by Misty Evans
To his left, another target stood, arms crossed, feet spread as if waiting to be summoned to action. He stared down at a man in a chair and—oh, God—her skin caught fire again. Sitting in that chair, his head drooped forward, the side of his face battered and bloody, was Mitch. This man that drove her crazy, that she’d threatened to shoot countless times, that she loved, had been beaten like a rabid animal.
Can’t allow that.
“Sons of bitches. You’re going down.”
Caroline closed her eyes, let the fury wash through her, and reminded herself she was an FBI agent trained to handle these types of situations with swift efficiency. She could not, would not get emotional.
At least not yet.
When Mitch was free, she’d get emotional.
Donaldson had told her to call if she saw anything illegal. Did she have time for that? Would he consider this illegal? One would hope, but she didn’t know anymore. Forget Donaldson. She opened her eyes again. “Okay, boys, let’s see what we’ve got.”
In the window, her target continued his pacing, staring down at an unmoving Mitch. He’s pissed.
Well, so am I.
But if she had to take a shot, it would be a cold bore one. Through a veiled curtain.
This shot was all about precision with a custom fit weapon. Caroline knew her rifle—the length of the barrel, the curve of the butt against her shoulder, the crisp two pound pull of the trigger—like she knew her own body. She breathed in. Precision and breathing she could control. Bad cartridges, fliers, she couldn’t, but her accuracy percentage clocked in at .5 MOA. No doubt—she could make the shot.
Not. A. Problem.
Her phone rang. She backed away from the scope. Grey. She punched the screen for the speakerphone and set the phone by her feet. “I’m in place. Can you hear anything?”
“No.”
She went back to her scope. Across the street, her target stomped around, back and forth, back and forth, his movements jerky. On her rifle, she grabbed the bolt, chambered a round, and locked it down.
“You ready?” Grey asked.
“I’m ready.”
“Wake up, asshole.”
Mitch opened his eyes, or at least the one that wasn’t swollen from being punched. The deep voice belonged to another of Straling’s goons, this one a long-haired hippy type with a tattoo on the side of his neck. During the night, he and Cobra had dragged Mitch up to the fifth floor and taken turns beating the shit out of him, mostly for fun, it seemed.
His hands were tied to the chair, forcing him to face front. The morning sun cast faint light from the window onto the cracked kitchen flooring where Mitch’s blood had pooled and dried in spots. His head pounded, his ribs ached with every breath, and he needed to take a piss. “Where’s Straling?”
“Right here.” The man stepped in front of him in a fresh suit and tie, smelling of soap and shampoo. “Ready to confess your crimes?”
The bastard had gone home and showered. Probably even slept for a while. Could be good or bad. Either he’d left Maria alone or he’d gotten what he wanted from her even before Hippie Douche Bag had given Mitch a black eye.
Man, he needed a drink. Or a toothbrush. His mouth was dry and his sore jaw had trouble forming words. His time in between beatings had given him opportunities to think about the DAG’s involvement, but he was still missing the man’s motivations. Politics, no doubt, but maybe in the end, it didn’t matter. Right now, he had to convince the DAG that Maria was an innocent party. “You don’t need to hurt the girl. She was sleeping with Tommy but she doesn’t know anything.”
Straling shook a finger at Mitch as he paced around him in a circle. “She actually knows quite a lot. More than is good for her health, I’m afraid.”
“She’s too scared to talk, and I’ll give you all of Tommy’s files if you let her go.”
“Files?” Straling seemed to consider the offer. “Oh, you mean these?”
He fished two flash drives from his jacket pocket—the red one Maria had been carrying and Mitch’s blue one. He waved them in front of Mitch’s good eye. “Looks like your bargaining chip is off the table. I have everything I need to wrap up this little operation and make sure the United States of America continues the good fight.”
Goddamn. He had the files. Now what? “You don’t have Jesse Lando. Is he your inside man? The one who set up Tommy?”
