Deep Blue Trouble

by Steph Broadribb

  ‘Prove it,’ I said.

  ‘My skills are useful to a guy like Monroe. People would often approach me to procure specific items for their collections…’

  ‘And by “procure” you mean steal?’

  ‘Yeah, steal. So I stole the chess pieces as bait for a deal with the Chicago Mob. It was a theft to order. I was supposed to deliver them to the top guy – he was a real fan of the game, total chess addict – and Monroe was primed to storm in and arrest him for handling stolen goods. It was going to be an iceberg situation – the stolen chess pieces would be the tip. Plan was I’d give up all the information on the transaction in return for a reduced sentence. Monroe would make sure I served none of it. Then after, he’d let me walk away from him and the Bureau. My debt would have been settled. I could move away, have a chance at a better life.’

  ‘With Mia?’

  ‘And my son.’

  ‘So why didn’t you deliver the chess pieces?’

  ‘I did – at least most of them. But at the last minute the top guy got twitchy. He sent his accountant – Patrick Walker – to collect them instead. Well, that didn’t suit Monroe; he needed clear attribution of guilt from me stealing them to the top Chicago guy taking possession. So he had this idea: give all but one of the pieces to Walker and tell him to call me once his boss had authenticated them, and then I’d hand-deliver the final piece to him. Monroe said it couldn’t fail; the guy was known for being totally OCD – he’d need the full set.’

  ‘So why did Walker and his wife have to die?’

  ‘They didn’t. That wasn’t part of the plan.’ Gibson shook his head. ‘We talked, and I gave Patrick Walker the product. They were all fine when I left.’

  I didn’t trust him, but based on the evidence Red and I had collected on Searle, plus the pictures Mia had found, I figured Gibson was telling the truth.

  I inched a little further forward. ‘But you let them bang you up for it. Why?’

  He glanced to the right. Looked back at me. ‘It was safer that way. I had my suspicions about who’d killed them and why. I needed Monroe’s help to handle it.’

  ‘Searle?’

  ‘Yeah. He found out about Jacob and about Mia and me. He wanted revenge. I guessed he’d found out it was me who took the chess pieces, and found out who I was delivering them to and when. He’s friendly with the Cabressa family, so it would have been easy enough for him. Then all he had to do was frame me.’

  ‘But you stayed in jail for two and a half years. Why run now?’

  Gibson’s cheeks coloured. His arms lowered a few inches. ‘Because I realised I wasn’t ever getting out. The Bureau would have left me to rot. I couldn’t do it … I told Monroe I needed an out. He owed me that at least.’

  He was still out of Taser range. I needed to get closer. I slid one foot forwards. ‘Why’d he owe you?’

  He clenched his fists. ‘Because he got me into this in the first damn place, and I knew he wanted the final chess piece. Unlike the rest of the Bureau he wanted me to finish the job. His career took a fast ride down shit creek when the Walkers died during his sting operation.’

  ‘So he visited you every month and you made a plan.’

  ‘Something like that.’ He lowered his hands a fraction. Sounded sad as he said, ‘You know, I never hurt anyone before those hospital guards. Monroe made me a killer. I just wanted to be free to see my boy grow up.’

  ‘Tell that to the families of those dead guards.’

  Gibson looked grief-stricken. ‘It was the only way. Monroe said I was on my own until—’

  ‘You weren’t going to help him again, were you?’

  ‘I’ve worked for him more than twenty years. Sure, it started when he caught me in a tight spot, but I thought we’d become friends.’ He shook his head. ‘When it came down to my skin or his, he threw me to the wolves.’

  ‘He helped you though.’

  ‘Only because he thought it’d salvage his career.’ Gibson fixed me with an angry stare. ‘Whatever that bastard promised you, he won’t deliver. Only thing he cares about is himself.’

  I nodded. Tried to ignore the bite of fear his words made. Focused on moving a little closer. ‘So you decided to run?’

  ‘That last chess piece, it’s worth a lot, but not as much as the whole set.’ He looked down at the broken crates. Grimaced. ‘You know, I wish you’d let things go, just like I asked.’

  I narrowed my eyes. ‘From the bruises you left, it didn’t feel like you were asking.’

  ‘And yet here we are.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I inched forward again. Finally, I had him in range. ‘And it’s time for the running to stop.’

