With a Vengeance

by Annette Dashofy

  In the off-color glow of emergency lighting, Pete met Baronick’s steely eyes. “You’re damned right we are.”

  The phone, still in Baronick’s hand, rang again. They looked down at the detective’s open palm.

  The number on the screen wasn’t a familiar one. Baronick shoved the phone at Pete, while pulling his own from his coat pocket. “I’ll trace it.”

  Pete gave a nod and answered.

  “Pete?” Zoe’s voice was deeper than usual.

  Relief weakened his knees. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m not hurt.”

  Pete read the unspoken “yet” between her words. “Are you with Gabe Webber?”

  Her breath resonated in his ear. “Yeah. Listen. I’m in the old schoolhouse in Reed’s Grove. Do you know it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Come alone. Completely alone. If you bring anyone else with you…” She trailed off and for a moment, Pete thought he’d dropped the call.

  “Zoe?”

  “He’ll know if you have anyone with you.” Her voice had risen an octave.

  “I understand.”

  Pete heard a man’s voice in the background—Webber saying something to Zoe. Then she relayed the orders. “And he says keep the helicopter away. If you try anything…” The voice barked something else to her. A ragged inhalation. “He says for every inkling he gets that you’re bringing in other cops, he’ll put a bullet into me.”

  This time Pete could make out Webber’s words. “Now hang up.”

  Before Zoe did as ordered, she managed a soft, high-pitched, “I love you.”

  “I love you too.” But the line had gone dead. “Zoe? Zoe?” He glared at the screen. Cranked his arm back to hurl the damned phone into the night.

  Baronick caught his wrist and rescued the thing a second time. “I have a pretty good idea where they are.”

  “I know where they are. The Reed’s Grove School.”

  Baronick again reached for his phone. “I’ll have an army there in two minutes.”

  “No. She said no one else but me.”

  “Of course she did. He told her to say that. They never want backup. Don’t you watch television?”

  Baronick’s humor failed to hit its mark. “She said he’d know. He’s been at least one step ahead of us the entire time. He wants me. This is between the two of us and no one else. But…” Pete might not watch cop TV shows, but he was a fan of old movies, and a line from a classic came to him. “When it’s done, if I’m dead, kill him.”

  It took a moment to register, but a smile crept across the detective’s face. “Love to…Butch.”

  Any other night, the soft hiss of rain on the roof and the steady splat, splat on the floor beneath a half dozen leaks would have lulled Zoe asleep. She had no idea what time it was, but the radio had grown quiet, with only occasional bursts of static or transmissions from different departments around Monongahela and surrounding counties. The lack of on-air activity meant nothing. Pete would know they were being monitored. Police communications regarding this case would have been transferred to a frequency not available on commercially purchased scanners. Or they’d use cell phones.

  Gabe would likely know that.

  Zoe’s wet clothes clung to her skin like a sheen of ice. She’d lived all of her life in Pennsylvania and had worked outdoors through every brutal winter, but she couldn’t remember ever being this cold before.

  Forcing her mind to focus on something—anything—besides the falling temperatures and desperately wanting a warm blanket or coat to wrap up in, she looked around the dilapidated building for something she might be able to use once Pete showed up. She leaned her cheek against her bound hands, appearing, she hoped, to be simply resting. In truth, she shielded her eyes from the lantern and allowed her pupils to adjust to the darkness.

  About all she could make out was the shadowed outline of a display case near the front door. The windows had been boarded up, but glass shards glinted on the floor beneath them. One useless ceiling light dangled precariously from a patch of plaster, which appeared ready to drop at any moment.

  “What’s taking him so long?” Gabe asked.

  Zoe turned toward his voice and squinted into the lantern’s light. “Maybe he got stuck in the mud.” What she hoped was Pete had every cop in Pennsylvania, West Virginia, and Ohio surrounding the place. Come alone. Surely he wouldn’t give into that foolish demand.

