Jack of Spades

by Diane Capri

  Which was when Kim heard the toilet flush. Heavy footfalls crossed the room overhead and a door squeaked open.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Monday, February 28

  9:30 a.m.

  Siesta Beach, California

  The heavy footfalls began to descend. A man’s voice called out, “Shorty!”

  Shorty didn’t respond. Whether he was too scared or what, it was the right move.

  She noticed movement in her periphery. Jake dashed to the duffel, grabbed it, and ran out the front door. What was he thinking? Probably that keeping the duffel away from the kidnappers as long as possible was a better plan. He was probably right.

  She couldn’t go after him now. One hundred percent of her attention was focused on dealing with the thug speeding down the stairs.

  When Jake rushed outside, the wind caught the door and slammed it all the way open, banging hard against the outside wall. Rain pelted into the bungalow. Thunder and lightning added to the soundtrack.

  She gestured Shorty to hide behind the counter opposite the staircase, and she flattened her back against the wall beneath the stairs.

  The door’s banging caused the footfalls upstairs to come faster.

  He was directly above and behind Kim’s location on the wall.

  If she stepped into view, he’d have a close and easy target.

  He yelled over the storm’s cacophony as he descended rapidly. “What’s going on, Shorty? Shorty! He’ll be calling any minute. It’s almost time to make the swap. If we’re even five minutes late, you know what will happen to Patty.”

  Kim took a chance, turtled her head out, and looked up the stair treads. She saw a big left foot clad in a cowboy boot descending, followed swiftly by the right foot, then left again. His weight shifted from one to the other as he picked up speed. Each footfall landed heavily. Rapidly.

  He outweighed her by a hundred and twenty pounds, at least. And he was armed. Her options were limited.

  As long as he was up the stairs and she was at the bottom, he had the advantage. If she could strike a hard blow to his leg at the right time, downward momentum would cause him to fall forward.

  But her leverage was wrong. She couldn’t get enough speed or heft behind the blow to topple him. She had no choice. She was forced to wait.

  It didn’t take long.

  He reached the bottom of the stairs and noticed the front door flapping open. He didn’t bother looking around the shop. He must have guessed Shorty took the black duffel and escaped with it. He hit the ground running.

  Dashing toward the exit, he held a gun in his right hand, shoving merchandise out of his path like a running back headed to the end zone.

  Kim stepped from the shadows and yelled. “FBI! Stop!”

  In a split second, he pivoted on his left foot and turned to face her. He fired twice.

  Both shots went wide.

  Kim fired back and ducked low behind the counter.

  He shot two more rounds.

  This time, his aim was better.

  The bullets landed mere inches from her torso.

  He half-turned toward the door, presenting a broad target.

  Kim aimed at the center of his back and fired four times.

  All four shots landed exactly where she’d placed them.

  He fell forward and landed face down. His heavy body jarred the floor of the old bungalow. Kim felt the shock run through her boots and up through her torso.

  Quickly, she approached him. She kicked his gun aside and kept hers trained on the target as she felt his jugular for a pulse.

  Dead.

  The weight of his body had landed with enough force to smash his nose and both cheekbones.

  Blood pooled around him as gravity drained his system.

  Kim glanced over her shoulder. Shorty hadn’t moved. He was still standing stock still at the end of the counter in the back of the room. His eyes were wide as golf balls, and his face was even whiter.

  The front door banged open on its hinges. The wind howled and rain pelted through the open doorway. Jake was out there somewhere with the duffel. He had a good head on his shoulders. All she could do at the moment was hope that he’d use it.

  She yelled to be heard over the noise of the storm. “Shorty! Close the door!”

  Shorty moved to do the job while she fished the Boss’s phone from her pocket. “You heard?”

  “Yeah. Cleanup on the way. Guy you killed is Owen Brady. Has a brother, Oscar. Fraternal twins. You’ve seen one, you’ve seen them both. Hired muscle.”

  “He looks like the guy driving the Escalade who tried to run me off the road yesterday.”

  “Could have been either one. The two are a team. Always together. Arrest records say Owen’s the smart one. Oscar’s a little dim, which means his reactions are more…predictable.”

  “Predictably violent, you mean.” She let the intel sink in for a few moments. “Who do they work for?”

  “Desmond Trevor. Billionaire involved in several shady businesses in South Africa. He’s accused of tax evasion and set to testify next week in Belgium.”

  She cocked her head. “He’s a billionaire and he’s kidnapped Patty Sundstrom for the contents of a duffel bag full of cash that can’t be more than a million bucks? That makes no sense.”

  “It’s not the amount of cash that he’s worried about. It’s what’s stored with that particular cash inside the duffel.”

  “It’s not a bomb, right?”

  “A flash drive. Hidden in the lining somewhere,” he replied.

  She nodded. “What’s on the drive that’s so damn essential?”

  “Video of a double homicide. If it falls into the wrong hands, Trevor and his business partner will be lucky to spend the rest of their lives in prison,” he said as casually as if he was discussing the weather. “Which means your boy Jake just became Trevor’s number one target.”

  “You’ve got eyes on the beach out there. Have you found Patty Sundstrom?”

