Survivor

by Logan Ryles

  His heart pounded, and something in the back of his mouth tasted like blood. Had he bitten his tongue? Around the corner was a bank of elevators with a small crowd of sleepy-eyed people in suits waiting for them. Reed broke through the doorway to the stairs and took them two and three at a time, up two levels, before breaking through a doorway labeled with a bold number three.

  This hallway was carpeted, with a lobby on his left and more doorways on his right. He slowed to a jog and caught his breath, moving to his right and checking the directories on each door. None were for Judge Perry.

  At the end of the hallway, a window faced westward, with the bulk of downtown to the south. That meant he needed to turn left, but as he passed the window, he caught the glint of impending sunlight reflecting in a nearby tower’s windows.

  Move it, Reed. Move it.

  The next hallway was wide with floral-print carpet and a simple chair rail running down both walls. At the end was a metal door with a reinforced glass window and a keypad lock. Beside it, a simple wooden sign with brass letters was mounted to the wall:

  THE HONORABLE S. J. PERRY

  Reed slid to a stop, wiping sweat from his lip as his heart continued to thump.

  What now?

  He couldn’t break the glass or defeat the lock. This was a well-built door. He’d need some C4 or a truck winch to take it down. He didn’t have either. He didn’t have time. He didn’t—

  The door handle twisted, and a young man in a black suit and small, round glasses appeared with his arms full of document boxes. With a clean face and bright eyes, he couldn’t have been more than twenty-five.

  Some kind of aide, Reed thought. Maybe the judge’s personal clerk or a law student desperate to make a name for himself.

  Reed didn’t have time to think or second-guess himself. He dashed forward and pinned the man against the wall with one forearm while he caught the door with his foot. The boxes spilled to the floor and the aide opened his mouth to scream, but Reed clamped his left hand over it, then pinched his right hand over either side of the aide’s throat, cutting off his air supply.

  The seconds ticked by as the aide struggled against the wall, helpless to break free as his body consumed oxygen at two or three times its normal rate. It wasn’t long before his cheeks flushed and his eyes rolled back. Reed released him and watched as he slumped against the floor, as limp as a wet dishrag.

  Reed knelt and checked his pulse. It was still strong, and with a fresh supply of oxygen, it probably wouldn’t be long before he was conscious again.

  “I’m so sorry,” Reed whispered, and then kicked the door open and charged in.

  Nine

  The office that greeted him was wide and deep with more narrow windows and a beautiful mahogany desk sitting center stage. The windows faced downtown, just as Gambit had said, and the room was clearly the home office of a legal mastermind. Shelves of thick manuals, boxes of paperwork, and piles of court documents were packed in on every side. Even so, it wasn’t a messy room. There was a certain order to it. A pride, even.

  Reed took a cautious step forward, then scanned the room a second time. The American flag stood proudly behind the desk, and along the wall were framed diplomas and pictures of people in crisp business attire standing next to each other or shaking hands. It didn’t take Reed long to find the judge among the pictures. She was tall, with a wide smile, brown hair, and piercing grey eyes. Not a model’s face, but certainly not unpleasant to look at, either. In one photo, she shook hands with what was likely a Supreme Court justice. In another, she stood next to the president. But in the middle of the wall, one photograph stood out, larger than the rest, with a plusher, more expensive frame. It depicted the judge and her family. A tall, thin man with similar brown hair, two adult women and their husbands, and four grandchildren of varying ages. The women were twins, not identical, but definitely favored their mother.

  Reed realized he’d stopped cold as he stared at the photograph. He glanced around the room again. A narrow hallway led to what he assumed was the bathroom because he could hear a sink running and somebody speaking in a quiet but animated voice. A moment later, the door swung open, and Reed instinctively drew back into the shadows as Judge Perry appeared from the bathroom, a phone clamped to one ear. She was dressed in a lady’s pantsuit and an unbuttoned jacket, and she smiled with the same intensity he saw in the family portrait.

  “Oh, sweetheart, that’s so exciting. Did the tooth fairy leave you something under the pillow? He did? Oh . . . oh, no, honey. Twenty is better than twenty-five. It’s dollars, not cents.”

