saw the autopsy reports. Alicia killed your father because he was defending your mother, your real mother. And then Alicia sliced you from your mother's belly, left her to bleed to death and took you for her own. That was the kind of woman Alicia was, Jimmy."
His eyes were wide with fear or anger or surprise, she wasn't sure what. But he was listening, and thinking, thinking hard.
She held her
free hand out, keeping the binoculars in her other hand down by her side, out of his center of attention. "It's over, Jimmy. Give me the gun."
The movement in the woods stopped. Ashley took a step forward, a gun in her hand, aimed at Lucy and Fletcher.
"You deserved better than her, Jimmy," Lucy continued, trying to coax him from Alicia's tendrils. "Give me the gun and I'll introduce you to your real mother. The one who gave her life for you."
A single tear escaped from his eye. Lucy thought she had him. Then Ashley spoke up.
"I did it. I did what you said. Where's Bobby?"
Fletcher glanced over at Ashley. Lucy swung the binoculars, smashing his gun hand into the side of the Blazer. His Glock skidded across the SUV's roof, landing somewhere in the darkness beyond.
She followed up with another swing aimed at his head. Fletcher blocked it, using the binocular straps to pull her off balance, kicking her legs out from under her. Lucy thudded against the gravel, pain stealing her breath as the impact thundered through her left shoulder.
"I knew you could do it." He turned to Ashley. "You and me, we belong together."
Lucy looked up just as Ashley raised the gun and aimed it at her. Ashley's finger tightened on the trigger.
Adrenalin crashed over Lucy, leaving no room for fear. She rolled beneath the SUV, seeking cover, knowing she couldn't move faster than a bullet.
Nothing happened.
Fletcher laughed. "I only gave you one bullet. It was a test and you passed. You did great, Ashley. Now come with me."
Ashley looked down at the useless gun in her hand, her face scrunching with confusion. An ambulance's siren and lights pierced the night, gravel flying as it sped towards them. Fletcher yanked at Ashley's arm, trying to pull her with him. She took a step in his direction.
"No," Lucy called, rolling out from beneath the Blazer and rushing forward.
Fletcher whirled, fumbling to draw her service weapon from his jacket pocket. Lucy changed trajectories and tackled Ashley, covering her with her body.
The ambulance screeched to a halt, a few feet away from her, its headlights blinding Lucy. When she looked around, Fletcher had vanished.
Chapter 36
Sunday, 11:58 pm
"Well, you did it," Burroughs was saying as the medics forced Lucy away from Ashley. "Against all odds, you saved her."
At what cost? Lucy couldn't help but wonder, watching a parmedic jab a wickedly large needle into Ashley's arm, starting an IV. Ashley didn't flinch, her expression wooden, staring up at nothing.
"We found Fletcher's Glock. You said he took yours. You got back up?"
Her Baby Glock was in her car, back at the Federal Building. She hefted her purse, felt the weight of the .32. "I'm good."
"The ambulance driver said she was shooting at you when they pulled in. Said Fletcher didn't even have a gun."
"They're mistaken."
"And you're a piss poor liar, Guardino."
Lucy heard the undercurrent of anger, knew he was still mad at her for using Ames as bait. Tough. She wasn't about to feel sorry for the reporter who'd come out of all this with an exclusive ratings-grabber of a story. "Ames really going to try to press charges?"
He shrugged one shoulder, his gaze darting past the ambulance to where Ames and her cameraman were eagerly interviewing one of the SWAT team members. "Not unless it gets her a bigger story. She will expect reimbursement for damages."
"Damages? What the hell? You guys found the bullet in the dirt. Ashley wasn't even aiming for her."
"Silk blouse, Donna Karan suit, and one pair Manolo Blahniks. She thinks six grand should cover it."
"Six thousand? Dollars? For shoes—if she thinks for one second—" Lucy stopped, started laughing instead. "Let her try. What do I care? I'm probably out of a job anyway."
"No way, you're the hero, you saved Ashley."
She shook her head, followed the medics carrying Ashley on their stretcher across the lot to the ambulance. "Not me, Burroughs. You. As far as the world knows, I wasn't even here tonight." She jerked her head at Ames. "Go, be a hero. I hear it's a great way to get laid."
She climbed into the ambulance with Ashley. He stood watching, and she was surprised to see that instead of the wolfish grin she'd come to expect from him, he was frowning and scratching at his head. As if he was actually thinking twice about his involvement with Ames.
"Maybe there's hope after all," she muttered as the medic slammed the door.
She reached for Ashley's hand, the one without the IV and absently stroked it. Ashley's fingernails were broken and torn, her hands grimy with sweat, fingers cold. Tiny bite marks, some just red, others breaking her skin, zig-zagged across every inch of exposed flesh.
