by Heskett, Jim
“No, but I know the general area she lives in. In Golden, a little bit north of town, there is a brand new housing development. She lives in a house that’s a little different. It’s set back from the road a bit, like with a longer driveway than the others. It also has a guest house to the side and big white columns out front. I don’t know the number, but, apparently, you can’t miss it.”
Gabe transcribed all this info onto the legal pad. He sucked in a breath. “Do you think she’s still alive?”
"I know you want her to be, but I can't answer that. Veronica said she was going to keep her in the basement while she waited for her brother or something. I didn't really understand that part. Maybe the blizzard slowed her down. Who knows?"
Gabe finished writing his notes and swapped out the pen for his car keys. “Thank you, Rebecca. I have to go get her.”
“Good luck. This black spot trial by combat thing is bullshit, and you can tell her I said that. I hope Ember beats them all.”
The call ended and Gabe dropped his phone in his pocket. He looked around the room, hands shaking, thinking about what he needed to take with him. Last time he’d mounted a rescue mission, the evening hadn’t gone as planned.
A knock came at the door. Gabe didn’t even register it until a second knock came, three seconds later. Zach must have decided to take Gabe up on his offer for help during his trip back from the vending machine.
Gabe took a look around to make sure he didn’t have anything obviously incriminating sitting around, then he crossed the room and opened the door.
Chapter Thirty-Six
EMBER
She heard the gunshot as a muted crack coming in via the ceiling above. But to her there was no mistaking the sound. Even through the layer of concrete, the curt bark of a handgun came through as clear as day.
On instinct, she reached to the back of her sweatpants to look for her Enforcers. They weren’t there, of course. Ember had no weapons, no strength, no leverage.
But she had chaos, and maybe that would be good enough.
She had to think it through. Veronica was upstairs already, and she had said her brother Curtis would arrive at some point today. It seemed unlikely that Veronica and her brother would engage in a gunfight, so this had to be a third party come to call. Fagan? Gabe? One of those determined Five Points guys who kept attacking her as revenge for the death of Niles four weeks ago?
Would any of them know where to find her? Ember had the feeling Veronica probably hadn’t been too vocal about her plan this week. But, somebody had to know.
No matter who it was, the situation had changed. Something was different in the house, and this could provide an opportunity along with the danger. Maybe Veronica was wounded. That would mean she didn’t have access to the button. Without that button, Ember actually had power.
It was a chance. All Ember needed.
She pushed her tired muscles toward the cage over the patched hole where the window had been. Ember pressed a foot to climb up the wall parkour-style, then she wrapped her hands around one of the curved metal bars acting as a cage over the window. Her butt hung down, three feet off the floor. She hooked a wrist cuff behind one bar to gain leverage, then she pulled with all her might.
The bar creaked, but it wouldn’t pull straight out of the wall. So, she worked it left and right, forcing the nails below and above to poke through the glue.
Her limbs ached. Her head buzzed with adrenaline. Back and forth, letting her bodyweight help pull and dislodge it from the wall. Every swing went a little farther in each direction.
With a heave and a yell, Ember pulled the metal bar free. She tumbled down to the concrete floor, smacking her back and head in the process.
It took her a few seconds to draw air back into her lungs. But, when she sat up, she was holding a solid metal bar, about eighteen inches long and curved on both ends like a tall letter C.
Ember rushed across the room and up the stairs, then she jabbed one end of the thing into the space between the door and door jamb, acting like a crowbar. The metal tip barely wedged into the space, and she had to exert all her strength to gain any traction at all.
More gunshots cracked from outside the door. Ember could now hear dim yelling, one of the voices was Veronica, and the other a male voice she couldn’t identify. It could have been Curtis, but somehow, Ember had a feeling it wasn’t.
With all her might, Ember pulled on the bar, and the door cried as the deadbolts snapped. The door swung open. Rush of warm air. Now, Ember could hear the gunshots at full volume, rattling at a rapid clip. Sounded like pistol fire, no shotguns, no automatic weapons.
