by Diane Capri
She hit the ground with her gun trained on the space in front of her bike. Her pursuers had slowed. One of them loosed off shots across the lake.
Wilson’s engine roared. He turned his boat away.
Jess lifted her head and fired. Her shots hit metal. The first bike. The sound was electric. Sharp and angry ricochets.
The man screamed. He fired wildly. Automatic fire.
The leaves over Jess’s head shook.
The men shouted. She couldn’t tell which one wore the ponytail from this distance.
The man in the rear swung his bike around and roared back along the path. The rider Jess had hit struggled with the weight of his bike.
Jess rose up, her gun out. “Freeze!”
He whipped his gun in her direction and fired.
Jess fired as she ducked. Her shots went high. She rolled right.
His bike engine screamed, and he roared off toward the house.
Jess ran to the path. He was beyond range, but she fired anyway.
Wilson brought his boat around in an arc, stopping close to the lake’s edge. He emptied his gun after them, one pounding shot after another.
She watched the bikes disappear around the side of the house. The man she had shot struggled to turn up the slope.
She turned to Wilson. “I need a phone!”
He gave her a thumb’s up and nudged the nose of the boat into the shore. “And I need more ammo. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Tuesday, May 23
Santa Irene, Arizona
Jess stood in Fred Wilson’s kitchen staring out at his private shooting range. His phone must have dated from the eighties. It was attached to the wall by an archway into the living room. A long spiral cord dangled to the floor. The numbers were arranged in a circle with a rotating finger plate.
She picked up the handset and twirled it to uncoil several knots from the length of cord.
Wilson stood in the living room. He gave a sheepish grin. “I don’t use it much.”
Jess dialed Mercer. The old phone made ticking sounds as she twirled the finger plate around to each number. It was oddly satisfying to let go of the dial and watch it spin back to zero.
She heard a slight buzz on the line, which Jess attributed to age and distance.
A click and Mercer answered. “Hello?”
“It’s Jess.”
“You sound like you’re a long way away.”
“Yuma National Forest.”
“Not so far.”
“Did you talk to the owner of the DIY store?”
“Bartlett. Yes. Not that he knew much. He remembered Melissa Green buying her place, but couldn’t give a description of the man who bought plumbing supplies for her. Said he heard about it, but never saw him.”
“Is he reliable?”
“Yeah. I’ve known him for years. He pulled a list of everything she bought. A lot of plumbing stuff, copper pipe and such. Electrical stuff, too. I expect it’s all there in the remains of her house.”
“You hear anything from the investigation at her house?”
“I’ll give you two guesses.”
“No.”
“Nailed it in one. You found anything?”
“Every two weeks, Karen Warner had her hair done at a salon. The Crystal. On each visit, she used a phone while she was there.”
“How’d you find that?”
“I have the best assistant.”
“Seriously.”
“Karen Warner was always well dressed. Her neighbor said she used a place on the west side of town, and my assistant called around.”
Mercer made a clicking noise with his tongue. “There’s no record of a salon in the Warner investigation.”
“You have the records?”
“Just what’s been entered into the databases, but yes, every pertinent fact. Certainly, everything used at trial.”
“And there’s no record of The Crystal?”
“None. But I think the fact she made a regular call from her salon is pretty significant.”
“Yes. Except she didn’t make a call, she received a call. In the employees’ break room.”
“What?”
“She had her hair done from ten to eleven a.m. But just before eleven she would go into the break room. The employees felt uncomfortable sitting around while a customer was there, so they left her on her own.”
“And she received a call?”
“Apparently. Every two weeks.”
“Damn. So she knew who she was communicating with.”
“Right. And the calls stopped just before she was kidnapped.”
“Give me the number. I’ll get a trace.”
“The calls came from a phone owned by a Fred Wilson. I’ve met him. I’m at his house now. He didn’t know anything about the calls. But one of his neighbors used to come by. They were having trouble with their electrics, and borrowed his phone.”
“Do the neighbors still have trouble with their phone?”
“No. They stopped coming after Karen was taken.”
“Give me the address. I’ll check on the homeowner. Get a name.”
“I’ll send you the details, but I checked on the home already. I met two men. They’re the shoot first type.”
“Meaning?”
“They shot at me and chased me on motorbikes. Fortunately, Mr. Wilson helped me fend them off.”
“Where are they now?”
“Gone. They left in a hurry before we could give chase.”
Mercer gave a sigh of relief. “Are you some kind of adrenaline junkie?”
“I didn’t intend to be caught.”
“No one ever intends to be caught.”
“I hit one of them. He had a ponytail, and I’d swear he was the man at Melissa Green’s house the other night.”
“That’s a pretty good link between the two.”
“There’s another link. I saw a lot of extra gasoline in the garage. I think they were planning to burn the place down.”
Mercer whistled. “Gas?”
“The liquid sort in this case. But it was improvised. Not a planned affair like Melissa’s.”
“Send me what you have. Addresses, phone numbers, anything. Use this email address.”
