by Kristi Lea
Cole placed a hand on his arm and spoke under his breath. “This is a bad idea.”
Noah nodded unhappily. “But it’s the best one we’ve got.”
“I don’t trust him.” Cole jerked his head toward Tony. “His timing is way too convenient.”
“I’m not sure I trust him either. But he hasn’t shot me yet. Cole, I’ve got to try. If I don’t show up, she’s dead.”
“Are you sure some starlet is worth dying for?”
Noah shrugged on his motorcycle jacket. “If I let her die, I couldn’t live with myself.”
Chapter 23
The pillowcase was back over her head and Jessica could barely breathe. Earlin and his men—she never saw their faces, just the boots—had stuffed her back into the damned pillow case and back into the same van. Same seat. Same metallic stench.
The ride was shorter this time.
They stopped somewhere sunny, quiet, and stifling hot. No people, no traffic. Just dust that slipped between her toes and clumped into scratchy mud, and heat that dampened her hair beneath the pillowcase as she sat on the ground near one of the van’s tall tires.
No one had bothered to tell her where they were going, but she guessed they were out in the desert somewhere. Earlin had called Cutlass from the van while they drove. She heard the opening words of the call, but the road noise muffled most of the details.
Cutlass.
Noah’s boss. Noah hadn’t talked about work much as they drove across the mountains just a few days ago. So very few days. But something was obviously wrong. He had mentioned Cutlass once, almost in passing. Called the man a pig or maybe worse.
Definitely worse.
He was exactly the sort of many that Charles would have found a way to use. Charles hated hypocrites. Her husband loved party girls and wastrels, gamblers and gangsters, as long as they owned up to their behavior. It was the likes of Cutlass, and of Senator Wilson, that Charles couldn’t stand. Men who wore their virtue like a Sunday suit, only to toss it aside when it was time to do the dirty work.
Sometimes she couldn’t understand what Charles saw in her. She was as much of a hypocrite as the men and women her husband had blackmailed. She tried to dress nice and play the society lady, do the charity ball and committee thing. But society, the charities, and the committees would never have her. They could never get past the image of her spread-eagled in a Playboy centerfold, or posing for an adult toy catalog. Or the sex video from her once-agent that went viral after Charles had his first stroke. No one cared that she hadn’t known that she was being filmed, or that the home video had been shot several years before she’d ever met her husband. All that mattered was the big scarlet ‘A’ everyone thought was tattooed on her bare ass.
Charles had never once asked her to change. Never asked her to quit doing photo shoots—though she did, except a few well-paying ones. She needed some feeling of financial security and independence. He never asked her to be anything but what she was.
Like Noah. She winced at how her gut twisted as she tried to banish the image of his smiling, clean-cut, all-American hero face from her mind.
She had tried to change her image, and failed. Tried to become a mother. Failed at that too. Tried to hide from the press and live a quiet life with her husband, sketching and painting and travelling a little. Now here she sat, widowed, wanted by the police, and facing certain death at the hands of the same scumbags that Charles had always despised. Her failure had reached new depths.
“Here he comes,” said one of Earlin’s helpers. She hadn’t caught their names and could only barely differentiate their voices. She thought of them as Thing One and Thing Two.
Here who comes? Her gut clenched with fear imagining the possibilities.
“He’s got a gun,” said Thing One.
“I have a clear shot,” said Thing Two.
“Don’t shoot until he hands over the package,” said Earlin.
“I don’t see a package. Just a cell phone.”
Jessica wished they would take off the pillowcase so she could at least see who was coming.
Cutlass? That didn’t make sense. Why would they shoot him?
Harry? Possibly, but if they were going to kill him, why not bring him along bound and gagged like she was?
“Set it down and back away slowly,” called Earlin.
“Show me her face.”
Jessica's throat tightened as she recognized the voice. Noah. Noah was here. A desperate hope washed over her, quickly chased away by anguish. Earlin would kill them both.
“Did you bring the necklace, Grayson?”
“Show me her face,” he repeated.
