Justice

by Dustin Stevens

  Running his free hand over his head, the skin smooth against his palm, Koob looked up to the sky.

  He should have known Rye would suspect a device to be tucked away on the car, to have ferreted it out within minutes of getting back.

  Right now, for all he knew, they were staring at the movements of a pizza boy, watching some zit faced kid deliver food all over town.

  “A person with a giant dog?” he repeated.

  “Yeah,” Hirsch replied. “I wasn’t really watching, only by luck I even happened to spot her going in.”

  “So you can’t be certain it was her?”

  On the other end there was a pause, borne of frustration or contemplation Koob couldn’t be certain. Didn’t really care, either way.

  “Did I get a hair and blood sample?” Hirsch replied. “No, but like I said, I saw someone with a giant dog slide inside the front door. Who the hell else could it be?”

  For an instant, Koob thought back to the street that afternoon, to the cop that had nabbed Rye and the K-9 that had assisted him.

  Just as fast, he dismissed it, knowing Hirsch would at the very least be able to differentiate a male from a female.

  Beyond that, he was correct, the list of possible alternatives being painfully short.

  Rye might have been able to best them on the tracking device, but she had gotten cocky by assuming they wouldn’t also still have eyes on the apartment.

  A thin smile played at his lips as Koob stared up at the starless sky, the cool air feeling good on his skin, a welcomed respite from the warmth that was present a few days before.

  “How do you want me to play it?” Hirsch asked.

  As fast as it had arrived, the smile vanished, Koob’s thoughts back in the moment. Recalling the conversation he’d just had with Gerard, he mulled the question for a moment before stepping forward, descending the stairs toward his car.

  “Stay on her,” Koob replied. “Right now, we’ll maintain a visual on the tracking device, but we have to assume that she slipped it.”

  He didn’t bother adding that he agreed she was likely the person Hirsch had just seen, not needing to.

  She and her partner did make a pretty unique looking team.

  “Make a move?” Hirsch asked.

  “Only if something clear opens up,” Koob said, snatching open his car door and sliding down inside.

  “Roger that.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Reed Mattox was glad he had released Billie from her leash. Watching her as she scoured every inch of the apartment complex, her body poised, nose turned down so far it nearly grazed the floor, he could only imagine the strain she would be putting on his shoulder.

  The instant the command had left his lips, her entire form had jolted into action, coiling into a compact ball, a singular goal in mind. Her neck rotating like a pendulum, she swung her head from side to side, taking in deep breaths, searching for the scent that he had just imparted on her.

  The middle section of the building was difficult for her, just as he imagined it would be. Having recently been scoured by the crime scene cleanup teams, the smell of ammonia and cleaning solution was strong, so much so it nearly burned Reed’s nostrils.

  He could only imagine what it was doing to hers, the receptors there infinitely more sensitive.

  Once they cleared that section, the remainder of the building took only a few minutes, the small dwellings not providing many obstacles as Billie worked her way through.

  Ultimately turning up nothing.

  When she was finished, she presented herself back on the third-floor landing, lowering her haunches to the polished wood. Staring at Reed, she sat silent, letting him know there was no trace of the aroma they were after.

  “I’ll be damned,” Reed muttered, following Billie up the last few steps and stopping, running a hand back through the thick hair between her ears.

  Not once had he thought Sydney Rye was outright lying, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was withholding something. She knew more than she was letting on, or had come into contact with Hartong before her death, or something that would help him along in his investigation.

  From the looks of things, though, she had never so much as been on the premises.

  If she’d had a hand in anything, it had been done somewhere far removed from the building they were standing in.

  “Good girl,” Reed said, giving her one last scratch before turning to the right. With the door already standing open, he passed inside, finding himself on the foyer of a one bedroom unit that was the definition of Spartan.

  In the common area was a futon in a style Reed had last seen during his days in college. With a black metal rack and a tan pad, it looked like the most uncomfortable thing imaginable, the sort of thing nobody would use if they had any other option.

  Before it was a coffee table, a pair of hardback books with titles Reed had never heard of sitting perfectly aligned atop it.

  Otherwise, there was no television, not even a decoration hanging on the wall.

  Underfoot, the beige area rug was clean, the jagged shark tooth patterns of recent vacuuming obvious.

  Stepping through, Reed ducked his head into a kitchenette with a stove top and a toaster oven, the counters bare, the cupboards having some canned goods and dried pasta. In the fridge were enough vegetables for at most two salads, the greens just starting to wilt.

  On the door was a pitcher of water and a paper carton of milk.

  Having seen Hartong’s body in the hallway two nights before, never did it cross his mind that she was especially small or skinny. Unless she was used to eating out quite frequently – a luxury the rest of her apartment seemed at odds with – she was someone that was only shopping and planning a day or two at a time.

  Had made her life one that could be abandoned at a moment’s notice whenever the need arose.

  Which fit perfectly with what Rye had mentioned, even two years later operating under the abject terror of looking over her shoulder.