  Most folks drove through Reed’s Grove without realizing a town had once existed. It had been long gone before Pete moved to Vance Township, and his only knowledge of the place was anecdotal. He and Baronick had tried to locate intel on the property, but the address drew a blank on GPS, and Google Maps produced only a pin on a stretch of country road. Google Earth showed a photo of woods. County was working on digging up information from the assessor’s office and from the power company, but he—and Zoe—didn’t have time to wait on a detailed report.

  Had any of Pete’s men been in his situation, he’d have insisted on calling in SERT, Monongahela County’s Special Emergency Response Team with all their robots and surveillance equipment. Baronick had taken his best shot at convincing him to put out the call. However, this wasn’t one of Pete’s men walking into a trap. He knew what he was doing was foolhardy. But Richard Brown—Gabe Webber—had Zoe, and her words kept ringing in Pete’s ears.

  “For every inkling he gets that you’re bringing in other cops, he’ll put a bullet into me.”

  No. In spite of Baronick’s insistence that Pete go in with a TAC team, he would face the beast alone.

  However, Pete had accepted Baronick’s offer of a few of County’s toys.

  Pete slowed. The last thing he wanted to do was drive past the school, alerting Brown to his arrival. Bad enough he was already expecting him. Pete’s element of surprise was minimal at best. Preferring to err on the side of caution, he pulled off the road, shut off his lights, and parked well shy of where he recalled the schoolhouse to be.

  Once he cut the engine, the only sound was the steady rush of rain on the roof and windshield. Darkness enveloped him. No streetlights. No moon or stars. No nearby houses.

  He stepped out into the weeds edging the road and lifted the borrowed FLIR thermal vision scope to his eye. Scanning the underbrush in case Brown planned an ambush, Pete spotted a bright image deep in the thicket. Not a man. A deer.

  Damn. He needed to get one of these things. Provided he survived the night.

  No two-legged hot-spots appeared in the area. Pete tucked the device into a pocket, zipped his rain jacket, and pulled the hood over his ball cap.

  For a moment he considered the risks of being spotted if he used his flashlight. Then he considered the likelihood of falling if he stumbled around in the dark. He’d be a sitting duck and no help to Zoe if he had a broken leg.

  His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Baronick’s name lit up the screen. Pete answered with a biting, “What?”

  “That button cam doesn’t do a damned bit of good if you have it covered by your coat.”

  “It won’t do any good if it shorts out in the rain either.”

  “It isn’t gonna short out.”

  Pete tugged his cap lower over his eyes. “No, but I might. I’ll unzip my jacket once I get there.” He hit “end” and started slogging down the road.

  With the light aimed at the ground, he was careful to avoid the deep potholes in the unmaintained asphalt. At the same time, he kept watch on the wall of weeds and saplings to his left, hoping to spot a clue to indicate he was getting close.

  Fifteen minutes later, he feared he’d badly misjudged his location and that of the old village. Had he passed the schoolhouse, either walking or in his vehicle, without seeing it? Or had he stopped miles too soon?

  He was debating turning back when his flashlight reflected off something other than a d
iscarded beer can. He raised the beam. A Pennsylvania license plate. Attached to a pickup. A Chevy.

  Zoe’s Chevy.

  Pete clicked off the light and let the eureka rush of having found the place ebb into the necessity to be calm. Focused. Determined.

  He extricated the FLIR scope and ran a hand over his chest, fingering his body armor, the button cam, and a few other surprises. Raising the thermal imaging device to his eye, he did a slow canvass.

  There. Ahead of him, two large heat signatures and not wildlife this time. Brown and Zoe.

  “I’m here,” Pete whispered, mostly to himself. “Let’s do this.”

  Thirty-One

  The nylon bands binding Zoe’s wrists sliced into her skin the more she tried to work them…stretch them. There was no give. She remained as tightly trussed as the first moment Gabe had put the zip ties on her.

  Her captor hadn’t budged or spoken in what felt like a long time. Without her phone, she had no idea how long it had actually been. Had he fallen asleep?

  She wasn’t putting money on that.

  Outside the wind kicked up, whistling through the gaps in the schoolhouse’s walls.

