Ryan Lock Series Box Set 2

by Sean Black

  He watched for Jim Hallis’s reaction, and prayed that his wife, and Jackson for that matter, stayed where they were for the next few seconds. The red flush seemed to go from Jim’s face.

  “You understand that I just want to talk?” Lock said.

  Jim nodded.

  Lock eased the pressure on his neck a notch. “If I take my hand away I want you to stay quiet and walk me into the living room to meet your wife. You can tell her I’m the guy who’s come to fix your door. Then we explain what I just told you. Can you do that for me?” Another nod. Lock relaxed his fingers a little further, easing the pressure and the pain. “If you shout, or hit a panic alarm, or in any way try to alert anyone before I have finished speaking to you, I can’t guarantee your safety. Do you also understand that?”

  A final nod. Lock dropped his hands from Jim, but stayed close enough that he could reassert physical control if he needed to.

  “Who are you?” Jim said, side-eyeing him.

  “Right now, I’m the repairman. Let’s go.”

  Lock stayed behind him. He pulled his shirt from his pants so that it flapped out at the bottom, partly concealing the gun on his hip. He allowed Jim to walk a few steps ahead of him into the living room, where Alicia had turned on a local news channel.

  “Honey, this guy’s come to fix the door.”

  Alicia turned and immediately froze, eyes wide. She wasn’t buying it. Not for a second.

  Lock didn’t blame her. He didn’t look like a repairman, unless, of course, they’d just gone ten rounds in a boxing ring and been hit by a truck.

  Alicia made a sudden dash for a panic alarm that lay on the coffee table. Pushing off with his back foot, Lock raced her to it, beating her with only inches to spare.

  He stepped back, pulled the Glock and raised it toward them. “Sit down. I’m not here to hurt you, but I need to speak with you.”

  96

  Lock picked up a throw cushion from the couch, placed the Glock underneath it along with the panic alarm, and put the cushion back where it had been. Jim and Alicia sat together on the couch opposite. Jim had an arm around his wife, and she wasn’t pushing him away.

  Glancing down at the cushion that concealed his gun, Lock said, “I don’t want your son to be alarmed if he walks in on us.”

  “Who are you?” Alicia asked him. “And what do you want?”

  He told them, as quickly, clearly and succinctly as he could. He skipped past most of the ancient history about how he had come to cross paths with Chance’s father and then her. He began with the part he had played in Chance’s capture, figuring that would explain why, at least in part, he’d become entangled in the mess.

  To their credit, Alicia and Jim Hallis listened to him in silence, only twice interrupting to ask him to clarify something. Finally, when he was done, Alicia asked, “So what do you want from us, Mr. Lock?”

  Lock took a deep breath. He had given this a lot of thought. It wasn’t an ideal solution. Far from it. It was borderline nuts. But it was the only way he could think of that Carmen could be released safely.

  “I want you to allow Freya Vaden to see her son.”

  Jim shifted uncomfortably next to his wife as Alicia reared up. “Absolutely out of the question.”

  Lock’s chin dropped to his chest. That was the answer he had been expecting. It was the answer he would have given, had the roles been reversed. It was the only answer a parent who loved their child would give. Yet it couldn’t be the final answer. Not if this whole nightmare was to be brought to an end without any more bloodshed or pain.

  “They meet for an hour. Freya gets to see her son. That’s it. It’s over.”

  “How can you say that?” Alicia said. “You can’t give that kind of guarantee. You think seeing Jackson will satisfy her? What if she tries to take him with her?”

  “I’ve thought about that,” said Lock. “I think I can arrange this in such a way that there’s no risk of that happening. Freya sees him, then goes back to jail and we go on with our lives.”

  “And what about Jackson? That’s going to mess with his head in ways you can’t even begin to imagine,” said Jim Hallis.

  “It’ll be hard,” said Lock. “What I’m asking isn’t easy for anyone. But kids are a lot more robust than we like to think. If he doesn’t know the truth about where he came from, and he finds out later, and that you concealed it from him for all those years, that won’t play well either.”

