by KG MacGregor
“I found these two hiding in the cabinet like frightened kittens.” He tossed what was left of the duct tape to David. “Tie them up.”
“I was hoping you guys got out the back,” Terry told her.
“Shut up!” David barked. Unlike Ancil, he looked the part of a drug dealer, at least by the standards she’d seen in her jailhouse reporting of the rural trade. Unshaven and sloppy, he wore ripped jeans and an oversized sweater with loose threads. “Hands together,” he snarled as he peeled off a thinning roll of tape.
Zann thrust her hands forward first, her eyes still on Ancil as he walked to the window. Keeping her voice low, she spoke calmly as he wrapped. “You know what he did, don’t you David? He murdered Scotty. You heard it yourself—he lured him back there by telling him he had something in his pocket. Scotty never pointed his gun.”
He glared at her stubbornly but it was clear he was listening.
“That’s right, he thought he was getting a bump. You should have heard him. So excited, so happy. Ancil was his friend who was going to help him get high. Instead he stuck a gun in his gut and pulled the trigger.” She made a shooting gesture with her index finger and thumb. “We heard the whole thing. The kid never had a chance…and neither will you. Ancil doesn’t give two shits what happens to you. He’ll kill you too if he thinks it gives him a better shot at getting away.”
“Sit down.” He said it evenly, as if he were turning over her words in his head. Earlier he’d referred to Scotty as his cousin. Maybe he felt responsible for him…and maybe he was losing trust in Ancil.
Marleigh held her hands out and allowed him to finish off his roll after only one wrap. It hardly seemed enough to hold her. With her back pressed against the counter, she slid to the floor and pulled her knees to her chest.
Zann held David’s eye until he grudgingly returned to the window. Then she began to look around as though sizing up the situation. Marleigh knew her well enough to know she was laying out another plan.
* * *
Zann’s training had covered weapons of opportunity. Practically anything in the newsroom could be used against an enemy. A box of paperclips on Fran’s counter that she could throw in Ancil’s face, the heavy stapler or picture frame that would disorient him for a millisecond if hurled at his head. And in an urn by the door, a large umbrella for striking or dislodging his gun. It was a custom Colt 45, chrome plated with a mother-of-pearl grip. A frighteningly deadly weapon, especially at close range.
In another few minutes, she’d have darkness on her side as well. They’d turned off all the lights so they could see out without law enforcement seeing in.
David had turned his back on her, not noticing that she hadn’t sat on the floor as ordered. From her squatting position, she was ready to spring.
There were scissors in the bin on Bridget’s desk—not as maneuverable as a knife, but sharp enough to do some serious damage. As handcuffs, the tape was a joke. One powerful swing of the elbows from her chest downward would tear it off.
All of her plans were predicated on not getting shot within the first three seconds. She’d have to get within arm’s reach of one of them to execute a takeaway. Both were holding their guns with a finger on the trigger, a finger she’d snap to cause excruciating pain when she forced the gun down. She wasn’t worried about her own safety—the biggest danger was the gun going off in the direction of the hostages.
That risk meant the scissors might be safer if she could get close enough. A vicious slash across the gun hand would cause him to drop it. Or the umbrella…driving the sharp end into his eye would disable him instantly.
So many things could go wrong. The scissors could be dull, the umbrella tip could be flat instead of sharp. No, there was only one way to do this—get to him fast and take his gun away with brute force.
No question which one she’d have to take down first. Ancil was smaller, easier to overpower, and he’d already shown his willingness to murder someone. If she managed to get his gun, David would probably surrender.
“Shit, looks like more cops, and these guys aren’t staying back,” David said, his voice high with panic. “Fuck, Ancil…it’s the DEA.”
Eight feet. That’s how far away Ancil stood, next to Bridget’s desk and angled so he could keep an eye on the room, though his main focus was on what was happening outside. Fling the stapler, grab his gun hand and force it down…three to four seconds from the time she broke the tape. Could he react that quickly?
