by Karen Rose
“Oh, I’m very serious. So serious that you’re really going to need that pretty nurse when I’m done—if you don’t cooperate.”
Pastor sobered. “You are serious. I’m just an old man. I have no money.”
Kowalski laughed. “You had three hundred fifty thousand dollars to pay Sunnyside Oaks. You never even blinked at the amounts. So you have a lot more where that came from.”
Oh, hell no. Who at Sunnyside had shared that information? DJ was going to find them and make them wish they’d never been born.
Pastor’s expression went cold. “You know a lot about me. I don’t even know your name.”
“You can call me Kowalski.” He drew a gun from his pocket. “I’m going to start shooting off your fingers and then your toes and then we’ll get really serious.”
“Can I have the girl?” the minion asked.
“I don’t care. But find Belmont first. He’s got a few things that belong to me.”
“He stole from you?” Pastor asked, sounding aghast.
“Yeah. He stole from me, then killed three of my best security guards. Dominic, put the girl down and find Belmont. You can take her with you later.”
“I’ll put her in the car in case the bullets start flying. I like my women alive and breathing.” Dominic grabbed a handful of Barkley’s scrubs and forced her to the back seat of the Jeep. He shoved her in and slammed the door before returning to the Explorer. He studied the dirt, evidently finding DJ’s boot prints, because he started walking his way.
DJ waited until he was close before dragging him behind the trees and shooting him twice in the head, ever grateful for his suppressor. He eased the body to the ground, then took the man’s cap and shirt. Dominic was about his size, so the dead man’s flannel button-up was a decent fit, the plaid pattern hiding the blood spatter. He’d snugged the cap on his head just as Kowalski called out.
“Where are you?”
“Comin’,” DJ grunted. He jogged through the foliage and around the Explorer, stopping behind Kowalski. “Couldn’t find him.”
Kowalski went very still. Then he dropped Pastor and whirled on DJ, gun drawn. “You bastard! You ungrateful little bastard. I taught you everything and you stole from me!”
TWAIN, CALIFORNIA
TUESDAY, MAY 30, 4:00 P.M.
Liza contorted her body so that she could reach her shoe. Raeburn had been good as his word, hiding that slick James Bond blade in the sole. Tom had made her practice retrieving it a few times that morning, and she was grateful for that now.
“You bastard!” a man shouted. “You ungrateful little bastard. I taught you everything and you stole from me!”
That would be the infamous Kowalski, she thought. Tom and Croft had been chasing him for nearly a week, and he’d just dropped into Liza’s lap. Lucky me.
“You tried to kill me!” DJ roared back. “I went to Stockton. I saw you.”
Yes, Liza thought triumphantly. She now held her shoe in her hands. She hoped her numb fingers could slide the blade free. DJ had pulled the zip tie really tight.
Two gunshots cracked the air, one after the other.
Luckily Dominic the Suave had given her cover. She assumed he was dead, having not returned from finding DJ. Hopefully they’ll kill each other.
Ignoring them all, she focused on the task as she’d done in the field, treating injured soldiers while bullets flew and bombs exploded around her.
“Of course I wanted to kill you!” Kowalski yelled. “You led the cops to me, you moron. And then you steal from me?”
Liza exhaled when the blade slid from the sole of the shoe. Thank you, Agent Raeburn. My own Q. She flinched when a bullet penetrated the Jeep’s windshield.
That was too close.
There had been no percussion before the windshield was hit. One of them had a silencer. Probably DJ. There’d been no audible shot when Dominic the Suave had gone looking for DJ and hadn’t come back, nor had there been when DJ had shot the ambulance driver at Sunnyside.
Gripping the ceramic blade between her numb fingers, she sawed at the zip tie, stifling a whimper when the blade cut into her finger. Ignoring the pain, she redoubled her efforts. They were still shooting at each other, but their conversation had taken a different tone.
“I heard you trying to steal from my father. How dare you? How did you even find me?”
“You’re a moron, Belmont. The rifles you stole were chipped. As soon as you left my house, I was on your tail.”
