by Diane Capri
Chunks of glass spewed through the air.
Cantor screamed. He lunged forward from the sofa.
The man threw Jess into the kitchen. “Stay there,” he said.
Two more dull thumps hit the soft furnishings in the living room.
The man dived in, grabbed Cantor with one hand and shoved him on the floor at Jess’s feet.
He pulled the unconscious Bruno along next, and dropped to his knees.
“What the hell’s going on?” Jess said. “Who are you?”
Cantor struggled to reach his phone on the kitchen counter. His arm was bloody. “I’ve been shot.”
“Damn lucky you weren’t all shot,” the man said, with a British accent she hadn’t noticed initially.
Chunks of wood splintered off the arch between the kitchen and the living room with the next shot.
The Brit jerked his thumb toward the window. “Sniper’s nest on the other side of the street. Seeking to kill Cantor. Maybe he wants to kill all of you, who knows?”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Cantor had reached his phone. “I need the police,” he said. “A man broke into my apartment. Someone’s shooting at us.”
The Brit grabbed Cantor’s arm, jerked the phone away, and ended the call. He stuffed the phone in his pocket. “Can we get out the back?”
Cantor glared but didn’t answer.
“We’re sitting ducks here.” The Brit shook Cantor by his wounded arm.
Cantor screamed.
“Is there another way out? Fire escape? Anything?”
Cantor’s eyes were wild. He shook his head. “No.”
Police sirens sounded in the distance.
The Brit crouched low and peered around the corner of the archway into the living room. “He’s gone.”
“Who? Who is gone?” Jess demanded.
“The sniper.” He looked around. “He may be on his way here to finish what he started. We’ve got to get out.”
Cantor darted between Jess and the Brit, and ran out onto the landing.
“No!” the Brit yelled.
Cantor ran flat out down the stairs. A few moments later, Jess could no longer hear his footsteps.
Bruno groaned. The Brit leaned down and gave him a solid punch on the temple, not hard enough to kill. Bruno grunted and his head rolled sideways. The Brit took his submachine gun.
“He’ll be fine. We have to go out the rear,” the Brit said.
“The police are on the way,” Jess said.
“Exactly. We don’t want to be here when they arrive.” he replied. “You’re in over your head, Ms. Kimball. When we get out of here, take a flight stateside and forget about this.”
Jess frowned. “How do you know my name? Who are you?”
The Brit dashed into the bedroom. He dropped low and checked outside the bedroom window.
She grabbed her recorder from the coffee table, followed him into the bedroom, and glanced through the window. There was a roof jutting out from the floor below.
He twisted his head from side to side, straining to scope out as much of the street as possible. “Just call me a concerned citizen.”
“You’re British.” Which probably meant neither Morris nor Remington had sent him, which had been her first thought.
“No fooling you.” He opened the rear window and gestured toward it.
She made no move to join him.
He looked directly at her. “At lunchtime you were shoved in front of a train and by dinner time someone is shooting at you.”
She stared at him. “Why have you been following me?”
He checked the street again. “You want to hang around here and let him finish the job, that’s up to you.”
He slung the submachine gun over his shoulder and braced it between his elbow and his ribs.
“Look.” He nodded toward Bruno, out cold. “He’s probably a good man, but you’re a target and he can’t protect you while he’s unconscious. Hell, he didn’t do such a great job for you anyway. He didn’t even try to duck when I hit him, did he?”
Shouts were exchanged on the ground floor. Two shots fired.
“That’s not the police shooting down there. And this isn’t a good place for a firefight.” The Brit ran into the kitchen, and dragged Bruno back with him. He slapped the man in the face.
Bruno groaned and opened his eyes.
Screaming from downstairs.
The Brit shoved Bruno out the window. Bruno groaned and mumbled, but he was in no state to resist. The Brit rolled out of the window after him.
“Last chance.” He looked at Jess one more time. “Come on.”
Jess glanced at the open apartment door and then followed.
The roof was steep, but the old tiles were rough and her shoes gripped well enough.
The Brit held Bruno as he staggered along the top of the roof beside the wall then down the slope. At the end of the roof, a wall below separated Cantor’s building from its neighbor.
The Brit dangled Bruno over the edge, and lowered him onto the top of the wall.
Out of view, Bruno fell to the ground. She heard the heavy thud when he landed. But he didn’t scream.
The Brit held his hands out to Jess. “Keep moving.”
He swung her out over the edge and dropped her onto the wall.
She crouched down, grabbed the top of the wall, and lowered herself to the ground near Bruno.
The Brit made it from the roof to the wall and the wall to the ground in two jumps.
He lifted Bruno by his collar, and hurried to an alleyway opposite.
Bruno’s boots bounced as his legs were dragged across the road.
Jess followed. She glanced back at the apartment window.
Halfway down the alley, the Brit stopped and propped Bruno against the wall. He was slowly regaining consciousness.
The Brit waved the submachine gun in his face. “Count to a hundred before you do anything. Understand? Cien, cien. Understand?”
