“That’s good work, Ryaan,” Hailey said, fear tight in her throat.
“Yeah,” Hal added. “Thanks for the call. Keep us posted.”
“Will do.”
Hal ended the call, as a chime rang from Hailey’s phone. Early release, the screen read.
“What?”
Hailey didn’t realize she’d made a sound. “The girls.”
“Hailey. What’s wrong?”
“Today was early release. At the school.”
“What time?”
“Two thirty.”
He glanced at the clock on the dashboard, their eyes met there. It was three o’clock now. The girls were out of school.
They’d been out long enough to be home.
“Maybe Liz took them on errands,” she whispered.
Hal nodded, licking his lips.
How often did Liz take them on errands? Half the time?
No. Less than that.
They had a schedule. Some days they stopped on the way home. Liz had a day in there for ice cream, and a day she went to the butcher.
Today was Thursday, but Hailey had no idea what that meant. What did they do on Thursdays?
“Who knows if Blake would go there,” Hal said.
The house was where Blake would go looking for Jim, for her.
“Hailey,” Hal said, making a quick right-hand turn and heading for the bridge. “We’re going to go to the house. We’re going there now.” He turned on the sirens. “It’s going to be okay, you hear me?”
She shook her head and looked at the phone again. Dialed Liz, then Jim. Then tried Dee again.
After two rings, the line clicked open. “Dee?”
Voices in the background. A woman’s voice.
Not Dee’s, but perhaps Liz’s.
“Liz? Dee?”
A man barked, “Shut up!”
“Dee?” Hailey asked again. A girl’s cry echoed somewhere in the background. She felt it in her marrow. “Dee!” she shouted. Shaking, she glanced at the screen.
The call had ended.
“Camilla,” she sobbed. “I heard her voice.”
God, no. Not them. Not her girls.
Hal snapped the radio off the dash. “I need all units at Broadway and Pierce. Possible 2-2-1 in the home of James and Elizabeth Wyatt.”
A 221, a person with a gun.
“And a possible 4-1-7 boy Henry. Proceed with caution. Inspector Wyatt and I are en route.”
Hostage situation. An armed man had her children.
Hal honked at a car and blew through the tollbooth, darting through traffic as he raced across the Bay Bridge.
Blake was already there.
Dee, the girls, and Liz and Jim probably too.
Would he shoot all of them?
“What if he kills the girls—”
“He won’t,” Hal said. The radio beeped, and Hal answered the call.
“Backup’s at Sacramento and Franklin,” dispatch said. “ETA is two minutes.”
Hailey didn’t breathe.
“The girls are inside.” She grabbed his arm. “They’re inside, Hal.”
“Hailey Wyatt’s kids are inside that house,” he said into the radio.
“Okay,” dispatch said. “I’m letting everyone know.”
Gone were the call codes, the professional tone and words. She was one of them, and there was a murderer in her house.
With her kids.
“Stay strong, Hailey. You stay strong for them,” Hal commanded.
Trembling, she hit redial. Prayed she’d get an answer. Hear Dee’s voice.
The call went straight to voicemail.
She dialed the home line again. Then Liz.
No one answered.
They reached the crest of Franklin Street and raced toward Broadway. Cars swerved to the right as Hal barreled through the intersection, honking over the blaring siren.
If something happened … She would die … No. Do not think that way.
Help me. Please, God, help.
As they turned left on Broadway and crossed through the first intersection, the flashing lights became visible at the house. Three patrol cars, an ambulance with its back cracked open, paramedics at the ready. Above them, the leaves on the oak trees flickered in the light and a soft wind.
Hal parked at a diagonal and jumped out, leaving his door open. He ordered a patrol officer to set up a periphery at the bottom of the stairs.
Hailey had hoped the sight of the house might bring some consolation, but instead, she felt distinctly ill.