Which seemed like a lie to Liza. If Kowalski had known, he would have killed DJ already.
“You’re lying. You would have killed me already.”
Ha! She sawed harder.
“And I will,” Kowalski said. “Now that you’ve pulled your daddy out of Sunnyside.”
Another gunshot cracked the air, followed a second later by a scream.
Fuck you, assholes, she thought. Kill each other. Just don’t kill me.
The zip tie finally split, the pieces flying to the floor of the Jeep. Blood rushed into her hands and it was all she could do not to cry. Crying is a waste of time. Think.
She peeked into the front seat, her heart sinking when she saw that the keys were not in the ignition. She had three options: Hope they killed each other and didn’t come for her, try to hot-wire the Jeep and escape, or run. She didn’t trust that they’d kill each other and she didn’t know how to hot-wire a car.
So I’ll run. She tugged on the door handle, relieved when it opened. She’d been afraid that Dominic the Suave had locked her in. She hesitated. If they saw her, they’d shoot.
But they’d shoot anyway. Words she’d memorized in boot camp came flooding back. The Code of Conduct. If I am captured I will continue to resist by all means available. I will make every effort to escape.
“You will not harm my father!” DJ was screaming.
Another silenced bullet hit the windshield, shattering it.
Go.
She opened the door only far enough to slip out, then dropped to the ground and crawled to the rear of the Jeep. They’d come around a bend before stopping. She’d go back that way, and once she was hidden from sight, she could figure out which way was less likely to get her killed—up the rock face or down the ravine.
Her finger was bleeding, but it wasn’t too bad. She gripped the blade in her other hand and crawled into the grass. DJ had hidden in the foliage when he relieved himself. She could hide there, too.
She finally exhaled when she was concealed behind the trees. Go. Fast.
Crouching as low as she could, she set off at a half jog, half crab walk.
Dammit, Tom, where are you?
THIRTY-ONE
TWAIN, CALIFORNIA
TUESDAY, MAY 30, 4:10 P.M.
Don’t you dare touch him,” DJ growled, crouching in front of Pastor.
It was actually over. He’d disarmed and disabled Kowalski quickly, because for all the man’s bluster about teaching DJ everything, DJ was a better shot.
But he hadn’t wanted Kowalski to die too easily. He’d played with him, shouting and shooting. DJ had wanted Pastor to hear him fighting “for him.” Kowalski had been down several minutes before, and he’d screamed like a little girl. That had been satisfying.
Almost as satisfying as seeing his head burst like a melon from the kill shot.
“DJ,” Pastor gasped. “Be careful.”
Oh, yeah. This was exactly what he’d wanted. Pastor overwhelmed with concern and gratitude because DJ had protected him at the risk to his own life. It might be the “sacrifice” that Pastor needed to see to give him the bank codes. Because I saved his life and everything.
DJ shuddered out a sigh. “If I don’t make it . . .” He pulled the sat phone from his pocket. “You can call for help.” Pretending to brace himself, he lurched to his feet, firing over the hood
of the Explorer five more times.
Every bullet hit Kowalski’s corpse. So satisfying.
DJ turned, sinking to sit on the ground. He popped the empty magazine from his pistol, pulled a full one from his pocket, and reloaded. Then he sighed. “He’s dead.”
Pastor looked awful. His skin was gray, his face screwed up in pain, his body trembling. A new abrasion on his head was bleeding. “Good. What a disgusting man.”
“Yeah, well. Listen . . . you could have died. I could have died. And with Coleen gone . . .”
“You’d have no way to let my banker know if I had died,” Pastor said sadly.
His banker. Whose name Barkley had known. If Pastor didn’t tell him soon, he’d make the bitch talk. “Exactly. It doesn’t make sense for your banker to have no way of knowing that he should execute your will.”
Pastor shook his head. “You really are a moron. If I die, I won’t be calling my banker. In a week, he’ll know. And if there is any hint that you killed me? He knows to revoke your inheritance. You don’t fool anyone. You never returned to Eden. Coleen told me last night.”