The better question was did she feel lucky.
“Ancil Leclerc, this is Special Agent Robert Warner with the United States Drug Enforcement Agency.” The voice blared over a loudspeaker, causing even Ancil to jump. “You are completely surrounded by law enforcement personnel. No one else will be allowed inside the perimeter. You will not be permitted to leave the area with or without hostages. Step outside the building with your hands on top of your head and prepare to be searched.”
Zann almost grinned. Ancil hadn’t expected the feds to get here so quickly and now his getaway plan was ruined.
“Goddammit!” David grabbed his head frantically, one hand still holding his gun. “What the fuck are we gonna do?”
After several seconds of silence, Ancil replied calmly, “We do what they say. What other choice do we have?”
“Fuck! Goddammit…fuck.”
The relief around the room was palpable. Tammy fell sideways against Terry and burst into tears.
“Then go on and do it so we can get the EMTs in here,” Fran barked.
The two men raised their guns above their head and slowly walked out the front door, prompting a spontaneous celebration among Marleigh’s coworkers.
“Jesus Christ, that was scary as hell,” Terry said. “My heart’s going a thousand beats a minute. Did he really shoot that other guy?”
“Do this, Marleigh.” Zann demonstrated how to break the tape with one swing and handed her the scissors from Bridget’s desk so she could free the others.
Outside in the parking lot, Ancil and David had turned over their guns and were lying facedown on the icy pavement. The two agents directing the arrest wore black jackets with the letters DEA on the back. One of them jerked the thugs to their feet, placed them in handcuffs and marched them toward a black SUV.
She reveled in the humiliation the two gunmen must have felt—surrendering so calmly after their threats and cocky assurances. Ancil had wisely concluded his getaway was foiled by the DEA ignoring his demands and pulling all the way to the front door, especially since they weren’t letting anyone else inside the perimeter.
With the lights on inside now, Bridget sat on the corner of her desk, her hands shaking. “Guys, I’m so sorry this happened. I swear I had no idea Luc was involved in drugs. I only met Ancil a few times. I thought they were both stock traders.”
As she apologized, the emergency medical team barreled through the door with first aid equipment in tow. One tended to Clay while the other made a cursory check to confirm Scotty was dead. Next a pair of Colfax officers—Rance Fuller and Joey Crisp, whom she knew from town hall—came in to secure the scene and start taking statements.
Watching Marleigh comfort everyone else, Zann was suddenly overcome with emotion. Considering her reason for coming to the office today, the whole scene was almost surreal. Whatever it took, she would win her wife back for good. Their love, their life…nothing would break them apart now. They couldn’t live through something so terrifying and throw it all away. “Marleigh, come here.”
Marleigh must have known exactly what she was feeling. She fell into her arms without wavering and buried her face in Zann’s neck. For this one moment, their old problems didn’t even exist.
“I love you so much,” she murmured softly so the others wouldn’t overhear. “I’m not letting go of you…ever. I promise you, I’m going to fix everything and you won’t ever have to worry about me again.”
One of the DEA agents entered and stood with his feet apart and hands on his
hips. He definitely had the look of a federal agent—clean shaven with short dark hair, perfectly gelled. “Which one of you is Bridget Snyder?”
“That’s me.”
“Ms. Snyder, we’re trying to piece this story together and I understand your boyfriend may be involved. Would you mind coming with us so we can get a statement and have you look at a lineup? We’ve been tracking this drug ring for quite some time.”
Bridget blew out a frazzled breath. “Yeah, I guess. Can my friend come with me? Marleigh, please? I’m about to lose my shit here.”
“Sure. Maybe I should follow you in my car.”
“No need for that. We’ll be happy to bring you back,” the agent said with a friendly smile. He had to know how glad everyone was that they’d shown up just in time. “Shouldn’t take more than an hour. Two at the most.”
