If she were still alive.
Grace, at the mercy of Landis’s thugs....
He choked off that thought. One thing at a time, and right now, his task was to take out the sentry.
Ray crept up to the rear bumper of the Russian’s vehicle, a shiny Mercedes. Carefully, he drew the keys to the motorcycle out of his pocket. Holding his breath, he lobbed them softly into the air. They landed with a chink several yards to the right.
Rusakevitch’s arm came up instantly and Ray caught the dull gleam of a deadly-looking assault rifle. Cautiously, Rusakevitch started toward the spot where the keys had landed.
Ray made his move then. From behind, he darted in, striking the Russian’s arm with all his might. The rifle went skidding across the pavement. Rusakevitch’s yelp of pain and surprise was cut off as Ray locked his arm around the other man’s neck.
“One move, one sound, and I’ll snap your neck.”
“Okay.”
“Where’s your other weapon?”
“What other weapon?”
Ray tightened his grip, applying a little more torque to the big man’s neck.
“Waistband, small of my back.”
With his free hand, Ray fished under the Russian’s jacket and extracted a Glock. He hefted the 10mm in his hand. It’d do, he decided. Without wasting another second, he brought the butt of the pistol down behind Rusakevitch’s ear. Hard. The man hit the ground without so much as a grunt.
Quickly, Ray ran his hands over the unconscious man, determining that a) he was still alive, and b) he’d been packing a third weapon, a Beretta .22 short semiautomatic. He shoved the second pistol into his hightops, grateful for the baggy pants that all but concealed his feet.
Standing, he examined the rifle he’d knocked from Rusakevitch’s hands. Kalashnikov AK-47. Good weapon, but unwieldy. He kicked it under the shadows of a parked tour bus.
Okay, job one was done. Now, how to play this next act?
In his mind’s eye, he saw the room key atop the TV stand. Dammit, if he’d just stopped to pick it up, he might have been able to open the door soundlessly enough to gain the element of surprise. But he hadn’t. He’d been too sated, too happy, too complacent about finally emerging from this nightmare.
Okay, no point beating himself up now. There’d be plenty of time for that later. If there was a later.
Okay, so what were his options?
He could ask for another key, but that could prove sticky. Grace had checked in alone. They’d need her permission to give out a second key, especially to a man. Even one claiming to be her husband. Maybe especially to a man claiming to be her husband, given awareness of domestic violence.
He imagined trying to explain to the night clerk the danger Grace was in and quickly discarded the idea. Too time consuming, and even then the night clerk would insist on accompanying him, knocking on the door and announcing the intrusion.
He could kick the door in, go in like gangbusters. Of course, that was always presuming he could knock the door down. He’d never tried anything like that. That’s what they had ERT units and battering rams for.
That’s it! He could call the Emergency Response Team.
Of course, if Landis’s men hadn’t stormed out to do battle with the Disciples tonight, he and Grace would be right back to square one. They’d potentially be sitting ducks for Landis. But right now, with Grace’s life on the line this very minute, he didn’t see any other option.
Yes, dammit, he’d call in the troops and take his chances with Landis tomorrow. If he didn’t act now, Grace wouldn’t have a tomorrow to worry about.
The whole process of analysis had taken less than thirty seconds, but now that the decision was made, he felt like he’d wasted too much time. Turning on his heel, he started toward the lobby to commandeer the front desk phone. He hadn’t gotten five paces when he heard a sound that froze him in his tracks.
A scream. Grace’s scream. Muffled, then quickly cut off.
Primal rage blasted away his reason. Gun held high, he raced back toward Grace’s unit. He’d tear the door off its hinges, then he’d take Landis’s goon apart. He’d tear the bastard’s heart out with his bare hands and feed it to him.
But what if the door didn’t give? What if righteous fury wasn’t enough?
Fear curdled in his stomach, fear for Grace. With it came a return of rationality. How many times would Landis’s thug listen to him batter the door before he put a bullet in Grace’s brain?
If he hadn’t already killed her with a silenced weapon....
Dammit, Morgan, use your head! There has to be a way in.
There was, he realized, drawing his lips back in a fierce, tooth-baring smile. He’d just knock on the door and ask.
Grace inhaled shallowly through her nose and let her breath shudder out again. Not dead after all.
If she were dead, her head wouldn’t be throbbing like this with every pulse. If she were dead, the bindings cutting into her wrists and ankles wouldn’t hurt. If she were dead, she wouldn’t be fighting the nausea created by the gag in her mouth.
She lifted her head to find Landis sitting in the chair in the corner.
“Good, you’re awake,” he said. “I didn’t want your husband to think you were already gone.”
She dropped her head back to the pillow. That’s right. He didn’t want to kill her ... yet. Not until he was sure Ray was dead. She was his pawn, his tool to make sure Ray took his medicine, after which he’d execute her without so much as a frown disturbing his smooth, handsome brow.
