"Bullshit," I said. "He was trying to figure out a way to buy some safety for Julie and her daughter, just like Joe and I have been. If he'd wanted to kill Krashakov, he'd have done it and gone back to South Carolina."
"I don't know."
"I'm sure you don't, Kinkaid. So Hartwick showed up in town, and you told Krashakov where he could be found, didn't you?"
He was looking at the floor, where drops of his blood were gathering in a small pool. "They were in the cemetery with me. When I left you and Pritchard and went out to smoke a cigarette, I called them, and they parked near your office and waited. They took the shot from the hill in the cemetery and left. I killed a few minutes and then went over the fence when I heard you shouting for me."
"Who made the shot?"
"Krashakov. He's had sniper training."
"Why'd he only take Hartwick out?" I asked. "Why leave Joe and me alive?"
"I told them about the progress you were making, and I said if they gave me a few days to work with you, I might be able to find the Westons and the tape. Hartwick was too dangerous to . . ." His voice trailed off, but I knew how that sentence was going to end. Too dangerous to leave alive.
"And when I did find Julie, then you called Krashakov and told him where to find us?" I thought of Betsy Weston alone in the hotel room just minutes before Krashakov and his thugs had arrived, and I was filled with a surge of anger unlike any I'd felt before. Kinkaid had called them and told them where to find us, then let them fly down to finish the killing.
I took three steps back toward him, ready to grab him and slam him against the wall until I put him all the way through it, but before I could get my hands on him the door opened and Julie Weston stepped inside.
"Lincoln," she said, staring at Kinkaid's bloody face, "what's going on?"
"Get out," I said. "I'm not through here."
She started to object, then looked at the blood on the floor and turned quickly, closing the door behind her. I turned back to Kinkaid. He was staring at the door.
"There's something I need to tell you," he said.
"No shit, Aaron. There were a lot of things you needed to tell me."
"It's more important. Krashakov knows where we are."
"What?"
"I called him when I found out you'd gone to the prosecutor's office. He went crazy about it, and he made me tell him where the girl was staying."
"You son ofa bitch. How long ago was this?"
"Maybe an hour. I tried to calm him down, but he was threatening to kill me. I didn't want him to refocus that anger on me, but now that I've seen the little girl . . ."He looked up at me."You've got to get her out of here, Perry. Krashakov will kill her. He'll kill all of you."
I stepped away from him, hearing Thad Cody's voice in my head when he'd told Joe and me about the Russian mob's thirst for revenge. "We Italians will kill you," he'd quoted from the wiretap, "but the Russians are crazy--they'll kill your whole family." If Krashakov knew that we'd gone to the prosecutor, it meant he'd be coming to kill, and only to kill.
"Shit, we don't have much time," I said.
I threw open the door and stepped out of the bedroom, holding Kinkaid's gun in my hand. Betsy saw it and ducked behind her mother. "Put Betsy in my truck," I said. "We're leaving."
Even as I spoke, I heard the crunch of tires on the gravel drive. I ran back into the bedroom, ignoring Kinkaid, who was cowering on the floor, expecting me to strike him again, and went to the window that looked out up the drive. At the top of the drive a shiny black SUV had come into view through the pines.
There was no time to think, only time to react. We could not drive away, and the little cottage would not offer protection for the fire-power the Russians would bring. We could flee into the woods, but they'd see us, and eventually they would catch us.
I stepped into the living room and pressed Kinkaid's gun into Julie's palm. "They're here. Take Betsy and go down the back steps and into the crawl space where she hid before. Keep Betsy absolutely quiet. If anyone tries to come inside, use the gun, but don't waste bullets."
She stared at me, her mouth open, jaw slack, but I spun her and shoved her forward, out the door and onto the deck. She grabbed Betsy and ran down the steps and around the corner of the cottage. The cottage would screen them from view from the drive, but if they ran away from it they'd be seen. Now I was left alone inside with Kinkaid and no weapon. My gun was still locked in the center console of the truck, and I'd never make it there.