  Gibson moved real quick. He faked right, then jumped the ruined crates between us and ran at me like a bull charging a dislodged bull-rider. I squeezed the trigger and the Taser fired. The probes hit him square in the chest and discharged fifty thousand volts. He stumbled, but kept coming. Fast.

  Shit. I yanked the trigger again. Fired the second cartridge. Another fifty thousand volts ripped through his body.

  He crumpled at my feet. His body convulsing, his hands tensed into claws. His bladder released, pee spreading across the front of his jeans. His eyes rolled back into his head.

  I heard a howl behind me. Turned.

  Mia. Gun in hand. Tears streaming down her face. ‘You killed him!’

  ‘No, he’ll be okay…’

  I needed her to know I wasn’t going to hurt her. So I threw the Taser down. Lowered my gun. Put my free hand out towards her. Trusted her.

  She pulled the trigger before I had time to say more.

  51

  Never trust no one. I’d broken JT’s rule, and it was going to be the death of me.

  Time seemed to slow from the moment she pulled the trigger. I watched the gun leap in Mia’s hands, jerking them upwards. Saw the shock register on her face.

  Then I felt the pain. Like I’d taken a roundhouse kick to the chest, but a thousand times more powerful. My legs buckled, and I fell backwards. Gasping.

  Can’t breathe.

  Oh Jeez.

  I … can’t … breathe.

  My vision blurred. It felt like the world was spinning, tilting. I couldn’t feel my legs. Couldn’t feel my arms. It wasn’t supposed to go this way. I’d miscalculated, badly. Got distracted by Gibson and failed to make my move fast enough. A fatal error; a losing move in this game of strategy; checkmate played out to the death.

  Breathe. Must breathe.

  My body was pain. My chest felt on fire.

  Footsteps rushed past me. Mia’s voice said, ‘Gibson … Oh god … Can you hear me? Baby … please … are you okay?’

  I tried to gulp the air. Needed oxygen.

  Must breathe.

  I tried.

  Failed.

  Retched and tasted bile. Tried to swallow, but I couldn’t. It hit the back of my throat. Hot. Sour. I gasped. Wheezed. Felt like I was drowning.

  The gunshot repeated in my ears. Ricocheting around my brain. I tried to turn my head. Needed to get up but couldn’t move.

  Breathe. Please. Breathe.

  I tried real hard to force oxygen into my lungs. Didn’t work. They were too weak, the air too dense and heavy. Fear crashed through me. My baby, Dakota, I couldn’t leave her. I’d promised I’d be back to pick her up. Promised. I had to fight.

  Breathe. Do it.

  Dakota’s face hovered in my mind like a mirage, then dissolved into nothing. I roared out loud. Inhaled hard through my mouth, my nose. Forced the breath. Inhaled … and a trickle of sweet, cordite-scented air entered my lungs.

  I heard Gibson’s voice, weak but nearby. ‘I’m okay … I’ll be okay … I can’t find them though … The plan’s not … I…’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Mia said, her voice trembling with emotion. ‘Let’s just go. I’ll get you safe and fetch Jacob just as we planned. The plan will work.’

  ‘Need to … together…’ Gibson’s voice was fading.


  Footsteps. Coming closer. A human shape came into view. I blinked, trying to clear my vision. Failed. It felt like my consciousness was slipping away.

  ‘Why didn’t you let us go?’ she asked. ‘Why?’

  I forced open my eyes. Mia stood at my feet. Something in her expression made her look different, tougher.

  I was as good as dead.

  ‘You saw what Marco did. You know Gibson didn’t kill those people on the yacht. He’s innocent,’ she said.

  I wanted to tell her she was wrong. Gibson wasn’t innocent. He’d killed three hospital guards. He’d attacked me in the parking lot, and he would have attacked me right here if I hadn’t Tasered him. But I couldn’t speak. My breathing was too laboured; every breath was an effort. It felt as if my ribcage was crushing my lungs.

  Mia raised her gun. Aimed it at my head. ‘I didn’t want this to happen.’

  Struggling to breathe, I forced out the words. ‘Don’t … do—’

  ‘I have to.’

  ‘You’re not … killer.’

