Chapter Twenty-three
JB didn’t need the alarm clock to wake him. Howling wind muffled every sound except for the thunderous rain. He rolled out of bed, leaving Marcy and her warmth. Good sense should have kept him from stretching out on the bed in the first place, but the couple hours of sleep felt good. He clicked off the alarm. Let her sleep awhile longer.
Opening the living room shutters provided nothing but a view of the thick, spooky fog. This looked like the kind of day depicted in scary movies. The cabin in the woods. The fog rolling in. The man, the woman, the killer.
Shake it off, man. Shake it off. He closed the shutters.
All he thought about as he started a fresh pot of coffee was how to lure the shooter into their lair. This stalemate needed to end today. Otherwise, sloppiness might creep in. One sloppy moment could lead to one error. Sometimes, one error ended a successful agent’s career.
Jennings had been a veteran lawman. During their brief time as partners, he’d taught JB everything he could. Would have been even more if the man hadn’t taken the wrong call at the wrong time from the wrong person. He’d probably already have the case solved.
JB ranked the calls he needed to make on his decoy phone, then dialed.
“Deputy Evans here.”
“Hope you got something for me.” JB sat two cups on the table.
“Nothing. Let me shut the door.” The deputy’s footsteps echoed through the phone. “There that’s better.”
JB jogged the coffeepot out and poured. “Last night, Kennett said the sheriff seemed confused on what the guy looked like that attacked him.”
“Maybe not. I got a call from the doc a few minutes ago. He said the sheriff’s awake and talking fine. He still insists the man had brown eyes one second. Then one of his eyes was blue the next.” Evans sighed. “And that partner of yours…Landon.”
JB turned at the sound of Marcy’s footsteps on the floor as she headed to the bathroom. “He’s not my partner. I just worked with him one other time.”
The slam of a folder on the desk rumbled through the phone. “Well, I don’t care who or what he is. In my book, he’s not worth the metal in his shield.”
“Still not answering his calls?” Seemed odd, even for Landon.
“I checked with the phone company to make sure everything’s okay with his line. They said his phone is sitting some place over in Jefferson City.” Deputy Evans voice tensed. “Want me to call Wilson? Your boss? “
“Yeah. You got his number?”
Evans shuffled papers. “Sure thing. I knew I’d seen it in your file somewhere. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything back.”
“Thanks.” JB lingered on the call. Thinking. Without the special contact lens he wore, Landon had one blue eye and one brown.
“You’re awful quiet. What’s wrong?”
Marcy walked into the kitchen fully dressed, including her boots. Hair brushed and smelling of toothpaste, she looked like a good morning wake-up. He hated to ruin her day, but she needed to know his thinking. He motioned her over and pointed her to the chair across the table from him.
“You still there?” the deputy said. “Kennett just walked in. I’ve got you on speaker phone.”
“Yeah.”
“What’s up, JB?” Kennett asked.
“My cop instincts say everything comes to a head today.” JB watched Marcy’s face. Since he’d been old enough to remember, he could always feel a life-changing day the minute he woke up. Today, his instinct churned with fire and adrenaline. This day didn’t feel good. “He’s coming.”
Her expression stayed strong, but her eyes held fear as he covered her hand with his.
“Hold on. Evans is trying to reach your boss.” Kennett’s said. “You got much fog out there?”
“Layers. Like pea-soup. Be mighty hard to come in by boat.” JB glanced up as his wife walked to the front window and did a tiny peek outside. She palmed her hand upward a couple times. “Marcy just motioned that the fog is lifting. My bet is he’ll still come in by road. Maybe walk a ways. You might want to alert anybody living in cabins out here.”
Kennett chuckled. “Beat you to that one. Called everyone last night. Told them to leave the area, or else lock their doors and stay inside.”
Evans mumbled in the background. Probably talking to Wilson. “Okay. I’ll tell him.” The deputy cleared his throat. “JB, Wilson says for you to call him. Right now.”
“Why?”
“He’s checking things out. Landon never called him,” Evans continued. “I’ll let your boss give you the specifics.”
There must be a clue to the 1038. Something so classified, it needed to be relayed agent to agent.
Evans and Kennett were talking over each other, and he refocused on their conversation. “What’s going on?”
“Me, Kennett, and a couple other cruisers are headed your way.” Evans said as a door creaked open and slammed closed in the background. “Kennett’s headed out right now. Don’t worry, we should be there ahead of 10:38.”
JB glanced at Marcy. “The guy won’t wait today. He’ll get antsy. Nervous. Blow his routine.”
“Call Wilson. Get your info. We’re on our way.”
“Hey, Evans, do me a favor before you head out. Request one of the Jeff City police narrow in on Landon’s phone. Check out its location.”
“You got it. Why?”
“Make sure he’s actually where the phone shows.” JB shook his head. He had a bad feeling. Real bad feeling about the person behind all of this. “Things in my life started to fall apart after I met Landon on that meth bust. As I said before, I don’t like coincidences.”
…
JB speed dialed his boss, and Wilson answered on the first ring. “Tell me you got something on 1038?” JB said abruptly.
