To think that of everything they had put into place for the evening, she ended up becoming the centerpiece was almost laughable. Long ago, though, he had learned not to question whatever desires the people that showed for their parties harbored.
It was those very things, after all, that allowed them to do what they did.
“Excellent,” he whispered.
Nodding slightly, Paco remained silent. Side by side, they stood before the monitors, watching the screens, ensuring everything was in order.
Right up until the moment the first lights of a car approaching pierced the darkness outside their windows, breaking their trance, putting them both into simultaneous motion.
Chapter Seventy-Six
The suit was technically my size, though that didn’t mean a whole lot. Considering the paper-thin material and the cheap construction of it, both pieces sagged in places they shouldn’t, hugged in areas I’d rather they didn’t.
They smelled like at least a handful of people had tried them on previously, one or two of them in dire need of a shower.
Not that any of those things were especially important. I wasn’t wanting to wear it to a wedding, didn’t need to close a business deal or appear before a camera.
All I needed was something with at least a passing whiff of legitimacy, something that another guard or someone moving past in a hurry might see without noticing.
Opting against picking up a dress shirt as well, I went with the plain neoprene shirt I’d already been wearing. Hoping the basic suit and t-shirt look would be sufficient, I shrugged the outfit on in the Wal-Mart bathroom, leaving my shorts stuffed into a trash can.
It wasn’t like I would ever have a need for the damn things again, the items purchased at the sporting goods store sixteen hours earlier for a very specific purpose.
Now that that had been served, they were gone, cast aside for whoever might wander into the bathroom after me.
Once my attire was in order, I ripped the grooming scissors out of their packaging, giving my beard a quick trim. Doing little more than knocking off the excess length, I left it a uniform half-inch, not having the time to attempt an actual shave.
Last before leaving, I smeared a glob of gel through my hair, using the comb to peel it away from my forehead. Pushing it straight back, I plastered it against my skull, watching as the reflection in the mirror took on a decidedly hipster vibe.
Considering the hundred bucks and ten minutes I had invested in the look, it would have to do.
Leaving everything but the bars and Gatorade – as much for Elyse and whatever state she might be in as for me - behind in the bathroom trash, I sprinted for the car, sliding in and firing it up.
Five minutes later, I was pushing west from the northern corner of the city, keeping the Cumberland River outside the passenger window. As I went, I alternated glances between my phone and the road, checking over the overhead schematic Pally had sent over.
The spread looked vaguely familiar, the sort of setup I had seen a few times before in a previous life. Not matching exactly with any one in particular, there was a passing semblance to many of them, the general items needed for such an enterprise never varying too much.
A single road led into the place, with a driveway a half-mile in length. Dense forest lined what little road frontage there was, making it invisible to anybody passing by. Shaped like an upturned thumb, all structures were pushed toward the back, the curve of the river providing a boundary on three sides.
If given the time and resources, the river would have been the best approach. It would be infinitely more difficult for them to surveil, would allow me to breach right next to the mansion on the back end.
But that also required having access to a boat. And somewhere to moor it or a pilot to let me out and pick me up.
As it were, I was forced to use the road, having to make my way on foot across the length of the property, which meant moving through more than a half-mile of dense forest followed by skirting a private airstrip.
From there, things would get tricky, as I needed to somehow cover a couple hundred yards of open ground before reaching the main house.
Staring at it, so many snippets from my past sprang to mind. Raids that had ended successfully. Snafus that had occurred along the way.
One at a time, I analyzed them, imposing them against the information I had, parsing through the differences between now and then.
The biggest one was obvious – I was alone. Whereas I had at one point had a team of trained operatives beside me, I was now fighting a solo battle.
And I was doing so without the benefit of explosives. Or heavy weaponry. Or motorized vehicles. Or even a badge.
What I did have was a personal connection, a reason for driving into the night that far outpaced anything I might have been doing back then.
With each mile that passed under my tires, I could feel adrenaline seeping into my system. Physiological responses that spent so much of my life lying dormant just beneath the surface pushed forth, threatening to leak from my pores.
My senses sharpened. My body temperature rose, sweat soaking through the armpits and lower back of the cheap suit.
The smell of John Kuntzman’s burnt flesh seeped into my nostrils.
Everything I had done the last two days, every mission I had been on in the last ten years, was in preparation for this.
Once more I checked the map on my phone before tossing it aside. Without the faint glow of it, the darkness of the car became more pronounced. The details of the world outside drew into sharper focus.
Time and again over the years, I offered to every deity known and imagined that I would trade places with my wife and daughter in an instant if given the chance. No questions asked, no hesitation whatsoever.
That opportunity was never coming. No matter how badly I wanted it, no matter how much bartering I tried to do, it would simply never come to pass.
But I did have a shot now at something else. Something that would never make it right, but would ensure that another person close to me didn’t die a senseless death.
For the time being, that would have to be enough.