She sprinted up the walkway. Hal was right behind her when they reached the stairs that led to the front porch. A group of task force officers in black jumpsuits and Kevlar vests stood against the banister that led up the stairwell. Under dark helmets, it was impossible to tell one from the other.
Marshall barked into his radio. “Report on your position.” His face was tense, worried. He was never in the field. He was here for her.
Marshall believed Blake might kill her family. That’s why he was here.
“In position,” Cameron said across the radio. “You tell Hailey that we’re going to get them out of there.”
“Please,” Hailey whispered.
“Who’s inside?” Hal asked.
“Don’t know yet. I’m waiting for another specialist to access the neighbor’s roof. Hope to have surveillance from there.”
“I need to go in,” Hailey said.
“No,” Marshall said. “No one goes in.”
She trembled. Her heart felt like it would explode. “I’m going in there.”
His radio crackled, and they all silenced. Marshall pressed the radio to his ear and adjusted the knob so Hailey couldn’t hear.
Keep related parties out of the loop.
She’d done it with the families of victims dozens of times.
Her pulse filled her insides, beating like something giant and swollen up her neck, throbbing through her back. Her breath wheezed. Her inhaler was in her purse in the car. Tears stung in her eyes. “You can shoot me then, Captain. Camilla and Ali are in there. I am going in.”
“She’s right, Marshall,” Hal said. “You can shoot me, too, but we’re going inside.”
Marshall only nodded.
Hailey watched as Hal unholstered his gun and released the magazine, pulling the extra magazine from his holster. He nodded at Hailey. “Full.”
Marshall reported into the radio that the two inspectors were about to enter the house. Hailey froze. What if she got them shot? What if waiting was better?
But she couldn’t. She couldn’t be out here when they were in there.
She drew her own weapon. Checked her ammo.
The task force captain stepped forward. “At least let me put a wire on you.”
Hailey reholstered her gun and took her jacket off, moving quickly. Focusing on the girls, hoping they could feel her.
Mommy is right here.
Hal and the captain threaded the wire under her vest, clipped it to the inside, and zipped her back up.
When it was done, Hailey drew her gun again. She met Hal’s eye, and together they climbed the stairs.
They reached the front door just as the first two shots erupted.
Chapter 31
Hal took the lead, Hailey on his heels. He unlatched the front door and crept into the quiet hallway. Listening to the silence, he scanned the dim entryways, trying to remember the layout of the house.
The house was huge, the furniture centuries old and perfectly kept. It had felt like a museum back then. Now, the place was dank and cold and smelled faintly of gunpowder.
He tried to pretend it was just another crime scene.
But this was Hailey.
She was his family.
Hailey at his back, Hal cleared the front rooms. When they were cleared, Hailey waved the task force down the hallway to the kitchen at the end. To the left a wide wood staircase doubled back on itself as it rose to the second floor.
&n
bsp; The den door was closed. The room where John had died.
Hailey pointed to it.
She would not lose the rest of her family there. Hal would take a bullet before he let that happen.
The task force spread out to clear the rest of the house.
Three went up the stairs, two into the kitchen. One squatted low against the wall across from the den door. The last remained with Hal and Hailey.
The dark wood door opened part way. The room was dark.
“Hailey,” came a woman’s voice.
Hal shifted forward.
“Only her,” the woman said, her voice cracking. “Or he’ll shoot.”
Hailey stepped forward.
“I’ll be right here,” Hal whispered, grabbing her arm. “You need me in there, you just say one of the girls’ names.”
Hailey nodded.
He didn’t want to let her go. But he had to. He couldn’t do this for her.
As soon as she entered the room, the door closed.
Hal sprinted out the front. “I need access to Wyatt’s wire. Now!”
Chapter 32
The den was pitch black, the window shade drawn and closed. The room smelled of a men’s cologne and something sweeter, floral.
Behind those smells were gunfire, and the dirty penny scent of blood.
The hard muzzle of a gun pressed into her skin below the Kevlar vest.
