by Karen Rose
“Why this place?” Mercy asked, surprising him. “Why did you come here tonight?”
He looked at her with a frown. “Why do you want to know?”
“I’m curious by nature. And I smell death.”
He drew a deep breath through his nose. Yeah, he could smell it, too. “That would be Eileen,” he said. “If my ride doesn’t get here soon, you’ll be reunited with her.”
He shifted back to the road, watching, his sense of dread growing with every second that ticked by. Something wasn’t right. Hank should have been here already.
He was now fifteen minutes late.
Heart beginning to pound harder, he pulled out his phone and dialed Hank, fighting back the urge to pace as the phone rang and rang and rang. He’s not answering, he thought as the call went to voice mail. Why is he not answering?
He ended the call, his hand clutched around the phone, willing himself not to throw it in a rage. Stay calm. Stay fucking calm.
The phone rang in his hand, and he drew a breath. Hank. “Where the fuck are you?” he demanded. “And why the fuck didn’t you answer your phone?”
“Sorry,” Hank said, sounding slightly out of breath. “I was filling the gas tank. It was almost on ‘E’ and I knew you wouldn’t want to stop. Because of the cameras at the gas station.”
“That’s true,” he said grudgingly. “Why are you so late?”
“It took me a few minutes to get to my neighbor’s house so that I could get his car.”
That also sounded plausible, but something was off. Or I could just be paranoid. “When will you get here?”
“Soon. I’m less than ten minutes—”
Hank’s voice was cut off by the loud clanging of bells.
Railroad crossing bells. He clenched his jaw. There were no train tracks nearby. There was, however, a train crossing near Hank’s house.
Hank had lied. He wasn’t coming.
He was cooperating with the cops.
I need to get out of here. Now. Carefully, deliberately, he ended the call, reminding himself to breathe. Stay calm. Breathe. Think.
“He’s not coming, is he?” Mercy said, that mocking tone back in her voice. “Your pal, I mean. He’s not coming.”
His temper boiling over, he shoved the phone into his pocket and opened the van door. He yanked Mercy out of the vehicle, tossing her to the ground, where she landed on her knees in the light snow with a grunt of pain.
“Do not mock me,” he snarled.
Twisting to look up at him over her shoulder, she smiled far too serenely. “Oh, I wouldn’t think of it. But he isn’t coming. Now what will you do?”
His right hand had connected with her cheek before intent to strike her had even registered. Her head snapped back and she sucked in a harsh breath.
“What will I do?” he snarled. “I’m going to kill you, for starters.”
“Kill me and lose your leverage,” she said with a calm that he wished he felt.
She was right. He hated that she was right. Leaning over her, he grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her to her feet.
He saw the blade in her hand a split second too late, crying out in fury when she swung her body around, plunging it into his thigh. He knocked her hand away before she could twist the blade or drive it in too deep. He yanked it out, relieved to find that it had only gone in about an inch.
Where the fuck was she hiding that? I should have searched her. Dammit.
But he was relieved to see that it wasn’t that bad a wound. The slice was bleeding like a mother, but it was far from mortal.
He moved the knife to his injured hand, sinking his right hand back into her hair and jerking her to her feet. He wound his left arm around her throat, pulling her against him. He took the knife into his right hand and pressed the tip to her throat.
“If I had time, you’d be apologizing to me on your knees,” he growled into her ear. She’d gone rigid against him and he calmed at the return of his control of the situation.
Until he heard the engine behind them. Maintaining his hold, he spun them both to see an SUV approaching, its headlights off. Hank?
Could I have been wrong? Could there have been train tracks I hadn’t noticed?
Warily, he watched the SUV taking each turn of the road slowly, but it was too dark to see what model it was. But an SUV meant the road to Tahoe wouldn’t be a problem.
That was one worry off his mind.
Unless he’d been right before and the train didn’t run nearby. Instinct had him dropping the switchblade to the ground and pulling out his gun. He shoved the barrel into Mercy’s temple as the SUV rolled to a stop and turned its headlights on, blinding him. The door opened and a man got out.