"What should we do?" Kinkaid said, stepping out of the bedroom, looking as scared as Julie. I knew he was scared, and because of that, I also knew he'd tell Krashakov exactly where I'd sent Julie and Betsy. I took one quick step toward him and threw an uppercut at his jaw, dropping my shoulder and using my legs as a source of power for the punch, the way it's supposed to be done. I hit him flush on the chin. His head snapped back and he sagged to the ground. I clubbed him once on the back of the skull for good measure as he dropped. At least he'd be quiet now.
I stepped away from Kinkaid and into the kitchen, pulling open drawers in search of a knife. Before I found anything more useful than a corkscrew, Alexei Krashakov stepped inside from the deck and pointed a 9-millimeter Beretta pistol at my chest.
CHAPTER 26
I STOOD where I was and watched as Krashakov walked into the room, followed by Rakic and Malaknik. Great. The whole gang was here.
Krashakov kept the gun pointed at my chest. It was the first time I'd seen him face-to-face since we'd stood on the porch of his house.
He smiled. "You owe me twenty dollars."
"I'll give you fifty and send you on your way."
He shook his head slowly. "I'm afraid it will not be so easy."
"One hundred, then."
He slapped me on the side of the head with the Beretta, and a band of bright light like heat lightning passed over my eyes. When I could see clearly again, I was on my hands and knees on the cheap linoleum floor. The man was strong. There weren't too many people who could bring me to my knees with a single blow. I'd hardly seen his hand move.
He laid the barrel of the gun against the back of my head as Rakic went from room to room in the cottage. He came back out and shook his head.
"No one is here except for him." He gestured at Kinkaid's inert form.
"You are pretty good," Krashakov said to me. "That was very nice work at the hotel."
"Glad you approve."
"No. I do not approve. You killed a friend of mine." He slammed the butt of the gun into my upper back, sending a spasm of pain through my back and shoulders.
"Where are they?" Krashakov said.
I didn't answer, and Rakic said, "It will be best to tell us quickly. The longer you wait, the more pain you will feel." He had a thick, wet voice, like someone suffering from chronic bronchitis. "Where is Mrs. Weston?"
"Mrs. who?"
Bad idea. Krashakov slapped my head with the Beretta again, setting off a few more flashes of heat lightning. This time it took longer for my eyes to refocus. My field of vision was beginning to seem like a Texas sky during a nighttime thunderstorm.
"Where is the woman?" Krashakov said.
"It's over, boys," I said. "The prosecutor knows what happened, and the media knows what happened. It's time for you to run. Killing me will only make it worse." I didn't tell them that Belov knew what had happened. They'd kill me for sure then.
"He's lying," Rakic said.
"Where is she?" Krashakov repeated.
"With the police. She's at the prosecutor's office telling them the whole damn story. You can go down there and ask for her, if you'd like."
"You lie," Krashakov said. He jabbed the barrel of his gun at Kinkaid. "Not long ago, the woman and girl were here, and they were with him. Now he is unconscious, and you are alone. Your truck is still outside."
"I told you, they're not here."
Krashakov lifted me and threw me forward, into the counter. My head connected with the edge of the s
ink, and then he grabbed my shoulder, spun me around to face him, and hit me three times in the stomach with savage uppercuts. I fell back to my knees and gagged, choking back a rise of vomit in my throat. He kicked me in the head and pointed the Beretta at my chest as he stood over me.
"We do not have time to play games," he said. "You will tell us where to find her, because I wish to kill you last."
"I'm your favorite, eh?"
"Hold him," Krashakov snapped, and Rakic and Malaknik stepped over, grabbed my arms, and moved me out of the kitchen and into the living room. Behind me, the door to the deck was still open, and cold air rushed in past my face as the wind picked up outside. Krashakov knelt beside me in the doorway, using his left hand to pin my right ankle to the ground. He pressed the muzzle of the Beretta against my kneecap.
"One chance," he said. "Then this knee goes. You will get another chance, and then the other knee goes. After that, I will have to be more creative." His voice was calm and uninterested, speaking in careful, stilted English.