  Alicia could barely keep the acid from her tone. “You just told us you were some kind of super-charged bodyguard. Now you’re a child psychologist too?”

  “I think what my wife’s saying is that, no matter how you try to dress this up, it’s no good for us or our son. So that means the answer’s no.”

  Lock’s hand dug under the cushion. His hands closed around the butt of the Glock.

  “You said you only wanted to talk,” said Jim.

  “I did. I do. But just as you want to protect your son, I want to protect Carmen. That’s what I came here to do, and that’s what I’m doing. If it means some extra therapy sessions, that’s a damn shame, but what can I tell you? The world’s not a fair place.”

  Lock stood, the Glock in his hand. “Now, let’s go get your son.”

  Alicia stood up. Hands on her hips, her chin jutted out, she stared defiantly at Lock. “You’re not taking him anywhere with you!”

  Lock took three quick steps toward her. When he was at arms’ length from her, he stopped. He raised the Glock. “I’m sorry. I really am. Now you can both come with me and we can all make sure he stays safe, or I can tie you up and take him out of here by force. Your choice.”

  “That’s not a choice,” Alicia said, intimidated by the gun in her face, her hands and voice trembling.

  Lock stared at her, taking no pleasure in any of this. “Welcome to my world.”

  97

  The Glock tucked out of sight, with the help of a windbreaker Jim Hallis had lent him, Ryan Lock climbed into the back of the Hallis family car with Jackson. His parents rode up front. Having taken their cell phones, Lock had waited outside as Jim and Alicia had done their best to explain to Jackson that his birth mother wanted to meet him. Jackson had seemed puzzled, bordering on bewildered, but happy to go along with it.

  Lock had already gleaned from Jim that they had never kept the existence of Jackson’s mother a secret from him. He knew he was adopted. He knew his birth mother was in prison, and that was why she couldn’t keep him. But they had left the other lurid details for later.

  Now, as they turned out of the driveway and headed in the opposite direction from the Manhattan Beach Police Department cruiser parked at the other end of their block, Jackson was suddenly curious. “Did my birth mom get out of jail?” he asked.

  As Jim and Alicia froze, Lock stepped in. “She’s out for a little while, but she has to go back.”

  “How come?”

  Now it was Lock’s turn to struggle. Thankfully, Alicia was there to make the catch for him. “It’s like a vacation she’s having. And one of the things she wanted to do was to see you.”

  Lock had to hand it to her. That was better than the answer he’d been putting together.

  “Okay,” said Jackson, apparently satisfied. “Can we get ice cream after?” he asked, a moment later.

  As his parents assured him that they could, Lock packed down a fresh wave of self-loathing for what he was doing. Placing three completely innocent people in harm’s way to save Carmen. But, he told himself, he was there to keep them safe.

  He could have handed the whole thing off to the cops. They could have tracked Chance down. They had the resources, not to mention the motivation. But their motivation had given him pause. These things could easily go wrong, especially when the main drive was Chance’s recapture. A hostage could be killed, either by Chance, one of her cronies, or simply in the cross-fire.

  No, it was better this way. If things went south it would be his burden to carry. If he handed it off
and Carmen died, he would always have a question hanging over his decision.

  This was his puzzle to solve.

  98

  At the end of the Manhattan Beach pier, a fisherman cast his line, and glanced over at Ty Johnson, who was struggling to make sense of the fishing tackle he had hastily assembled from a pawn shop in Hawthorne.

  “Might want to think about putting some bait on the end of that hook,” the fisherman side-mouthed.

  Ty flushed, looking down at the bare hook tied to the end of his line. At least Lock wasn’t here to witness his moment of humiliation.

  The fisherman dug into a large plastic bucket of iced bait, and tossed Ty some. He caught it with one hand. “Thanks. I’m kind of new to this.”

  “No kidding.”

  * * *

  Lock scoped out the area as Jim Hallis pulled into a parking spot a block short of the entrance to the pier. Everything looked normal. The place was busy without being crowded, which was close to the ideal situation for something like this.