He could see that the man was tall, like Hank. Wearing a white uniform, like Hank.
But . . . the hairs on the back of his neck lifted and he jabbed the barrel of his gun harder against Mercy’s head, gratified at the small sound of pain she made.
“Turn your lights off, Hank,” he called, but the man kept advancing slowly. Then the clouds flitted by, exposing the meager light of tonight’s moon and stars.
The vehicle was blue. A blue Range Rover. That he’d seen before. Frantically he searched his mind for the connection, for the—
The morgue. He’d seen it at the morgue, parked on one side of Reynolds’s black Toyota. It was one of the detectives working the homicide of Trish Hart. Sokolov or Rhee. Had to be Sokolov because it was a man in that uniform.
He’d been tricked. This was a trap after all.
Fuck you, Hank. I’m coming for you, asshole.
“That’s far enough!” he shouted. “Hands where I can see them, Sokolov, or I’ll kill her.”
Under his hands, Mercy tensed. Good. Maybe she’d go zombie. She’d be easier to control that way.
The man in the white uniform stopped, putting his hands up, still saying nothing.
“I know that’s you, Detective Sokolov! Just stop, right there. Tell whoever’s with you to get out of the damn car.”
“Nobody’s with me. I came alone.”
He snorted at that. “Right. You never go alone. There’s another cop here somewhere.” Or more. Shit. He looked around him frantically. They could have a dozen guns trained on him right now. He needed to keep Mercy up against him. She wasn’t quite as tall as he was, but close. She’d be his shield if the bullets started to fly.
The headlights blinded him. He wouldn’t be able to see anyone even if they were out there, but he could see that Sokolov had moved closer while he’d been looking around for the cop’s backup. The bastard was still moving. The white of the uniform he wore almost glowed. “Don’t move! I will kill her. I swear it.”
Sokolov stopped, but now he could see the gun in the detective’s hand. “What do you want, Carson?” he called.
What did he want? “I want you to get everyone away from here. Or I will kill her. I have nothing to lose.” He considered it, then added, “Except for you. You stay. Put your gun on the ground and lie down on your stomach.” Because he’d have to show his back to Sokolov when he went to put Mercy in the van so that he could get away. He began edging toward the rear of the van, dragging Mercy with him. “I’m not seeing your gun on the ground, Sokolov. I’m serious.”
“So am I,” Sokolov replied. “If I throw down my gun, you’ll just kill us both. Why would I do that?”
Because I told you to, he wanted to shout, but he didn’t. He was trembling now and he hated it. Hated that the man could make him so nervous. Hated that the bastard had the upper hand. The last word.
Hated that he was helpless and his options were running out.
“Because I have nothing to lose,” he said more calmly.
THIRTY-ONE
PLACERVILLE, CALIFORNIA
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 21, 4:15 A.M.
Gideon sat in the backseat behind Frederick, biting back his curse. It wasn’t the man’s fault. He’d been a damn good driver, keeping up as Erin zipped up U.S. 50 at speeds far faster than the limit.
Daisy muttered a curse. “She made sure we couldn’t follow her.”
Gideon closed his eyes. Rafe and Rhee were good cops. And Rafe would do his best to get Mercy out alive. Even if his best meant putting himself in the line of fire, and that scared Gideon most of all. He could lose a brother and a sister tonight.
“Breathe, baby,” Daisy murmured, her hand on his cheek. “You need to breathe.”
He tried. He truly tried, but his lungs would not inflate.
“Goddammit, Gideon.” Daisy’s hands were on his face now and she wasn’t gentle. She’d unbuckled her seat belt and was kneeling next to him on the bench seat. She gave his cheeks a slight smack. Not painful, but enough to get his attention. “Look at me.”
He nodded, blinking. “You are not safe.”