Bruno nodded.
The Brit stared at Jess. “You got your passport?”
Jess held up her bag. “Yeah.”
“Good. Because you’re leaving the country.” He nudged Jess forward. “Uncle Sam is calling. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Friday, August 19
7:30 p.m. CET
Zorita, Spain
Sirens filled the air. Shouting followed the screech of car tires. Jess looked back along the alley. She had no clue about the Brit. But someone had shot at them and Cantor, at least, would have died without his intervention.
“Let’s move.” The Brit walked away. “The shooter might still be active in the area.”
Bruno was vertical, but still dazed. He seemed to be trying to count on his fingers.
“You okay?” she said.
He nodded, and his eyes wobbled with the effort.
A blue Peugeot screeched to a stop at the end of the alley. The window buzzed down and Jess caught sight of a large black gun.
She wrapped her arm around Bruno’s, levering him to his unsteady feet, and ran. Bruno had seen the gun, too, and did his stumbling best to move.
The Brit was down on one knee, leveling Bruno’s big gun down the alley at the Peugeot. Jess shoved Bruno to one side of the passage and out of the line of fire.
The Brit fired three single shots in rapid succession. The submachine gun jerked in his hands and the sound pounded off the alley’s concrete walls.
Jess kept moving.
All of it brought Bruno fully back to consciousness.
The Peugeot raced away with a squeal of tires. Never fired a shot.
The Brit jumped up, stopping Jess and Bruno with outstretched arms. “Back, back.” He shoved them back the way they had come.
“But—” Jess said.
Quickly, he said, “He’s going round the block to try and cut us off. We can go either way to my car. Move!”
Bruno grabbed for his gun.
The Brit fought back for a
moment then let go. “Save the complaining.”
Jess wasn’t sure Bruno understood until he ran flat out ahead of them to the end of the alley, and dropped to one knee to check to see if the road was clear.
Jess and the Brit lined up behind him. Bruno waved them out.
The Brit ran to a silver Ford Escort, waving the remote control in the air and stabbing at the unlock button. The car bleeped and its lights flashed.
Jess took the passenger seat as the Brit pressed the start button. The engine burst into life with a snarl. The car was moving by the time Bruno jumped in the rear.
The Ford was quick, but the Brit drove without revving hard or torturing the tires. He took a right to avoid red lights and back left onto a parallel road.
Behind them was a sea of official vehicles and flashing lights.
Bruno pointed the submachine gun at the Brit’s back.
“Don’t even think about it,” the Brit said as he took a ramp to a freeway.
Bruno held the gun on him. “Stop!”
The Brit kept his foot down. “Shooting the driver at seventy miles an hour is a good recipe for disaster.”
He looked at Bruno in the rearview mirror. “And you’re not even buckled up.” He mimed using the seatbelt.
Bruno shuffled back in his seat and buckled up. He kept the gun in one hand and took out his radio.
The Brit shook his head. He held up two fingers. “Two minutes. Dos minutos.”
His accent was terrible but Bruno seemed to understand. He looked from the Brit to Jess and back again. He held onto the radio, but took his finger off the transmit switch.
“But we do need the police,” Jess said.
“We’re on the way. I know just the place,” the Brit replied.
At this point, she had no choice but to trust him. Nothing had deterred him from his own plans so far. And if shooting the driver at seventy miles an hour was a recipe for disaster, jumping out of a moving vehicle at that speed would be even worse.
He turned off the freeway and worked through a few blocks to a small police station. It was an industrial looking building, probably built on the lowest budget. The small amount of parking was all labeled for police cars.
The Brit went around to the other side of the building where an area had been cleared for construction.
He parked neatly in one corner, pointing, the car toward the police station. “We’re here.”
Bruno nodded.
They all stepped out of the car.
Bruno kept his gun on the Brit.
The Brit held his hands up in front of him, his fingers outstretched. “I’m sorry I had to do what I did back there, but there was no way I was going to explain it all before someone got shot. So, I did what I had to do.” He lowered his hands. “You would have done the same.”
Bruno nodded his head and slowly lowered his weapon.
The Brit smiled. He lashed out a straight arm punch that landed solidly on Bruno’s jaw. His other hand wrenched the gun away from the collapsing police officer.
Adrenaline and anger fueled Jess to step toward Bruno and lash out. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
The Brit blocked her way. He nodded toward the station. “They’ll come and get him in a few minutes.”
“We left the scene of a crime. Shots were fired. Someone tried to kill us. Deliberately, if you’re right about the sniper. This is a matter for the police.”
“Trust me, you don’t want to tell all this to the local police.”
“Or what?” She stuck her chin out so he’d have a clear path to her jaw. “You’ll knock me out cold?”
He knelt and folded Bruno into the recovery position. “You need to be out of the country before anyone else gets hurt.”
“Like I’m going to trust you after you’ve laid out a police officer with one punch, and won’t tell me who you are or why you’re here?”
The Brit circled back to the Ford. “We can talk on the way.”