  “The storm’s a monster. Too much cloud cover. Satellites can’t penetrate to see people on the ground. Your best option is to wait for Trevor to call Owen and have Shorty talk to him. Shorty tells Trevor that he’s got the duffel. Put a tracker in it and give it to him.”

  Easier said than done, since she didn’t have the duffel and had no idea where Jake was holding it. Trevor would find all of that out quickly. And Shorty wasn’t calm enough to talk to the guy even if she’d had possession of the duffel.

  She scowled. “You aren’t sending any backup.”

  “You know I can’t do that.”

  “I know you won’t do it. Big difference,” she said. “You think Reacher’s out there. You expect me to find him and then you swoop in to pick him up. You don’t plan to rescue these civilians at all. You’re using them to bait Reacher.”

  “You have a fanciful imagination, Otto.” He sighed, but he didn’t deny her accusation. “Do your job. I’ll handle the rest.”

  When he hung up, she noticed the relative quiet. The storm raged outside, but inside the bungalow, the only extra noise was Shorty’s feet hitting the floor, rhythmically pacing, as if he was thinking hard and needed the movement to assist.

  She patted the dead guy’s pockets until she found his cell phone and wallet. The wallet contained some cash, a couple of credit cards, and a New York driver’s license issued in the name of Owen Brady.

  She scrolled through the call log on the phone. Two numbers appeared repeatedly as both incoming and outgoing calls. She could’ve asked Gaspar or Finlay to trace them, but logically they had to belong to Trevor and Oscar. Question was, which was which.

  She looked at Shorty. “Let’s go out to the café. Jake’s probably headed that way. If Patty’s there, we can make the trade. If she isn’t, at least we’ll have Jake and the duffel back. Do you have any rain gear?”

  Shorty stopped pacing and nodded. He found two bright yellow waterproof ponchos, handed one to her and donned the other. She p
ulled the hood up and tightened it around her face.

  She returned her pistol to its holster and slid Owen’s cell phone into the poncho’s pocket. “Lock up behind us. We don’t need a potential customer coming in here and finding a dead man on your floor.”

  “Okay,” Shorty replied. He picked up Owen’s gun and slipped it into his pocket.

  “Can you shoot?” Otto asked.

  “I guess we’ll find out,” he replied before he pulled a key off a hook near the door before he turned the knob and opened it. The wind nearly blew the doorknob out of his hand, but he held on.

  She crossed the threshold and waited in the driving rain while he locked up. Together, they started out across the sand to the pier.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Monday, February 28

  10:55 p.m.

  Siesta Beach, California

  When Jake grabbed the black duffel and ran out of the windsurfing shop with it, he’d expected the thug running down the stairs to follow him. He’d planned to lead him away from Shorty and Kim, give them a chance to rescue Patty from the other thug. Then they’d search and destroy their leader.

  But the thug didn’t give chase immediately, and Jake had hoofed fifty yards inland on the town’s main street before he concluded the guy hadn’t taken the bait.

  He turned and ran back toward the shop. From the boardwalk, he saw Kim and Shorty moving toward the pier to rescue Patty. Which meant Kim had neutralized the thug.

  He revised his plan on the fly.

  The duffel was awkward and heavy and slowed him down. He looked around for a place to stash it.

  He found several big, empty, plastic trash barrels clustered in an alley behind a T-shirt shop. The barrels were only half-full. Which meant there were probably a couple of days left to fill them before the pickup service. He muscled three barrels together deep into the alley away from curious passersby, should there be any. He dumped the trash from one barrel into the dumpster and stuck the duffel inside. He put a plastic bag of trash on top of it and replaced the plastic lid.

  He stood back to examine his work. The rain had drenched what might otherwise have been obvious dry pavement under the barrels. He used his shoes to splash some dirty water from a pothole over the rest of the dry pavement. He stood back to admire his camouflage job. He nodded, satisfied that no casual pedestrian would notice the barrel containing the duffel before he came back.

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets and tucked his head down against the rain as he entered the sidewalk on the main street. He’d covered a couple of blocks toward the windsurfing shop when an average looking guy walking toward him, head down, suddenly slipped on the wet pavement and lunged forward.

  Jake put his hands up to help him, but not fast enough. The man fell onto Jake before he could regain his balance.

  Jake felt something hard jab his left side under his ribs. The pain sliced sideways before the man righted himself and stepped back. Jake slapped his right hand over the wound and felt the warm, sticky blood leaking out to soak his shirt.

  He staggered to one side, prepared to swing a strong right hook to knock the bastard on his ass.

  Until he saw the gun in the man’s hand. A long silencer was screwed onto the end. In the raging storm, silenced gunshots wouldn’t be noticed.

  “Get in the car, Mr. Reacher,” the man said. He gestured toward a black sedan parked at the curb, engine running, back passenger door open.

  Jake felt the widening pool of blood on his torso. He glanced up and down the sidewalk. Few pedestrians were outside in the storm. Shops were open, but customers weren’t walking in or out. Given the disparity in their sizes, the guy couldn’t drag him into the vehicle. But he could sure as hell shoot him on the sidewalk and drive away.