“Oh, please. Lando couldn’t think his way out of a paper sack. He’s a varmint like those nasty little scorpions they have down there near the border. He had a simple job. One simple fucking job, and that was to buy guns and deliver them to Balboa. That’s it. But your friend, Agent Nusco, had to get involved and poke his dick where it didn’t belong.” Straling tsked, continuing to pace.
“Who shot Tommy? You don’t have the balls.”
The DAG gave Mitch a questioning look. “Goading, Mitch? After all of this, you’re still itching for a fight?”
When Mitch didn’t answer, Straling smiled. “Doesn’t matter. You’ll be dead soon anyway. How does it feel to know you can’t hurt me?”
Oh, I’ll hurt you, fucker.
“Lando got cold feet, decided to back out. Do you know how long it took me to set up that operation? Two years. I had that pussy Will Atkinson in place, doing whatever I wanted in order to keep his big brother as the attorney general in New Mexico. He harassed the gun shop owners, kept me informed about all the whining the taskforce members were doing. Right from the start, I knew Nusco would be a pain in the ass. Two years of planning and organizing and making promises. Promises I still have to keep. Our nation’s safety depends on it. My job depends on it.”
“You’re insane. Letting guns walk doesn’t make our nation safer.”
“The border states, with all the smuggling and rampant crime…need stricter gun control laws. The president has been trying to enact such laws, but Congress keeps burying the bills with bureaucratic bullshit. I knew I could move the immovable force.”
Either Mitch was lightheaded from lack of sleep and water, or Cobra and Hippy had rattled his brain. This guy sounded like he’d just escaped from the loony bin. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Newton’s first law of motion…in order for the motion of an object to change, a force must act upon it. In this case, the object that needs to change is Congress, and I’m the force acting upon it by proving we have an illegal firearms problem.”
He couldn’t be serious. “So you flooded the market with guns? You wanted to increase violence in New Mexico in order to pass a fucking gun control law?”
“Brilliant, no?”
No. Far from it. Lunatic. “How many innocent people died or were injured because of your cockamamie plan?”
“Now see, I thought you had vision. The AG is bailing after this term. Who do you think is in line for that job? You of all people should understand that sacrifices have to be made for the greater good.”
Sacrifice. Mitch knew too much about sacrificing himself and his friends for the fucking greater good. His voice came out low and ragged. “Who killed Tommy? If it wasn’t Lando, then who?”
Straling spoke to Cobra and Hippy. “Get the girl.”
The DAG turned back to Mitch. “That’s where it got interesting. Tommy sent me an email—me—asking me to look into the operation. Then he wouldn’t stop. That prick rattled every cage available. He had to go. Atkinson wasn’t too happy about it, but what choice did he have? He’d already strong-armed the gun shop owners. And his brother was on the hook with us. Hell, he’s the top federal law enforcement officer for New Mexico and he was letting guns walk. Sacrificing the reputation and life of one agent was nothing to those boys.”
The son of a bitch set Tommy up and made it look like he went rogue and was selling ATF confiscated guns.
The DAG’s smile widened. He enjoyed gloating over his success. “Atkinson wasn’t as bright as I’d hoped. He left the gun on Tommy’s body to make it look like the exchange had gone wrong an
d the gunrunner had offed your friend.” He touched his temple. “I knew when the ballistics came back on the gun, it could be traced to Lando, so I took a precaution and ordered the file sealed.”
Mitch’s guts cramped. “How many other people has Atkinson killed for you?”
“Only Agent Nusco.”
At the look of hatred Mitch gave him, Straling shrugged. “Nusco was going to blow the whole thing. I couldn’t let that happen. Too many people were counting on me.”
“Like the president?”
“The election is only weeks away. We’re going to win it.”
Mitch rolled his head, trying to shake the fog loose. “So President Perkins agreed to your plan because it would help him get reelected.”
Straling moved to the far side of what would have been the living room. A filthy, sheer curtain hung on the window, and a moment later Cobra and Hippy dragged Maria into the kitchen from what must have been the bedroom.