“The guys in the office are still checking.” Wilson’s no-non-sense attitude carried through the phone. “We’ve put 1038 in as a random along with your name to see what comes up in the secure system. Nothing yet.”
Marcy sat a refilled cup of coffee in front of JB and offered a scared smile before she walked back to the counter for her own cup. He fought the idea that he should have stayed away from her, away from Crayton. Recuperating in the hospital after the last job, the idea of getting back together with her had been the fuel to keep him going. His body might have been healed on its own, but the memories of her were what had healed his mind and emotions.
He knew then that he’d give up everything else to live the rest of his life with her. The past few days might be all they had. At least they’d been together.
The brush of her hand on his jerked him back from his thoughts. She sat in the chair beside him at the table, flipping through the horticulture book. Her eyes focused on each page as if taking in the colors and beauty of the scenes pushed the bluntness of the moment into the shadows. He noticed a tiny twitch right before she turned each page. She’d found her way to cope—one page at a time.
As for him, he needed to focus on the clues. “Come on, Wilson. My gut tells me we don’t have many seconds on this end.”
She twitched. Turned the page. Focused.
His boss cleared his throat. “Okay. Here’s what we’ve got. One case came to a head at 10:38.”
“Which one?” JB walked to the front window, then the side. Peeked through the louvers.
“Job before last. The meth bust. My guys are running the particulars right now.” Shuffled papers sounded through the phone from Wilson’s end. “Hey, before I forget. You were right about Landon. I never should have put him on the robbery case. Crayton Police says he’s a loose cannon.”
“Live and learn, I guess.” JB’s gut clenched tighter and tighter. His bad feeling picked up speed. “I don’t understand why he didn’t call you with the 1038 when Sheriff Davis asked him to. He knew Marcy and I were in danger. Why not ask if you could run a check on the numbers? I’d have done that for my worst enemy if it meant their life.”
“I don’t know. Let’s concentrate on you right now. Take care of him later.” Wilson’s to-the-point mode returned. “Here’s what we’ve got. Date…not even close.”
“What else you got?” he asked.
“Teams ramped into place by10:35 AM. You ordered ‘go’ to your men and broke through the door.” Wilson quieted. “You know, I worked a long time getting that case together to have the glory go to a bunch of others in the Bureau.”
Glory? What glory? JB felt no glory from that bust. People got killed that day. Some guilty. Some innocent. “Let’s talk about that later.”
“Later…yeah, we’ll talk later.” Wilson’s voice kept fading in and out like someone panting as they ran.
What was that noise? A dog? Barking? Where?
“Did I just hear a dog on your end of the line?” JB asked.
“Yeah. The people in the room next door brought their dog on vacation. It’s been a long night.”
“I thought you were back in the office.” He could have sworn Wilson had rattled papers on his desk. Maybe the staff just faxed him the info. Didn’t matter. “What else you got?”
Wilson coughed. Gasped for air. “Explosion in the lab. Time…10:38. Gunfire from both sides. Four casualties in the room. Two men. Two women. Plus our own. Six taken to hospital. Fifteen arrests that day plus three higher-ups two days later. “
“How do we know the exact time?”
Wilson paused, cleared his throat. “Notes say the watch on one of the women victims cracked and stopped at 10:38.”
JB remembered that watch. He’d seen it being numbered for evidence, then a few days later, the watch was gone. He eased his Glock from his shoulder holster. The rest of his armor was in place, but he needed that gun in his hand right now. What had he heard? Sensed? Even with all the new information, why had the conversation made his cop instincts accelerate even higher?
A dog barked outside in the far distance…no, the bark was through the phone. Which? Damn, he couldn’t afford to not be on top of sounds at this point. Had to be Landon.
“I’ll call you right back. I’ve got another call coming in.” JB snapped the phone closed, ignoring the second call from Deputy Evans for a moment. He needed to think. Landon would have already had time to target the cabin from the cell towers. He could be closing in even as JB spoke to Wilson. His insides tensed. “Marcy.”
She stood, shuffled into her coat, and shoved her weapon into her pocket. She didn’t hesitate. “I’m ready.”
“If anything happens, when I tell you to move, don’t stop to think. Just do what I say. Follow our plan.”
“I will.” She pulled her hat onto her head. “JB?”
“Yeah?” He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“Please be careful.”
He grinned. “You sound like you care.”
She raced into the crook of his arm, burying her head against him. “I love you, JB. Don’t you dare get yourself killed before I can show you how much.”
“I’m gonna hold you to that, sugar.” He squeezed her against him with one arm and pushed the return call button on the phone.
“Deputy Evans here.”
“You called me.” JB knew Evans wouldn’t have phoned again without a good reason.
“Jeff City tracked Landon’s phone. Found him tied up in an abandoned house just outside of town. I’m patching you through to him now.”
What the hell? Landon tied up?
The phone clicked a couple of times with connections and reroutes. Seconds drug like hours.
“JB, I’m not the one.” Landon’s voice sounded tense, a siren wailed close on his end. “Wilson set everything up to lay blame on me.”