  ‘You told me back when we first met that we all have the capability to kill. I’ve killed once already today…’ Mia’s voice was determined but she looked sad. ‘If I don’t do this you’ll never let us go. You’ll keep chasing us.’

  I used every last bit of my strength to shake my head. A tiny movement was all. I kept looking her right in the eye. Didn’t blink. Wouldn’t flinch. Wasn’t going to make this easy.

  Mia’s hands were shaking, the gun unsteady. ‘Don’t lie to me. We both know you’re lying. I looked you up. Your man’s in jail. You’re out here separated from your kid. Gibson told me you’re working for his handler and I know exactly what a conniving son-of-a-bitch he is. I bet he’s offered to get your man out of jail, hasn’t he?’ She paused, watching my face. Nodded. ‘Yeah, I thought as much. And if that’s what he’s offered, I know you’ll never give up. You’ll never stop chasing us, because you want your fucked-up family back together just as much as I want mine.’

  I’d liked her. I’d trusted her. A bond forged in shared pain and the desire to reunite our families; but it was a desire only one of us could achieve, I saw that now. I thought of Dakota waiting for me to pick her up from camp, and JT waiting in jail for me to fulfil my deal with Monroe and get him free. Neither of them knew Monroe was dirty and that if the FBI found out the deal would be off because Monroe would be implicated in Gibson’s jailbreak. They were depending on me, trusting me, and I had let them down. I looked up at Mia. ‘I…’

  Mia’s expression hardened. She re-aimed the gun at my head, her hand steady now. Her finger moved on the trigger.

  Memories kaleidoscoped through my mind: Dakota warm in my arms the first time I held her as a baby; teaching her to ride her red bike; her first gold star at school; laughing as we made mango and chocolate ice cream. Dakota, JT and me together. Mine and JT’s last kiss.

  I clenched my fists. Felt anger. Fury. Thought of the life we could have had. Stolen now. Tears poured down my face. Who would look after my baby?

  The gun fired.

  I heard the crack of the shot. Felt the slam of the impact.

  My world turned scarlet.

  52

  Blood. Everywhere.

  It was in my eyes and on my clothes, but it wasn’t mine. I still felt paralysed, helpless, spread-eagled on the floor of the barn. Gasping.

  I heard wailing somewhere to my right. I tried to move my head to look, but the effort was too great. Heard footsteps, running. A man passed in front of me, a shadow across the red of my vision. I heard the sound of something being kicked across the floor – Mia’s gun, I presumed. Then a man’s voice, talking to Gibson. ‘Stay down. Don’t be a hero.’

  The wailing turned to sobs. Between them, I heard the sound of metal cuffs being fastened.

  I tried to look towards where Mia had been, but I still couldn’t raise my head enough. I called out. ‘Mia?’

  No reply. The only the sound was Gibson wailing.

  ‘Mia?’ I gasped again. ‘Answer me.’

  I wanted her to be fine, but I knew that she couldn’t be. A millisecond before she’d pulled the trigger, another gun had fired; not mine, not Gibson’s. I’d seen her eyes open wide, and a fine mist of blood spray out from her body as the bullet hit. I’d felt it coat my face, my neck, my arms, as I’d lain helpless in the dirt. I’d cried her name as I watched her fall.

  ‘Lori? Are you okay?’ McGregor kneeled beside me. He pulled up my shirt, and released the tabs of my concealed body armour. As the vest released, air flooded back into my lungs. I thought I was going to vomit.

  ‘Thanks.’ It was too little a word for saving my life, but the only one I had.

  He nodded. ‘No problem.’

  My legs and arms tingled as the feeling returned. I managed to lift my head. Looking down, I saw the two bullets embedded in the vest just below where my heart was. I was real lucky. I’d only had to deal with the agony from the force of the shots, each one slamming like a jack-hammer into my chest as the vest took the brunt to slow the impact. I’d be badly bruised for sure, but I wasn’t dead. Whether Mia had missed the headshot she’d been going for, or had changed her mind at the last moment and put a second bullet into my chest on purpose, I didn’t know, but the implication was clear either way. Mia hadn’t known I was wearing concealed body armour, and the vest wasn’t visible beneath my shirt. So there was no room for doubt; Mia had meant to kill me. If it hadn’t been for the vest and for McGregor she would have succeeded.

