“I remembered every curse and degrading word in the book, but couldn’t remember my own name. She kept calling me Moose, and it made me so mad. I had no idea what she was talking about,” Moose said, looking at Isabelle.
Thinking of the pain Moose had endured made Holt sad. “He hit a Moose on his motorcycle when he was sixteen. I probably told him the story about ten times during those first few days. He was a legend and couldn’t remember a thing about it,” she said.
“That accident is when all the drugs started. I got addicted to the pain pills and switched to heroin when I ran out of the others. I was shooting within a year. After I cleaned up, I told H if she ever had to detox someone again, for their sake, get them some meds to help with the withdrawal. I swear if she didn’t have me cuffed to that radiator, I probably would have killed her.”
Holt felt a little guilty about her rough treatment of Moose, but she wasn’t about to let him get away with teasing her. “It worked out all right for you, big man. Besides, I was eighteen. What did I know about heroin withdrawal? At least I was pretty sure it wouldn’t kill you.”
She remembered the day he was coherent enough to ask to go to rehab. She unlocked the cuffs and drove him herself. He had been clean ever since. Moose had told everyone that would listen that Holt had saved his life. In truth, he had done the same for her. She had watched a good friend get his head blown off, and when the man who shot him skipped out on court, she became his target. Aside from the people at the boxing gym, she had no other support. Her parents were useless. When Moose cleaned up, they became an unbeatable team. Their business had started with tragedy and the determination to be more than anyone around them believed they could be.
“It worked out all right for both of us. H got me as a business partner. Really, what more could she have hoped for out of that situation?”
“And you’ve been doing this ever since? How did you get into bounty hunting from heroin addiction?” Isabelle asked.
“That’s a story for another time,” Holt said. She wasn’t ready to share that much of herself with Isabelle. It was a simple question with a very complicated answer.
Chapter Eleven
Isabelle leaned against the doorway to Holt’s office. Holt didn’t notice her, so she took a moment to watch as she packed up Superman’s belongings. Holt looked exhausted, and Isabelle noticed the uncertainty and questions in Holt’s eyes. They had been spending more and more time together, and the line between genuine feelings, fear, and forced closeness was blurred. Based on the increasing number of opportunities Holt was finding to be close to her, Isabelle suspected Holt was struggling with the same thing. As Isabelle watched, Holt took a moment to enjoy the snuggle Superman seemed to reserve just for her.
“I think I might be getting in trouble here, little man. I just don’t know what kind,” Holt said softly.
“Are you talking to yourself and using the baby to cover it up?” Isabelle asked.
“I would never use an innocent sleeping child as my fall guy.” Holt rocked Superman lightly as she turned around, diaper bag and toys stowed on her shoulder.
“Give me your keys. I think it’s time to get Sleeping Beauty in his car seat.”
“Why are you taking my keys? Are you going to drive me into the woods and have your way with me?” Holt asked, but even that sounded tired.
“That’s the best you can do?” Isabelle teased her. “As much as I’m sure you would enjoy that, no, I’m driving Superman home, then I’m taking you home, cooking you dinner, tucking you in, and checking in with my minders for the night. You aren’t going to argue.”
“Oh. I’m not used to being bossed around, but it’s also kind of a turn-on. Dinner sounds nice.”
“When you start taking care of yourself at half the intensity you’re trying to take care of me, I’ll stop handling you.” Isabelle was concerned about Holt but didn’t want to scare her by showing just how worried she was.
“You can handle me all you want,” Holt said, looking a little perkier.
“And I see someone is feeling a little better. Get in the truck.”
Holt obeyed and they were soon on their way to Amy’s house. There was so much Isabelle wanted to say, how afraid she was, how overwhelming the situation was, how much she was enjoying Holt and her care, but she stayed quiet. Her independence was important to her, but more importantly, she thought she might have actual feelings for Holt, and that was scaring the hell out of her. Holt was, despite everything else Isabelle had learned, a bounty hunter, and she was still in tremendous danger.