Earlin gave a huff and Jessica jumped as her captor's feet came into view. In a flash, her pillowcase was gone and she gasped at the double-whammy of fresh air and Southern California sun so bright it blinded her. She blinked and gasped, gasped and blinked until the scene in front of her crystalized.
They were in the desert. There was little around except for a dirt road, the van behind her, and a few lonely tumbleweeds lazing in the sun. And Noah, wearing jeans and a leather jacket. He gave her the barest once over and then kept his eyes on Earlin, Thing One, and Thing Two. All three men wore leather shoulder holsters openly over grimy t-shirts that looked dust-streaked and sweaty. The two henchmen had guns pointed squarely at Noah's chest.
“Now your turn. Give us the necklace,” said Earlin.
“You don't think I'd be dumb enough to hand it over here, do you?” asked Noah. He motioned to the cell phone. “But it’s nearby. Turn Jessica over to me and it's all yours.”
Earlin pointed his gun at Jessica's head, burying the tip in her hair. “You have ‘til the count of three.”
Noah stiffened. “Shoot her and you get nothing. Here, take a look at this.” Noah bent, slowly, slowly and set the cell phone on the ground, keeping both hands visible all the time. Then he stood up just as slowly and began backing away.
He stopped about thirty paces back from the phone. Earlin waived Thing Two on.
“It's a video feed,” the guy said as he jogged back to Earlin after retrieving it. “Are those the jewels?”
Earlin took the phone and scowled.
“They're not very big.” said Thing Two.
“Bigger'n yours. Now shut up,” Earlin snapped.
“Hand over the girl, and I will give you directions to the necklace. You go your way. We go ours. And we never have to talk about this again,” said Noah.
Earlin looked up sharply. “It ain't that easy, Agent Grayson.”
***
Noah was an excellent marksman, had fired his weapon more than once in the line of duty. He'd even killed a man on a sting operation once in self-defense. But never, ever, had he wanted to pull the trigger on a living breathing creature just for spite. Not until now.
Jessica looked pale and haggard, her eyes red, her hair mussed from the blindfold. She was dressed like a cheap whore, in clothes he knew she hadn't had in her possession just a few days earlier. And she had a deep purple bruise on one cheekbone that stretched up into her temple.
Avenging that one injury would more than pay for a lifetime behind bars on Murder One.
He swallowed hard, forcing down the lump that constricted his throat and focused on a far less desirable occupation: negotiating with the cretins in front of him. “It sounds like we are at a stalemate.”
“Why don't we all ride together,” the man asked with a wide, gap-toothed smile. “You, her, the three of us. Take us to the goods, and we will let you two go free.”
Noah snorted. “The only thing around here that stinks worse than you bozos is that is that idea.”
Earlin's smile turned to a snarl and he swung his gun around to aim directly at Jessica's head.
“You're forgetting who's holding all the cards, boy.”
Noah gritted his teeth and tried another tactic. “Not quite all the cards. What would your boss do if you went back empty handed?”
The spoke
sman didn't flinch, but Noah was positive one of the two lackeys' gun wavered for an instant.
“Think about it. If you believe for one second that your boss needs you, or trusts you, then you haven't seen enough movies. Once this job is done, what is to stop him from hiring three more guys to knock you all off?”
The game was a risky one, and Noah knew that criminal-types like these couldn't always be reasoned with. They were motivated by money, blood, and the thrill of the game. All he could hope was that self-preservation would win out over whatever money and thrills they craved.
“So what you're saying is, we're dead men if we get that necklace, and we're dead men if we don't? That don't solve our little problem here, do it?”
“Let me make you a deal. I call my colleagues at the FBI and you three cough up the name of your boss. The prosecutors will go easy on you if you bring them a bigger fish for their fryer.” Noah prayed that Cole was hearing this. The second phone he had tucked in his shirt pocket had an open connection back to Cole and Tony, but any little move could have knocked the power off
The man opened his mouth and then shut it again.
Good. Noah had the man thinking. The two helpers traded looks with each other. They would be easy pickings.