  She laughed, her cheeks flushing a rosy red. And then she saw Reed.

  As their gazes met, Reed stood frozen, backed into the corner next to the door. He saw momentary confusion cross her eyes, then panic. She didn’t move, just stared, and then slowly lowered the phone and hit the end call button.

  Reed felt his heart skip. He hadn’t expected that. As soon as she saw him, he expected her to scream and call for help or to tell the child on the phone to get her mother. Something.

  But Perry ended the call, almost as if she were protecting the child.

  “You’re the one the FBI is hunting,” she said, her voice strong but not overbearing.

  Reed didn’t say anything. His heart continued to pound, but his body wouldn’t move.

  What the hell are you doing? Get it over with. You should’ve never let her see you. Move! Now!

  Something glinted across Perry’s stare—recognition, maybe, or perhaps resignation. He wasn’t sure.

  “You’re here to kill me, aren’t you?” she asked.

  Reed couldn’t speak or move, and his throat began to swell, cutting off his air supply.

  Do it, dammit. Your father is going to die if you don’t. What the hell is wrong with you? Kill this woman!

  With a clenched fist, he took a halting step forward, but Perry didn’t retreat or move to shield herself.

  Grab her by the neck, pin her against the wall, and deliver one blow to the base of her skull. A quick move. A merciful death.

  Reed took another two steps and reached out towards Perry with one hand. He could already envision himself grabbing her by the collar and propelling her against the wall. She was much too weak to resist him. It would be so easy.

  But his knees locked, and he stopped. He couldn’t move.

  What am I doing? This woman has a family. She’s done nothing wrong.

  In a flash, the faces of each of his victims passed through his mind, beginning with the five dead civilian contractors in Iraq, then moving quickly to the man he killed in prison, followed by all twenty-nine of Oliver’s contracts. He could see their faces as clear and crisp as if they were bleeding out on the carpet right in front of him. Their faces faded, and he saw each of the thugs he had gunned down since this war with Aiden had begun.

  Those people deserved to die, didn’t they? They were men of violence, greed, and destruction. He could think of a reason why killing each of them had been “the right thing to do.” Wasn’t that his reason for gunning down those contractors in the first place, all those years ago in Baghdad? It was the right thing to do. The thing that nobody else was willing to do.

  That was his justification. Or his excuse. He wouldn’t allow himself to debate the difference. Either way, regardless of right and wrong, those steps had led him here, to the doorstep of somebody who absolutely didn’t deserve to die. Somebody who did nothing wrong.

  She wasn’t just an innocent woman; she was a good woman and a civil servant.

  Reed met her gaze and lowered his hand. He bowed his head a little, just once, and then broke for the door. The aide still lay on the floor, groaning and twisting as Reed leapt over him. A moment later, he crashed into the stairwell, following the signs to the fire escape. Sirens screamed through the courthouse, and he could hear the boots of deputies and security in the hallways, all hurrying to protect the judge.

  A wide metal door with a red handle blocked his w
ay on the first floor. Reed shoved through it and crashed onto the sidewalk, then turned north toward the van and stretched into a powerful stride, eating up the yards by the dozens. In only moments, the van pivoted around on the road and was ready to drive. Another two dozen strides and Reed jumped inside, then threw the door shut behind him.

  Gambit was in his face before the door even closed, pressing the Glock into Reed’s cheek and shouting at him to get on the floor. With a quick twist of his hand, Reed yanked the Glock out of Gambit’s hand and dropped the mag. The weapon clattered to the floor in multiple pieces as Reed grabbed Gambit by the shoulders and propelled him into his seat.

  The driver slammed on the brakes and swung backward, producing a gun from his jacket. Gambit held up his hand and shook his head, panic flooding his eyes as he faced Reed.

  “Listen to me, you little shit.” Reed growled the words, spraying Gambit’s cheeks with spit. “I don’t work for free. If you want the job done, you’re going to pay for it. Do you understand? I make the kill, and you give me my father. No more games. Are you ready to deal, or not?”

