It was time to dig herself out of this one. She cocked the gun and took off down the hall.
“Oh, McKinleys.”
Catching On
JIMMY’S GUT TWISTED, TELLING HIM that something was really wrong. Despite the compromise he had made years ago for Clara, his wife of twenty-five years, going from the streets to behind a desk, he couldn’t shake instinct.
Who was that lady that answered Sean’s phone? He knew they were hiring a maid, but as far as he knew, they hadn’t settled on one yet, and with everything going on, he doubted they would involve anyone else in their life until it was sorted out.
Detectives Larson and Mills swung around the doorframe of Jimmy’s office and dropped into the chairs across from him.
“We did what you asked us, boss, and we found the car,” Larson said.
“The rental?” Jimmy sat back in his chair.
“No, an abandoned Kia Rio. The plates belong to Eric Sebastian. Sebastian reported it stolen yesterday afternoon.”
“Go talk to him.”
Mills jumped in. “We have. He said that some broad held a gun on him and told him that if he didn’t give her his car, she’d put a bullet in his head.”
“Did he say what type of gun?”
“Just that it looked like a normal-sized handgun. Black. He also said that she was crazy looking in the eyes, and her hair was pasted to her head like she got stuck in the rain.”
“All right. Good job.” He was going to be sick. Sean and Sara were in trouble.
“What is it, boss?”
“The prints pulled from Angela Banks’s apartment—”
“A match to Traci McBride of Albany. History of being institutionalized and violent behavior.”
“She’s crossed that this time, hasn’t she.” Jimmy was deep in thought. “The description from the eyewitness match McBride?”
Both detectives looked at each other.
Larson answered. “Yeah, he said she had long, blond hair and a small scar on her chin.”
Jimmy looked at the picture he had of Traci McBride on his screen.
“But we’ve got better than that. Prints pulled from the wheel tie back to McBride,” Mills said.
Jimmy shot to his feet and pointed a finger at Mills. “Start with that next time. Mills, grab Pratt and get over to her house now! Larson, you’re with me. We’re going to the McKinleys’ house.”
“Boss?” Larson questioned.
“Call it a gut feeling, but McBride has Sean and Sara and I’m pretty certain you’ll find Leslie at her place. Let’s move it!”
They both heard her call and her approaching footsteps.
“What are we going to do, Sean?”
“Seems to me someone said last night that we can take care of ourselves.”
“Now’s not the time for I-told-you-sos.”
“I thought it was an apt time.” His eyes went around the room. They could go out the window, but there wasn’t time. Even if they got out of the house, the chance that they’d make it off the property before meeting a bullet to the back was unlikely.
“Sean? Sara? Are you in there?” Elisha tapped on the door.
“She’s got the gun,” Sara whispered to him.
He heard it too—it wasn’t knuckles against wood, it could be the barrel of a gun.
Sean looked around the room for a weapon—a lamp, a cordless phone, a statue of dancing lovers they’d bought in Cancun (Sara would kill him if he broke that). He shook his head. This was useless.
“Listen, I’m tired of playing games. Come on out.”
“How do we know you won’t shoot us?” Sara asked.
Sean’s head snapped to look at her.
She shrugged her shoulders as if to say we’re beyond tiptoeing around this.
Sean was pacing the room, opening drawers, rooting quickly in the closet. “And why is it that we don’t have a gun? Or even a taser? What were we thinking?”
“I need you two. Now open the door.”
Sean went into the ensuite.
“What are you doing?” Sara whispered.
He found the perfect weapon and came out, wielding it with a smile.
She looked at him like he fell from the moon. “Hairspray?”
“It was either that or a stiletto.”
“Yes, that works then.”
Sean gestured for Sara to stay back and then spoke to Elisha. “I’ll unlock it and tell you when that’s done.”
“That’s fine.”
“She’s not totally unreasonable,” Sara said.
Sean spoke lowly, “Go get in the tub and lie down. Got it?”
Sara nodded and hurried off to the bathroom.
As he untwisted the lock, doubts ricocheted through him. Had he and Sara survived all they had in life, only to be shot to death in their bedroom?
The door flung open and Elisha stood there, gun held high, a wicked smile on her face.
There wasn’t even time to think. He pressed down on the nozzle, permeating the air with a chemical haze, which caused Elisha—and Sean—to cough. But it wasn’t aimed at Sean.
Elisha’s balance faltered and she rubbed at her eyes with her one hand.
Sean made a move for the gun just as her eyes opened. He had dropped the spray and his hands were gripped around her wrist. The gun was arching in wide circles.
“Stop!” Elisha roared like a crazy woman as she fought against him, struggling to gain ground and distance.
Another coughing fit overtook them as the vapor seemed to hang in the air.
She stopped a millisecond before him and it was enough to make him lose his grip on her.
A bullet fired across the room.
She then lifted her knee and sucker-kicked him. He doubled in half and held up a hand of surrender.
Following Orders
JIMMY FELT RESPONSIBLE. IF HE hadn’t shut them out, maybe they wouldn’t be in danger, they wouldn’t have hesitated to approach him. But no, he had gone all big, mean Sergeant on them and shoved them into silence. Instead of being on his side, they were forced to go vigilante, and stubbornly sort out their own mess.