“Hey Earlin,” asked the helper on the right.
“Yeah what?” snapped Earlin.
“We expecting company?”
***
Jessica held her breath as a dusty black SUV came into view in the distance. The closer the truck came, the faster her hopes of living through this encounter fled.
Noah took a couple of slow shuffle walks to one side and glanced at the car without turning his back on the three thugs. He shrugged his shoulders and seemed to wipe his face on the collar of his shirt. It didn't look like he had any more idea what was going on than she did.
Earlin and the Two Things didn't seem to be paying as much attention to Noah. They stood stiffly, guns dropping slightly as they squinted into the distance. Earlin's voice sounded odd when he finally spoke. “You're dead, Grayson.”
Noah just shrugged again.
“Should we hide the girl and the guns?” asked Thing One weakly.
They could all see that there wasn't time. The SUV was speeding over the ground, leaving a large wave of dust in its wake, and it was headed straight for them. It pulled up with a squeal.
“Shit.” Earlin spat into the dusty ground. “It’s the boss.”
Jessica’s knees gave out and she slowly sank to the ground as Cutlass climbed out from behind the passenger side, brandishing a mean-looking gun. His face was a beet red, but he moved with a lethal deliberation that belied his girth. “You fucked this one up good, Grayson. Drop your weapon.”
“You first, Cutlass.” Noah’s arm never wavered.
Cutlass smirked as the driver’s door opened and another man stepped out. He took in the scene with the cynical eye, like he were sizing up red carpet fashions and finding them lacking. His gaze rested briefly on Jessica, and he winked at her. “Hola, mi amor. Did you miss me?”
Jessica glared at him around the gag still in her mouth.
Arturo then turned to Noah, and sucked in his cheeks, making a pout out of his lips. “You must be Jessie’s little plaything. Pretty. Very Pretty. Sadly, my gun is much bigger than yours.”
“Who are you?” asked Noah.
“My apologies,” he gave an elegant bow. “Arturo Castillo. Singer, actor. Lover extraordinaire. Alas, you will not live to enjoy my talents.”
Cutlass whipped his head around to where Earlin and the Henchmen stood uncertainly. “Why is he still alive?”
“He didn’t bring the necklace.” Earlin’s voice sounded shaky.
“Why is the bitch still alive, then?” Cutlass stalked towards Jessica with a calculating gleam in his eyes.
“He’s got the necklace nearby. We were just working out a plan to go retrieve it,” said Earlin.
“You stupid, stupid man. Arturo, show them what happens to stupid men.” Cutlass stopped just a few steps in front of Jessica, his gun aimed at her temple. He was close enough that she could see the dust on his wingtip shoes, on the cuff of his pants. She heard Arturo whistle as he opened the tailgate of the car and something large tumbled out into the dust. A body.
“Who is it, Boss?” asked Thing One. “Is that Harry?”
“Wake up time, sweetheart,” purred Arturo. He kicked the corpse, and it groaned and rolled over.
“Brandon,” Jessica whispered.
Cutlass kept his eyes glued to Jessica’s. His gaze was dark, tainted with an evil she could barely comprehend. She looked away, towards where Charles’s son lay in the mud.
“Get up,” growled Arturo.
Brandon pushed himself to his hands and knees, coughing. Down on the ground with a wild fear in his eyes, he looked a puppy surrounded by Dobermans “What about our deal, Cutlass? I get you the necklace, I get my estate back, and we all walk away friends.”
“Too late for that, Kingsbury. You were holding out on me.”
Sputtering, Brandon stood. “Holding out what?”
Cutlass smirked, the expression sending a fresh chill of fear through Jess. “My necklace. I suggest you run, Kingsbury.”
“What are you going to do, Cutlass?” asked Noah.
“That’s the fun part of all this, Grayson. It’s not what I am going to do. You are going to kill him.” Cutlass’s words took on a ghost of a smile. The man was enjoying this. “According to my report, I got an anonymous tip. Brandon kidnapped your girlfriend and tried to ransom her for the missing jewels. I arrived too late to stop the struggle over the gun. Great story, huh? I should have been a writer.”