DJ sat motionless, seething. “She promised she wouldn’t.”
Pastor laughed. “You know what’s funny? I didn’t believe her. I told her I needed proof. You gave that to me just now.”
Rage bubbled and flowed, red tingeing the edges of DJ’s vision. “I could kill you now.”
“But you won’t,” Pastor said confidently. “You’re still that little boy whose daddy didn’t love him enough. I didn’t think Waylon would actually let me have you after my Bo and Bernie died, but he always surprised me. He was a doormat. He’d do what I said, so I’d up the ante, thinking surely he wouldn’t keep obeying. I told him to divorce his wife so that I could marry her. And he did. He did everything I ever told him to do.”
DJ stared at him. “Why? Why did you hate him?”
“Oh my. Of course I didn’t hate him,” Pastor said, making DJ feel like the question had no basis in logic whatsoever. “He was like a puppy. Making him dance to whatever tune I played?” He shrugged, grimacing in pain. “It was fun at first.”
“But you were friends.”
“No, he wasn’t my friend. He was useful.”
DJ wanted to strike back. Wanted to make this old man hurt. “Your wife loved him.”
That was a direct hit. “But she married me. And she stayed with me.”
“Until she left you.”
The old man flinched. “She died,” Pastor said defensively. “Waylon found their remains.”
“Like he found Gideon’s remains?”
“Gideon is dead.”
“No, he’s not. He’s alive. He’s an FBI agent. And he’s looking for you.”
Twin flags of red appeared on Pastor’s pale cheeks as his breathing grew labored, and it occurred to DJ that he might not have to kill the old man after all. He might have a heart attack or a stroke, like Coleen had feared. “You’re lying. Your father would never have lied to me.”
DJ laughed. “I gave you my sat phone. It’s got a signal. Look him up.”
Hands shaking, Pastor did. His nostrils flared. “What is this?”
“My father absolutely lied to you. He got Gideon out. Don’t feel bad. I didn’t know until a month ago myself.”
Pastor’s jaw clenched. “And Mercy? Why help her escape?”
“I didn’t mean for her to escape. I was playing with them, her and her whore mother. Made them think that they were getting out. Then I shot them, but someone came along and I had to leave Mercy there. She should have died from that gut wound. That’s why I shoot people in the head now, when I can.” Like he should have done to Gideon that day in the radio station parking lot. But he’d been operating on reflex and trauma. He hadn’t been thinking. “Mercy was saved. She and Gideon reconnected. They’re not going to rest until you’re dead.”
And me, too, but they’ll have to catch me first.
One side of Pastor’s mouth lifted. “I have to say I’m a little proud. Taunting Mercy and her mother that way. You learned that from me.”
It burned to have to admit that the old man was right about that. “My point is that Waylon lied to you. Lied to all of us. He brought back a corpse and told us it was Gideon, because he let the little fucker go. Do you think he told the truth about your wife and kids?”
Pastor’s half smile disappeared. “He helped them escape? They’re alive?”
“It’s possible, isn’t it? I’d think probable, even. Your daughter was almost twelve and, as I recall, your wife didn’t want her married off. So she ran. And my father helped her.”
Pastor huffed a mirthless chuckle. “Your father was weak. And despite your best efforts, you’re his son. Help me up. We need to get to Eden. I can’t imagine what trouble they’ve caused after a few days without a firm hand. You’ll clean up any messes they’ve made. And then you’ll fix your own mistakes and take care of Gideon and Mercy. And then, if you’re still alive, you’ll find my wife and children and bring them to me.”
“And if I do?”
Pastor’s half smile returned. “We’ll talk about access codes.”
“You’re lying to me.”
“Maybe. But you’ll do as I say. You always do as I say. I trained you myself. You’ve always done as I’ve said. After all, you went with McPhearson when you could have said no. Gideon did. At least he fought back. He wasn’t weak.”
DJ stared, barely able to process the words past the pounding of his pulse in his ears. Years of McPhearson’s abuse, the rape, the hurt . . . it all rushed back in a wave that left him numb.
