The Promisor: A Suspense Thriller

by Dustin Stevens

  A means of seclusion for the centerpiece of the spread, an in ground pool running parallel to the home.

  Keeping the gun outstretched before him, The Promisor watched as Wilde lurched to his left. Still reeling from the pair of blows, he fought to get his balance, a process that drew the attention of the two people sprawled on chaise loungers at the far end of the pool.

  A pair of women that could be sisters if not for the twenty-five years separating them, both resting with damp hair and towels wrapped around their torsos.

  Looking up in tandem at the bloodied Wilde and The Promisor holding a gun, they both froze, their eyes wide.

  “Do not say a word.”

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  The voices weren’t nearly as loud as Reed would expect for such a situation. An order that must have been issued by Reese, informing them that any attempts to yell out, calling for help, would only end badly for all of them.

  Barely rising above a conversational level, Reed could pick out only bits and pieces, the rest obscured by the wooden fence beside him and the last vestiges of the ringing in his ears. Occasional snippets that always seemed to be coming from the same person, a male voice that had to belong to Brooks Reese.

  The man Reed had spotted just moments after he and Billie exited the vehicle, making it no further than the driveway before the clear glass of the front door gave them a clear view of a man Reed assumed to be Reese pushing Jonathan Wilde toward the backyard.

  A direct look through the interior of the home to the man walking with a gun outstretched before him. A downgrade from his preferred rifle, but a weapon still plenty large enough to inflict serious damage, especially at such a short range.

  A task that looked to have already started, Wilde’s face a crimson mask as he staggered out onto the back patio.

  Needing only a moment for what he was seeing to register, Reed immediately fell back. Peeling out of sight from the door, he slid past the vehicles parked side by side along the front of the home.

  A quick sprint to the corner of the house before signaling to Jacobs still idling on the curb and McMichaels parked a couple of houses down. Frantic waving that was completely unnecessary, both having seen his prior movement, already exiting their respective vehicles.

  Drawing their weapons in unison, Jacobs waited alongside the sedan for his partner. Coming together on the sidewalk, they both came forward in a low crouch, using the SUV for cover as they joined Reed and Billie.

  “Eyes on?” McMichaels whispered.

  Nodding, Reed said, “He’s armed and has Wilde, who is already bleeding.”

  Exchanging a glance, the two men said nothing.

  “The front door gives a clear view through the house,” Reed continued. “Looks to be taking him out to the backyard.”

  Turning to peer over his shoulder, he glanced to the wooden fence extended from the side of the house. A basic design, meant to enclose a backyard for children or surrounding a pool.

  Focusing on the wood stained dark, Reed said, “Looks like we’ve got a gate on the fence down here at the end of the sidewalk. Front door was open. Not sure about the other end.”

  Nodding in understanding, McMichaels asked, “Split it, try to circle him?”

  “That’s what I’m thinking,” Reed replied. “Billie and I will take this one if you guys can cover the others.”

  A plan the officers accepted with a nod, both peeling off as Reed and Billie got into position. The same post they now held, Reed waiting with his Glock gripped in a shooting stance.

  By his side, Billie stood with legs slightly bent. A coiled spring bearing not the slightest bit of hesitation, the blood stains on her vest and the creases carved through her fur the only signs of what happened earlier.

  Counting seconds in his head, Reed gave the officers half a minute. Time enough to get into position before releasing his left hand from the base of his weapon. Reaching first to Billie, he touched the tip of her left ear, silently alerting her of their impending movement before extending his hand toward the latch on the gate.

  Pressing his thumb down on the wrought iron spoon, he wrapped his hand around the matching handle. Squeezing tight, he felt the lever release, allowing him to slowly ease it open.

  An inch at a time, he pulled back on the wooden barricade, opening it no more than a couple of feet. Far enough to afford them enough space to slip through and a clear view of the sidewalk that extended out another five feet ahead of them. A narrow corridor framed between the fence and the side of the house, tall shrubs and vegetation winnowing the space to no more than a couple of feet across.

  A tunnel looking straight out over the south end of the backyard, framing a pair of women. Ladies with a strong semblance to one another, both with blonde hair hanging damp to their shoulders, their bodies wrapped in floral beach towels.

  Standing perpendicular to him, they were completely rigid, their hands raised by their sides. Neither so much as aware of Reed and Billie’s presence, they stood with mouths agape, tears glistening from the younger of the two’s cheeks.

  Under the weight of his Kevlar vest, the outer nylon casing shredded from the shotgun blast earlier, Reed could feel sweat saturating his t-shirt. His heart rate climbed as he began to ease forward, Billie by his side.

  “I bet you still don’t have any idea why I’m here, do you?” Reese said, the sound of his voice much stronger without the gate between them.

  With each step Reed took, it grew louder still, tinged with simmering rage.

  “Any clue what I’ve been doing all week?”

  Shoulders turned square to the side of the house, Reed crossed one leg over the other. Moving along one step at a time, he made his way forward, stopping just short of the corner of the house. A vantage that left them still relatively obscured, tucked away behind the shrubbery, while still letting Reed see out into the backyard.