Weapon in hand, Ember came to a hallway. To her left, the hall terminated in a laundry room, washer and dryer and shelving. A window looked to the outside. To her right was the grand foyer of this house, tall ceilings and a chandelier glittering from daylight through skylight windows above.
But what really drew Ember's attention was the body on the floor. A man, dark skin, sprawled on his stomach. A pool of blood around his head. Ember had to assume this was Curtis.
Given that gunshots still originated from two different locations and Curtis had no weapon near him, there were still at least two other people in the house. Curtis was starting to seem like collateral damage in this situation.
Ember looked up sharply and raised her weapon when Veronica hustled through the foyer, pistol pointed back over her shoulder. But Ember’s captor for the last six days didn’t turn her head in this direction. Veronica was too busy shooting behind her.
She disappeared into a room on the right. Less than one second later, coming after her was a bulky man Ember had never seen before. Running with a limp. He had short black hair and a heavy black coat. Ember didn’t get to study him, because he raced after Veronica, blasting his pistol as he hopped over the corpse on the floor to cross the room.
Then, they were both gone. Neither Veronica nor this other man had taken any notice of her. Ember was free and clear to move about however she wanted.
She stared straight ahead at the front door of the house. Fifty steps to freedom. She could run right out that door and never look back.
Veronica wouldn’t know. She was a little occupied at the moment.
But something nagged at Ember. Who was this black-haired man? Why had he killed Curtis, and why was he trying to kill Veronica? It would be natural to assume a Golden assassin would have enemies, but the timing of it seemed suspect. Why right now, while Veronica was keeping Ember in the basement?
She had a strong notion this man was actually here to kill her, not Veronica.
Ember didn’t know why she felt this way, but it seemed right. Maybe the Oracle had sent someone to demonstrate she was angry about Ember missing her appointment. Or possibly, one of those revenge-driven Five Points guys had hired a contractor.
Could this third wheel in the house be Helmut, the Euro-trash asshole Zach had said was a bodyguard for his boss? Would Zach’s employers try to kill Ember to get her out of the way? She knew Firedrake was bad news, but perhaps not to this extent.
Either way, she had to know more.
She pointed her feet toward the side room where they had disappeared only seconds before. She jogged. Thirty steps later, she turned into what appeared to be a spacious sitting room with couches and bookshelves. Veronica was on the far side of the room, hunkered down behind a marble sculpture sitting atop a white column. She was wearing a blue top, and Ember could see at least three red blotches on it. She had absorbed a few bullets already.
The male attacker had taken cover behind a heavy wooden coffee table he had overturned. He was shooting over the top of it, facing away, oblivious to Ember. Veronica and this other man were only about fifty feet from each other.
Ember raised the metal bar and padded over toward him. She would strike him once in the head and then knock the gun from his hand. If Veronica decided take advantage of the situation to point her gun at Ember instead, she would have to deal with th
at problem when it surfaced. Closest threat first.
Ember tensed her arm, ready to strike. Standing two feet behind the guy. Then, Veronica noticed her, and her head tilted, confused look on her face.
The guy stopped shooting, watching Veronica’s confused reaction. He whirled around, looking right up at Ember. Big black eyes wide.
She brought down the bar, cracking a solid blow across the face. But it didn't stop him. Eyes closed, blood dripping from his forehead into his eyes, he leaped to his feet. But, because of the limp, he stumbled back a half step and did not ready his weapon in time.
Ember jumped twice. Once to the man's right, then once more behind him. First, she drove the bar down on his pistol hand, knocking the weapon free.
She gripped the bar in both hands and used it to put him in a chokehold. Normally, she would turn and hoist him onto her back like a sack of potatoes, but he looked way too big for that. Ember didn't have the strength to lift his considerable mass.