Jess scribbled down his email address as he spelled it out, letter by letter.
She frowned. “You use a free email service?”
Mercer gave a great sigh. “My daughter is making plans for her husband’s funeral and my wife is trying to comfort our granddaughter.” He was silent a beat. “I understand Santa Irene PD wanting to take over, but there is no way I’m going to sit back. I took a leave of absence.”
“You’re freelancing?”
He took a deep breath. “You mean, am I on a vendetta? Hell yes. But I took an oath to hold myself and others accountable for their actions. I didn’t do that lightly.”
“Believe me, I understand. But—”
“Two people were murdered at Melissa Green’s house. There was a body buried in the backyard. We don’t know much, but we’re not dealing with a single crime here. And you know what that means.”
Jess took a deep breath. She’d seen the evidence herself. Firsthand.
She looked in the direction of the neighbors’ house and nodded. “They’re going to kill again.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Tuesday, May 23
Tucson, Arizona
Cora drove the Lawson’s Nissan. She stayed in the slow lane, keeping a safe distance between her and the car in front.
Hades sat in the passenger seat. Lawson was cuffed in the rear of the car. Hades had found a way to wrap the handcuffs around the seat belt, securing Lawson to the rear seat back.
Hades had called ahead to the brokers in Tucson to make sure they were available before they left the house.
He had his misgivings. While he and Cora were traveling to Tucson, Pony and Shorty were clearing out their second safe house. There wasn’t much to do, but it had
to be done. Lawson’s hidden account had given them an opportunity, and he wasn’t going to waste it.
It meant that Natalie Lawson and her daughter had been left in their house alone. They were bound to the tie-downs in the basement, but he wasn’t going to trust that alone.
He had repositioned one of the security cameras in the basement. Its unblinking lens was pointed directly at the two women. Beside it, he had placed a box.
The box was filled with flour and sugar. It was heavy. It had thumped when he dropped it on the ground. He arranged two wires from the box to the camera.
The women had watched his every move. The looks on their faces were split among hatred, disgust, and fear. It was the latter that he hoped to use.
When his arrangement with the wires was complete, he patted the box. “Five pounds of military-grade plastic explosives. Enough to vaporize this basement and level the house.”
The women glowered.
He patted the camera. “I see anything I don’t like, and, pfff.” He mimed an explosion with his fingers. “It’s bye bye for you two.”
As he left the basement, the look of fear that had settled permanently on the women’s faces pleased him.
They passed a sign welcoming careful drivers to Tucson.
He checked his new watch. The online jewelers had been as good as their word, and the gold and diamond encrusted timepiece had arrived the morning after it was ordered. It was three in the afternoon. They would make their appointment on time.
When he had invaded the Lawson’s house, he hadn’t expected to be meeting with anyone, let alone a bunch of highly paid people from a finance office.
So, he had selected a suit from the eleven in Lawson’s closet. They were different sizes, and the jacket had been tight until Cora had cut through the lining to allow the material more room to move. The result was a little odd, but he doubted anyone would notice for the few minutes they were going to be in the office.
The brokers were on the seventeenth floor of the Knox Building. Hades had checked out the building on the Internet. The leasing company had kindly provided a variety of videos to showcase their property.
The main entrance was a three-story atrium, but there were two other large exits as well as two exits through the underground parking garage. It was as much as he could hope for if anything went wrong.
There were five elevators, and three sets of stairs. A getaway down eighteen floors wasn’t practical, but if they needed to evade anyone, they could use the stairs to move between floors.
Cora threaded her way through the grid of downtown streets. She stopped in a fast food restaurant’s parking lot, two blocks short of the Knox Building.
Hades moved into the rear seat and pulled his jacket back to expose his gun. “One mistake and you’re history.”
Lawson studied the gun.
Hades covered his gun with his jacket and held out a small remote control.
“This triggers the bomb in the basement.”
He turned over the remote to display a switch and a button. “When I turn this on, I have to keep this button pressed, or the bomb goes off.”
Lawson stared at him.
“You understand what that means?”
Lawson nodded.
“You try anything, and my finger will come off that button, and boom, your wife and daughter are gone.”
Lawson breathed in and out. “You lose as much as I do. You blow them up, and there’s no way you’ll get the money.”
Hades scoffed. The man had a good point, but he had no intention of giving him any hope. “I’ll just move on. Find the next opportunity.” He grinned. “How easy is it going to be for you to find yourself a new wife and daughter?”
Lawson pursed his lips.
“Exactly,” Hades said. “So, do this right, and tomorrow we’re gone. Then you get your life back. All three of you.”
Several seconds had passed before Lawson nodded.
“Good,” Hades said.
He stepped out of the car and used the gun under his jacket to gesture that Lawson should do the same. “Let’s go sign this document.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Tuesday, May 23
Tucson, Arizona
The elevator numbers counted up. Five, ten, twelve.