Jess looked at Bruno and then the police station. She’d spent several hours with Garza today. She knew what would happen if she went inside. And this time, she wasn’t so clearly the victim he might feel a duty to protect.
She was tempted to simply walk away and get the hell out of the country.
But then she’d never know what was going on here.
And what about Alex Cole? She’d promised Marcia McAllister. After all she’d been through already, she wouldn’t simply give up and quit now.
“I’ve got to go before they come out here for the big guy.” The Brit opened the car door and put one foot inside. “Are you coming or not?”
She held her hand out, over the top of the car. “Give me the gun.”
He frowned.
“Give me the gun.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t like being in a car with an armed stranger.”
He rolled his eyes, and held out the stock to Jess.
She grabbed the gun, and rolled it over, cycling the magazine out to confirm it was loaded.
He got in the car, and the engine barked to life.
She clicked the safety on, and held her hand over the mechanism. No reason to advertise that it would take a moment longer to shoot him.
She took the passenger seat, laying the gun across her lap with the business end pointed at the Brit.
He backed the car out of the building site, and rejoined the highway.
“Let’s start with the basics,” Jess said. “Tell me your name and why you’ve been following me.”
CHAPTER FIFTY
Friday, August 19
7:45 p.m. CET
Zorita, Spain
Traffic on the freeway was lighter as rush hour faded. The Brit stayed in the middle lane, going with the flow, and keeping a good distance between him and the car in front. He turned the radio on low. The female host had a British accent.
“Why don’t we start with you?” he said. “Jessica Kimball. Reporter with Taboo Magazine. You live in Denver. Your boyfriend is FBI. Came here because Alex Cole is accused of blowing up a biochemical plant in Chatham, Iowa. Kelso Products, to be specific. You suspect he’s not guilty, but don’t have any evidence to back that up.”
Jess barely blinked. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”
“You’re supposed to realize that there’s more going on than you know.”
“So fill me in.”
“We’re heading to Gibraltar.”
Jess waited for the rest.
“It’s a British territory and possession,” he said.
“I’m well aware.” She ground her teeth while she waited.
He turned up the radio a fraction. “Gibraltar is adjacent to Spain and joined to the mainland. We can drive there. It has an airport. You’ll be able to fly to the UK and on to the US.”
“So you’ve not only been following me, you’re spying on my conversations, too,” she said, through gritted teeth.
He shrugged.
This was ridiculous. She should have stayed at the police station. “Just drop me off. I have already booked a flight home from Valencia in the morning.”
“And no one knows that besides me and Garza and Bruno and your FBI boyfriend and the guy who tried to kill you and who knows who else by now?” He arched his eyebrows and glanced at her for a long moment.
She said nothing.
“I’m not a babysitter. I’m here because you’re messing with people who don’t give a rat’s ass about justice or due process, or anything else you care about, for that matter.” He glanced at her again. “They’ve killed others already and they won’t care about one more.”
“Tell me who was shooting at us.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “Help me understand this.”
“I didn’t see the shooter.” He paused and nodded once, as if he’d made up his mind about something. “I was on the street watching Cantor’s place when you and Bruno went inside. I saw the barrel of a gun directly opposite your flat. Just be grateful I did
, and leave it at that.”
Jess squeezed her lips together. He was probably right, but there were so many open questions. After a while, she tried a new approach. “Do you know Felipe Cantor?”
“No better than you do.”
“How about Debora Elden?”
“Not personally.”
“Professionally? Whatever your profession is.”
He shook his head. “I was keeping tabs on her for two weeks before you arrived.”
“Where is she now?” Jess frowned.
“I lost track of her.”
She waited but he didn’t elaborate. “Look, I can’t keep thinking of you as the Brit. What’s your name?”
“You can call me Hadlow.”
“Because that’s the name you’re going under this week?” she snapped.
“Longer than a week, but yes.” He grinned for the first time in a while. “Gary Hadlow. You might be surprised to know that I’m pretty impressed with you, by the way. You’ve brushed off more stuff than a lot of the guys I know. And trust me, I know some mean guys.”
She knew he was trying to divert and disarm her, but as long as he was talking, she had a chance to bring him around. “Thanks for the compliment, I guess.”
“I was at the train crossing when you talked to the inspector. Not many people can talk that calmly five minutes after escaping an oncoming train. In fact, not many people can talk at all after facing an oncoming train.” His smile was broader this time. “Nice reversing, by the way.”
A phone buzzed in Hadlow’s pocket, but he ignored it.
“Want me to answer that?” she said.
He fished the phone from his pocket. “Just tell me who it is.”
She looked at the display. “Grupo Lopez.” She adjusted her grip on the gun. “You work for Grupo Lopez?”
He shook his head. “Not even close.”
“But they’re calling you.” She stared at the name on the display. “Should I answer it?”
“No.”
The buzzing stopped and the words Missed Call appeared.
She groaned. “This is Felipe Cantor’s phone, isn’t it?”
He shrugged.
“Why would someone from Grupo Lopez be calling him at this time of night?”