He tried to wrap his mind around those two sentences. Couldn’t be. “How do you know?”
“Long story short. I called headquarters to check on some paperwork that I’d turned in to Wilson. They told me he’d been relieved. Arrested. Evidently, he’d been under investigation for some missing money. They believe Jennings got close, so he had him killed.”
What the hell was going on?
“But I just got off the phone with him.” JB pushed Marcy behind him and aimed his Glock at the door.
Landon grunted with pain. “The Bureau said he escaped before they got him to jail. He gave me a lead on your case last night, then ambushed me when I showed up.”
That would explain Wilson’s new phone number and so-called vacation. Never mind the strange exchange they’d had a few minutes ago. “But why would he be after you and me?”
“Something to do with that meth bust. Some woman that was killed. He said we’d ruined his life. Every time he punched me, he’d yell about how you and I would pay for what we did.”
JB glanced up toward the roof. Had that been a footstep? A falling acorn? A squirrel taking a shortcut? “I didn’t know either one of those women who were killed that day, did you?”
“No. But evidently, he knew one of them as more than an acquaintance.” Landon coughed on an intake of breath. “He kept mentioning something about Oklahoma.”
“The younger girl killed that day was from Oklahoma. I could swear her name was Carla.”
“I don’t know about that, but every time I asked who she was, he’d hit me again. Or get right in my face all crazy-eyed and say how I was getting my payback slow and steady. Seemed real proud of himself that he’d used blue and brown contacts to lay blame off on me when he killed Leon and ran the sheriff off the road.” Landon paused. “Then he’d stomp around the room laughing. Crazy…like he’d gone mad. Once he calmed down, he became the cool professional again.”
None of this made sense any more. Of course, when had it ever made sense? “There’s got to be a reason.”
“Don’t try to figure out why. Focus on keeping your wife safe.” The steady drone of the siren mingled with Landon’s voice ramped the tension. “From what I gathered, he’s after you by using her. Told me he didn’t know which he’d enjoy more—my one-day-at-a-time agony, or the look on your face when he kills your wife right in front of you.”
JB didn’t know what a day-at-a-time agony for Landon meant, but he’d already figured the villain was after himself through Marcy. Now the missing link had fallen into place—Wilson. But who was Carla to him? That could be the key to tripping the man up. Carla? Oklahoma?
“You still there?” Landon asked.
“Yeah. Do you think he’s targeted anyone else?”
“Don’t know. He’s got to be stopped at all costs.”
JB didn’t need anyone telling him what had to be done. He didn’t need the badge to know the procedure. He also knew the unspoken procedures. Ones nobody talked about. Ones that saved lives.
Glancing at his wife, he felt the ache of the hard clench of his jaw. God, he loved her.
Nothing she’d ever done or said had been to put him down. She’d only been protecting herself from her own insecurities. He’d done the same by believing the words from his childhood that he wasn’t good enough. The hell with that. He was damn good. Good enough to fight to save her any way he had to. Whatever the situation called for today, Marcy would survive, or he’d die trying.
That simple. Raw and brutal. No regrets.
“Backup would sure be nice about now.” He gripped the Glock tighter.
“I’m on my way, man. We’re all on our way.” Landon hung up.
Question was…would they get there in time?
…
JB dialed his ex-boss. He needed to know why the man had made him a target. He’d racked his memory for an answer. A reason. Knowing why would give him an edge. Allow him to turn the tables on the killer. Might even be enough to get out of this alive.
“What do you need, JB?” Wilson answered like a man in charge. Concerned. Willing to help. Like a man who actually cared.
For an instant, the thought crossed JB’s mind that maybe Landon had played them all. But it passed. He’d concentrate on Wilson for the moment. “Tell me about the two women victims.”
Papers shuffled again. Or was that the sound of dried leaves crunching beneath a boot? Slapping at clothing as someone ran through the bushes?
“No one ever came forward to claim the remains on one of them. You and Landon came up with the identification on the other woman. Twenty-six. A runaway who latched onto the city and stayed. You two tracked down the parents. Dad a farmer. Mom a gift shop manager. Landon arranged to ship her body back to Oklahoma. Only thing he did right on that job.”
JB jogged his memory. “I never helped ID anybody on that case. Give me a minute to think.”
He concentrated on the day of the bust. The going in. The blast. The wrap-up. The processing. The paperwork and sign-off. Nothing else. No Mom. No Dad. No Oklahoma. In fact, the only time he talked to Landon was an hour after the blast when he’d finally showed up. Said he’d overslept. Said a wreck on the highway had slowed him down. Said he’d forgotten his phone. From the little JB had seen Landon up until then, he’d always seemed like a rock-hard lean-over-the-edge protocol type of special agent. That day, he’d seemed off. Almost human. JB had found him standing in a corner at one point, staring at the floor.
JB forced himself to see the room in detail. Landon had squeezed the bridge of his nose. Face red as a stop light. Looked at the ceiling. Steadied against the wall. Squeezed the bridge of his nose again. JB had asked him if something was wrong. Landon had said he was just coming down with a cold.