Hades held the remote in front of Lawson, pressed down the button, and flipped the switch from off to on. “It all gets serious now. One stupid thing, and…” He flexed his finger while holding the button down.
Lawson nodded.
“You understand?” Hades said.
“I do,” murmured Lawson.
“Speak up. You’re a man in control of his destiny. Talk to these people like you mean it.”
Lawson swallowed. He took a deep breath. “I understand,” he said, loud and clear.
Hades patted his shoulder. “Then we’re all going to get along fine.”
The elevator bumped to a stop. “My name will be Ken Cooper, but you call me Ken every time,” Hades said.
“I understand.”
The doors opened onto a communal area.
Hades nudged Lawson out. “Look for this place. Find it. You do it. Because you ask me for anything, and I take my finger off the remote. Then I blow you away.”
Lawson straightened his back. “I’ve got it.” He ran his finger down a list of names on the wall beside the elevator. “Suite 1841.” There was a map. The suites ringed the elevators with a corridor that ran in a rectangle.
Lawson walked to the left. They passed suite 1800. At the corner was Suite 1841.
The entrance door was solid wood. Lawson raised his hand to knock, then decided against it. He grasped the handle and opened the door.
Inside was a reception area with a bar-height counter. The walls were pale green with small bronze sculptures on tiny shelves at random, but pleasing positions.
A woman behind the counter stood as they entered. “Do you—”
“I have an appointment. Simon Lawson,” Lawson said. He checked his watch. “I’m three minutes early, but I’m in something of a rush.”
Her eyebrows raised a fraction. “Lawson. Yes, of course. Mr. Sedgwick is expecting you.” She turned her back on Lawson and had a short, muted conversation on the phone before facing them again.
“This way please.”
She led them down a corridor lined with gold-framed panoramic pictures of international cities before stopping at a glass door in a glass wall.
A conference room. A large table was ringed by a dozen high-backed leather chairs. The far wall was also glass. The view looked out across the city to the mountains in the distance. Hades figured they’d paid extra for the view.
A man was seated at the table, an inch-thick stack of papers in front of him. He rose as they entered, his gaze flitting from Lawson to Hades and back again. “I was expecting a Mr. Lawson…”
Lawson extended his hand. “Simon Lawson.” He gestured to Hades. “This is Ken.”
Sedgwick shook hands with Lawson first. Then Hades. “Ken?”
“Cooper,” Hades said pleasantly.
Sedgwick cleared his throat. “I’m afraid company policy requires us to discuss our clients’ affairs in private.”
“I can waive that,” Lawson said, flipping his right hand in the air. “No problem.”
Sedgwick shook his head. “But I’m afraid I can’t. Strict policy, unfortunately.” He gestured to the glass entrance. The receptionist held the door open.
Hades cocked his head. Lawson hadn’t had the chance to communicate with anyone. He’d been tied up in the basement since the invasion. His wife, too. If they had contacted anyone, the police would have been all over him already.
Finally, Hades shrugged. “Sure. No problem.” He looked Lawson in the eye. “I’ll be just outside.”
A woman in a navy pantsuit passed by, a bundle of papers in her arms.
“This way,” the receptionist said.
The company’s policy was expected, but Hades had also expec
ted them to accommodate Lawson’s request. The question now was whether he could trust Lawson to do as he’d been told.
Hades exchanged glances with Lawson for a moment before he shrugged and followed the woman. As he walked away from the glass conference room, he kept his left hand in his pocket, his fingers wrapped around the remote to emphasize the danger to Lawson’s wife and daughter.
The receptionist stepped quickly, expecting Hades to follow. When the glass door swung closed behind him, he didn’t look back.
Hades rolled his shoulders. He checked the corridor, which was still empty. His VBR was under his jacket. He could reach it with his right hand, keeping his left on the remote. He flexed his fingers.
The corridor widened into the lobby.
Three men in dark jackets stood by the counter. They had the look of private security. One of them stepped back. He placed his hands on his waist, drawing his jacket open.
Hades curled his fingers around the grip of his gun. He inhaled slowly. He saw no holster on the man’s shoulder, but no reason to be complacent either. Hades was out of his depth here. Anything could happen.
The receptionist pointed at a chair across the room. “If you’d like to take a seat.” She turned to the man with his hands on his waist. “If you’d like to follow me.”
She led the men down the corridor into the offices and toward the glass conference room.
Hades took up a position along the side wall where the corridor and the entrance door were in full view.
He kept one hand on his gun and the other on the remote. A clock behind the counter ticked. He took deep breaths, exhaling fully to quell his discomfort. The woman in the navy pantsuit left the offices. A bell chimed to announce the arrival of the elevator, and she stepped in.
A moment later, the receptionist returned with Lawson in tow. Lawson had a bundle of papers tucked under his arm.
“Everything okay?” Hades stood.
Lawson opened the glass entrance door. “Peachy. Let’s go home.”
Hades followed. The corridor was silent. No doors opened or closed. There were no muffled conversations spilling from the suites, nor the click of busy keyboards.