  An elongated sprawl that was longer even than the home itself, the space dominated by an enormous swimming pool. A rectangle of water framed on the backside by towering willow trees, their limbs hanging down just past the far edge.

  On the front side stood a man who Reed had no doubt was Reese. A man sporting all the telltale features of a career soldier, from the compact build to the buzzcut just starting to trend toward silver.

  A man that also bore the signs of what he’d been through in recent months, every tendon and vein in his neck and arm bulging, his eyes blazing as he stood with the gun outstretched before him.

  Serving as the final piece of the scenario was Wilde. Standing between Reese and the pair of women, his arms and legs were all spread wide, attempting to serve as a human blockade between the two sides. An effort that Reese did not seem to appreciate as he inched closer, his position making it almost impossible for whichever officer was coming through the house to get a clear line on him.

  A problem that Reed at least partially shared, Wilde’s stance obstructing any sort of firing lane.

  “Huh?” Reese yelled, his voice rising as he again nudged closer, jabbing the gun out before him. “Do you even know who I am?!”

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  Reed had a decision to make.

  Standing at the corner of the house, he could remain behind cover of the shrubs and hope that Wilde continued to backpedal, eventually affording him a clear line of sight. He could also wait for McMichaels and Jacobs to circle around, drawing Reese’s attention away long enough for him to make a move.

  Or he could step out and let his presence be known, hopefully distracting Reese enough to let them get into position.

  Three options without a clear leader, or even a single one that Reed would consider positive. A trio of evils, his entire decision-making process coming down to a single point. One thing that was undeniable, made more obvious with each word Reese uttered.

  His anger was rising, his breaking point drawing ever closer, meaning that whatever time Reed and the Wildes had was fast drawing to an end.

  A c
hoice Reed in no way wanted to make, each additional second causing the thrum of his pulse to climb.

  “Brooks Reese!”

  His voice raised to be heard without sounding threatening, Reed paused long enough for the words to land and register before inching out from around the shrubs. Maintaining the crouched stance, he crossed one foot over the other, taking two sideways steps away from the corner. Strides matched by his partner beside him, a low grumble rising from deep within her.

  An audible reminder that she was ready to move, all Reed needed to do was give the command.

  Going no further, Reed chose a spot that made them plainly visible while still affording freedom of movement. Sufficiently close to go diving for cover or to rush toward the pair of women if need be.

  Situational benefits gained at the expense of limiting any chance at getting a shot on Reese even further, Wilde now almost directly between them. A man standing with all four limbs splayed out, his body completely rigid from the sound of the unexpected voice.

  Peering past him, Reed put his focus on Reese positioned twenty feet away. A man holding a gun at shoulder height, his lips pulled back over gritted teeth.

  Eyes wide, he flicked his gaze from Wilde to Reed and Billie. “Who the hell are you?”

  Ignoring the question, Reed said, “You asked if anybody even knew who you were. We do. You’re Brooks Reese.”

  Chancing a half step forward, Billie by his side, Reed added, “You also asked if they knew what you’ve been doing all week. We do. We know about Gallipolis, and Newark, and earlier today in Westerville.”

  Smirking just enough to tilt his chin a fraction of an inch, Reese replied, “You don’t know a damn thing.”

  Once more, Reed allowed his front foot to creep forward, cutting into the distance between them and Wilde. A change of position that didn’t improve his chances of firing, but at least gave him a better line of sight along the concrete walkway lining the rear of the home.

  An area where he hoped to see the dark uniform of McMichaels or Jacobs soon appear.

  “We do,” Reed said a third time, his every thought on keeping the man talking, letting the others get into position. “We know about the people you’re choosing. About what happened to your son.”

  At the mention of his son, Reese pressed his lips into a tight line. Drawing in a deep breath, his nostrils flared, his eyes widening once more.

  The tip of the gun in his hand quivered slightly, his body so filled with various emotions he could barely maintain them.

  “If you know about my son, then you know he was a good kid,” Reese seethed. “Made one mistake, owned up to it, and ended up dead for it.”

  Flicking his focus between Reese and the gaps behind him, the space coming in from the side via the main house, the opening at the far end of the pool from a gate that may or may not exist, Reed inched ever closer.

  An approach that would go no further, interrupted by the person standing between him and Reese. The individual fixed in position, an organic statue serving merely as a set piece for the conversation playing out.

  The man who picked the worst possible moment to insert himself.

  “Reese,” Wilde whispered, the unexpected sound of his voice snapping Reed’s attention toward him. “You’re the father of Adley Reese.”

  The instant the single sentence found Reed’s ears, he felt palpitations rise through his chest. His body’s internal warning that an error had just been made, the need for action imminent.

  Easily the worst possible words the man could have said, any chance at further discussion evaporated. Any hope of stalling a moment longer, letting the officers creep closer.

  Seeing the expression on Reese’s face, the rage that rippled across his features as he twisted to the side, the barrel of the gun turning toward Wilde’s wife and daughter, Reed shoved forward off his back foot. A sprinter bursting from the blocks, propelling his weight forward.

  Two elongated strides before flinging himself into the air, throwing his entire body at the two women standing nearby. A weightless flight with him hanging suspended above the ground, floating parallel to it, as the first sounds of gunshots could be heard.