“You think anyone will buy that?”
“I have a way with words. They bought my story about what happened to your father without a question.”
At that, Noah wavered. His arm actually swayed. “What did you do to my father?”
“Just like today, I didn’t have to do much. Just massage the report a bit. You are just like him, you know. Both of you self-righteous bastards with an annoying hero complex. He thought he was saving the day when he busted in on my deal. And just like you, his arrogance got him killed.”
Noah closed his eyes and seemed to be muttering to himself. He shook his head once. Twice.
Jessica glanced from Brandon to Noah and back again. The difference in their postures was striking. Noah’s shoulders looked relaxed, holding himself still, though she was sure every muscle in his body was ready for action. Brandon’s head whipped from side to side, looking frantically from face to face, and then gazing longingly at the copse of trees half a mile away. He looked back at her, pleadingly. She looked away.
“Let me go, Cutlass. Once the woman is gone, the money will be mine, and I will make it worth your while.” Brandon’s voice was higher pitched, whiny.
“You won’t get a penny, you dumbass. We traced the sale of both potassium chloride and pancuronium bromide that killed Charles Kingsbury back to you. You may not be the one who administered the lethal dose, but you paid for it.”
Jessica’s heart constricted. Charles had been murdered. By his own son.
Brandon’s mouth opened and closed again. When he spoke, his voice was a croak. “He wanted to die. He asked me to help him die.”
For a handful of moments, the silence of the park nearly overwhelmed Jessica. She could hear the harsh breathing, the breeze rustling stubby grass. Her own heartbeat echoing in her ears.
Noah seemed to gather his wits again, and his chin notched higher. “There’s a few holes in your plot, Cutlass. Or maybe I should call them witnesses.”
“Who them?” Cutlass nodded his head at Earlin and his three men.
“No, him,” said Noah jerked his head at Kingsbury. Jessica’s son-in-law whirled and took off at a dead sprint. He was fast, faster than she would have guessed as he disappeared beyond the SUV back towards the road.
“Arturo, if you please,” said Cutlass.
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The Cuban raised his gun.
Noah dived towards Arturo, shouting something that was lost as the world exploded in a cloud of dust and gunfire.
Fear had kept Jessica frozen for so long during the exchange that the sound of gunshots shocked her out of her stupor. She took advantage of the distraction to dive to the ground and roll back towards Earlin’s legs.
Thing One saw the chaos and started firing wildly over Cutlass’s head. A crack sounded, and the thug tumbled toward the ground between her and Cutlass, his gun falling from his hands.
Cutlass started after her, but the fallen man kicked at Cutlass’s legs, sending him to the ground.
With her arms still bound behind her, her balance was bad, and Jess fell face first into the dust in her scramble for her feet. Someone grabbed her by one ankle, and she kicked as hard as she could, but she couldn’t shake the hand.
Cutlass cursed has her free foot caught him in the eye. “You’ll pay for that.”
“You first, boss man.” Earlin loomed over the top of Cutlass and fired.
The grip on her ankle went slack, and Jessica ran, crouching, toward the only shelter she could see: the van. It rode low to the ground and the metal parts pulled at her clothing and arms as she squirmed under, through a muddy splotch of something that smelled like oil.
She looked backwards, but didn’t see Noah. Earlin lay in the dirt, a dark stain pooling from his head. Somewhere guns still fired and dust and smoke hung in the air.
She found her feet and scrambled, crouched down, around the back of the van. Metallic pings rocked the vehicle and one of the tires blew. She crouched behind one of the oversized wheels, coughing around her gag as still more guns fired, louder and more regularly than before.
An arm snaked around her shoulders and she tried to shove it away as the throbbing of the gunfire grew even louder.
“Shh.” It was Noah, gripping his gun and with a trickle of blood dripping down over one ear. “The cavalry is here.”
The gunfire wasn’t gunfire at all. It was the beat of helicopter blades.