If they were killed, he would never forgive himself—ever. He never had kids of his own, Clara couldn’t have them and he never pressed the issue. Sure, they could have adopted or gone through the laborious route of utilizing fertility clinics, but he didn’t want to put her through that, as if it equated to her being less than a woman. He had sacrificed a lineage for her pride and for the sake of his badge. Now, those under him were his children, and Sean and Sara topped the list. He loved those two.
He drove the department-issued SUV to their residence and had that sinking feeling that his world had been flipped upside down. With his foot pressed flat to the floor, the big vehicle still barely moved fast enough for his liking.
Twenty minutes from the station to their residence and the clock was eating up all of it.
Jimmy knew his detective kept glancing at his profile, but his mind was running through what they were going to find. He imagined the worst, the result of a lifetime’s worth of programming, but he didn’t like how the worst made him feel. By nature he was somewhat laidback, but for someone to hurt Sean or Sara, that would be like they were attacking him personally. He would react and it would be swift and violent.
He tried to mute the darkness. They would be fine. They’d show up, and McBride would simply be drinking tea with them, biding her time to weasel her way into their pocketbook.
Even his attempts at diluting the situation weren’t working. The woman had answered Sean’s phone. Where was Sean?
The body of the SUV lurched as he took the turn into their drive.
The Mercedes was in the driveway. He wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or not.
He slammed his palms on the steering wheel, the pain running up his arm was nothing compared to the gnawing pain in his chest.
His cell phone rang and he answered quick, praying it was Sean or Sara. An unfamiliar mal
e voice greeted him.
“Jimmy Voigt?”
“Yes, who is this?”
“Adam Laverty, I work for the McKinleys.”
Jimmy sat up straighter. He sensed the fear in the man’s tone. “What is it? Are they okay?”
“I, I don’t know. They told me if I didn’t hear back from them by nine, I was to call you.”
Jimmy tightened his grip around his cell phone. “Did they say anything else?”
“No, but I have some information for them…to do with Sara’s birth mother. Can I send that to you?”
“Yeah, sure. Just email it.” He gave out his address. He just hoped that he would be able to relay the message.
“It’s coming shortly.”
Jimmy hung up.
“Boss.” Detective Larson was watching his profile.
Jimmy turned to him. “We’ll do a look around the place.” He wouldn’t entertain the thought parading in his mind, the one that said maybe McBride had killed them both and took off in her car.
“Now, you know how this has to go. One false move, pretty boy, and you’ll be burying your beautiful wife. Understood?”
“I understand.” Sean kept looking forward, one of the directions she had laid out to them. He wanted to glance at Sara, reassure her somehow, but knew it could be a fatal mistake.
Elisha was in the back seat, the gun held close to her lap, keeping it out of view of the windows, but still just as lethal.
They had gotten into Elisha’s four-door sedan, leaving their car in the driveway.
“As discussed, you’re going to request the withdrawal of five hundred thousand. Once I have that, I will take your wife until the rest of the money comes through.”
“It’s not too late to stop. You tell us where Leslie is, let us go, you can make a plea.”
Elisha laughed. “I killed a woman, Mr. McKinley. You really think they’re going to look the other way. You’ll get Leslie when you get your wife—once I have all the money.”
“The judge always goes easier when people turn themselves in.”
“You must think I’m stupid. Speaking of which,” Elisha turned to Sara, “cell phone. Toss it in the back seat.”
Sara gave Sean a sideways glance without angling her head in his direction. When she had grabbed her purse on the way out, she managed to pass him the phone when Elisha wasn’t looking. Or at least she hadn’t thought she noticed.
Sean put his hand inside his jacket.
Elisha raised the gun higher. “I wouldn’t advise doing anything stupid.” She turned its aim toward Sara. “First her, then—”
“It’s the phone.” He slowly withdrew his hand from the interior pocket and then he tossed it in the back, wishing they weren’t confined to such tight quarters.
Elisha took the phone.
Even with her distracted, there wasn’t enough room to chance any sort of escape—they’d never make it.
Sean put a hand on Sara’s, and said to Elisha, “It will take them a while to get the money.”
She lifted a shoulder against an ear. “I’m a patient woman. Go.”
“I’m just going to kiss my wife.”
In the rearview mirror, he noticed Elisha roll her eyes.
He took that as a pass to do so. There was no way he’d be leaving Sara without kissing her.
For facing possible death, Sara’s face was stoic—until he leaned over to her. Her eyes filled with tears, as did his. He kissed her lips, not wanting to part from her.
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
“All right, that’s enough, Romeo,” Elisha barked.
Sean managed to keep his attention on Sara, not giving Elisha any more power. Still, she had the gun and he had to respect that. Their lives were in this woman’s hands.
He withdrew, reluctantly, from Sara’s touch, letting her fingers only part from his when there was no more choice.
The gun Elisha held had been raised and the barrel poked through the console.
For some reason, instead of feeling his normal rush of adrenaline, coupled with a twisted gut, it infused him with rare strength. He turned to look at Elisha, matching eyes with her.