Hailey froze, glancing at the closed blinds. No chance Cameron could get a view inside the room through those windows. No shot from outside was going to save them. It was up to Hailey.
“Drop your weapon,” came a muffled voice.
She drew the weapon from her holster. The gun at her back rattled against the backside of her pelvic bone. The grip was lower than she’d expected. Below her vest.
He knew about the vest.
Or, he was smaller than she’d thought.
The voice, too, had come from directly behind her rather than above. Blake had seemed larger in the photographs, but maybe he wasn’t. Perhaps she could take him right here.
“Now,” the voice commanded, and she heard the low voice crack. It wasn’t a man’s voice. Who was holding that gun?
“Mommy,” Ali whispered.
A wave of fear crashed over her. She turned toward her daughter’s voice.
A hand yanked the gun from her grip. She managed to release the magazine. It dropped on the carpet with a dull thud.
Impatient for her eyes to adjust to the dark, she scanned the room for the girls. A cry came from the far side of the room, but Hailey was afraid to call out. She thought it was Cami, but what if it wasn’t? What if Cami didn’t answer?
What if something had happened to her?
“Liz? Are you here?”
“Mommy?” Ali’s voice called again.
“Baby.”
There was scrambling behind Jim’s desk. Dark shapes shifted.
Hailey stumbled toward them in the dark.
“Don’t move!”
Hailey spun toward the familiar voice. The overhead light came on, blinding her.
Jim sat at his desk, the others huddled behind him. He looked annoyed, rather than scared. But the girls looked afraid. Why didn’t Jim?
Hailey turned.
Back pressed to the door, a pistol in her fist, was Dee. The gun in her hand was Russian. Behind her, a body lay on the floor. His face lay in profile, the full reddish-brown beard of the man she’d seen leaving the crime scene in the Tenderloin a week ago. He was the man in the photograph—Donald Blake.
“Dee, why are you pointing that gun at them? The girls are back there.”
She didn’t answer. The gun didn’t waver. Hailey studied the gun, confirmed the make. “A Makarov,” Hailey said for the wire.
Dee looked at the gun blankly. Like she didn’t know what kind of gun she was holding. Didn’t know that the gun in her hand had killed more people than any other in history.
Millions of Jews executed by Russian soldiers. The terror climbed under her skin like a burn.
Dee adjusted her grip on the gun awkwardly. It was not her gun. Whose gun was it?
Did Jim still own a gun?
Even after John was shot?
Tom Rittenberg had been the director of the NRA. He would own a Makarov.
On the floor, Blake’s hands lay open, empty. Blood had soaked through his shirt onto the carpet. A foot—maybe two—from where John had died.
“Dee, you don’t want to hurt them.”
“Like hell I don’t.” Her teeth were bared, her jaw clenched. The gun lifted higher into the air as if she was taking aim. “He got them killed—all of them.”
A Makarov magazine held seven bullets. Dee had shot off two, which left five bullets remaining. She could still kill all of them.
Dee. The night she’d run into Dee in the hall. She’d been lurking there, listening. The way she talked about Nicholas Fredricks. She’d lost the love of her life. Was that why she was doing this?
Hailey fought to stay calm. She’d never seen Dee out of control. She had no idea what she might be capable of. Take stock. Move slowly.
“What happened, Dee?”
Dee said nothing.
“I’m going to check Blake.” Hailey dropped to her knees and felt for a pulse. She wasn’t sure if Dee would stop her, but she didn’t. Dee’s focus on Jim was unwavering.
“He’s dead.” As she got to her feet, Hailey checked along his waistline.
No weapon.
Hailey saw the butt of the gun at Dee’s waist. It looked like a revolver.
“I shot him.” Dee didn’t take her eye off Jim. “He was going to kill me. I didn’t even see it coming, but Tom was right. Blake was going to shoot them, and then he was going to shoot me.”
Tom Rittenberg. He was behind this. Would Dee believe Hailey if she told her about Regal Insurance? About Tom’s piece in the guns?