Wilson had walked in about that time. The man had stared at the floor. Bent next to a young woman’s body. Blond hair. Black, leather boots. Even touched her hand, her hair. Brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek. Strange behavior for an agent. Especially one who’d been in charge of the bust until that morning. Then he’d jumped up and walked out the door. Said he’d get out of the way.
Landon had said he would finish up his side of the paperwork at home. JB had never seen him again until he’d shown up in Marcy’s hospital room.
JB blew out a sigh. Time to push. To antagonize. “Carla. The woman from Oklahoma was named Carla. Right?”
“Right. How did you know if you didn’t help with the ID?” Wilson laced his voice with accusation.
“You mentioned her.”
“I never mentioned Carla at work.”
Quiet, quiet, quiet.
Had Wilson realized what he said?
“Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it was someone else who knew a Carla.”
“That’s right. B…because I never knew…never… There are lot…lots of women named Carla in the world.” Wilson seemed to choke on the words.
“Yeah, couldn’t have been you. That guy always talked about his girlfriend. Some woman named Carla.” JB had him dead to rights. Everything that had happened since he’d arrived in Crayton was revenge. Revenge for someone Wilson loved. JB loved Marcy. Everything fell into place. “The guy talked about how they were going to South America. A vacation. Might even find a place to buy. Wish I could remember who that was.”
He knew exactly who it was. Wilson. At the time, JB had wondered how they could afford a vacation property on an FBI salary. He’d figured the woman must be rich. The way Wilson had talked about her, one would have thought she was the greatest thing he’d ever had in his life. Must have been to push him to this.
A bump on the side of the house jerked his attention in that direction. After walking to the window, he leaned his ear against the louvers. He could swear he heard a footstep on the porch. Not loud but still a footstep. JB’s anger roiled. When you couldn’t even trust your backup, you were on the devil’s doorstep.
Wilson panted. “You never did say where you were hiding.”
What the hell. The man had to be close anyhow. “We’re at a friend’s cabin on the lake.”
“Bet you even got one of them green wooden swings facing the lake on the front porch. Maybe a tractor-looking bird feeder on the rail.”
JB glanced out the window at the green swing. The bird feeder.
The man was close. Close as the wind outside.
There was one more thing that had been gnawing on JB’s mind. “Hey, when did you contact Landon about coming to Crayton?”
“I left him a voice mail right after you and I talked that afternoon. He didn’t call back until about 8:00 the next morning. Why?”
“Then how did he manage to be in my wife’s hospital room by nine o’clock that morning? Springfield is a good three hours away. It’s almost like he planned everything from the start. What do you think? Why would he do that? Of course, I guess a really smart mastermind would have thought of everything.”
JB waited for a response. Maybe that would be enough to goad Wilson into making a mistake. Into taking credit. Make him confess everything now, so the final confrontation could be quick and done.
“I…you’re right. Takes a smart man to get away with all this.” Wilson paused. “Tell me JB, have you figured out what you did to Landon? What made him want to make you suffer? ‘Cause he’s sure tortured you these past couple weeks. I couldn’t believe he tried to kill your wife right there in the hospital.”
JB punched the wall. Hard and to the point. The son of a bitch on the phone had tried to kill Marcy. He’d been the volunteer with room information back at the hospital, planning everything so Landon would take the fall that day. Even so far as setting the stage to allow Leon out on bail.
Calm, play this calm. “Yeah. Like they say, you never know who your enemies are.”
Wilson chuckled, low and conniving. “Friends…you never know who your friends are.”
“We’ll talk about friends and enemies the next time I see you.” JB ended the call and tossed the phone on the sofa. Didn’t need to talk to anyone else anytime soon. Now, the game centered on the here and now. Him and Marcy.
He knew his friends. They were on their way.
She followed his movements with her eyes. He listened at the window again.
Motioning Marcy to stay quiet, he walked back to her and leaned in close. “You heard me say it’s Wilson?”
She nodded.
“I need to see if he’s set anybody else up. Get him to admit he killed Jennings. Ratted me out.” JB’s lips brushed the hair next to her ear. “I need your help to pull off the plan we talked about. Can you do that? Will you help me?”
She bit her lip, then mouthed. “Yes.”
“Good girl. You can do this.”
She turned to his ear. “What are you going to do?”
He grinned. “Let him in.”
After a quick kiss on her lips, JB pushed her behind him. He turned, she turned. Two people…one movement.
A scratch on the back of the cabin caused him to raise his gun in the direction of the bedroom. Quiet. A lot of quiet seconds. He clocked it on his watch. Cat and mouse sounds or staging sounds? Tiny pecks sounded on the roof like a handful of pebbles being thrown on top. Don’t imagine. Don’t put too much emphasis on any one thing. Could be the rain. The storm. The wind. Could be any number of things.
He zoned into himself, didn’t let his guard down. His back muscles tensed along with his sharpened focus. Adrenaline rampaged through his system. Control. Get the edginess under control. When the moment came, he had to make sure to tell Marcy what to do a second before he reacted.