Still in Zann’s embrace, Marleigh raised up on tiptoes and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Meet me at the house later and we’ll figure this out. I’ll call Pete and cancel the contract. And Zann…I love you too.”
The words left her weak. In that instant, Marleigh had delivered her from a fate far worse than any Ancil or his friends had threatened. Watching her walk away, she vowed silently to become once again the loving, courageous hero Marleigh believed her to be when they married, a partner in every way.
In the parking lot and beyond, more first responders had arrived, their flashing lights causing probably the biggest commotion Colfax had seen in decades. A second ambulance pulled up alongside a pair of newly arrived state troopers. Ancil and David were plainly visible in the middle row of the SUV, while the other agent waited by the open door for Bridget and Marleigh to climb into the back.
Zann acknowledged the heaviness of her legs as she started toward the break room for her coat. Her muscles quivered from being cooped up in the cabinet, and her emotions still roiled from the turmoil of trying to talk Marleigh into saving their house and marriage. As if all that weren’t enough, there was the adrenaline crash. Now four years out of active military duty, she wasn’t used to operating at such a high level of tension and focus. Nor did she ever want to again. The last few months had shown her that.
Officer Fuller, with a cherubic face and flaming red hair, emerged from the hallway, “Anybody know what we’re supposed to do with this body back here?”
“Ask that guy from the DEA,” Crisp replied, adding sarcastically, “Looks like they’re taking over our case.”
“They just left. Did you get their card?”
“No…call in to HQ. They can probably find them in the register. What’d he say his name was? Something Warner. Robert…Bob?”
Bobby! A sickening wave of panic hit Zann’s stomach like a physical punch. No wonder Ancil had surrendered so easily. “Son of a bitch!”
She blew past the other officer on her way out the door, where she searched frantically for the agents’ vehicle.
“Whoa, there,” Crisp said, catching her arm. “We’re going to need to get your statement before you run off.”
“That SUV, those agents…they’re in on it. Ancil called them to pick him up.” This was no time for their cluelessness. Marleigh was in the hands of a stone-cold killer.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“This feels weird as all get-out,” Bridget said, her voice barely above a whisper as the vehicle bounced over a pothole known locally as the Crown Street Crater.
That was an understatement. If Marleigh had it to do over, she’d have insisted on driving her own car and having Bridget ride with her. Sitting in what amounted to a rumble seat behind the guys who’d held them hostage at gunpoint was downright creepy. It didn’t help to see the men’s hands merely cuffed in their laps—they weren’t tethered to anything that would keep them from leaping out of their seats and attacking the agents from behind. Ancil had already killed a man today—he wouldn’t be afraid to do it again.
“Where do you think we’re going?” Marleigh wondered aloud, though not so the men could hear her. There was no federal building in Colfax. All of the local law enforcement offices were in the opposite direction.
“Can’t be far. He said he’d have us back in an hour or two. Maybe they have an office near the college…you know, so they can watch for drugs on campus.”
The last building of Colfax Community College whizzed by as they left the town limits and started across an open road that would take them to New York State. Toward Chimney Point, Marleigh realized with a shudder. Inhaling deeply to calm her nerves, she raced to rationalize where they might be headed and why. The agent had said they were investigating others, faces they wanted Bridget to identify. Maybe they’d raided Ancil’s associates at a hideout in Chimney Point.
Tuning out Bridget’s nervous chatter, she studied the agents from behind. Warner’s demeanor during the arrest had been friendly but authoritative, almost military. Now he slumped casually in the passenger seat, muttering occasional expletives in response to a game he was playing on his smartphone. The driver had yet to utter a single word. Their lack of vigilance made her uneasy. They seemed way too cavalier about the potential risk posed by their captives, especially given the seriousness of the crimes they’d just committed. Not once had either agent asked how she and Bridget were doing in the back, or even turned around to check on their well-being.