  With good reason, it would seem.

  Pulling out each of the drawers, Reed found no mail, no papers, no notebooks written in Hartong’s own hand. Shaking his head, he left the kitchen behind and headed for the bedroom, finding much the same.

  In the corner of the room was a twin sized bed, the sheets pulled tight and tucked down into square corners, a single pillow at the head. On the opposite wall was a dresser, a sole picture frame sitting atop it.

  Made from wood with a thin gold inlay, the picture inside was older, faded, like it had been taken decades before and exposed to the sun for much of the time since. Lifting it from its place on the dresser, Reed held it before him, looking down at the image.

  In it was an older couple, the man wearing a suit with an inch-thick tie, the woman pointed glasses and a bouffant hairstyle. Staring at the photo, Reed tried to superimpose what he remembered of Hartong, the couple easily passable as parents or even grandparents.

  Extending it back to arm’s length, Reed placed it into the original spot on the dresser, his hand no more than releasing the wooden frame before it exploded, the crack of the window pane breaking behind him arriving just a millisecond later.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Knowing that Koob and his team were tracking her every movement, Sydney Rye had considered dumping the SUV. She’d thought about returning it to the car rental agency and swapping it out for another, letting them sit and monitor a vehicle that wasn’t going anywhere for the foreseeable future, or even better, one that would soon be picked up by a random family in town for the weekend.

  The thought of the men getting pulled out to soccer games or picnics or whatever the hell people in Ohio did with their time was almost enough to make Rye laugh.

  Almost.

  Her second thought was to take it to a busy shopping center, to prey on the inflated sense of security so many people seemed to harbor. Certain that within ten minutes she could find somebody that had stashed a spare key with t
he gas cap or under a tire well, she and Blue could soon just be another suburbanite and her pet out for a drive.

  That too was dismissed in short order, the third available option being the best.

  Keep the car, and let Koob know exactly what she was doing.

  Armed with enough firepower to make a Somali drug lord envious, she wasn’t certain what Koob possessed or even how many people he had available to him to help dispense it, but she knew she would be ready.

  The baggies of crystal meth she’d snatched from the dealer on the corner a night earlier were thrown in as an added bonus, something she’d never use anyway, a token of her appreciation for the group’s help.

  As far off the path of normalcy as they might have been.

  Rye also knew that right now she was on borrowed time, her opposition already having made an attempt once on her, doing so in a public place with a complete disregard for who might be around. This was clearly as personal to them as it was to her, both sides angry and circling, intent to keep coming for one another.

  So be it.

  Complicating matters slightly was the story she had told Reed Mattox and his captain. While the federal agency she mentioned did technically exist at one point – on paper, anyway – her primary backer was gone, taking with him any shred of legitimacy she might have.

  It was nothing more than pure blind luck that the number she rattled off had even still been operable. There was no doubt that whoever did answer would back her to the death, the Joyful Justice group firm in taking care of their own.

  The bigger question was if Mattox decided to circle back at any point, to dig deeper than the surface level credentials that were given.

  If so, she would soon be fighting on two fronts, something she could not afford, not with someone as formidable as Koob involved, the type of foe that deserved undivided attention.

  With all of that swarming through her head, a tangled mass perpetually writhing into new positions, offering different angles to be considered, Rye circled through the streets of Franklinton. Fast becoming familiar with the route, she bypassed any electronic directions and followed the same path she had ran earlier in the day.

  With the radio off and the windows down, the cool night air blowing in her face, every sense stood on high, her hands clutching the wheel, adrenaline flowing into her system. Like a steady drip from an IV bag, it pulsated through her body, bringing with it a feeling that almost bordered on euphoria.

  The type of thing that arrived each time danger was imminent, her body taking to it with a craving she would have never thought possible just years before.

  How the hell this had all started as a girl trying to get over a breakup, she’d never quite understand.

  In such a heightened state, her gaze flicking over every corner, eyes missing nothing, the single blossom of a muzzle flash looked as obvious as a neon light. Sprouting from the third floor of a building overlooking Heatherington’s apartment complex, it pierced the darkness for only an instant, a flickering candle that was extinguished as quickly as it was lit.

  In the split-second it took for the image to resonate, for what she saw to compute in her mind, the same occurred for Blue in the back seat, both letting out a single guttural noise, a signal to themselves and each other that it had been seen.

  The enemy was near.

  Ignoring all practiced protocol, all measures of self-preservation, Rye punched down hard on the gas. Needing to get out of direct eye line, no telling when they might turn toward her, she jerked the wheel to the right, the tires on the passenger side rising a few inches in the air, giving the vehicle the sensation of floating as they skimmed through the intersection.

  Behind her, she could hear Blue’s feet scrambling for purchase against the cloth seat, his bulk slamming into the door, a second growl scraping up from deep in his throat.

  This one aimed at her, having nothing to do with the shooter up ahead.

  “My bad,” Rye muttered, her own backside rising from the seat as the car bounced back down onto all four tires, the top of her head grazing the roof above.