Wilson had to be outside. Why was he waiting? Didn’t matter. They’d wait him out. Play this out on their own terms.
The two of them stood and turned. Stood and turned, for what seemed like hours. His watch showed ten minutes. Only ten minutes, but more than enough time to set a trap. At least he knew the skunk’s stripe now. One step closer than when he woke up. He processed through the little he knew of Wilson’s routine. Not much there.
Footsteps on the porch. Not quiet. Not sneaking up.
Strong, stomping footsteps. Blunt and in-your-face, I’m-here footsteps.
JB faced the front door, pointed and gripped the Glock with both hands. Squared his stance.
“Hey, JB. Thought you might need help.” Wilson banged on the door. “You in there, JB? Marcy? Let me in. I’ve come to help.”
…
Marcy closed the bedroom door then turned on the shower in the bathroom. Followed the plan. She opened the window where JB’d removed the screen last night. She waited for him to give her the final verbal cue to go. Go out the window, through the trees, down to the lake. He’d told her to climb into the boat and push off.
He’d keep Wilson occupied in the house long enough for her to get away. The script hinged on the jerk believing she was taking a long shower. The ploy hinged on JB risking his life to harvest info from a man crazy enough to blow up a building in broad daylight.
A slight quiver ran the length of her body. From the bits she figured out from JB’s phone conversation, Wilson intended to make her husband hurt the same way he’d hurt. In fact, this guy would probably look her in the face and truthfully say it wasn’t personal as he shot her. Might not be personal to him, but it was mighty personal to her. The idea of JB being hurt in any way was more than she could bear to think about.
She waited.
Getting into the boat frightened her. The idea of being in the middle of the lake by herself scared the bageebers out of her. Sure, she could swim. That wasn’t the point. The boat and the water were the fear factor. Rubbing the back of her head, she half expected to still feel the lump from hitting her head on the side of the boat the day it had capsized years ago. If JB hadn’t jumped in to save her, she’d have sunk to the bottom.
She remembered fighting the water and herself and him. Water mixed with bubbles. Bubbles from her nose as they headed to the light of the water’s surface high above her. Another quiver ran her body. Then another. Fight the fear. All she had to do was get out the window, run to the dock, and fight the fear of the water.
“Hey, JB. Open the door.” Wilson yelled. “I came all this way to help. Surely you can let a buddy in out of the cold.”
“Hold on. I’m coming.” JB’s voice sounded tired. Fake-tired for the most part.
She heard the slight movement of the sofa. The latch on the door being thrown. Her husband baited the killer into their space so she had a chance to get away. What happened after JB got his answers?
Her heart pounded with each word she strained to hear. If she missed her cue, then the set-up would be a bust. As much as she wanted to stay and help, she’d follow the plan. She would not let JB down.
“Come on in, Wilson. Glad to see you. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” JB sounded like a guy opening the door to a high-stakes poker party. These stakes were even higher. “I can use all the help I can get.”
The stomping boots from the porch walked onto the wooden floors in the living room. She swallowed hard. Her breath shallowed, quickened. Nausea vied against her nerves for first place.
“Figured as much. Cut my vacation short just to help you out,” Wilson said. “What the heck took you so long to open the door?”
“Trying to get a little sleep while Marcy takes a shower.” JB chuckled. “I swear that woman uses more water than a steam locomotive.”
Wilson laughed. The noise filled her mind with visions of elves and gnomes on crack.
The sound of her husband’s fake yawn and stretch brought her on alert. Soon. Real soon. She’d do what he planned. JB would handle the rest and make sure they survived. She had to believe that the two of them would be okay. She had to get out.
Out the window. Into the boat. Out of the cove. Had to…had to…had to.
“I haven’t gotten much sleep the past couple nights. If you don’t mind, maybe you can stand guard while I get some rest,” JB said.
“You got it, buddy.” Wilson’s voice held her attention. Somewhere between crazy and sane, his words flowed like sludge. Slow and heavy. “Can you help me bring in my gear from the truck first?”
The sofa scraped the floor a bit. “Help me move this sofa out of the way of the door.” JB’s cue. She inhaled deep. Readied herself.
The sofa scraped again. She hoisted herself to the window, looking outside. At least the fog had lifted. Loud and long, the sofa scraped and banged against the floor, slamming into the wall as she climbed outside. Her coat snagged on a nail from the window frame. She pulled. Pulled again. Had she made a noise? She slipped from the coat and left it hanging.
She ran for the trees. Through the trees. Gun. Where was her gun? The gun? Her stomach cramped. She’d left the gun in the coat…on the nail at the window. Maybe she should go back for it. No. Run. Water…where? She tripped. Slammed into a tree limb. Ran again. The thick fog held heavy in the trees as if trapped. Her feet went out from under her on slick mud, and she crashed to the ground. Slid into a clearing in the woods where the sun had found a spot to soak up the fog. Fast, she jumped back up. Finally, she had a clear skyline through the trees to find her way. Where was the dang boat? She stopped, looked around.