Chapter Seventy-Seven
The situation before me presented both pros and cons. On the plus side was the obvious, beginning with the cover of darkness to blanket my approach and the fact that there was a major party taking place. The former would aid in my approach. The latter would keep people distracted, would ensure that the attention of whatever security was on site was focused inward instead of out.
It would also, theoretically, make it a bit easier for me to move around. Should I get close enough, I could feign being a lost guest, a gambit a lot easier to play at than just trying to explain why one bearded stranger was roaming the grounds on this particular night.
At the same time, it narrowed my timeframe tremendously. I had only a small window before things really started to break down. People would begin to succumb to alcohol, would start pairing off or heading for home.
If I was going to get in and find Elyse, it had to happen before then. If not, the chances of her being relocated or worse rose exponentially.
If either one of those came to pass, there was a good chance this time she was gone for good. No amount of wizardry from Pally, no number of foolhardy efforts on my part, could possibly change that.
Driving with the windows up, I moved past the front entrance to the property. Despite the gates standing open and the twin bulbs burning bright on the brick stanchions to either side, I moved by without so much as a glance over.
There was just no way I could pull into the driveway, no matter how inviting. Not with the length of it. Especially not considering that’s where any cameras and security efforts would be concentrated.
Reaching out, I shut off my phone, not wanting to take a chance on an errant ring or even the faceplate illuminating at an inopportune moment. Tucking it into the inside pocket of my jacket, I lifted my foot from the gas, letting the SUV coast forw
ard. Making it around a small bend in the road, I watched until the glow of the front entrance disappeared from sight. From there, I shifted my focus to the far side, staring intently at the fence line keeping the forest behind it at bay.
It took almost three-quarters of a mile, further than I would have preferred, before I spotted what I was looking for, the gap just barely visible. Nothing more than twin ruts pressed into the thick grass, they were spaced four feet apart.
Above them, a gap had been cut in the fence line, the boards from a single section pulled away, allowing entry.
Flipping the headlights off, I gave the brakes one hard push, the car dropping more than half of its forward momentum. Not wanting to have the brake lights flare any more than necessary, I raised my foot, letting the engine idle as I swung out to the right before banking hard into the turnoff.
The distance from the edge of the road down into the grass was deeper than it appeared, the front end bucking as I dropped down into a shallow ditch. Weeds slapped at the undercarriage as the nose pointed straight down before rising toward the treetops, the tires fighting for purchase on the loose grass.
Resisting the urge to hit the gas, to make any extra noise, I gripped the steering wheel in both hands, holding tight, willing the vehicle forward.
Inch by inch it fought on, leveling out and creeping past the fence posts on either side. Overhead, the trees pushed in tight, blotting much of the sky from view.
Turning in my seat, I watched as the rear bumper cleared the tree line. Pulling forward a couple of extra feet, I waited until I was sure it wasn’t visible from a distance before reaching up and turning off the interior dome light.
Only then did I crack open the door and slide out, pressing it closed just far enough that the latch caught.
Standing alone in the forest, my senses strained. My nose picked up the loamy scents of moist dirt and sphagnum. I heard a cicada in the distance. The air felt cool on my skin.
Nowhere did I detect anything that wasn’t supposed to be there. Nothing manmade. Certainly nothing that indicated I had been spotted, that someone was giving me chase.
Circling around the front end of the SUV, I cracked open the passenger door. Assessing the small collection of arms I had amassed, I began with the Wilson Tactical Carry, sliding it into the small of my back. The folding knife went into the front pocket on my right side, able to be wielded by my dominant hand if need be.
Into the front left went an extra magazine for the Brownings, the last of what I’d lifted from the rednecks at the driving range two nights before.
How so much could have transpired since then still didn’t seem real, the days one unending blur, a menagerie of sights and sounds and actions that would drift just beneath my subconscious for months to come.
The bat I left behind, the blunt object having done its part better than I could have hoped for, but not designed for what was likely to come next.
Which left only the twin Brownings. Both prepped with a round in the chamber and a full magazine, the faintest hint of moonlight glinted off their barrels.
Reaching out, I took one in either hand, feeling their grips settle into my palms. Bending at the elbow, I let them both rest against the front of my shoulders, barrels toward the sky, the faint smell of gun oil just barely noticeable.
Holding them both felt good. It felt balanced. It provided plenty of firepower for whatever lay ahead.
But it would be foolish. Already I was at a saturation point, needing to keep a hand free, to be able to react to whatever the situation presented me.
Replacing one of the Brownings, I closed the door and took a moment, letting my eyes slide shut, drinking in the scent of the woods around me, one final attempt to steel myself for the coming hour.
The place I was going into was a veritable compound. It was expansive, likely fortified with more than enough men to oversee the grounds, all armed for come what may.
I was a single man with two handguns and a knife.
An uncle with a niece in need of help.
A husband and a father that missed his family.