  I looked at her then. She lay a few feet away from me. There was a ragged exit wound in her chest and the blood had poured from it, across her lilac T-shirt and onto the floor, mingling with the dirt. Her long black hair was fanned out around her face. Her sightless gaze was fixed on me.

  I thought back to what she’d said, why she felt she had to kill me, and I knew that she’d been right. We both wanted our families back together; we both had complicated relationships – messed-up versions of a family; and we both wanted to try and make it work out. Thing was, in the situation we were in, one could only get it at the expense of the other. She’d meant to kill me, but I couldn’t blame her. Instead of anger I felt sadness that she was gone. Instead of relief to be alive, all I felt was guilt.

  Behind me, Gibson’s sobs grew louder and for a brief moment I felt glad that it wasn’t JT or Dakota crying over me. Then the sadness twisted in my stomach. Mia had wanted me to help her and I’d led her to believe that I would. Now she was dead.

  Leaning forwards, I shuffled through the dirt and pressed her eyes shut.

  ‘You. Did. This.’ Gibson’s words were slow and pain-filled.

  I turned and saw the shadow of the man who’d been tough as hell a few minutes earlier. Tears streamed down his face. He held my gaze, his eyes filled with anguish. Then folded in on himself, rocking, while his hands stayed cuffed behind his back.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  He didn’t answer. Kept rocking. I could hardly bear to watch him.

  McGregor stood up. Put his hand out to help me up.

  Tearing my gaze from Gibson, I took McGregor’s hand and got to my feet. I felt wobbly, like a colt taking its first steps. Had to tough it out though. Had to get through this.

  McGregor kept a hold of me. Looked concerned. ‘You need to sit down?’

  I shook my head. Felt nausea from a sudden wave of vertigo – the shock I was still feeling from the bullet’s impact. I waited a moment, before saying. ‘There’s something I have to do.’

  I looked around, searching for something to cover Mia with. All I could see in the barn was a box of dusty rags and a tattered tarpaulin. Neither seemed good enough, respectful enough, to do the job right.

  Wincing, I struggled out of my plaid shirt, then knelt on the ground beside Mia and covered her face and her body. I stayed with her a moment, put my hand on her still-warm arm. Stared at the blood congealing in the dirt. Thought of the life that she’d wanted, and the one sh
e’d been dealt. Whispered, ‘I’m so sorry.’

  Close by, McGregor bowed his head. Gibson grew quiet.

  A long moment later, I stood up. I moved to McGregor and asked, ‘What happens next?’

  He looked out towards the highway. ‘We sit tight and wait for Monroe.’

  *

  Two bullets to the chest, both at close range. Despite the vest, I was lucky to be alive, real lucky. But with Mia dead, I didn’t feel lucky. The sorrow of the situation eclipsed everything else. I was thankful for McGregor arriving when he did, for intervening as my back-up, but as the two opposing emotions tumbled around in my mind I knew I needed to turn my attention elsewhere, to focus on what happened next. I had to figure out how to play things when Monroe arrived.

  McGregor had told Monroe he was coming to the ranch. He’d messaged him the coordinates. We sat on two of the crates, waiting. Gibson had shuffled across the floor to sit beside Mia, her face and body still covered by my shirt. He was silent now, ashen-faced from loss. There didn’t seem any sense in moving anything.

  McGregor had a haunted expression in his eyes, and I wondered if the realisation that he’d shot a woman dead was taking its toll on him. I knew he hated violence against women. I knew the grief he still felt at the murder of his wife and unborn child, and knew that beneath his work-focused exterior he took things hard.

  He caught me staring. ‘Good work taking out the tyres on their vehicles,’ he said, offering me his water bottle.

  I took the water and gulped it down. I’d have found his words patronising under previous circumstances, but not anymore. ‘Thanks.’

  He nodded. ‘I should’ve given you a chance before.’ He gestured towards where Gibson was sitting beside Mia’s body. ‘Everything that’s happened here you’ve handled like a pro.’

  I kicked at the dirt with the toe of my boot. Wrestled with my emotions. Didn’t ever want someone dying to be just another thing that happens; never wanted to get used to handling it. But I knew McGregor was trying to be kind, looking to make me feel better, so I ignored the emotions and said, ‘A pro that got shot.’