  Gambit leaned against the wall, the panic fading as his practiced calm took over. He waved his driver away and sat up, dusting off his shirt.

  “All right, then, Montgomery. Let’s deal.”

  Ten

  Holly Springs National Forest

  North Mississippi

  Banks watched as Lucy continued to interrogate Wolfgang. Half an hour passed, and the sun broke through the trees, but they were no closer to the truth about Wolfgang and Reed.

  “He has something I want. That’s all I’ve got to say.”

  Wolfgang repeated the line like a guilty CEO pleading the Fifth Amendment.

  Banks retreated onto the back porch, drawing a deep breath of fresh forest air through dry lips. Her nose throbbed with every beat of her heart, but thanks to Lucy’s meds, it didn’t hurt as much. She could see clearly and process somewhat-coherent thoughts. That was a huge improvement.

  The sliding glass door ground open, then closed behind her, and she heard the soft steps of Lucy approaching.

  “How are you feeling?”

  Lucy’s voice was almost maternal, though she wasn’t much older than Banks. Some girls were like that, though. Banks felt pretty maternal about animals, if not about her friends. Did Lucy see her as some kind of pet? Maybe not, but she had definitely assumed a protective attitude toward her.

  “I’m okay,” Banks said. “My nose hurts.”

  Lucy leaned against the rail and wiped a wisp of red hair out of her eyes. Banks wondered if the hair was dyed. She thought Lucy looked a bit mousy, with her small stature and narrow features, but graceful, with a wonderful smile.

  Banks gazed into the forest again and tried to sniff. A flash of pain rang through her head, and she scowled at herself.

  “I never thanked you for . . . saving me, I guess.”

  Lucy smiled. “You don’t have to thank me, honey. To be honest, I was a little late to the show. You were already knocked out when I found you.”

  “You got the guy who did it?”

  Lucy hesitated, then nodded once. “I confronted the perpetrator.”

  “I had a gun,” Banks said. “I should’ve been able to defend myself.”

  “Don’t feel that way. It takes years of training to adequately defend yourself. And besides, the attacker slipped up on you.”

  Banks wondered how Lucy knew that. Maybe she was giving her the benefit of the doubt.

  “Who are you?” Banks asked. It was the obvious question, but it hadn’t seemed overly important until now.

  “Well . . .” Lucy brushed hair from her face again.

  “My name is Lucy Byrne. I’m an . . . um . . .”

  “Assassin for hire.”

  “Yes.”

  “You work with Reed.”

  “Not directly. We shared an employer.”

  “The bald guy with the bad English accent.”

  Lucy laughed. “Yes . . . Oliver. Although, he actually was British, believe it or not.”

  “Had me fooled.”

  “Oliver wasn’t a pleasant individual. I doubt anybody is mourning his death.”

  “I’m not. I killed him.”

  Lucy looked up. “Really? I thought—”

  “That Reed did it? Yeah, maybe he finished him off, I’m not sure, but I shot him in the back. And then . . . I left. It’s all kind of a blur.”

  Lucy nodded but didn’t comment. For a moment, everything was almost still, accentuated only by the gentle waft of a breeze through the pines.

  Banks fingered her sleeve, then tilted her head to one side. “At the prison . . . in the woods.”

  “Yes?”

  Banks looked at Lucy. “You were there to kill Reed?”

  Lucy smiled and brushed her hair back again. “No, I wasn’t there to kill anybody. I was there to protect Reed, actually. Years ago, he saved my life. When I found out that Oliver’s killers were after him, I decided to step in and do what I could.”

  Banks grunted and rolled her eyes.

  “What?”

  “I’ll bet there’s a whole host of women who have decided to ‘do what they can.’ He has that way about him. You get a feeling that maybe he’s more than what he looks like and that it would be worth it to find out.”

  Banks sniffed and looked away. The twist in her stomach tightened, and she remembered what it felt like when he held her. In spite of the grenades, the snowstorm, and almost dying in the woods, when he held her, she felt safe, as though there was an impenetrable wall around her that would deflect anything until the end of time.