Whatever the outcome between the two of them, she refused to build something based on Holt always taking care of her. Holt was already carrying too much of the burden alone. She realized that each hour that passed that Isabelle’s attackers weren’t caught wore on Holt in ways she was only just coming to recognize. Isabelle felt bad she was so quick to point out the invasion of privacy of the other methadone clients. Holt and her team knew the job better than she did. Maybe that sort of thing was routine, but the looks on the faces of the group when she suggested it made Isabelle doubt it.
“Why was Max asleep in my office?” Holt asked, looking half asleep herself.
“I honestly don’t know why she was so tired. I could tell she needed sleep, though, and I knew your office was safe. Sorry. I forgot to warn you.” Isabelle didn’t tell Holt about the contents of the broom closet.
“Where did the sleeping bag and camping mat come from?”
Isabelle rolled her eyes. Of course Holt would pick up on that.
“I think you might need to talk to Max about all this, sweetie.”
Holt nodded and was asleep before they came to the next intersection. She didn’t wake even when the truck stopped in front of Amy’s house and Superman was passed back to his mother.
“She okay?” Amy asked, looking worried. “Maybe she should just stay here. I’m sure she won’t mind you keeping the truck.”
“Thanks, but I’m going to take her back to her place and let her sleep in her own bed for once. She’s done so much for me these past few weeks, I want to repay her in this small way until she lets me take care of her for real after all this is over.”
Amy looked at Isabelle intently, studying her a moment before she responded. “I see the way she looks at you. Please be careful. I love her too much to see her get hurt.”
“What do you mean the way she looks at me? What about the way I look at her?”
“I don’t know you well enough to judge how you look at her compared to others. I can only tell you what I know about Holt, and what I know is that she doesn’t look at anyone else like she looks at you.”
“She’s very dedicated to her job, Amy; you know that. Right now she’s made it her job to protect me. I’m in danger. Of course she looks at me differently than she does her friends or family.”
“If you believe that, you’re a lot stupider than you look,” Amy said with a half smile.
“Good night, Amy.” Isabelle didn’t know what to do with the new information that Holt reserved a special look just for her. She had liked thinking that Holt’s smiles or quick glances were special, but it felt different now that she knew Amy could see a difference too.
*
“Gary, this better be pretty fucking important. It’s two a.m. You woke up my wife.”
“I’m sorry, Decker, but Diamond just called me. Caldwell’s gone.”
“What exactly do you mean by gone?”
“Well, you know how they’ve got him stashed at the empty house in Cranston? They keep him chained up and drugged, but they let him up to take a piss and he got away.”
“Holy shit, how incompetent are the guys you had watching him? What did he do, crawl out the bathroom window?”
“Um,” Gary’s voice was quiet and stilted, probably from panic.
“Don’t even tell me. I don’t want to know. Have you figured out who broke into Diamond’s house a few days ago? I don’t like the coincidence.�
��
“He didn’t know, boss. He didn’t see him. He opened the front door and heard the guy hauling ass out the back. He was gone when Diamond got out the back door.”
“Get everyone you can to the accountant’s house. That’s where Caldwell’s going. I’ll bet you it was the bounty hunter you said not to worry about that was at Diamond’s house. Diamond was probably too high to tell if he was seeing a man, woman, or alien. It would be just like her to stick her damn nose where it doesn’t belong. Was our supply there?”
Gary sounded relieved as he was finally able to pass along some good news. “No, boss. The supply is locked up tight, just like you told me. The only things there were the empty bottles. Diamond’s on methadone, and if they check on him, it looks like he’s got a little side business going.”
“Get to Isabelle Rochat’s house. Fix this mess. Call me when it’s done.”
“Won’t he go to see the bounty hunter?”
