“Wait.” Francis took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Another deep breath. Blew it out. He couldn’t make the feeling that he might throw up go away.
She put a hand on his cheek. Her fingers were cool. “I’ve seen you murder a paint can with extreme prejudice. You’ve got this.”
He chuckled. In spite of his racing heartbeat, and the sweat behind his ears, and the butterflies doing barrel rolls in his gut, Francis chuckled. He looked at Emma and nodded.
She led him out of the tree line and up the short set of stairs to the deck. Francis worried about his steps creaking, but the deck was built of thick, solid timber, and they made their way to the back door in silence.
The door was a dull burnished metal with simple engravings, modern and minimal. As predicted, a keypad hung on the wall next to the door.
Emma nodded at the keypad and whispered, “The house is on a different system. Put in the second code.”
Francis typed it in.
* * *
Middleton stood in his bathroom and splashed water on his face.
He couldn’t sleep and felt frustrated that installing the new software had hit a snag. Bryant had been in the saucer for hours—Middleton had taken to calling it the saucer—trying to make it all work. Apparently, when Middleton’s former employee had designed the system for the house, he’d picked one that was completely incompatible with … well, with everything. Bryant was beside himself trying to understand why somebody of Marion Parkes’s intellect would do such a thing. Bryant had said he could still install the software, but it meant uninstalling the old stuff first, and the whole process could take hours, and he would be back in the morning to check on it.
Middleton had said Screw it and had gone to bed.
Except his mind kept drifting back to what Bryant had done up in the saucer. How long would it take? Patience wasn’t a virtue Middleton had been developing the last few years. He dried his face, tossed the towel over his shoulder as he walked back into the bedroom.
Middleton looked at his empty bed. Meredith had gone to bed hours before he had. To her own bed in her own room. It would be selfish to wake her at this hour.
Selflessness was another virtue he hadn’t been working on, but he let it go. He’d see her over breakfast. Bryant would install the new software soon enough. Middleton just needed to settle the hell down.
He put on his robe. He was already up, so why not start the coffee? Might as well—
Click.
What the heck was that?
Click. Click.
He opened his bedroom door, looked both ways. The clicks echoed down the hall.
“Computer, is there something going on?”
Nothing.
He quelled a stab of worry. The old system was uninstalling itself. Of course that was it. But what were all those damn clicks? He checked his bedroom door, twisted the bolt to the lock position. It immediately snapped back. Middleton blinked. All the doors could be locked or unlocked by the computer. What was it, a spring or a magnet? He didn’t know, but it was definitely stuck in the unlock position now. Was that the click? Were all those other clicks…?
Were all the doors in the house unlocked?
He grabbed the phone. No dial tone.
“Fuck!”
They were coming for him. Okay, a bit dramatic. Who exactly would they be?
Anyone who wants the software. They know it’s here. Bryant maybe told somebody. They’re making a play for it right now. Do something!
He went to his closet and pulled down a polished mahogany box. He opened it, and there in velvet was the pistol he’d purchased on a whim. Not something for combat. Something he’d simply thought looked cool. The Colt Model 1889 .38 revolver. Gleaming nickel with mother-of-pearl grips. He took the revolver and tossed the box aside. He swung out the cylinder, checked the load, then snapped it back into place.
Now for the saucer. He could hole up there and protect the software at the same time.
No. Wait. He needed to make one stop first.
* * *
Ernie parked the car at the beginning of the walkway up to the front door. The SUVs with the rest of the hired guns pulled up and parked behind him. Cavanaugh and Ernie got out of the car.
“Okay, I want to go in fast and take control of the whole situation,” Cavanaugh said. “Priority is to find the girl alive. This time, we’re not so gentle about making her give us what we want, and then we tell Middleton flat out he has to pony up big or we walk and peddle the goods elsewhere.”
“What about Berringer?” Ernie asked.
“Shoot that little prick on sight,” Cavanaugh said. “Shoot him square in his fucking face.”
“Right.”
“Sir. Please stand still and follow my orders to the letter.”
Cavanaugh looked around. “Who the fuck said that?”
Ernie pointed.
Four men came out of the tree line about fifty feet away. They were well spaced, all with AR-15s raised and aimed at Cavanaugh and Ernie.
“Who the fuck are you?” Cavanaugh shouted.
“My name is Ron Kowolski, and I’m in charge of this security shift, sir.”
“Fuck. Rent-a-cops.”
“Sir, I need for you and your friend to take out any weapons you might have and place them on the ground.”
“Yeah, I’m not doing that,” Cavanaugh said. “I work for Middleton, for Christ’s sake.”
“Sir,” Kowolski said. “Please immediately take out any weapons and place them on the ground now. We’ll sort out who you are after that. We are in a lockdown situation and are proceeding to secure Mr. Middleton’s safety.”
Jesus, this was all Cavanaugh needed. He wasn’t about to let a rent-a-cop take him into custody. That would ruin everything.
The rest of Cavanaugh’s men got out of the SUVs. Most had pistols in hand.
The three men with Kowolski shifted their aim to cover them with their AR-15s.
“You men need to stand down right now,” Kowolski said.