No. No, no, no. Not good. She’d run parallel to the lake. Hadn’t even bothered to look for the water as she ran. Wouldn’t have seen it for the fog. She’d used up valuable time going in the wrong direction. She retraced some of her steps, then turned and started down toward the dock.
Heart pounding, she knelt at the edge of the tree line. Inched forward to the edge of the lake. Moisture crept through the knees of her jeans, coating her legs in icy cold water. JB’d been right. The water was too cold for her to wade to the boat. The storm front had moved in with dropping temperature. Dangerous hypothermia might set in if she got wet and ended up in the boat for any length of time.
That was why the plan had been she walk out on the dock to the boat. That was before she ran the wrong direction and had to circle back. Too much time had passed to assume Wilson wouldn’t be looking out the window. The best she could do was stay low and crawl onto the dock. After inching her way to the side of the boat, she eased downward onto the flat bottom and braced her stance. Undid one of the lines.
The front door on the cabin opened, and she crouched down, peering over the edge of the dock. JB and Wilson walked outside onto the porch. She should have already been gone. Laying in the bottom of the flat–bottomed aluminum jon boat, she continued to watch the men. For less than an instant, she saw JB’s gaze glance across the dock. The boat. He acted as if nothing were out of the ordinary.
Had he seen her? No.
He had to think she was still inside the cabin. That she’d never made it out the window. Her out-of-control running through the trees in the wrong direction had cost them.
How much? How much had it cost?
…
JB’s mind worked to create a new plan. The boat bobbed on the water, still looped to the dock. Marcy hadn’t made it out. He’d hoped to gather more insight into Wilson. Try to garner a confession. See if the man had any traps set for anyone else. With enough information, the FBI could stop the threats.
Not now. The situation had changed. One priority remained. Marcy’s survival.
She must still be in the cabin.
He stretched. Stooped to retie his bootlaces. Walked down the steps. Played for more time. Time for her to get away. Why hadn’t she followed the plan? “Where’s your truck?”
Wilson walked behind him. “Not far.”
JB angled his trail in the direction of the fallen log. The fireplace poker. He still had his Glock, but a backup weapon added an edge. His instincts shouted the man wouldn’t kill him until he made him suffer losing Marcy. JB didn’t plan for either one of those scenarios to happen.
Instinct also told him before this walk ended he’d become a wounded prey. His spine tingled with a shot of adrenaline straight to his brain. He needed to react now. Attack before disabled. He couldn’t. Couldn’t attack until he knew Marcy had escaped.
With Wilson’s expertise in explosives, there was no telling what traps he’d placed. Even if she made it out of the cabin, she could be lying somewhere wounded. The man might have even rigged something so she couldn’t get out of the window. Out of the cabin. She might be trapped inside.
“That’s far enough, JB.” Wilson’s voice quivered with excited anticipation. “Turn around.”
The ruse was over. From now on, everything JB did meant life or death for him and his wife. He felt his nostrils flare. Felt his fingers twitch into their fight rhythm. Felt his will for survival kick into fight-to-the-end mode. He might die today, but he for damn sure wouldn’t die easy.
JB turned to face the monster and his weapon of choice.
“Stay right where you are.” Straight and fierce, Wilson kept his gun trained on him. He appeared composed. Confident in his madness that he was on the side of right. “Hold your arms out to the sides. Shoulder height. Then use your left hand to remove your shoulder holster.”
JB complied. “You don’t want to do this. What if you miss a bullet casing? Leave a fingerprint?”
“I wondered how long it would take you to figure this out. You always were one of my best agents. Too bad.” Wilson motioned with his gun. “Pull your Glock out enough to release the clip. Then throw the clip in the lake.”
“Carla wouldn’t want you to do this.” JB did as told. Heard the splash as the bullets hit the water. “Go back with me, Wilson. Get some help.”
“Tell me, did you figure out Jennings, too? He got a little too close to costing me my money. I had no choice but to get rid of him.” The maniac of an agent laughed. “Carla wore her best schoolgirl outfit. Took him in hook, line, and sinker as a snitch. He believed everything she told him. She was being held. Abused. There were others.” Wilson’s expression oozed of pride. “Got him to the right place for me to pop him.”
Confession. JB didn’t move. A confession he might never get a chance to relay.
Wilson kept his weapon pointed an inch below JB’s Kevlar. The man knew the weak points. “Now the backup gun on your ankle. And that knife you’ve got on your calf. Guess you thought I wouldn’t check your routine. I give you credit for the knife thing. May even use the idea myself.”
“Too bad you won’t get to see South America. You and Carla.” JB pushed the limit. He had nothing to lose. Maybe he could get Wilson to break. To drop his concentration long enough to take him down. One split-second…that’s all JB needed. “Oh, that’s right. You were late to the party. Too late to save her. That why you want to kill Marcy? To ease your guilt for being late?”
“Shut up and do what I said.” The man’s face flushed, eyes bulging.
“Late, Wilson. Late.” JB goaded with precision and the rhythm of a lullaby. “You weren’t in time. Carla trusted you’d be there, and you failed her. That must be hard to face.”