  Less than a block later, she pulled the wheel hard in the opposite direction, sending both of them through the same progression, the only difference being the dent Blue’s backside put into the passenger door, his growl on contact growing a bit more pointed.

  Not that Rye found herself overly worried, her concerns much larger than her partner’s ass.

  As big as it might be.

  Running parallel to the street they were just on, Rye punched the gas once more, the engine bucking beneath them, the red RPM needle spiking quickly before backing off. Counting the distance in her mind, she cut the headlights and kept the pace steady for a quarter mile before sliding to a stop along the curb.

  Reaching into the passenger seat, she snatched up a pair of Sig Sauers, their barrels elongated by noise suppressors screwed down into the ends.

  The rest of her assorted toys she left in the back, not having the time to stop and get them, knowing their current location wouldn’t be conducive to using things like flash grenades and an AR-15.

  Whatever was happening was going to require fast movements, occurring in tight quarters.

  She had to be prepared to act as such.

  Swinging out from behind the wheel onto the sidewalk, Rye kept the door open, using it for cover as she peered in either direction.

  Seeing nothing, she opened the rear.

  “Come.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  The picture frame disintegrated on contact, an explosion of wood and glass. Shards of both enveloped Reed Mattox, on him before his senses could react, hundreds of pinpricks dotting his face and hands.

  Just as fast, the bark of Billie was in his ears, her teeth on the back hem of his sweatshirt, pulling him down.

  Allowing her to do so, his senses catching up, his mind processing everything, Reed threw himself to the floor beside her, his back hitting hard. Rolling to a shoulder, he slid his Glock free from his hip, Billie’s muzzle just inches from his face, her hot breath on his cheek.

  Glancing up to the window, he could see a perfect circle punctured into the glass, a spider web of cracks extended out in jagged lines around it.

  Just four feet further past, the shattered remnants of the frame lay in a heap on the dresser, an exit hole cleaved into the drywall behind it.

  Looking at both, the round fired was large, with more power than a simple handgun could manage.

  Meaning someone was staring at him through a scope, a rifle of some sort squared on the apartment, waiting for signs of entry.

  For what reason, he had no clue.

  Not that it ranked real high on his priority list at the moment.

  “Back,” he commanded, Billie easing away beside him, going very slow, letting it be known she refused to be more than a few feet from his side.

  Digging his heels into the floor, Reed raised his backside, using his knees and quads to slide back over the smooth boards. When his legs were at full extension, he repeated the process, shoving his shoulders out into the hallway.

  Once he was clear from direct sightline of the window, he raised himself to a seated position. Pressing his shoulder into the corner of the hallway by the door, he rose, staring back into the room.

  The entry point in the glass and the hole in the opposite wall looked to be at the same level, meaning that whoever had fired had been doing so from elevation.

  Running back through his memory of the neighborhood outside, that still left him with more than a dozen possible locations, maybe half of those with a clear line of sight to where he was standing.

  Releasing his left hand from the underside of his weapon, he took his cell phone from his hip, hitting the first speed dial and raising it his lips.

  “This is Detective Reed Mattox, 8th Precinct, Badge Number 8054. Shots fired at the Franklinton Luxury Suites. Officer requesting backup.”

  Without waiting for a response of any kind, he thumbed the
device off, returning it to his hip.

  Remaining in place for a moment, he looked in on the apartment, on the arrangement of things, before backing away a few inches.

  There was no way they could stay where they were. Right now, they were just easy targets, damn lucky that the first round hadn’t been a few inches to the left.

  He had a feeling they wouldn’t be so fortunate a second time.

  Keeping his shoulders square to the door, his weapon extended before him, he again began to retreat, headed for the stairs.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  The alley was dark, the sole light a street lamp glowing just off to the side of the opening on the far end. A faint breeze passed through the space, the cool wind hitting Sydney Rye in the face, picking at the perspiration on her skin.

  Underfoot, the sound of gravel crunched beneath her boots, the only sound save the heavy breathing of Blue.

  Both tucked along the wall, they let the light from the post ahead enter on a diagonal, resulting in a wide shadow, the darkness protecting them from view as they jogged forward.

  In either hand, Rye held one of the Sig Sauers, each extended at an angle before her, ready to be raised and fired in an instant.

  The complete length of the block in distance, it took just under a minute for the pair to get to the opposite end, adrenaline coursing through Rye’s system, causing her to breathe a bit harder than usual.

  “Halt,” she whispered, Blue pulling up a few yards back from the opening as she crept forward. Keeping her shoulder tight against the wall of the building to her right, she lowered herself into a crouch and peered out around it.

  Seeing nothing but the same darkened residential street she had been down a handful of times already, she tried to imagine the position of the muzzle flash before her, of how far she had traveled since it first pierced the darkness.

  As she did so, she glanced to the opposite side of the street, seeing the Franklinton Luxury Suites on the far corner, knowing there could be no other intended target.