"Christ almighty." The medics looked away at the site of the snakebites and breathed out. Lucy wasn't sure if it was a prayer or a curse.
She raised Ashley's hand in both of hers and blew on it, rubbing it warm again, just like when Megan came in from playing soccer in the rain. "You're going to be all right, Ashley."
Ashley didn't move, except maybe, just maybe, her breathing smoothed out a bit. And her fingers might have curled a bit in Lucy's grasp. Lucy kept hold of Ashley's hand in one of hers and used the other to smooth out her matted hair. To her surprise, tears began to seep from Ashley's eyes. No sobs or sounds, just tears streaming as if a dam had broken.
"Please," Ashley whispered, still not making eye contact with Lucy. "I'm not Ashley. I'm not the girl you're looking for. Please let me go. Don't take me back."
"Back where, Ashley?"
"Back to the black place."
Lucy thought about the barn with its stench of death and living reptilian implements of terror. "Back to the barn? Don't worry, you're not going back there. Never again."
Ashley was shaking her head, pulling away in terror. "I can't, I can't go—he promised I'd be safe with him. Take me to Jimmy, take me back to Jimmy!"
She pitched forward, almost tearing her IV out before Lucy and the medic could restrain her. She thrashed and fought, gnashing her teeth at them like an animal, snarling and spitting. The medic gave her something in her IV and then she was quiet, her eyes drifting shut.
"You okay?" he asked, handing Lucy a gauze pad to blot spittle away. "She didn't bite you, did she?"
"No. I'm fine."
"Poor kid's nuts. That whack job did a real number on her. After everything she's been through, she'll never be the same again."
Lucy kept hold of Ashley's hand, had to look away and blink back tears of her own. Maybe she'd been too late, maybe she hadn't saved anyone after all.
Burroughs wrapped up the little details—documentation, securing Guardino's vehicle, coordinating resources, evidence recovery—not that there was much except a bullet, the revolver, and Fletcher's Glock—as well as making nice to the brass and SWAT guys. All the glamorous jobs of police work that Hollywood always conveniently ignored.
He was about ready to take off, see if Guardino had been able to get anything from Ashley that would help them locate Fletcher, when Cindy sidled up to him, sans cameraman. She'd gone for a spritely fem-jep look for her story—popped most the buttons off her blouse, pulled it half-way out from her skirt, revealing the Kevlar vest she wore beneath.
Of course her makeup and hair looked camera-ready perfect—one could only sacrifice so much for one's art, he supposed.
"I wanted to return your vest," she said, eyes lowered in an uncharacteristically demur expression as she slipped free of her suit jacket. "And thank you for rushing to save my life."
"You weren't in danger. Not really," he said, folding his hands into determined fists to keep them from helping her out of her clothing. "No way she could have missed from that distance if she was really aiming at you."
She looked up demurely, bit her lower lip as if holding back tears, and waited a beat, expecting more from him. "Still, you couldn't know that. Thanks, Burroughs."
Teasing her blouse the rest of the way from h
er skirt, she finished unbuttoning it and slid free from its silky embrace, handing it to Burroughs. "Help me with these straps?"
Her scent assaulted him, trapping him despite his best intentions. He felt his body respond to her, just as it always did. Traitor.
He ripped the Velcro swaths open with more force than he needed, tugging her closer to him.
She squirmed out of the Kevlar, left him holding the bulletproof vest in one hand, her blouse in the other. And she stood between them, her breasts barely contained by her lacy demi-bra, pressing her body up against his. "How can I thank you properly?"
Her pelvis ground into his, heat shooting straight to his groin. He wasn't sure who he hated more, him or her. "What do you want, Cindy?"
She traced her fingers over his shirt, eyes downcast as if she had no ulterior motives and had to seriously consider his question. The last SWAT van pulled away, leaving just the two of them alone in the darkness.
"My entire future has changed tonight—thanks to you. My manager says by morning, I'll be on the fast track to a permanent network assignment. Either New York or DC."
"So maybe you should go home and pack your bags." His voice was breathy as if all the blood had abandoned his lungs—and fled south.
Her face twisted into a pout. "You don't mean that. You'll miss me, won't you, Burroughs?"
Her hands dropped below his belt, squeezed. He choked back a groan. He wasn't giving in, wasn't going to be used. Not again.
"We're alone now. I could do you right here—in the place where I almost died and you saved me." She undid his belt, reached for his fly. "You'd like that, wouldn't you Burroughs? My hero."
He blinked hard, trying not to give in to desire. She sweetened the pot, sinking to her knees as she unzipped him.