Gideon wasn’t weak? And I was?
Shock turned to fury and then to cold, brutal realization. Pastor wasn’t going to give him the codes. He’d never planned to give him any of the money at all. It was a ploy, a carrot. A way to continue to control and manipulate him. Like he’s done for my whole life.
Well, fuck this shit. He still had cash in his personal account. It wasn’t fifty million, but it would have to be enough. He lifted the gun and pointed it at Pastor’s head.
The old man’s eyes widened, but then he smiled. “You won’t. You can’t.”
“Watch me. Say goodbye, Pastor.” He pulled the trigger, firing right between the eyes. Then he sat, watching the shock on Pastor’s face. The betrayal. Then . . . nothing.
Pastor was dead.
And I’m free.
Euphoria had him pushing to his feet, but his legs wobbled like rubber and he dropped back to his knees, hard. Fuck. He stared at his hands. He was shaking. This is bullshit. I am not weak. I am not going to let you win, old man.
DJ shoved to his feet, bracing himself against the Explorer while he locked his knees and waited for the shakes to pass. Then he spat on Pastor’s body. “I’ll show you weak, old man.”
But damn, he was tired. And he still needed to dispose of the bodies. He was going to have to drag him to the ravine. No, I’ll make Barkley drag him. Then he’d shoot her, too.
He walked to Kowalski’s Jeep and opened the back door. “Did you miss—”
He closed his eyes for a few seconds. Enough to regain control of his rage.
Liza Barkley was gone.
TWAIN, CALIFORNIA
TUESDAY, MAY 30, 4:25 P.M.
Liza had to stop running. The terrain had become too treacherous. One wrong step forward, one loose rock, and she’d plunge a hundred feet into the ravine. She could go back the way she’d come, but she’d surely run into DJ, and then what?
The rock face on the other side of the road was sheer. She might have been able to climb it, but that would have left her exposed. Her scrubs were dark blue. She’d have been the perfect target.
But DJ would be coming after her and she didn’t know when Tom would arrive.
I’m on my own. She took inventory of
her resources. She had the blade. She was strong, while DJ favored his left shoulder. She had the advantage of cover, for now.
She didn’t have the strength to best DJ on a purely physical level. Even injured, he was stronger than she was. She’d been trained in hand-to-hand combat, but he might have been, too.
And he had a gun.
So, basically, she had a blade, no major injuries, and the advantage of being hidden in a thin copse of trees. He had a gun and she was trapped against the edge of a damn ravine. Not amazing odds.
She really wished she’d learned how to hot-wire cars. She’d be safe. Safer, at least.
Anytime now would be good, Tom.
She heard DJ’s footsteps on the paved road before she saw him through the trees. She crouched low, using the cover of a bush that was no taller than her hip. She prepared to spring at him before he saw her, but he ran right by her. She silently exhaled. She could run back the way she’d come and steal Kowalski’s Jeep, assuming he had the keys in his pocket.
That was better than standing here, waiting for him to find her.
Carefully, she backed out of the cover of the trees and ran as fast as she could, not bothering to hunker down. Speed was important now.
She made it back to the two shot-up vehicles and nearly cried with relief. Then grimaced when she saw Pastor’s body, a bullet hole between his eyes.
No justice for Gideon and Mercy on that front. DJ must have finally had enough.
She checked DJ’s stolen SUV first, but the keys were not in it.
She found Kowalski’s body and dropped into a crouch to search for his keys.
He was in bad shape, over and above being very dead. His body, unlike Pastor’s with that single shot between the eyes, was riddled with bullets. DJ must have emptied an entire magazine into the man.
He was still warm, his clothing soaked with blood. Which wasn’t anything she hadn’t seen before. She took the gun from his hand, checked the chamber, then ejected the magazine. It was empty. Dammit.
She tossed the gun into the trees so that DJ couldn’t find it, then briskly patted Kowalski down, grimly triumphant when she pulled his keys from his pants pocket. She wiped his blood from her hands to the scrubs. Again, nothing she hadn’t done before.