I looked at the gun pressed to my knee. So much for my evening runs. I closed my eyes and saw Julie's face and heard Betsy's laugh. I would not give them up to these bastards. Not for one knee, or two knees. Not for one life.
I opened my eyes again, ready to tell Krashakov to hurry up and go to work, but he was jerked away from me as if someone had tossed a lasso around him and yanked him backward. He shouted and tried to bring the gun up, but it was knocked from his hand as Thor stepped inside the cottage from the deck and drove a Buck hunting knife deep into the front of Krashakov's thigh. Krashakov started to scream, but Thor's gloved hand was wrapped tightly around his throat. His other hand was pointing a gun at Rakic. Behind him, Alexander stood calmly, pointing a Soviet-made AK-47 assault rifle at Rakic and Malaknik.
Kinkaid lurched up on his hands and knees behind us, still groggy. He looked at the hunting knife protruding from Krashakov's thigh, said, "Oh, holy shit," and fell back to the floor, covering his head with his hands.
"Let him go," Alexander said. Rakic and Malaknik released me and stepped away slowly. Krashakov had been fighting against Thor's grip but without success. Thor stood calmly, oblivious to the power of the man struggling against him. His handhold on Krashakov's throat cut off the man's air supply, and after a few seconds Krashakov went limp and slid to the ground, unconscious. Thor let him drop.
"Dainius would like to see you, gentlemen," Thor said to Rakic and Malaknik. "We will take your car."
Rakic started to mumble something, but Alexander stepped over to him and struck him repeatedly with the butt of the AK-47, driving him to the ground. Then he took the weapons from both Rakic and Malaknik and ordered them outside. I slid onto the deck and watched as Thor walked down the steps, dragging Krashakov behind him with one arm casually wrapped around the other man's throat. When he reached the drive, he opened the rear door of the Navigator and shoved Krashakov's bloody body inside. He reached inside, withdrew his hunting knife, and carefully used Krashakov's pants to wipe the blood from the blade. Then he stepped over to the cowering Malaknik, who was waiting at the base of the steps, and hit him once in the jaw. Malaknik crumpled as if someone had dropped a Honda on him. Thor picked him up as if he were a small child and tossed him into the car on top of Krashakov. Alexander hit Rakic in the back of the head with the assault rifle and dumped him in beside them, then dug a set of car keys from one of their pockets and closed the doors.
Thor turned to me and fixed his glacier-ice eyes on mine. I was still sitting on the steps of the deck.
"You were looking for them, and they were looking for me," I said.
He nodded once.
"Good timing," I said.
He nodded again, then walked past me and back into the cottage. I followed. He gazed around the living room and pointed at Kinkaid, who was still lying on the floor with his hands over his head. A wet stain had spread across the back of his pants.
"Do you want him?" he said.
"Yes."
"Fine. Understand that you never saw this. You never saw us." I nodded. "I understand."
He looked at Kinkaid. "Make sure he understands it as well."
"He won't be hard to convince."
"No, it does not appear that he will be."
He turned on his heel and walked back out onto the deck and down the steps. Rakic was already inside the Navigator. Thor opened the driver's door but didn't get inside. I thought about asking where they had come from, but that was only going to be answered with a cold, empty smile, so I let it go. They must have left their car at the top of the drive so as not to tip Krashakov off to his followers.
Thor was still standing with the driver's door open. "Dainius sends his thanks for your help in resolving this matter. If someday you should need his help, he hopes you will not hesitate to seek it."
"All right."
He started to get in the car, then leaned back and looked at me again. "Dainius is a good man to find favor with."
I thought of the hunting knife sinking into Krashakov's thigh. "I believe it," I said.
They were gone then. I stood and watched the Navigator pull up the drive and out of sight, and I tried not to wonder where it might be headed. Kinkaid was sitting on the deck now, and he looked ill. I walked up and knelt down beside him. Ten minutes earlier, I'd wanted to beat the shit out of him. Now I didn't think I could lift a fist to anyone if I had to. I felt weary.
"Kinkaid," I said, "those men would have killed you. They still may. You have worked against them, and they are not men to work against."