Wilson’s cheek twitched. His predatory posture fractured for a second. Eyes moistened.
JB glided slowly into a new position. Again and again. Each placement of his feet measured. His body angled for the best blow he could strike. Almost like a ballet where every movement took into account the next position. Wilson didn’t seem to notice. He hoped to lull the man holding the gun into a stupor. Anything to slow his reaction time when the moment came.
“It’s not too late for you to lower your weapon, Wilson. We can get you some help.” JB stared the man in the eyes. “You know I had nothing to do with your girlfriend’s death.”
Maniacal laughter coupled with a gasping sob spilled into the air. “Girlfriend? How dare you disgrace her memory with such a thought? Carla was my daughter. My. Daughter.”
Daughter? JB sucked in air. The situation had changed. A man might be angry over the loss of a girlfriend. Even be a motive for payback. But in all likelihood, he could be talked down. The killing of a man’s child was different. Could take vengeance to a whole different level. One that meant blood for blood.
“I didn’t know, Wilson.” JB shuddered to think what he’d do in the same situation. How he’d get retribution against someone he thought had killed his son or daughter. “Why didn’t you ever tell us you had a daughter?”
Wilson shook with anger, his finger set against the trigger and pressing. “Why should I? None of you all ever cared about me. Neither did her mother. I was just a trick that produced a problem. A problem she put up for adoption.”
The air seemed to have grown thicker. Made breathing more labored. Life more fragile.
“Didn’t even get to see Carla till she showed up at my front door a few years back. She was in trouble with some dealers. Needed my help.” The man shook his head. “Every time I got her out of one situation, another came up. Figured getting her…us…out of the country was the only way to give her a new start. That meant money…and….”
“So you started skimming the drugs and money we busted. I can understand the odds you were up against.” JB needed time. “After all, you were her father. Who else could she turn to?”
Wilson nodded. “Then Jennings came snooping. Once I offed him, I’d made my choice. Needed to make one big score. Took months to set that meth bust. Then you…you and Landon screwed everything up.”
JB angled with his words, hoping something he said would make the man have a second thought. “We didn’t know she was your daughter. You should have told us she’d be there. We could have—”
“What? Just what the hell would you two upstanding special agents have done? You sure as hell wouldn’t have gone down my path. Besides, I had everything planned. You and Landon screwed everything up.” Wilson shook his head, raised the gun straight, and primed to shoot. “You called the go. Landon could have stopped you if he’d been on time. And that turncoat boss of mine… He ordered the bust a day early. He’ll get his, too. Him and his bratty kids.” Pure venom had oozed in his last words.
In that moment, JB knew there’d be no taking Wilson alive. This had to end today. On this hill. He would not risk other lives to save his own. Either he or Wilson would not walk away at the end of the day. That was all right with him as long as Marcy walked away.
Maybe he could get Wilson to shoot him. Make him think he’d made a direct hit, then come at him from behind when he turned. JB’d seen no sign of Marcy. She still had to be inside the cabin. Okay, she’d be safe there. Backup was on the way. She could barricade herself in until they arrived. Worst case, she had a gun and knew how to use it.
Wilson regrouped, motioning JB to step backward again and again. “That should be far enough.” Nonchalant, the man reached in his pocket. “Shame about the cabin.”
The cabin? What about the cabin?
The explosion happened like the blink of an eye. One second, the cabin sat peacefully. Blink. The cabin growled into a fireball.
Trees shook. Ground rumbled. The air echoed with the intensity of the bomb. Boulders catapulted down the hillside. What had been logs became sticks, sharp and jagged as they shot through the air. Searing heat blasted across the open ground.
“Marcy!” JB roared louder than the bellowing flames. He plastered a charge of blows to Wilson’s nose, his jaw, his kidney. JB dropped, rolled, and came up with the stashed poker from beside the log.
Wilson shot. Shot again.
Hot fire pummeled JB’s right shoulder as he swung the iron against the agent’s knee with his good arm. He swung again. Landed a second blow. Wilson staggered, then regained his footing. Smashed his fist into the gunshot wound. JB dropped.
The killer stomped the bleeding shoulder and held. “How does it feel to know you’ll never hold your sweet, little wife again? Huh? I blew her sky high. If she’d of died back in front of the bank, you’d at least have had a chance to say goodbye.”
JB spun out of the hold, crawling to his knees. Wilson back-slashed him across the face with the gun stock.
“You might as well kill me, too, Wilson. ‘Cause I’ll hunt you down one inch at a time.” JB hoisted himself to his feet. “And when I find you, you won’t even know what happened.”
He lowered his head and charged Wilson’s midsection. The man pulled his backup Glock, crashing it across the back of JB’s skull. He staggered. Still fought.
Wilson grabbed the poker. Slammed the iron across JB’s shoulders and forearm. JB grabbed his arm. No sound. No cry of pain. His arm hung at a worthless angle. Broke.
Still he fought with his good arm. Backed Wilson up with the blows. The agent smashed JB’s arm again. JB fell to his knees. Wilson stabbed him with the end of the poker right below the Kevlar.