She made another one of those frustrated noises. “And you are not with me.” She leaned her forehead against his. “Breathe, baby,” she whispered. “With me, okay?”
He got himself under control, feeling ridiculous on top of panicked. “I’m good. Buckle yourself in.”
“I’m sorry, Gideon,” Frederick said, his misery plain.
“Don’t be,” Gideon managed. “You’ve done so much already. Erin never planned to let us catch up to her.”
An exit approached. “Should I take it?” Frederick asked.
“Yes,” Gideon told him. “If they’re close, we’ll see the SWAT vehicles go by and we can follow them.” If it’s not too late by then.
His phone began buzzing and Gideon grabbed for it, hoping like hell it was Rafe. But it was an unknown number. Maybe Carson Garvey, calling to negotiate. “Reynolds,” he answered, taking care to continue breathing because his heart had started to race.
“It’s Tom Hunter.”
“Tom? What’s happening?”
Next to him, Daisy perked up at the sound of Hunter’s name.
“We are not talking right now,” Tom said carefully. “Tell me that you get that.”
Gideon’s pulse shot through the roof. “I get it. Is she alive?”
“I don’t know, but I do know Sokolov and Rhee are on their way to Placerville. And I have no doubt that you are, too.”
“We are,” Gideon admitted, “but they lost us.”
“Is Daisy with you?”
“Yes.”
“Put me on speaker. Daisy,” he said when he’d done so. “I need you to put these coordinates in your phone’s GPS. You know how to do that, right?”
“Um, yeah,” Daisy said, then she smiled at Gideon. “It’s a property in Placerville. Turn right up here, Dad. Thank you, Tom.”
“You’re welcome. And you did not get this from me.”
“How did you get it?” Gideon asked, his lungs actually filling again.
“Molina has me looking into Carson’s finances. Follow the money, right? He’d been looking at this property, trying to get the money together to buy it. It belonged to Sydney. Undeveloped land.”
Gideon was nearly speechless. “Why?” he asked. “Why would you do this for me?”
“Because I have a sister, and if anyone touched her, I’d be losing my mind. I’ve also been on a chase like yours, a long time ago, and I know how it feels to be powerless.”
“What number are you calling from, Tom?” Daisy asked.
“I never leave home without a burner,” Tom said, the amusement clear in his voice. “And I never said that, either.” He hesitated. “Good luck, Gideon. Stay safe.”
The call was ended and all Gideon could do was watch and pray as Daisy guided Frederick down a country road.
“There, Dad.” She pointed at an access road with No Trespassing and Private Property signs posted everywhere.
Frederick turned and the Subaru rocked as it went over something big.
“That was the gate,” he said, then turned off the headlights, navigating the snow-covered road with care.
Minutes later, they didn’t need headlights. They could see Erin’s Range Rover, its headlights shining on a scene that made Gideon’s blood run cold.
“Oh my God,” he breathed. A six-foot-tall bald man held Mercy to his chest, his forearm across her throat and a gun to her head.
Carson Garvey. Undisguised.
Gideon’s stomach lurched. No. No, no, no.
Rafe boldly faced the man, his gun aimed at Carson and Mercy, but Gideon knew his best friend. Rafe projected a confidence he often did not feel. Especially when lives were at stake. As Mercy’s was.
Frederick rolled down his window so that they could hear, but he kept the Subaru back far enough that they didn’t tip off Carson to their presence.
“I want you to get everyone away from here,” Carson was saying. “Or I will kill her. I have nothing to lose. Except for you. You stay. Put your gun on the ground and lie down on your stomach.”
Carson began to move toward the rear of the van, Mercy in his grasp. He was holding her so that she had to stand on her tiptoes to breathe. Her wrists were bound.
God, Mercy, I’m so sorry. Because Gideon knew Carson had nothing against Mercy. She’d been convenient. He wanted me. And Daisy.
“I’m not seeing your gun on the ground, Sokolov,” Carson called. “I’m serious.”