  The risk to Jackson from Chance was close to zero, at least in terms of physical harm. What Lock worried about was an attempted abduction, and the immediate fall-out from it if Jim or Alicia rushed to intervene. There was no question in Lock’s mind that Chance would not hesitate to drop either of them if she had to. Given that, as she saw it, they had her son, she might try to harm them as a simple act of revenge.

  Lock glanced at Jackson. “You ready?”

  Jackson gave an embarrassed shrug. “Sure.”

  “Good. Now, remember that I’m going to be close by the whole time so if you change your mind you can,” Lock reassured him.

  Lock knew that curiosity had gotten the better of Jackson, and he felt slightly ashamed of himself again. He placed his fingers on the door handle.

  “I’m going to step out to make this call. Won’t take long.”

  Neither Alicia nor Jim said anything.

  Lock got out and immediately walked to the back of the vehicle. If they had a sudden change of heart and decided to flee, they’d have to back over him to get away.

  He pulled out Padre’s cell phone and made the call. The answer was immediate.

  “We’re here,” he said.

  * * *

  Chance’s eyes were out on stalks as she placed a hand in the small of Carmen’s back and guided her down the pier. The sun was a pink-orange blush on the distant horizon and the ocean was calm. Down below, a line of surfers patiently waited their turn and a couple of people walked their dogs on the beach.

  An elderly man waddled past them in khaki shorts and T-shirt. Chance checked him out for signs of a gun or a radio. She had the feeling that at any moment someone could grab her, then cops and Feds would come flying in from all directions.

  She was prepared for that. She had pretty much made her peace with the idea that Lock had set her up. That was what she would have done if their situations had been reversed. Her only hope was that first she would get to see her son. If she didn’t? If it was a matter of complete betrayal? Well, she would make good on her threat to kill the woman next to her.

  * * *

  Jackson clambered out of the back of the car. He was holding his skateboard. He’d insisted on bringing it with him.

  “You good?” Lock asked.

  Jackson didn’t say anything. He walked onto the sidewalk, threw down his board, hopped on and began to skate in the direction of the entrance to the pier.

  Alicia shouted after him: “Jackson!”

  He turned, giving her a what-now look that was more thirteen- than eight-year-old. He stopped, expertly flipping up his board and catching it one-handed.

  “Wait for us,” Alicia said to him.

  Lock whirled round to look at her. Us?

  That had not been the agreement. He was to walk Jackson down to meet with Chance. She would release Carmen and have an hour to spend with Jackson before he went back to his parents. Having either Alicia, Jim or both of them could only lead to any number of dangerous complications. It was all kinds of a bad idea.

  Lock had to head it off, and fast. Chance was waiting. They didn’t show soon, she would get antsy, and the whole thing could fall apart.

  “I go alone with him. That was the agreement,” Lock said, as Jim joined his wife on the sidewalk.

  “Agreement?” Alicia snorted. “You had a freaking gun on us.”

  Lock stepped toward her. Thankfully, Jackson was wrapped up in checking his board. “And I still do,” said. “So keep your voice down.”

  Jim looked scared. Lock wasn’t sure what was terrifying the man more— Lock, the gun, or his wife. On balance, thought Lock, it was more than likely his wife.

  “Tell you what,” said Lock. “Walk behind, but keep your distance and be cool. You flip out and we could all get hurt.”

  Jim nudged his wife to accept the offer. She shot him a look of disgust but finally, she said, “Okay.”

  Lock jogged to catch up with Jackson. Alicia and Jim Hallis waited, and when Lock and their son were twenty yards ahead, they fell in behind them.

  99

  Alicia Hallis watched Ryan Lock walk onto the pier with her son. She turned to her husband. “We should call the cops,” she said, digging into her purse for her cell phone.

  Jim placed his hand on top of hers and held it. She started to twist away from him. “I already did,” he told her.