“One more thing.” The crazed man laughed. “Wonder who ratted you out on that last job?”
JB had no doubt. Didn’t matter. The man had killed Marcy. That mattered. This fight wasn’t over. Wouldn’t be over until he took his last breath. “You didn’t even have the guts to do the job yourself, did you? Had to hire it out.”
“I hated I couldn’t be there when they branded you.” Wilson’s laugh coiled like a snake around his words. “They said you took a long time to pass out from the pain.” He raised the iron, fireplace poker over JB’s head. “Should only take one hard blow today. Goodbye, sucker.”
…
“Noooooooo!” Marcy screamed. Stood. She needed to get Wilson’s attention. Get him away from her husband.
She worked the rope on the final line. If she could get free, then Wilson would follow her. If she didn’t, he’d finish JB. She worked her fingers through the tight knot.
Wilson jerked, facing the dock as he smashed the sharp end of the poker downward.
She squinted to see if the blow had connected with JB but couldn’t tell. He hadn’t moved. What did that mean? Was he unconscious? Dead? He couldn’t be. This couldn’t be the end. Not like this.
Wilson never looked down to see if he landed his blow as he yelled with rage. Livid, he threw the poker at her. The iron plummeted onto the ground and tumbled end over end into the lake. Suddenly, he staggered. Fell. Had JB jerked on the man’s legs?
Wilson regained his footing, stumbled again, then hollering like a crazed man with no other words, he charged down the hill.
Sinister. Loathing. Rage.
He’d gone mad. All her analyzing in the world wouldn’t get her out of this. If he got to her, he’d kill her. And, JB? If he was still alive, Wilson would go back and finish him off after he finished with her.
She struggled with the knot, her fingers scraping against the dry hemp. Hard and brittle, yet set like cement in the twines of the knot. Her hand slipped. Blade-like strands of rope sliced her fingers. Blood coated her hands, the rope. She fought to ignore her reaction to the sight. Fought to push the nausea aside. Widened her eyes to battle the lightheadedness.
The closer he came, the more his face snarled with hate. Then he stopped. Glanced over his shoulder at JB.
Crazed laughter escaped from Wilson’s mouth. “Too bad JB’s gone on to his maker.” He turned back to face her, laughing even louder. “Maybe I’ll just take you with me to South America. Shouldn’t take long to convince you to cozy up to me. Do what I say…when I say…how I say.”
He charged forward. Tripped over his boots. Picked up a handful of rocks and threw them at her again and again. Like an angry child tossing their toy in the corner, he screamed through his sob. He’d gone over the edge of sanity. So crazy he had no idea what he was doing. He charged again.
Why couldn’t she get the rope free? Her bleeding fingers fumbled. The more she pulled, the tighter the rope got. Her hand scraped, ripped open. A nail? The rope had snagged on a nail. She tugged the loop upward over the rusted metal till it finally popped free. Looking up at the scene on the hillside, she shoved away from the dock with the oar.
From the corner of her eye, she saw JB push to his knees. Swiping his hand across the side of his head, he struggled to stand. Staggered. Tumbled down the hillside. Grabbed onto the sapling. Bad arm wrapped around the tree, he flung a flat stone aside, grabbing the clip he’d hidden underneath. She watched him claw his way back up the hill toward the Glock. His feet dug into the dirt, pushed. Pushed. Slid. The Kevlar snagged on a log. He shucked out of the vest’s protection. Dug his feet in again.
Sirens wailed in the back ground. Closer and closer. She paddled and paddled, but got nowhere. More sirens joined in.
Wilson turned in the direction she was looking. “Sonofabitch. You bastard, don’t you ever stay down? “ More crazed laughter. “You’ll never make it to one of your guns in time.” The man waded out into the water and grabbed the bow of the boat, hoisting himself inside, even as she pelted him with the oar. “You’re dead, Marcy Bradley.”
The sirens stopped. Through the trees, red and blue lights flashed. Shouts from familiar voices echoed through the brush.
She clawed at the man in the boat with all the strength she possessed. Grabbed a buzz bait lure from the bottom of the boat and scraped the hook across his face. “JB. The bait box. Bait box.”
The man grabbed her hand and squeezed till she released her hold on the lure. The hook lodged in his cheek, and a trickle of bright red blood edged down his jaw line.
Her husband rolled down the hill, staggered to the bait box, and reached inside for the extra gun. Wilson fired at him. The bullet clipped the wood at the edge of the dock. She walloped at the man’s knee JB had smashed before, but Wilson backhanded her before she could strike again.
“Let her go.” JB’s voice was hard as steel. “Let. Her. Go.”
Wilson pulled her in front of him. She watched her husband brace into his stance on the dock. His right arm dangled useless. The gun in his left hand an extension of his straight arm. Wilson raised his gun to fire, and Marcy elbowed him in the ribs. Punched her foot back at his knee. The man flinched in pain, and she spun away.
JB notched down ever so slight. “Dive, Marcy. Dive.”
She jumped a split-second before shots rang out.
Two from JB.
One from Wilson.
The water swallowed her whole.