  A pair of rounds ringing out just as he made contact with the elder of the women, his weight and momentum mashing into her. A linebacker striking an unsuspecting receiver, knocking her into her daughter nearby.

  Three people colliding violently, the impact multiplied as a bullet mashed into the Kevlar vest Reed was wearing. A shot striking him directly in the left kidney, feeling as if he had been punched by someone that knew what they were doing.

  A blow drawing the air from his lungs, rotating him a few inches in the air as all three went careening into the pool. A domino effect with Billie bringing up the rear, deep braying sounding out as she followed her partner’s lead.

  Plunging beneath the surface of the water, Reed could hear more gunshots above. A handful or more in total as the water slowed his momentum, his entire core squeezed tight by the impact of the shot as he managed to plant his feet against the shallow bottom of the pool.

  His every thought on Reese and the Wildes and his partner, he drove himself straight up out of the depths. An effort that set every injury he’d sustained in the last several hours afire at once, causing him to suck in wind as he broke up through the surface, his Glock extended before him.

  Water sluicing down over the top of his head and from the saturated vest and clothing he was wearing, Reed scanned the scene before him. One that had changed drastically in just the last few seconds, Wilde on the ground with McMichaels kneeling over him, the front of the man’s shirt soaked with blood.

  A few feet away, Jacobs stood alongside the pool. His weapon extended before him, his body was aimed at the far end of the backyard. Squeezing off a pair of rounds, he paused only long enough to glance over, calling, “Are you guys okay?”

  A question Reed answered with but a single word, screaming, “Reese!” as he jerked his attention toward where Jacobs was firing, sighting in on the man fleeing the far end of the backyard. The one with a crimson bloom staining the back of his pale t-shirt, his movements stiff and pained as he used a piece of lawn furniture to vault himself at the privacy fence.

  Standing in the shallow end of the pool, Reed gulped in as much oxygen as his battered ribcage would allow. Sighting in on the target across from him, he tugged back on the trigger. One time after another, he snapped off rounds as fast as the mechanism in his weapon would reset, orange blossoms erupting from the tip as he sent five shots in order across the length of the property.

  Explosions of light and sound that combined with everything else Reed had already sustained, further assailing his senses.

  Shots that chewed up a combination of wood and flesh as Reese spilled over, disappearing from sight.

  Chapter Eighty

  The hope was that it would be a replay of what happened with the Oxiles twins in Gallipolis a couple of nights before. Forced off his initial plan, Reese would be left to roam the streets on foot. Forced to have approached the Wilde house on foot, he would be left with no vehicular means of escape, allowing Billie to run him down in a matter of minutes.

  A plan that worked well up to a point, eventually thwarted by the fact that unlike the Oxiles brother they were chasing a couple of nights before, Reese’s vehicle and his keys were both close by, enabling him to slip away.

  An escape made possible, Reed was willing to bet, only through the enormous confluence of factors that inhibited them from giving instantaneous chase.

  The moment Reese disappeared over the privacy fence, Reed’s immediate concern turned to the people around him. The two women – Wilde’s wife Sandra and daughter Lizzy – who he had knocked into the pool, and Billie who dove in after them. A massive tangle of soaked clothing and blonde hair and black fur standing in water tinged red.

  Swirls of fresh blood that led him to help each of them up and out of the pool before having the Wildes methodically check o
ver one another while doing the same for Billie.

  A few frantic minutes that revealed the source of the ribbons of blood striping the pool to be Reed himself, the host of wounds from outside Reese’s gate earlier having reopened upon him hitting the water. Fresh gouges to his arms and the base of his skull that hadn’t had a chance to scab, long pink tendrils running over exposed skin as he stood dripping in the evening air.

  Once he made sure Sandra and Lizzy were okay, the most glaring injury seeming to be an aching shoulder for the former from Reed tackling her into the pool, he moved to Wilde on the sidewalk nearby. Reclined completely flat, he kept trying to raise his chin to his chest, staring down at his bloodied torso.

  Twin gunshots that McMichaels was doing his best to plug by applying pressure, his bare fingers stained red with blood. Beside him, Jacobs worked the radio, calling out for immediate backup and emergency medical assistance.

  A two-man team that had been through similar situations before, each knowing their role in the face of civilian casualties.

  Grabbing a towel from the closest pool lounger, Reed held it out for McMichaels. Waiting until the officer had subbed it in for his bare hands and reapplied pressure, he then joined Jacobs a few steps away, letting him finish his call to dispatch before asking, “What happened?”

  “There’s no gate on the far side,” Jacobs muttered. “Took us an extra minute to come back around and go through the house. Got here just as he opened fire and you guys went into the water.

  “When he saw us, he shot Wilde to buy himself some time.”

  Pretty much exactly as Reed had expected, he nodded in understanding.

  “You okay?” Jacobs asked.

  “Vest took it, rest is leftovers from earlier,” Reed replied as he raised his gaze to the far end of the yard. Focusing on the chunks of blonde wood gouged from the darker backdrop of the stained fence by their bullets, he said, “Looked like he’d been hit at least once.”