“Wait a minute!” Cavanaugh shouted. “Everyone just calm the fuck down!”
Absolute silence stretched. Everyone looked at everyone else, holding breaths, fingers on triggers.
Cavanaugh took a deep breath, then yelled, “Light ’em up!”
He threw himself across the hood of his car, rolled to the other side, and dropped behind the vehicle just as a hell storm of gunfire erupted.
The car window glass shattered and rained down on him amid the chatter of automatic rifle fire and the pop, blast, pow of multiple handguns.
Ernie elbow-crawled around the car to join Cavanaugh. “Jesus Christ!”
The sedan shook, metal tunks across the hood as it was raked with lead. Shouts and screams as men died.
“We’ve got to get the fuck out of here!” Cavanaugh shouted over the gunfire.
“You convinced me,” Ernie said.
“When I signal, you run like hell for the front door.”
* * *
They’d found themselves in a huge indoor pool area after coming through the back door. They moved through the house quietly, Francis simply following Emma. She knew what she was looking for.
He hoped.
The hallways within the house were weird, curving around at odd angles and branching off unexpectedly.
Francis felt like he were aboard some alien spaceship.
They eventually found themselves in an entry foyer with a soaring ceiling and a crazy-ugly chandelier looming above.
“We’ve come around to the front of the house,” Emma whispered.
“Where now?”
“I … don’t know,” she said.
Ah.
She looked back down the hall. “Maybe one of those turns back there—”
Both their heads snapped around at the sudden burst of gunfire outside. It kept going, sounded like all hell was breaking loose just beyond the front door.
“What’s happening?”
“Go,�
�� Francis said. “Do what you need to do.”
“What?”
“The house is huge. Go find what you need to find. Finish your business with your husband. Anything that comes through that front door”—Francis pumped the shotgun—“is my problem.”
She searched his eyes a moment, then reached out and grabbed his face, pulling him into a hard kiss. She released him, nodded once, then turned and jogged back the way they’d come.
Francis was alone.
The gunfire still raged outside.
Wow, this was a terrible idea.
He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants.
Francis glanced down at the safety on the shotgun. What had Emma told him? F for forward. F for fire.
He thumbed the safety forward.
The gunfire seemed to be ebbing. Whatever they were deciding out there was close to being over. Francis held the shotgun up and ready. Okay, he definitely planned to defend himself, but at the same time, he wasn’t eager to shoot anyone. His hands shook. He’d yell Freeze or Hold it, give them a chance to drop weapons or maybe—
The front door slammed open.
Francis fired, the shotgun kicking hard, barrel spitting flame.
He was shooting before he’d even recognized it was Cavanaugh coming through the door. The shot had gone high, buckshot peppering the wall over the door.
You can’t just point it, idiot. You’ve got to aim.
Francis pumped in another shell, but Cavanaugh had already leaped aside. Another thug filled the doorway. Francis squeezed the trigger. The buckshot slammed into the thug’s chest, and he was lifted off his feet in a spray of blood and knocked back outside.
Francis pumped again, shot the next thug coming through, who spun and died half in and half out of the house. He was pumping in the next shell, when Cavanaugh began shooting at him with the little pistol.
Francis flinched back to the sound of the pop pop pop, the shots exploding plaster on the wall an inch from his face. Francis backed around the corner.
More goons came through the door. He recognized the one with the mustache.
Francis aimed the shotgun at the ceiling and fired. The chandelier came down hard on the mustache, shattering on top of him and slamming him unconscious to the hard tile.
Cavanaugh and the other thug were still shooting. Smoke and dust filled the foyer.
Francis dove to the floor, rolled out, and the thug fired over his head. Francis aimed the shotgun along the ground and pulled the trigger. The thug’s ankle exploded, and he went down in a puddle of his own blood. Francis pumped and fired again, blew half the thug’s head away. He rolled back out of Cavanaugh’s line of sight just as three bullets whizzed past his nose.
He pushed back up against the wall, breathing hard, heart flailing against his chest. The sudden silence was eerie and unnerving. He thumbed fresh shells into the shotgun, marveled that his hands were rock solid now, no hint of a single tremor.
“Berringer?” Cavanaugh’s voice. “Come out and let’s talk about this. What do you say?”
You should have killed him. Francis heard Emma’s voice in his head. They just come back if you don’t kill them.
If Francis got his chance, he’d take it.
“We can work this out, Berringer. We can all walk away from this. Let’s talk about it.”
Francis scooted to the corner, went low, and barely peeked around the corner. A quick look, then pulled back. It was enough to see that Cavanaugh was up and in a crouch, slowly coming toward his position.
Francis could jump out and start shooting.
And just as easily get shot.
He risked another glance around the corner. Cavanaugh was getting closer.
Another figure appeared in the open doorway, a middle-aged man in a security guard uniform. One of his arms hung limp and bloody, but he held a pistol in the other hand and raised it at Cavanaugh. “Hold it!”
Cavanaugh spun and shot, and the guard went down holding the fresh wound in his thigh. Cavanaugh turned back, but Francis was already out of his hiding place.