“No, that’s where he should go, but he won’t. It’s the first place we would look for him. Besides, the bounty hunter’s been staying at Ms. Rochat’s house.”
“What do you want me to do with him when we recover him?”
“Finish him. This has gone on long enough. His little stunt tonight pushed his usefulness below his risk level. This may actually help us. Caldwell was becoming a liability. Warehousing drugs is one thing; people are a bit harder. Keep it clean though. I do not want our fingerprints on it. An overdosed drug addict is not as suspicious as a bullet through the head. You have to get to him before he makes contact with Ms. Rochat. Understand?”
“What about Rochat?”
“I’ll remind you again, we’re not the mob. This is business. Caldwell knew that. He called us. But the more bodies that start piling up, the harder it is to keep the police off our tail. That being said, if Ms. Rochat is going to blow the whistle, protect the business.”
“Got it, boss. We’re on our way.”
*
The phone woke Holt from a wonderful dream. She and Isabelle were in Tahiti, staring at the gorgeous ocean, wearing nothing but the sunshine. She was slow to let go of the fantasy.
“Lo,” she said.
“Holt, he’s here. Someone’s here.”
Isabelle was whispering, but her voice was strained and she sounded terrified. Holt was awake immediately.
“Are you at home? Can you get out like we talked about?”
Holt was throwing on clothes, shoving on shoes, and silently thanking Isabelle for calling her cell phone instead of the home phone. If she had to ask Isabelle to call her back, she might have gone insane. As it was, she was barely able to tamp down her own panic. The perfect beach scenario of her dreams was replaced by images of Isabelle lying naked on an autopsy table. Holt felt bile rise in her throat and her mouth started to water. This wasn’t the time to vomit. It wouldn’t do Isabelle any good. She got her body back under control.
“I’m at home. I can’t get out, Holt. Lola told me to hide in the closet, but I haven’t heard anything from her. I guess it’s only been a couple minutes, but it feels like an hour. I’m terrified.”
“I’m coming, baby. I’m on my way. I’ll be there. I’ll keep you safe. You stay hidden. When I get there, you tell me where you are. Don’t tell me right now in case someone can hear you, or if you have to move.”
“Please don’t hang up.” Isabelle’s voice rose.
Holt was three minutes from Isabelle’s house. The trip usually took fifteen minutes, but she ran four red lights and ignored every speed limit posted on her route.
She couldn’t call in backup because she would have to hang up with Isabelle to do that. She hoped Lola had been able to reach someone at the office before whatever was going on at Isabelle’s had started.
“I’m around the corner, Isabelle. I’m going to be there in a minute. Now I need you to tell me where you are.” She could hear Isabelle’s frightened breathing and it was tearing at her sanity.
“Guest bedroom closet, like you told me.”
As Isabelle was relaying her location, the sound of breaking glass and shouting was painfully clear through the phone. Holt slammed the truck into park and vaulted into the night, hitting the ground at a sprint, heading for Isabelle’s front door. In no other circumstance would she be this careless with her own safety, but right now, all that mattered was Isabelle.
She was mounting the front steps when gunfire registered through the phone. “Isabelle! Are you okay?” She knew she was practically shouting, but she could barely think, and every instinct she had was screaming at her to rush through the door.
“I’m frightened enough to pee my pants, but I’m still okay. Holt, put the phone away. If you’re coming in here, you need both hands and all of your brain. Come and get me when you’re done. And do not get shot.”
Isabelle’s plan made sense, but Holt was reluctant to let go of the tenuous tie she had with her beautiful, perfect Isabelle. Still, it was the only way she could ensure her safety.
“I’ll be right there. Hang tight.”
Once the connection was broken, Holt was able to find enough distance to think like a bounty hunter and not react in fear. The front door was open. She edged through it carefully and slipped in the house. The lights in the front of the house were out. She stuck to the shadows and moved quickly toward the bedrooms and Isabelle.