So, she knocked him off balance. They crashed to the floor, him on top, both facing upward. From below, she looped her ankles inside his knees to lock them out while she kept up pressure with the bar to choke him. Not to kill him, because she wanted to ask him some questions. But, she had to make him pliable first.
But, he wasn’t interested in submitting. He drove his elbow into her sides, and Ember gritted her teeth against the pain. He smacked her again, and Ember’s anguished wounds told her to release the bar, but she held firm. She was only trying to make him pass out, but he seemed resistant to it.
Ember held down the bar, driving it deeper and deeper into his neck. He smacked her again and again, each time sending waves of agony up down her already bruised body.
The next smack from his elbow lost force, and ten seconds later, he went limp above her. In all the fury and confusion, she’d pressed too hard for too long.
"Damn it," Ember said. He wasn't supposed to die. But she hadn't had much choice.
Ember shoved the corpse of the man to the side, grunting to heave his weight off her. She reached over and grabbed his pistol, a clean and nice-looking FN Five-SeveN sitting a couple feet from his lifeless body.
She tried to spring to her feet but was too tired, so she latched onto the nearby couch for assistance.
Across the room, Veronica stood, one hand holding a pistol, the other using the marble statue for help staying upright. Ember could now see the extent of her injuries. Veronica had been shot at least five times in the chest and stomach. Blood had colored the front of her shirt almost entirely red. And, Ember noted, she made no effort to point her gun at Ember. It hung from her hand like an accessory.
Ember pointed. “Who was that guy?”
“He killed… he killed my brother. Piece of shit.”
“Yeah, well, I killed him for you. You’re welcome.”
Veronica didn’t respond. Instead, she swerved on her feet, her eyelids fluttering. She crashed into the marble statue, knocking it over. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she went prone on the floor.
Ember crossed the room and put two fingers to Veronica’s neck. Dead.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
MARCUS
Marcus Lonsdale adjusted his wool coat as he waited for the door in front of him to open. He looked back toward the two men on either side of him, standing eighteen inches behind. It was not protocol for them to form a perfect triangle, but his guys did it out of habit or some natural tendency.
Whatever their reason, Marcus wouldn’t complain. He liked having both of his flanks covered, whether there was apparent danger or not. He also liked being able to stand out in front, to be the first person to draw the eye of whoever he encountered. Then, his two men would come into view, silent, brooding, serious and deadly. It made Marcus feel a bit like a gangster in one of those old movies. But, he wasn’t a gangster. He was on the other side of the law, actually.
Marcus took one final drag from his cigarette and then dropped it on the ground. It sizzled immediately among the slushy remnants of snow on the pavement.
The motel room door opened and there stood young Gabe, with the strap of a backpack in one hand. He looked paused in mid-motion, shoulders moving up and down, chest inflating and deflating.
“Going somewhere?” Marcus asked him.
Gabe’s eyes flicked back and forth between the three men. “I don’t have time for this. Seriously. You want to sweat me again? Come back later.”
Marcus pushed inside the room, his two guys following, then they shut the door behind them. “You’re going to have to make time. Have a seat.”
Gabe took a step back and sank onto the bed, backpack still clutched in one hand. He looked primed to bolt at any second, so Marcus threw eyes at his two men to caution them.
“Why aren’t you at your apartment?” Marcus asked.
“I’m in the middle of something. You can’t just walk into my life whenever you feel like.”
“There’s the thing, Gabe,” Marcus said as he leaned against the desk opposite the bed. “I can. I’m a federal special agent with the FBI. I can do whatever the hell I want. Tell me why you’re at a gross Denver motel with fluid-stained sheets and not at home.”
“This is where I hang out. You guys should understand — aren’t you always staying in seedy motels?”
“Gabe —”
“It’s none of your business.”
“This isn’t a great start to our conversation, Gabe. Do better than that.”
“Fine. I’m into weird, kinky sex stuff like putting on bear costumes while I choke myself with a belt tied around the doorknob. I don’t want my neighbors to find out about it. So, I come here.”