He was breathing in ragged gasps. I stared at him and thought about Hartwick, about the fat, pale man, and about the gun that had been pressed to my kneecap. I thought about all of it, and I tried to come up with some more rage. I couldn't.
"Go back to Sandusky, Kinkaid."
I stood on the deck and waited until he had started his car with trembling hands and driven away. Then I went to get Julie and Betsy.
I went down to the crawl space and started to pull the panel away, then thought better of it and yelled out my name before I took a bullet in the chest.
They crawled out and into my arms, and they were both crying. I sat on the ground and held them as Betsy buried her face in my chest and Julie wiped at her eyes and tried to compose herself.
"What happened?" she said. "Oh, Lincoln. I was so scared. Where'd they go?"
"They left," I said. "And they won't be back. That's all that matters." I stroked Betsy's soft hair with my hand and then gently tugged her face away from my shirt. "Hey, pal, relax. Everything's fine. You're fine."
We sat there for a while, sharing a hug that meant more than any embrace I could remember, and then Betsy said she was cold, so I picked her up and carried her inside.
"You're taller than my daddy," she said as we went up the steps, and I closed my eyes and didn't respond.
They got what things they had left in the cottage, and I put them in the back of the truck. Then I stopped Julie in the drive.
"Put Betsy in the truck, and then I'd like a moment alone with you."
She stared at me for a few seconds, then nodded and went up the steps. I watched her hips move as she went. Tomorrow. She was going to leave tomorrow.
I walked down to the pond and tossed rocks out onto the ice. They bounced across the surface without breaking the ice near the shore, but when I started lobbing them out into deeper water, they found pockets of broken ice and sank. The effort made the aches Krashakov had left behind flare up anew, but I ignored them.
A few minutes later, Julie walked out and joined me. She stood next to me and watched me throw the rocks. I didn't stop throwing them until she spoke.
"Betsy's in the backseat of your truck," she said. "We're ready whenever you are."
"Okay." I tossed a few more rocks out at the pond.
"I don't want to leave you," Julie said.
I dropped the rock that was in my hand. "I know."
"You can't come wit
h us."
I shook my head. "No. I can't."
She sighed. "But I can't stay here anymore, Lincoln. I can't raise my daughter here."
"No. You can't."
She moved to stand in front of me, then slipped her arms under mine and wrapped them around my back. She stepped in close and pressed her body against me, and I looked down into her beautiful face and beautiful eyes and for a moment I think I forgot to breathe. She squeezed me tightly, then leaned back, still holding me, and looked up at my face and smiled.
"Were you standing this close to your husband when you shot him?" I asked.
Originally it had been one of many possibilities in an unknown situation. Then it had been an idea dismissed as absurd. It had crawled back as a nagging doubt, developed into an always-present question, and then swelled into a strong suspicion. Now, as I looked down into her face, it became the truth.
"No," she said, and her voice was a hoarse whisper. "I wasn't quite this close."
She let go of me and stepped away. At least she hadn't tried to deny it. It shouldn't have meant much to me, but it was something.
"When did you decide that was what happened?" she asked.
"I'd wondered about it for a while. Wayne was a professional, and I had trouble believing he would have let someone get in a position to kill him with his own gun and make it look like suicide. Certainly he wouldn't have let any of the Russians pull it off. And for a while I bought your story about Hubbard, probably because I wanted to. But that one was weak, too, because you told me you had plenty of Hubbard's money to fund your disappearance. And if there's one thing near and dear to Jeremiah Hubbard's heart, it's his money. If he was planning to kill Wayne or have him killed, he wouldn't have paid him off first. Then when I stopped to think about how determined you are to take Betsy and leave the country, it made me even more curious."
"I see."
"I saw another side of you the night in the hot tub, and it didn't make sense," I said. "It wasn't easy for me to put my ego away, but when I did, I began to question whether I was really attractive enough to make a grieving widow shed her clothes in the middle ofa hotel courtyard."
Tonight I Said Goodbye (St. Martin's Minotaur Mystery) Page 27