Dirty and bruised, she staggered in, her bottom lip bleeding and swelled. Her eyes were ringed with red from crying. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, looking at Mitch. “I’m so sorry.”
The DAG walked to her and snapped his fingers at Cobra. “Hand me your gun.”
Maria jerked back, her gaze whipping to Straling’s face. Hippy held her in place as Cobra handed over his weapon.
“Wait,” Mitch said, struggling against his ties. “The only way to get Jesse to come in is if she’s still alive.”
Straling gave Mitch a boy, are you stupid look. “That may be true, but like I said, Jesse isn’t that bright. He won’t talk, but his sister here? She will. She’s already told you and Agent Foster what she knows.”
“You can’t kill all of us,” Mitch said.
The DAG smiled. “Agent Foster will keep her mouth shut or her dear father will pay the price. You’re wanted for murder, so you’ll be going to prison for a very long time. And if you open your mouth and say one word about this?” He raised the gun and put it to Maria’s temple. “This is what I’ll do to your girlfriend.”
Mitch yelled Maria’s name, but all he heard was the gun going off.
“Gunshot! Go!”
Grey’s voice thundered through the phone and adrenalin poured into Caroline’s brain. She blinked twice, focused on the shot.
Take the shot.
Not ready. Not ready. Caroline drew a breath, letting half of it out and holding the rest as her target turned to a side profile and swung his gun to Mitch. Screaming in her head, relentless and demanding, pounded at her to take the shot because Mitch was about to die and she was in a full blown panic. Her heart slammed—take the shot—stealing her breath, trapping all that good, healthy oxygen inside her. Take the shot. She blinked. Not ready. But Mitch couldn’t die. Not in front of her. Not when she could have stopped it.
But what if she missed?
No missing. When’s the last time she’d missed?
She centered her target’s temple in her crosshairs—not ready, stay still. But that gun was pointed straight at Mitch. She squeezed the trigger and…boom!
Across the street, the window shattered and her target leaped toward the door,
Shit.
Missed. Go. She racked the bolt back, ejected the spent case, shoved it forward and chambered another round. The second target drew a weapon, pointed it at Mitch.
Quick bursts of air shot from her lungs and she concentrated on controlling her breathing. In, out, in, out, in, out. The chaos in her mind tunneled into sharp focus. The window, the distance.
Go.
One. More. Try. She found the spot on her target’s head where, when hit, his reflexes wouldn’t cause his body to flinch and fire the weapon in his grasp.
She squeezed the trigger.
Boom.
The shot connected and the target dropped. “Target two down! First one on the move. Go!”
“On it,” Grey said, his voice calm and controlled.
Caroline sat back, propped herself against the low wall and blocked out the screaming while her tightly wound energy unraveled and spewed inside her. Breathe.
From somewhere, a siren sounded. Unrelated maybe. She didn’t know. Didn’t care. In a minute she’d make her way to the street.
In a minute.
Right now, all she knew was she’d just made the shot of her life.
Chapter Twenty-four
Mitch wasn’t sure exactly what had happened. Maria was down, the goon’s body on top of her, and Straling had jumped clear. Someone had fired a shot through the window and glass lay on the floor at Mitch’s feet…and if he took a guess, he’d bet Caroline had something to do with the bullet in Cobra’s brain.
His heart jack-hammered and he tried to stand. His legs were tied to the chair, his hands cuffed behind him, and his balance was totally off. He nearly toppled left, then right and realized he couldn’t feel his feet. His circulation had been cut off for too long and everything below his waist was numb.
Just inside the threshold leading to the hall, Straling, coward that he was, squirmed along on his belly. Another few feet and he’d be out of sight from the window and would bolt.
Numbness in his feet or not, Mitch had to tackle him before he got clear of the doorway.
In the distance, he heard a siren. Reinforcements. Good. Toppling into the counter, he bounced off, and propelled himself into the hallway. He went down hard on his knees, the chair seat cutting sharply into the back of his legs. A grunt left his cracked lips and his center of gravity shifted. Sweat poured down his face as pain knifed at him, plunging deeper and deeper. Three feet away, Straling continued to squirm.