  Branches and leaves scraped against the outside of the building, tapping and knocking. The police radio offered nothing in the way of information.

  Where was Pete?

  Zoe imagined she heard a twig snap. A footstep? Impossible to tell with the noises provided by the weather.

  But Gabe must have heard, or thought he heard, something too. Keeping the gun aimed at the door, he reached back and extinguished the lantern’s flame.

  She’d only thought it was dark before. Now she couldn’t even make out the shapes of the counter, the ceiling fixture, or Gabe and his rifle.

  The cell phone she’d used to call Pete rang, startling her. She’d forgotten she’d let it drop at her side. Now it glowed, a bright beacon in the blackness.

  “Answer it,” Gabe said.

  She had to twist to reach for the phone. Her fingers were so numb with cold she struggled to hold on to it and thumb it open. “Hello?”

  “Are you all right?” Pete said.

  Hell no, I’m not all right. I’m freezing and terrified and tied up with a madman in a pigeon- and bat-infested dump that’s ready to collapse on my head, she thought. Instead, she replied, “I’m fine.”

  “Good.” For a moment, Pete was quiet. Then, in a low voice, he said, “Put him on.”

  She extended the phone into the darkness. “He wants to talk to you.”

  “Uh-uh.”

  Zoe heard the chair creak. A scrape against the floor.

  “Tell him if he wants to talk, he needs to come in here.”

  She put the phone back to her ear. “He says—”

  “I heard him. Put me on speaker.”

  Crap. Did this cheap phone even have the speaker feature? She looked at it. Pushed a button. Then another. Found it. “Okay.”

  “Brown?” Pete’s voice boomed. “I know that’s you. And I know what this is all about.”

  Who on earth was Brown? Pete had asked her if it was Gabe Webber who held her, and she’d told him yes.

  Gabe swore. Footsteps on the creaking floor told Zoe he was moving across the room. Away from her.

  “If you know, I gather your friends all know too,” Gabe said.

  “They do.”

  “Doesn’t really matter anymore.” Glass crunched underfoot. He was near the display case. “You still need to come in here if you want your girl.”

  “That’s not how this works.” Pete’s voice was steady, but deadly. “You send her out first. Then I come in.”

  “Ha. You think I’m an idiot? No way. You come in, and maybe I’ll let her go.”

  “No!” The word burst from Zoe before she could think.

  “Shut up,” Gabe snarled.

  “Don’t come in. It’s a trap!” He was going to shoot her anyway. She might be able to save Pete if Gabe did it now.

  She sensed more than saw movement from the area she knew Gabe to be. “I told you to shut up.”

  Instinctively, she dived to her right.

  And the air around her exploded.

  Standing next to a tree in front of the structure, Pete had the FLIR scope to his eye when Brown moved, swinging what had to be a rifle toward Zoe’s seated form.

  Pete dropped the scope and yanked his Glock from his holster. He pounded toward the door.

  Inside, the crack of a rifle shattered the near-silence.

  Pete lowered his head and led with his shoulder, throwing everything he had dead center. The rotted wood splintered, yielded with less resistance than he’d expected. But the hinge and latch held. His momentum carried him through the hole in the door. But the surviving boards tripped him. He slammed to the floor. The impact sent a searing jolt of pain through his shoulder. And jarred the Glock from his hand. The weapon hit the floor with a thunk and skated away in the dark.

  From somewhere very close, Zoe screamed. Glass crashed. Movement. A shadow closing in. Fast. Pete rolled, but it felt like trying to turn over while encased in sludge. He sensed something coming down at his head. Tried to raise an arm. The glancing blow discharged a burst of fireworks inside his head. Followed by…nothing.

  Pete had no idea if he’d been unconscious for a minute or a day. But when he opened his eyes—or thought he was opening his eyes—the darkness had been replaced by faint, flickering light.

  “Pete!” Zoe’s hysterical cry echoed inside his skull, sending icy sharp slivers into his brain.