Marcus sighed. “Okay, don’t tell me. It doesn’t really matter, anyway. Right now, I’m here to ask if you’ve considered my question from last week about becoming an asset to the Bureau.”
Gabe hesitated, and the room fell silent, all wide eyes and shallow breaths.
“The answer is no.”
Marcus sucked through his teeth. “Oh, Gabe, that is absolutely the wrong move here. I didn’t fly all the way out here in this shitty weather to get more resistance from you.”
“I don’t care what you expected. Now, leave. I’m busy.”
“If that’s really how you’re going to play it, I gotta ask you why you’re breaking my balls over this. I’m talking about your life, son. Your future.”
“You’re not a part of my future. I know where my loyalties lie.”
“That’s incredibly disappointing. You have no idea.”
Gabe sneered. “Haven’t I made it clear that I don’t give two shits how you feel? Just let me go. I have to be somewhere, and, once again, you’re making me late.”
Marcus grinned. The kid seemed to have grown a pair since they’d last spoken. Also, he was on edge, worked up over something serious. “Where were you off to before we showed up?”
“I’m not going to answer that. Are we done yet?”
“We’re done when I say we’re done.” Marcus leaned toward the man on his right, frowning. “Looks like I might owe you twenty bucks, after all.”
Marcus then looked Gabe in the eye. “Come with us. Don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be.”
But Gabe did not comply. He plunged a hand into his backpack as he leaped to his feet. Marcus barely had time to react before the man on his left drew his service weapon, a 9mm with a noise suppressor screwed onto the top. He pressed the trigger one time. The suppressed weapon barked, but not nearly as loud as it would have been without that magical tube added to the end.
Gabe stumbled back toward the bed as a hole appeared in the middle of his chest. His hand slipped out of the backpack, clutching a revolver. When he hit the bed, it came loose from his grasp and thudded harmlessly onto the floor.
Marcus considered the revolver but decided to let it stay where it was. No need for him or his men to put their fingerprints on it. "You okay, son? You're looking a little green."
Gabe gasped and pushed himself back toward the headboard. Grimacing, he looked down at the spreading circle of red in the middle of his shirt. Panic on his face, lips pulled down into a sneering grimace.
Marcus held out a hand to the man on his right, and the man placed his silenced pistol into Marcus’ grip.
He rounded the side of the bed and aimed the pistol.
“This is your last chance, Gabriel Jackson. There’s still time to save your life.”
“Please, take me to a hospital,” Gabe wheezed, his face twisted in pain.
“Not until you tell me whose side you’re on.”
Gabe met Marcus’ eyes, teeth gritted. After a pause, he shook his head.
“So be it,” Marcus said, then he put a bullet in Gabe’s forehead, and two more in his chest. The young man on the bed squirmed, gulping air. He swam around on the sheets for a full second before his motion slowed and then stopped. Eyes open, jaw hanging loose.
Marcus sighed as he extended his gun arm behind him, and one of his men took the weapon.
Marcus wiped a spot of Gabe’s blood from his cheek and sighed down at the dead body on the bed. “Damn. I’d hoped that would go better. But, I guess I shouldn’t be all that surprised — he was training to be part of an organized crime element, after all.”
“Sir,” his man said, holding up a yellow legal pad. “Found this.”
Marcus crossed the room and took the legal pad. He read over the notes, chuckling a little to himself. "Well, it seems our rogue agent Allison got herself kidnapped by a person with a grudge named Veronica. In Golden, about a half-hour from here. I guess that explains why Serena Rojas hasn't been able to find her."
“Are we Oscar-Mike, sir?”
Marcus thought it over. “No, good chance this Veronica person will take care of Ember for us. If not, I don’t think showing up at the scene of a kidnapping is a good look right now, with possible law enforcement already swarming, or soon to be there. If Ember survives, we’ll leave her for Serena. Much cleaner that way.”