Mitch held his breath, readied his body for the second attack and hurled forward. He ended up on the DAG’s back, the chair with his ass tied to it rising into the air. His forehead smacked into the back of the DAG’s head and his already busted nose sent a fresh, sharp stab of pain into his frontal lobe.
“Well, that’s an interesting interrogation pose,” a voice said as a pair of black leather dress shoes came into Mitch’s view.
He knew that voice. In fact, it might be the best voice he’d heard in the past few hours. “Grey? What the hell are you doing here?”
“Saving your ass.” Grey’s hands wrapped around Mitch and lifted him back into a sitting position. Mitch’s cracked ribs screamed in pain. “Again.”
Grey shoved his hoof into the DAG’s back and put his Glock to the back of the man’s skull. “Move again and I put a bullet in you.”
The DAG stayed put as Grey cuffed him. Grey started on Mitch’s ties, but Mitch shook him off. “Check Maria. She’s under Cobra.”
Grey didn’t question the goon’s nickname. The wrist restraints came free and Grey made quick work of the ankle restraints as well. “Here. Keep an eye on this asshole while I check her.”
Mitch flexed his fingers twice and took over Grey’s sidearm.
Blood and brain matter were splattered on the wall, a chunk of Cobra’s bald head gone. Grey quickly shifted the big man off the smaller body underneath and bent down.
Hard to tell where Cobra’s blood stopped and Maria’s blood began. Grey searched for a pulse on Maria’s neck, and after a second, his head snapped up. “She’s alive. Barely, but still hanging on.”
“Call 9-1-1.”
“Already did.” Grey gently repositioned Maria, then stripped his dress shirt off and used it to staunch Maria’s bleeding. “Caroline’s across the street. She took out your friend here. You two need to bug out and see Connor Lane at Justice. Immediately. I’ve already alerted him that we have a new witness and we’re expediting the meeting. He’s waiting for your call and will meet you at his office. Leave dumbass here and I’ll have the PD hold him until I hear from you.”
Mitch had known Grey for a handful years. Years that had tested both of them to the extreme. They knew each other’s demons, understood what made the other tick. Grey pursued justice above everything else. It’s what drove him to be the man he was.
&nbs
p; It took a lot to push Justice Greystone over the edge, but Mitch could see the truth in his friend’s eyes. If he turned Grey loose on Straling, the DAG wouldn’t live to see that day’s sunset.
Caroline and a few others might find it hard to believe, but vigilante justice had never appealed to Mitch. From the time he was a kid, he’d always wanted to work for the FBI. To bring criminals to justice but assure they were tried and sentenced fairly. Yes, he had a problem with authority, and yes, he liked to do things his own way, but when it came to the United States Constitution and the justice system, he still believed that everyone had rights and even the criminals deserved a trial by their peers.
Mitch rubbed his wrists, avoiding the open wounds the plastic cuffs had caused. He tested out his legs. Wobbly, and his feet were asleep, but now that he could stand up straight, his circulation would solve those issues.
“No. I’m not letting the son of a bitch out of my sight. He’s coming with me. Caroline and I will take care of him.” Mitch forced Straling to rise and shoved him toward the stairs. “You make sure our star witness here lives.”
Caroline tore through the back door of the manufacturing plant, gun case slung across her body. Grey had called and said Mitch, along with the handcuffed DAG, would meet her at the car. For extra caution, she weaved through the clump of trees running the length of the block. No sense being seen now. Although, with the bloodbath they’d just created, she wasn’t sure being noticed mattered.
All she could hope was that they were right about this cover-up. At the very least, she’d acted accordingly. She’d witnessed a woman getting shot and Mitch was next. Caroline had to act. Had to.
Still, with the DAG involved, this would be a media feast. They’d pick the meat right off her bones. At the very least, her job was gone.
She could always go back to teaching.
Her ankle caught on a branch and twisted, sending spikes of pain through her foot and up her calf. Damn. She winced, but kept moving.