He fired the shotgun, buckshot hammering Cavanaugh’s shoulder. Cavanaugh went spinning and stumbling. Francis pumped and fired again, knocking Cavanaugh up against the wall. Cavanaugh slid down, leaving streaks of garish red against the white. His mouth worked, blood foaming out.
Cavanaugh looked at Francis with raw hatred. “You … fucking … little … son of a—”
Francis pumped and fired one last time.
He tossed the shotgun aside and went to the fallen guard. The man trembled, desperately holding his thigh wound, dark blood seeping between fingers.
“Easy,” Francis said. “Stay calm.”
He took the bandolier from around his shoulder and removed the remaining shells. “I’m going to use this as a tourniquet, okay? I’m going to tie it tight, so brace yourself.”
He tied it tight. The guy grunted but didn’t protest.
“I’ve got to go, but that tourniquet is on there good, okay?” Francis said. “Somebody will be along. You’ve got to hang tough.”
There was fear in the man’s eyes, but he nodded.
Francis hoped it was true that somebody would be along. He didn’t know what else to tell the man.
He rose and fled into the depths of the house.
32
The girl stood in front of the elevator door, knowing with keen instinct it would take her where she needed to go. Aaron was above her, waiting. He had taken so much from her. It would be impossible to get it all back, and she wasn’t even going to try.
But there was one thing at least he certainly didn’t deserve to keep, and that was the one and only reason she was here.
Her name was Emma Middleton, but before, when her life had been entirely her own, she’d been Emma Klondike, which she’d hated because it made people think she was an Eskimo lesbian. Anyway, that was one of the stupid things she’d thought in high school when people made fun of her name. Never mind that high school kids made fun of everything.
She hit the elevator call button and flicked the safety off one of the automatics. She was frightened but strangely calm. No matter how drastic her current choice of action, it was a relief not having to second-guess herself, knowing there was no other choice.
She would feel bad if something happened to Francis. A pang of dread rose up in her, and she smashed it down again. She had a job to do. Nothing else.
The elevator door opened, and she stepped aboard.
The ride up was so brief that panic seized her suddenly. This was it. This was what she’d come so far to do, and in a second, the elevator door would open again, and both the idea that what she’d been seeking would be on the other side and the idea that it wouldn’t be there terrified her equally, but there was no more time to dwell on it.
The door opened.
“Mommy!”
Emma’s heart leaped.
“Mommy!” The little girl tried to run to her, but Aaron Middleton grabbed her from behind.
“Not so fast, Mable,” he said. “Remember what I told you about Mommy. She’s been sick in her head, and it makes her not always act in a safe way. We need to hold her here until the doctors can come get her and help her.” In one hand, he held an absurd-looking revolver.
But she could barely see him, barely registered he was talking. All she could do was look at Mable, auburn hair falling in tight curls around her shoulders, apple cheeks, bare feet with pink toes. She wore a Frozen nightgown. How long since she’d seen her? Held her. Emma’s eyes glazed with tears.
“Mommy missed you, honey.”
“Are you sick?”
Emma shook her head. “Mommy’s better. I would never hurt you.”
“Well, that’s really for the doctors to decide,” Middleton said.
She scowled at him. “Can we please drop the bullshit, Aaron?”
“You left me, then tried to take my daughter from me,” he said. “Did you really think I wouldn’t take action?”
“Please,” she said. “You have so much. Just let me take her. I’ll never ask for anything. I’ll never bother you again.”
“She’s my daughter too.”
“Please.” Emma took a step toward him.
He lifted the revolver. “Don’t.”
“Are you going to shoot me in front of my daughter?”
“I’ll do what I have to do.”
“Don’t shoot Mommy.”
Aaron shushed her. “It’s okay, Mable. Just let Daddy handle it.”
“Mr. Middleton?”
Emma and Middleton both turned to see the woman coming up through the spiral staircase hatch.
“Meredith, I hadn’t meant for you to see this,” Middleton said.
“Who’s this?”
“An … unwanted visitor,” Middleton said. “Could you go back downstairs, please?”
“I can’t do that.”
“I know this seems odd,” Middleton said. “I promise to explain it all later, but I really do need you to please leave. Trust me, I have this in hand.”
“No.” Meredith lifted a small automatic pistol and pointed it at him. “I mean, I really can’t do that.”
All the blood drained from Middleton’s face. “But you’re supposed to be on my side.”
Meredith put a hand up in a calming gesture. “See, that’s the thing. I am. Oh, Aaron darling, I promise I am. That’s why I need you to put the gun down so we can fix this instead of making it worse. And think of Mable. Let’s not have a bunch of guns going off with her here.”
Emma took another step forward. “She’s right. Listen to her.”
Middleton swung the gun back toward Emma, pulling Mable closer to him at the same time. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
Meredith eased toward him. “Please, Aaron.”
He swung the pistol back to Meredith. “Who are you? Who do you work for?”
“I love you, Aaron,” Meredith said. “That’s the truth.”
“You’re tricking me.”
Emma took another slow half step. “Just let me have Mable.”
Middleton swung the gun back again. “Back off. I need to think. Just fucking stay still.”
The elevator chimed.
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