As she was creeping toward the hall, she heard Lola shout, a gunshot ring out, and Lola cry out in pain. She raced toward the noise, hoping Lola wasn’t seriously wounded. She peeked around the corner and saw Lola laid out awkwardly on the floor. She wasn’t moving. Two men in masks and dark clothing stood at the end of the hall. When they saw her, they opened fire.
Close quarters shooting wasn’t as easy as it seemed in the movies, and composure when the crashing sound of the shots were ringing off the walls around you was something that was learned over time. These guys had obviously not learned yet. They were amateurs, and each of their shots was wilder than the one before. Although Holt knew the shot that killed you could just as easily be meant for another target, she liked her chances better knowing she was up against amateurs.
In a move she was sure the men would never have expected, she turned the corner and sprinted down the hall, directly at the men shooting at her. As she had hoped, they were stunned into momentary inaction and stopped firing. She made the first man in five long strides. He raised his pistol again, readying to take a shot at a target too close to miss, when Holt unleashed a right hook.
It was her experience that guns left people overly confident, and hardly anyone with a pistol in hand bothered to think about defending themselves. Unlike these guys, she wasn’t an amateur, and criminals of a higher class than these had pointed guns in her face before. Although she was unarmed, there was plenty of room for her to maneuver her feet and use her fists. This was the kind of fighting she was best at.
When Holt’s fist impacted with the man’s jaw, she felt the crunch of a broken mandible. Aside from a bad shot, he was also a poor fighter and didn’t know to close his mouth when getting punched.
Once his jaw was broken, he became more erratic and popped off three shots into the ceiling. Although Holt figured he had to be nearly out of ammunition, she didn’t want his last shot to land in her ass. She jabbed a quick, sharp shot to his nose and followed with three lightning fast punches to his body. She didn’t know if she had broken ribs. It was possible, but she did know he was done shooting for a while when he hit the ground and curled into the fetal position, his hands over his face.
While Holt was disarming the first man, the second scurried into the bedroom as he saw how things were going for his friend. Holt plucked the first man’s gun from his hand as he writhed on the floor in pain and stripped it down, removing the magazine, racking the slide, checking the chamber, and removing the slide. The gun was in pieces in less than ten seconds. Just because she didn’t like carrying guns didn’t mean she didn’t know how to use them. She point
ed what was left of the weapon at the man on the floor and pulled the trigger. There was no firing mechanism or ammunition, but he flinched anyway.
She kept the clip and the slide and dropped the rest of the gun on the guy’s head and carefully moved around him, setting up her entrance to the master bedroom where his accomplice had disappeared. She glanced into the room and saw the second gunman leaning over a third man sprawled on the bed in a Vitruvian Man position. Isabelle was popular tonight.
Holt yelled and ran at the second gunman, realizing who it was lying on Isabelle’s bed. The gunman leapt away from the bed and looked around frantically to find an escape. He still had his gun in hand, but didn’t seem to consider using it.
“He’ll be dead in less than a minute if you don’t do something about it,” the man taunted her. “It’s me or him.”
“Why should I give a fuck about him?” Holt asked, not giving up the angle to the door, but keeping an eye on the man on the bed.
“He came here for a reason. There must be something he wanted to say.”
“Your name is Diamond,” Holt said. She was guessing because it was dark, but the voice was familiar.
The effect on Diamond was instantaneous. His shoulders slumped, then bunched in tension, and he rushed Holt and the door. She let him go. She knew who he was; he confirmed it with his reaction. She also knew where he lived. What she needed to do now was figure out how to save Representative Caldwell.
When she got to the bedside, she realized why she had so little time. An empty syringe was still in his arm, a rubber tube neatly tying off the vein just below. His breathing was shallow and he was listless. She guessed opiate overdose. She wondered if these guys had orders to make it look like an accident. That only would have worked if they could have kept him out of Isabelle’s house. She didn’t know why they didn’t just shoot him.
The Chase Page 13