Ancil too appeared overly relaxed considering his predicament, leaning his head lazily against the window as they rode past farm after farm. If he was worried about the feds, he didn’t show it. But then he’d been cocky throughout the entire confrontation. Perhaps he had a plan to invoke his Canadian citizenship and demand to be sent back across the border.
David, on the other hand, looked far more agitated, with shaking knees and a sweaty forehead. From his antsy expression back at the newspaper office when Zann had told him about Scotty, he hadn’t signed on for murder—his cousin’s murder at that. He was in over his head. In her years as a crime reporter, it was her observation that men like David spilled their guts in the interrogation room…a point that made her even more concerned that Ancil didn’t appear the least bit anxious.
“Where are we going?” Marleigh shouted so the agents could hear her over the hum of the road. Neither responded, nor even acknowledged her question. Whispering to Bridget, she said, “I don’t like this. Something’s messed up here.”
A techno trill—Zann’s unique ringtone—sounded from her shoulder bag, which was tucked between her feet.
Before she could answer, Ancil abruptly turned in his seat and, with his hands still cuffed, leveled the shiny pistol he’d used to threaten them earlier. In a voice that chilled her, he stated flatly, “You will not answer that.”
Agent Warner turned around too but did nothing in response to Ancil’s threat.
“Oh, my God.” Bridget dug her fingernails into Marleigh’s thigh and brought the other hand to her mouth.
David was as shocked as they were, stammering, “Jesus H. Christ, Ancil! You son of a bitch. You scared the shit out of me. I thought we were fucked.”
With a cynical laugh, Ancil said, “I told you not to worry, did I not? My friend Bobby came through for us exactly as I said he would.” He nodded toward the man they knew as Agent Warner.
Marleigh grasped at once the danger they were in. This wasn’t merely a personal grudge from a hotheaded drug dealer who’d been burned. It was a drug shipment worth seven million dollars, stakes so high that collateral damage like Scotty—and like her and Bridget—wasn’t even an afterthought. If these two were real DEA agents operating in cahoots with a drug ring, they wouldn’t be leaving witnesses behind.
Their only hope now was to turn the men against each other. She glared coldly at Ancil and repeated what Zann had said to David. “You murdered Scotty in cold blood. I heard you.” As she spoke, she fumbled silently with the phone in her pocket, getting only as far as to open a text window to Zann.
“No, no.” Ancil waved the barrel of the handgun from Bridget to Marleigh and back.
“Your phones, s’il vous plaît. Both of them now.”
She hesitated until he snapped the slide with a menacing click. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind he would shoot her on the spot if she didn’t comply. Her only chance for staying alive was to do what he said and hope Bridget was somehow able to help him find Luc. Even then…
Ancil passed the phones forward to Warner, or whatever his real name was. “Toss these out the window.”
How long would it take the horde of law enforcement officers gathered at the Messenger to realize they’d been duped? It was possible no one would even miss them until tonight when Zann got impatient that she hadn’t returned home. She and Bridget could be in Canada by then.
Ancil got the key from Warner and removed his cuffs, then David’s. In the same chilling voice he’d used in his earlier threats, he taunted Bridget, “Let us hope your sense of direction is sharp today, mon cœur. Your lives could very well depend on you leading us to the apartment where Luc’s father lives. You remember how to get there, oui?”
She began shaking her head. “I…it’s somewhere in Montreal. That’s all I know.”
“Do not lie to me. I know for a fact you have been there.”
“But Luc was driving,” she pleaded. “I never paid attention to how we got there. I hardly know anything about Montreal. All I remember is that it was an old brick building. And there’s a wheelchair ramp in the front. Wait—I remember him saying it was in Monkland.”
Their scheme was coming into view. Rendezvous with someone at Chimney Point—likely to switch vehicles, since the authorities would be looking for this one—and cross over the lake into New York, where local and state law enforcement wouldn’t be so desperate to find them. Upstate was notorious for its back roads where you could cross the Canadian border without a passport. Once in Montreal they’d use Bridget to again pressure Luc out of hiding.