  She looked at him with fresh eyes. She had pretty much already decided that if anything happened to Jackson their marriage would be over. His casual attitude had always grated on her, and when he hadn’t stood up to someone coming into their home it had only reinforced her view of him. “When?” she asked him.

  “Back at the house. When I went to the bathroom. He was so focused on what you were doing that I figured I had the best shot.”

  Alicia looked around. If Jim had called the cops then it kind of begged an obvious question. “So where are they?”

  He didn’t know. Usually there would be at least a patrol car near the pier. But right now there wasn’t so much as a cop in sight.

  “What did they say when you spoke to them?”

  Here Alicia came again with the criticism, he thought. He was the one who’d risked getting shot and he was still going to get it in the neck.

  “They didn’t. I texted the number they gave us.”

  Alicia glared at him. “You sent a text?”

  “I thought that if I was overheard talking to someone . . .”

  Alicia pulled her cell phone from her bag. Lock wasn’t looking at them. No one was. No one was going to stop her.

  * * *

  Stan Petrovsky stood, one foot on the rear bumper of the patrol car that was parked, along with a half-dozen others, just out of sight of the pier. He put a hand up to his earpiece, pressing it in, and trying to focus on the stream of updates that were coming in from the members of the Arrest Response Team.

  Ten yards away, the Manhattan Beach chief of police stood with a couple of her senior officers. Bitching, no doubt, about Petrovsky’s call.

  The local cops had wanted to apprehend Lock and the Hallis family en route to the pier. Petrovsky had had different ideas. If they did that they could kiss goodbye to recapturing Chance, at least for the time being.

  Needless to say there had been massive resistance and pushback against Petrovsky’s desire to wait. But he had an ace up his sleeve: the lawyer who was being held hostage. He had argued that, assuming she was still alive, they would be placing her in mortal danger.

  His real motive, though, was his desire to take Chance and as many of her remaining crew as they could get. Dead or alive. It didn’t matter which.

  A fresh message crackled in Petrovsky’s ear.

  “I got a visual on Vaden. She’s just rolled up.”

  Petrovsky keyed his radio. “Okay, hold your position. I’m on the move.”

  * * *

  Lock stood with his back to a railing as Jackson circled a bench on his board. An elderly
lady sitting on the bench reading her Kindle shot him an irritated look as he clacked past her. “Can’t you read the signs? There’s no skating on the pier.”

  Smiling to himself, Lock nodded to Jackson to knock it off. Jackson lifted up his board with a mumbled “Sorry,” and walked over to stand with Lock.

  The lady grumbled something that Lock didn’t catch through the hum in his ears, and went back to her reading, completely oblivious to what was about to go down.

  Walking slowly toward them were Carmen and Chance. A few steps behind came two men in their twenties who, judging by their ghostly white skin and shaved heads, had to be two of Chance’s motley crew.

  Lock pushed off the railing as Chance approached, and the two guys moved in to flank Carmen.

  “Stay here,” Lock told Jackson.

  He walked toward Chance. “He only speaks with you as long as he wants to,” he said to her.

  Chance looked straight through Lock to Jackson. There was a shiver of longing in her eyes that Lock hadn’t seen before. He doubted anyone else had either. Her in-your-face bravado had given way to something else.

  Looking at the woman standing in front of him, it was hard to imagine that she was capable of such cold-blooded brutality. But she was, and he had to remember that. “You’re not taking him with you either,” he added. “So don’t even think about it.”

  Her gaze shifted back to him. “I know,” she said.

  “Now,” Lock continued, “tell Dumb and Dumber there to step away from Carmen or I’ll blow their heads clean off their necks.”

  Chance turned and signaled to the two men to step away. Reluctantly, they retreated to the other side of the pier.

  Lock stayed where he was as Chance walked past him and spoke to Jackson. He didn’t catch what she said but Jackson nodded. Mother and son walked over to the bench and sat down. A few seconds later, the elderly woman got up and scuttled off at speed, throwing anxious glances over her shoulder at Chance as she went.