“So am I,” Rafe called back. “If I throw down my gun, you’ll just kill us both. Why would I do that?”
There was a very long pause where Carson said nothing, just inched his way to his right. “Because I have nothing to lose,” he finally said, his voice now eerily calm.
“Look,” Daisy whispered. “Beyond the van.”
Gideon ripped his eyes from his sister’s face. “Erin,” he whispered.
Erin crept up from the rear, her weapon in her hand, but Carson must have heard her because he turned around, trying to look over his shoulder while Rafe edged closer.
Carson roared, lifting Mercy completely off her feet, when he realized that Rafe was now only a few feet away. Mercy was squirming, her mouth wide open on a silent scream. Raising her bound hands to his arm, she was trying to get air.
Gideon put his hand on the door handle, not wanting to distract Rafe or Erin, but unable to watch Mercy suffer.
“Let her go!” Rafe shouted. “You’re not escaping this time, Carson. Let her go!”
“Or what?” Carson taunted, still holding Mercy off the ground.
She was writhing now and even from this distance Gideon could see her face getting red. Carson jerked around and saw Erin, who was only a few yards away.
“I said stay back!” he thundered, then crouched about a foot, making himself smaller, sheltering from Erin behind the van. Making Mercy his shield. At least that put both of her feet on the ground again and she no longer gasped for breath.
But neither of the cops had a clear shot.
Then Carson whipped the gun away from Mercy’s head long enough to fire two shots at Rafe, the first hitting him in the gun arm, the second in the opposite leg.
Just like Gideon had done, Rafe dropped his gun, his arm hanging limply. But the second shot cut Rafe down. He stumbled to the ground and didn’t get up, his leg gushing blood, falling bright on the snow. His uninjured arm alternated between reaching for the gun he’d dropped and putting pressure on his leg.
Enough. Gideon simply could not sit still a second longer. He removed his gun from the holster at his belt and slid it into the waistband at his back so th
at Carson wouldn’t see it at first glance. He didn’t want Carson to shoot Mercy because he felt cornered, but as soon as Gideon got a chance, he was putting a bullet in that monster’s bald head.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured to Daisy, then got out of Rafe’s Subaru and began walking toward Carson.
Mercy had been struggling to get away, but Carson quickly returned the gun to her temple and her struggling ceased. Carson’s head was against the van, turned so that he watched the back corner of it, waiting for Erin. He was looking away from Gideon’s approach.
“I know you’re back there, Detective Rhee,” Carson said. “I want you to throw that gun in my direction and then I want you to walk toward your partner, but stay at least six feet away from him. Then lie down on the ground. Now! Or the next bullet goes in your partner’s head and the bullet after that goes in yours.” He screamed the final command and a gun came flying past the van.
“Good,” Carson said, his voice rife with satisfaction, his body maintaining the crouch, protecting his head. “Keep walking, Rhee.”
Erin stepped into Carson’s line of sight, a gun in her hand, shocking him. His gaze flicked to the gun in the snow, then flicked back. She’d thrown away her backup.
Erin aimed the gun at his head. “Let. Her. Go.”
Carson twisted, now fully facing Erin. He was still crouched so that Mercy was his shield, his gun still at Mercy’s temple.
Gideon heard his sister whimper as he emerged from the shadow of Erin’s Range Rover, its headlights still illuminating the space.
“Let. Her. Go.” Gideon held his good arm out to show he was empty-handed. “I’m unarmed,” he lied. “Let her go. You know you want me instead.”
Carson chuckled. “How sweet. But you’re going to have to do better than that, Reynolds.”
Gideon swallowed hard, meeting Mercy’s wide eyes, aware of Rafe bleeding. “I’m sorry,” he said to Carson. “I’m so very . . . sorry. Please don’t hurt her. Take me instead.”
PLACERVILLE, CALIFORNIA
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 21, 4:20 A.M.
Daisy’s heart was in her throat, choking her. For a few seconds she watched in shock as Gideon walked into the line of fire.