  That son of a bitch. She believed in him. She wanted to believe in him, but in the end, he was so much worse than the average jerk leaning up against the bar, gawking at her while she sang. He was actually, truly, a terrible person.

  “About that . . .” Lucy’s voice was tentative, almost reluctant.

  “About what?”

  “About the, um . . . women in Reed’s life.”

  Banks whirled on her, eyes blazing before she could stop herself.

  Lucy recoiled a little and held up a hand.

  “No, no, not me. I barely knew Reed. I only met him a couple times. What I mean is, he had one known associate—a car thief he met in Europe. There were rumors about it. You have to understand, in Oliver’s company, Reed was something of a legend. Everybody respected him. So, his personal life was a topic of interest, especially since so little was known of it.”

  Banks snapped, “What are you saying?”

  “Well, I need you to promise to stay calm and not do anything . . . rash. I feel like you deserve to know this, but I really can’t deal with you if you flip out.”

  “Do I look like the kind of woman who would flip out?”

  Lucy raised an eyebrow and mimicked Banks’s gentle Southern twang. “And I quote, ‘I’m a Mississippi redneck, bitch!’”

  Banks made a show of leaning back against the rail and folding her arms, never breaking eye contact with Lucy. She doubted she looked relaxed. With her eggplant of a nose, she doubted she looked anything less than horrific.

  “Point taken. But I’m calm now.”

  Lucy sighed.

  “Your attacker in the woods . . . it wasn’t a man. It was a woman. I don’t know her, and I don’t know why she was there. She wasn’t one of Oliver’s killers. I think she was somebody special to Reed.”

  Banks’s hands trembled, and she jammed them beneath her armpits.

  “Banks, what I’m trying to say is, she won’t talk to me, but she’s hell-bent on finding him. I was hoping you could talk to her.”

  “Talk to her? She’s here?”

  Lucy nodded. “In the basement.”

  Banks turned, immediately starting for the steps leading off the deck.

  Lucy caught her hand.

  “Banks, look at me.”

  Banks twisted, meeting her gaze with an icy glare.

  “I live by a
very strict code,” Lucy said. “It’s part of who I am. One of the things I believe in is repayment in kind. Reed saved my life, and I owe him as much. I tried to talk to her because I want her to quit. If she doesn’t, if she insists on hunting him down, well . . . I’ll kill her.”

  Banks pulled away from Lucy’s cold grip on her arm, and Lucy didn’t fight her. Four steps off the deck, Banks pivoted and found the entrance to the storm cellar. She flung it open, revealing a yellow light, and took the steps two at a time, her head pounding as hard as her heart as she reached the concrete floor and turned into the basement.

  A woman sat on a wooden chair, her arms taped behind her back and her ankles secured to the chair legs. She wore a heavy black Middle Eastern–type robe, but her bowed head was exposed.

  Banks stopped, her feet scraping against the concrete, and the woman looked up.

  The breath whistled between Banks’s teeth as if somebody had kicked her in the stomach. The woman’s face was something out of a horror movie—the skin scalded, with her lip twisted into a permanent sneer that exposed two of her teeth. One cheek was swollen like a chipmunk with a nut in its mouth while the other was constricted against her jawline. Her hair was burnt and patchy, exposing a crimson scalp.

  But her eyes were alive with fire, as clear and vibrant as a teenager’s, blasting menace at Banks. A clear, unfiltered threat.

  Banks took a cautious step forward, and her hand trembled as she reached out. The woman recoiled, but she couldn’t move far. Banks touched the gag wrapped around the woman’s head and gently pulled it out.

  The woman swallowed and sat perfectly still, like a dog poised to lunge. Banks retracted her still-shaking hand, and for a full minute, neither one of them spoke. Banks wondered if the prisoner could speak. Had the accident, or whatever terrible thing had befallen her, made her mute?

  New tears bubbled up, but Banks couldn’t stop them. She couldn’t bear to see another human being brutalized this way. Had Reed done this to her? Had Reed hurt her this way?