Chapter Seventy-Eight
The woman staring back in the mirror at Elyse Denman looked nothing like the girl that she saw every morning when she woke up. Or anybody else she’d ever seen in person, for that matter.
Her hair had been flat-ironed, straightened so that it was at least three inches longer than usual, hanging in long parentheses on either side of her face, falling down over her shoulders.
Her eyebrows had been plucked into two narrow stripes, faintly visible above her eyes. A combination of foundation and rouge gave her face contour, completely obscuring any hint of the bruising and stitches on her cheek.
Enveloping her body was a silver A-frame dress, starting at her neck and stopping halfway between her hips and knees. Covered in crystals, it caught what little light there was in the room, her entire body seeming to shimmer, even as she stood still.
On her feet were a pair of three-inch stilettos, the shoes a full two inches taller than anything she’d ever attempted before. Already she could feel the blood rushing into her toes, her feet cramping from the awkward position.
“What do you think?” Tracee asked.
Staring at the reflection, Elyse had no idea how to respond. Her lips parted, the air driven from her, as she tried to formulate a response.
In most any other forum, she would be able to comprehend what she was looking at. She would see what the woman had managed to do in just half an hour, her eyebrows rising in surprise.
She would understand where she was headed, why the look had been cultivated in the first place.
Knowing none of that, Elyse merely stood and stared, fear gripping her. The appearance she had been given left nothing to chance, no room for the imagination to spread. It was done with a specific design, meant to appeal to a very certain type of person.
None of which was good.
“I...” she managed, tears again beginning to pool beneath her eyes. “Uh...”
Shooting a hand into her purse, Tracee snatched up a wad of tissue. Extending it before her, she thrust it into Elyse’s hand.
“Don’t do that,” she cautioned. “We don’t have time to fix your makeup again before he comes back.”
Taking the offering, Elyse spread her fingers wide, latching onto Tracee’s hand. Tugging her a few inches forward, she bent at the waist, her body balanced precariously on the ridiculous platform shoes.
“Please,” she whispered. “You have to help me.”
Staring back in earnest, the same ripple that appeared before passed over Tracee’s features. Her eyes traced Elyse’s face, taking in every millimeter of it, before peering directly back at her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I told you, I can’t.”
Her bottom lip trembled as she held the pose, the two of them just inches apart, before blinking twice. Pulling back slightly, she drew in a deep breath through her nose, using it to lift her gaze toward the ceiling.
“Now then,” she said, sliding her hand from Elyse’s grip, “just one more thing, and you’re ready.”
Turning, she shoved a hand back down into her bag, rummaging from side to side. Buried well past the wrist, she moved things about, searching for what she needed, before drawing it out in one quick movement.
Elyse barely saw the flash of the syringe as it headed for her exposed thigh. Barely even felt the prick as it entered her skin.
Not until her vision began to blur, her reflexes dulling slightly, did she even realize what had happened.
Chapter Seventy-Nine
There are geographic features inherent to different parts of the country. In Louisiana, the swamps are so thick and dense that a man would need a boat with an outboard motor and a seasoned guide just to find their way around. Fifteen hundred miles due west of there, anyone foolish enough to be barefooting through Arizona should have at least a gallon of water and be able to navigate by the stars.
If you’re even thinking about being in Washington, you’d better have a way of keeping your gear and your feet dry, otherwise, everything is susceptible to rot and mold, the persistent dampness enough to work through most anything.
Where I call home, the biggest adjustment that one has to make is to the elevation. Anywhere from five to ten thousand feet above sea level, the air is much thinner than people realize. It doesn’t fill the lungs the way people expect, doesn’t replenish the muscles in the same way.
Hypoxia can set in quickly, leaving a person light headed. If bad enough, it can cause a blackout, even a stroke.
After six years of living there nearly year-round, I have adapted to it. No longer do I worry about altitude sickness. Never do I concern myself with exertion levels, knowing my body is used to drawing on the lower levels of oxygen.
Which also means on the rare occasion I do find myself back at sea level, it is as if my body has been supercharged. Feeding off the thicker air is something akin to blood doping, energy permeating my body, spurring me forward.
Coupled with the can of espresso I ingested and the adrenaline already surging through my system, I moved just shy of a sprint. Going as fast as silence would allow, I worked my way through the woods, moving in a north-northwest pattern away from the SUV, using the overhead view of the map in my head as a guide.
Given where the car was parked and the slight bend in the road forming the southern boundary, I knew I had just over a half-mile of forested terrain to cover before reaching the airstrip. For most people, that would take almost ten minutes to walk. In the woods, in the middle of the night, maybe twice that.
Moving hard, the Browning in hand, barrel slipping past my ribcage as I moved, I made it in just over six.
By the time I arrived at the southwest corner of the spread, sweat was streaming down my face. My pulse was pounding. But I wasn’t breathing hard, the thick air more than compensating for that.
Home Fire: A Suspense Thriller (A Hawk Tate Novel Book 5) Page 27