  “If I’d wanted you dead, you’d be dead already,” the man said.

  Jake replied, “So you’re the guy who wants the black duffel bag. You want me to take you to it.”

  “That’s right. Get in the car,” he practically growled.

  The vein on the man’s right temple pulsed visibly. All the while, they were both battered and drenched by the storm.

  Which meant his gun hand and the gun itself was wet. It would still fire and hit the target at close range.

  But his grip might be more than a little slippery.

  Jake could overpower him and knock the gun loose before it did too much damage. Without the gun, the man was no match for Jake. But then he’d need to stash the guy somewhere. Better to get him to his storage place first.

  He pretended to think about it for a couple of seconds. The man was impatient and maybe more than a little nervous. He really wanted that duffel.

  Jake made him wait a bit longer before he grinned and said, “I’ll get blood all over your upholstery.”

  “No problem. It’s a rental,” the man replied.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Monday, February 28

  10:45 a.m.

  Siesta Beach, California

  Kim forged ahead pushing against the wind, cold rain pelting her body. The beach was deserted. She didn’t see Jake anywhere. If Trevor saw him with the duffel, he would be in trouble. But Jake could take care of himself. Patty couldn’t. First things first.

  Shorty caught up with her and plowed past. The entrance to the pier was barely visible in the distance through the storm. The café at the end was lost in the clouds. Waves crashed against the pier, dumping gallons of water across the concrete walkway and sweeping everything in its path into the ocean.

  The combination of higher than average tide, and stronger than normal winds attracted the foolhardy. Surfers brave or dumb enough to ride the waves whooped as the water moved them ever faster.

  When Kim reached the pier’s entrance, Shorty was waiting. The pier was closed. A decorative gate crossed the entrance. Shorty showed her how to squeeze through the bars to the other side.

  When they were both on the pier, he shouted to be heard over the deafening noise of the storm. “You can swim, right? If you get swept away, caught in a rip current, you know what to do?”

  “Yeah. Stay afloat. Let the tide bring me back,” she shouted in reply. “You still have the weapon?”

  He nodded his head and raised both fists in response.

  “Follow me!” he yelled. He turned and started along the right side of the pier holding the broad wood railing, moving toward the café.

  She would have objected, but saved her breath. He couldn’t hear her now anyway. She grabbed the slippery top rail on the right side of the slick concrete pier with both hands and trudged carefully behind him.

  The distance between them widened with every step until she couldn’t see him at all as they became engulfed in the foggy storm.

  The wind came in strong gusts. The waves were somewhat more rhythmic. The first big crash of salty water landed to her left and receded, washing across the pier and splashing off on the right side in the exact spot Kim had occupied moments before. Almost continuous waves followed the first one, landing ahead and behind and beside her as she made her way slowly forward.

  The café emerged from the mist. She could see it vaguely at the end of the pier, but the T-shaped pier extensions were still shrouded. An entire army patrol could have been posted on either side of the café, cloaked by invisibility.

  She assumed Jake had headed to the café with the duffel, but she didn’t see him anywhere. She didn’t see Patty Sundstrom, Oscar Brady, or Desmond Trevor, either. She didn’t see anyone at all.

  As she moved along the pier, farther away from the beach and into the ocean, the waves picked up speed and strength, repeatedly battering the pier ahead and behind.

  Eventually, between the waves crashing over and through the wood rails, Kim drew closer to the café and saw more clearly. The lights were on inside. A few people were seated with food and drinks, seeming to enjoy the front row seats to view Mother Nature’s fury.

  The shadowy corner behind the café where she’d seen Jake las
t night was empty. He wasn’t there. Where did the kid go with that duffel?

  The big waves were coming faster now. She had less time between them to steady herself. She put her head down and trudged forward through the wind and rain, knowing the next wave could land ahead, behind, or on top of her. The only dry spot along the entire pier was inside the café.

  After another few steps, she thought she heard shouting up ahead. She lifted her face and stared into the storm, straining to hear voices over the deafening noise.

  Two big waves washed across the pier in rapid succession. She leaned against the side rail and held on as tightly as possible.

  The first wave battered her against the side rail.

  The second shoved her hard toward the beach.

  The third one knocked Kim off her feet.

  She slammed onto the concrete. The impact knocked the wind from her lungs.

  She heard what could have been a gunshot or thunder. It was impossible to distinguish the sounds.

  She gasped for air and swallowed salt water. She struggled to hang onto the wide wooden railing as the wave receded, taking a chunk of the opposite rail along with it.

  She retched the ocean water from her body and climbed to her feet.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Monday, February 28

  11:05 a.m.

  Siesta Beach, California

  Patty Sundstrom’s view of the café door was blocked by Oscar’s broad torso and her rapidly swelling right eye. Keeping her eye open was difficult. She’d have a hell of a shiner tomorrow, assuming she lived that long.

  But she wouldn’t go down without a fight. She’d resisted as he’d tried to drag her along the beach and then along the pier. She didn’t get away, but she was a big girl and she was much stronger than he’d expected. He’d had to struggle to get her all the way to the café and he’d suffered along the way.