“You hurt her and I will hunt you down. Do you understand that?”
Elisha smirked, thrusting the gun forward a bit. “You speak arrogantly for an unarmed man, Mr. McKinley. Now go. And remember, stay in front of the window, there, where I can see you. If the clerk even looks this way, your wife is dead.”
He gave one final glance to Sara before getting out of the vehicle. He read fear in her eyes, yet there was determination too. He had to trust in her instincts, on Elisha doing the right thing and not shooting her. But what a place to instill trust—she was a killer.
He walked toward Bank of America, his focus not deterring much to the left or right. He didn’t need to draw attention to himself, or Sara was as good as dead.
Withdrawal
SARA WAS THE ONE WITH the gun to her back, but her concerns weren’t for herself. If she hadn’t allowed them to get involved with all of this, they might be home enjoying their morning. Why had she let a killer into their house? She knew it was because this woman, who she thought may be her mother, might be somewhere fighting for her life. She tried to convince herself she’d go to these measures for anyone, and a portion of her believed that to be the truth. The other part spoke of an ulterior motive—she was still trying to establish belonging. Stupid.
She watched each step Sean took toward the bank, and with each stride her heart fractured, contemplating whether she’d see him again. She had to shake these feelings for both of their sakes. It wouldn’t do them any good to resign themselves to the seemingly inevitable.
She spoke over her shoulder to Elisha in the back seat. “He’s right you know. If you confess—”
“I don’t want to talk.”
Elisha struck her as a sulking child, one who wanted their own way but questioned whether they’d get it.
Sara didn’t know her enough to play shrink, but she knew the type. They were strong behind a weapon, of course, most cowards were. If only there was some way to unarm her.
She had to get Elisha talking. She knew it wouldn’t be in Elisha’s favor to shoot her. She’d have no leverage for Sean, but still, was she willing to gamble with her life? With his? If he found out she’d been shot, he’d stop at nothing short of death to find restitution.
“I want to hear Leslie, know that she’s still alive.”
“We’re beyond the point of negotiation.” Elisha was making noise in the back seat.
Sara turned to see Elisha pulling the battery out of her cell phone. Her hair was dangling forward and revealed her earlobe. There was a gold earring and it was missing a diamond. As if Sara needed more proof. She looked at the gun Elisha had set down in her lap to fiddle with the phone, but Sara would never be able to reach it before eating a bullet. She prayed that Sean would find a way out of this.
Bank of America already had its air conditioning on and it blasted cold air on its customers—or maybe it was the way Sean felt—cold. He fought to keep his attention forward when all he wanted to do was turn around and make sure Sara was still alive.
He went to the desk in front of the window, where Elisha had requested he go. No one was stationed there and it wasn’t the customer service desk. Bank clerks from farther down the line glanced over at him, while they serviced customers. He knew what they were trying to communicate, but his going down there wasn’t an option.
He sensed eyes on him and knew that they included the concerned ones of his wife. They were going to get through this somehow, and then they were going to take a real holiday, without murder or kidnapping investigations. Just kisses, sand, lotion on their skin, and the sun on their backs. He longed for the days in Cancun, the ones that had been uneventful. Why were people never happy in the moment?
“Sir, we can help you down here.” A woman in a navy blue blazer came toward him.
His
heartbeat sped up. He turned to face the clerk, his back to the window. It served two purposes—it protected the clerk if Elisha fired, but also kept him in her line of sight.
He smiled politely at her. “I need to make a withdrawal.”
“Of course, Mr. McKinley, this way.” He noticed the tag on her breast pocket read Ilene before she turned and took a few steps.
He glanced out the window, careful not to look at the car, but gathered the images in his peripheral. Sara was watching him. There was nothing she could do. This was up to him.
He took a seat in front of the desk. “I’d rather wait here.”
“Oh, okay.” Ilene spun on her heels, and passed a genuine smile. She came back toward him and slipped behind the desk and sat down.
“I need five hundred thousand, in fifties and hundreds.”
Ilene’s nose crinkled up and she clasped her hands on the desk. “I’d be more than happy to get that withdrawal started for you, Mr. McKinley, but it will take some time. Are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable in an office. We could get you a fresh coffee?”
He held up his hand. No words were necessary.
“As you’d like it then, I’ll be—”
“Is your coffee hot?”
She smiled. “Yes, it is.”
“I’ll take one to go when you bring the money.”
Ilene’s smile faded as she bobbed her head.
Now, he had to figure out exactly how he was going to take care of their situation. He was going to get the money—of that he had no doubt—but he had no intention of letting Sara die at the hands of that woman. While he had every intention of saving Leslie Summers, Sara was his priority. It was the how that eluded him.
Deductive Reasoning
JIMMY STOOD ON THE STEPS outside of the McKinleys’ front door. He and Larson had taken in the perimeter, peeking in every open window in the hopes of spotting something inside.
“We’ve got to go in,” Jimmy said the words, and a strange part of him felt bad that they were going to smash in their front door. Besides, it was oak, would anything less than a battering ram get them inside anyhow? He turned to Larson. “How good are you at picking locks?”
Carolyn Arnold - McKinley 05 - Family is Murder Page 7