  He groaned. Flopped over onto his back. A move he instantly regretted. His head wasn’t the only body part that hurt like hell. He blinked and the fog in front of his eyes cleared. A little. Above him, an ancient glass globe swam into view. He blinked again. It was a light fixture, dirty and gray. Beyond, a beadboard ceiling with gaping black holes.

  A shadow passed over him. He shifted his gaze to the form looming in front of a Coleman lantern.

  The form grunted. “Guess I didn’t hit you hard enough.”

  The voice brought Pete’s mind back in focus even if his eyes were still blurry. “Screwed up again, didn’t you, Brown?”

  Richard Brown, a.k.a. Gabe Webber, chuckled. “From where I stand, you’re the one who screwed up.”

  Pete rolled onto one side—the side that didn’t hurt. Except that meant pushing up with his bad arm. He gritted his teeth and did it anyway. Nothing broken.

  He ran one hand through his hair, fingering the start of a goose egg. He slid his other hand down one leg, hoping Brown wouldn’t notice or would think Pete was rubbing another sore spot.

  “If you’re looking for your backup weapon, it’s right here.”

  Pete raised his eyes. Brown stood a few feet away, leaning on his rifle as though it were a cane and holding up Pete’s revolver like a trophy. The Glock had gone flying. Where was it? Pete shot a furtive glance around the floor. Glass, dirt, plaster, bird shit and feathers, and some other kind of droppings too. But no sign of a gun. Did Brown have it?

  Pete shifted and turned his head. Zoe sat on the floor, her back to the wall, her eyes wide with terror. Her white uniform shirt was smeared with blood. Hopefully not hers. Her hair looked matted and pasted to her head. Even in his brain fog, he could see she was trembling. And she was tied.

  But she was alive. He gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

  She didn’t appear the least bit encouraged by it.

  “So now what?” Pete asked Brown.

  “Now I finally get to watch you die. Like you watched my son die eleven years ago.”

  “Your son was a thug. A drug-dealing punk. He shot my partner.” Pete touched his chest. Acted as if he were rubbing it. Maybe Brown would think he was having chest pains. In truth, he was taking inventory. Brown had ch
ecked his ankles and taken the revolver he kept there. But he’d left the Kevlar vest. Probably figured on a head shot at close range.

  “Donnie was a good boy. He was going through a rough patch. But he’d have gotten himself straightened around if you cops had given him half a chance.”

  “If I’d given him half a chance, he’d have killed my partner and then me.”

  “I don’t believe that for a minute. You were out gunning for kids who just happened to be on the street at night.”

  Pete unzipped his raincoat and again touched his chest. The button cam was still in place. But it must not be working. If he’d been unconscious as long as he had to have been for Brown to light the Coleman and search him for the revolver, Baronick and every officer within fifty miles would be blasting through that door by now. However, he felt a few lumps still hidden in his shirt. Brown hadn’t discovered all of his borrowed “toys.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” the gunman asked.

  Pete made a face. “Pain. In my chest. It’s nothing.”

  “Oh no you don’t. You aren’t gonna croak from some heart attack before I get a chance to get my justice.”

  “Justice?” Pete snorted. “You don’t know the meaning of the word. You killed two good men. Brave men who put their lives on the line to save others every single day. How is that justice?”

  “None of them was there to save my boys. Either one. As if losing Donnie wasn’t enough, I had to go and lose Rick too.”

  “That was an accident. Horrible, yes. But there wasn’t a thing anyone could have done for him.”

  “You don’t know anything about it.” Brown’s voice cracked. “After Donnie, Rick was all I had in this world. If those so-called medics had gotten there sooner…done something more…he’d still be alive. Now I got no one.” He swiped an arm across his nose. “But at least I’ll have my justice.”

  Pete sensed the man was getting ready to make a move. For Zoe’s sake, Pete couldn’t let that happen. “And what good will that do? You’re not getting away this time. I saw you had the quad in the back of the pickup. Every law enforcement officer out there knows who you are and what you’ve done. There’s no place you can hide. Not anymore.”