Or would she decide Hailey was a liar, too, and shoot them all?
“Thank you, Dee. You saved the girls.” She wanted to say their names but she was afraid Hal would take it as a sign to come in the door. She had to create a diversion first, get Dee focused somewhere else.
“But the girls are scared now, Dee. Remember the pajama party—the fun you guys had at the hotel? You don’t want to hurt them. You need to put the gun down.”
Dee shook her head. “I can’t put the gun down. That’s what he said. Whatever you do, don’t give up your gun.” Tears streamed down her face.
She had to be talking about Tom. Tom had put her up to this. It would be perfect for him—with Blake and Jim dead and Dee in jail or killed in police crossfire, Tom Rittenberg could walk away, a free man. If Jim survived, he would be able to tell the police how Tom had recruited them to invest in the hedge fund. His testimony could help put Tom in prison for the rest of life, and then some. “Dee,” Hailey said. “Talk to me.”
One of the girls cried out. Liz hushed her.
Jim’s expression tightened and filled with fear. Jim knew his sister better than anyone. What did he think she would do?
In the harsh den light, her skin looked mottled. There were sunspots and freckles across her nose and cheeks that Hailey had never seen. Dee had always been made up. The front of her shirt was pulled from her pants where the gun had been shoved in. Her hair hung in frizzy strands.
How long had her eyes been so red and puffy? Did Hailey miss that? How sick she looked.
“Blake’s whole family was killed,” Dee whispered. “But he blamed Tom when he should have been blaming those street kids with the guns.” She bared her teeth and turned to face her brother. “And people like Jim who killed to hide his secrets, to protect his political ambitions.”
“I know about the guns that were stolen and sold on the streets, Dee,” Hailey said softly. She let a beat pause. Kept her voice low. “I just found out. We’ll make this right. Let the police do it, Dee.”
“Donald Blake wrote about the gun violence—just like Nick did—
and Jim went after him. Sent those street kids after him.”
“I didn’t,” Jim said. “I never—”
“Let me help you,” Hailey said, speaking over Jim’s denial.
“This isn’t about you,” Dee whispered, drawing Hailey’s attention to her eyes. The pupils were small, the whites bloodshot, and the irises the same gray as wet concrete.
“You should’ve stayed out of it. It was about him.” Dee waved the gun toward Jim. He tensed as the gun moved through the air. Liz and the girls crouched on the floor, partially hidden behind him. But if Dee shot and missed Jim, the bullet could easily hit one of them.
“But he bought you off.” Dee waved the gun at Hailey again. “Whatever he did to buy you. It’s what he does. Buys people. He tried to do that to Tom too, but it didn’t work.”
“You have to believe me. Tom is a liar,” Jim said.
“Shut up!” Dee shouted, firing a bullet over their heads.
Jim flinched.
Ali and Camilla screamed. Liz shrieked.
The bullet sank into the sheetrock.
“It’s okay,” Hailey said. “We’re okay.” She had been here all along—under this roof every day. Hailey had overlooked her. She had focused on Jim’s part in all the deaths—the cork from his favorite wine vintage, the connection between him and Nick Fredricks, his investments with Rendell’s hedge fund—but she had never once looked at Dee.
Dee aimed the gun back at Jim. “Do not say another word. You said Nick was a liar too. You’re the liar. You, Jim!”
“Dee, please,” Liz pleaded.
“You, too, Liz. Not another word. You should’ve known what he was doing—where he was investing your money. You were too busy ironing your white linens to know that your husband is a killer.”
Liz’s crying was muffled.
“We can put him away,” Hailey said. “He’ll go to jail.”
“Jail’s too good for him.” Dee choked on a sob. “He deserves to die for what he did to Nick.”
“I don’t understand, Dee. You told me Jim was with you when Nick died,” Hailey said.
The Rookie Club Thriller series Box Set Page 54