Maybe she should play dead when Ray came. That would serve Landis right—
A knock sounded at door, Ray’s bare-knuckled, happy tap. “Grace, sweetheart, open up.”
Her gaze flew to Landis, who pushed to his feet. Pistol raised, he crossed to the door. Standing to the side, he turned the knob and let the door fall inward.
Grace gathered herself to scream, knowing the gag would muffle her efforts. Before she could make even that small alarm, the door burst wide and Ray charged in, gun leveled. In seconds, he’d taken a bead on a surprised Landis, who also had Ray in his sights.
Ray had a gun.
The significance sank in. But where had he gotten it?
Unless he had taken his service weapon with him after all. No, she didn’t think so. He had on just his t-shirt....
“I guess you must have overpowered Vlady,” said Landis.
“It wasn’t hard. But then, good help is hard to find, isn’t it, Landis? Which I guess is why you’re in here terrorizing my wife instead of having one of your henchmen do it.”
Grace watched in amazement. She knew Ray had taken in her situation in his first sweep of the room, but you’d never know he had anything on the line from the easy tone of his voice.
“My henchmen, as you call them, are unfortunately otherwise engaged.” For the first time, Grace saw the first flicker of emotion cross Landis’s face.
“Oh, yes, that’s right. I heard something about that. Man’s got to protect his turf, I guess.”
“Except the challenge was a fiction, wasn’t it, Detective?”
“Was it?”
Landis’s face darkened. “You tell me. After all, you’re the one who carried the message, Detective.”
Ray’s service weapon, thought Grace. If she could slip off the bed, she might be able to fish it out of its holster in that tangle of clothing. Even with her wrists tied, she should be able to grasp it two-handed. Thank God Landis hadn’t thought her a sufficient threat to bind her hands behind her back.
She shot a look at the Russian. His polite, urbane mask was gone.
“Me?” Ray raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think I’d spread a nasty rumor like that?”
“I don’t think, I know. Vlad fingered you. We picked you out on the security tapes from earlier in the evening. Even then we wouldn’t have made you as anything but a low-life Disciple if we hadn’t seen you with this bitch.”
Landis indic
ated Grace with a jerk of his head. She’d been scooting closer to the other edge of the bed, but froze at his words.
“You must have known I’d figure it out if I saw you two together.”
“So how’d you find us here at this motel?”
“To borrow your phrase, it wasn’t hard. External cameras showed you getting into that disreputable-looking vehicle. This was just the second motel we checked.”
Grace turned her head to scan the floor. Their clothes were strewn on the carpet but had been kicked almost under the bed.
“So, you made me,” said Ray, his voice finally sounding a little stiff to Grace. “I guess this means you smelled a setup and called your boys off?”
“Not soon enough, unfortunately.” Landis’s voice was pure icy rage. “They’re all guests of Her Majesty tonight, thanks to you, Morgan.”
“Cheer up, Landis. They’ll probably all be out tomorrow and it’ll be business as usual.”
“Enough!” Landis roared. “We both know they’ll turn on me like the stinking sewer rats they are. Now put that gun down.”
Ray’s arm didn’t waver. “You know I can’t.”
“I know you will.” In one quick, smooth motion, Landis trained his weapon on Grace. “Now put down the gun.”
Ray heard the muffled sounds of protest that Grace was making against her gag. He couldn’t make out a word she said but he understood anyway.
Don’t do it. He’s still going to kill us. He’ll kill us both. Save yourself. Don’t put the gun down.
He put the gun down.
If he hadn’t had the second gun biting into his ankle, he would never have done it. He knew Grace was right, that Landis intended to kill them both. If he didn’t have the second weapon, he’d have tried for the perfect takedown shot. He’d have tried to hit that two-inch band circling Landis’s head, right at eye level. If he hit it just right, Landis might go down without squeezing his fingers in reflex, sending a round of automatic fire into Grace’s unprotected body.
A big if. Too big.
Holding both hands out in plain view, he bent and placed the Glock carefully on the carpeted floor.
“Now kick it over here.”
Ray obliged.
“That’s better.” Landis retrieved the Glock, jammed it into his waistband, then started to swing his gun back toward Ray. This was it. He had to go for the pistol. Now or never.
A sudden thump dragged Landis’s attention back toward the bed. Ray shot a quick glance in that direction, too.
Oh, Lord! Grace had rolled right off it onto the floor. Landis’s strode back toward the bed. Ray went for the Beretta in his hightop. Without hesitation, he aimed and squeezed the trigger.
Nothing.
Oh, Jesus. Landis was standing over Grace now, bringing the pistol’s muzzle down....
“No!” Ray cried, lunging toward Landis, impotently squeezing the trigger of the little .22.
A sudden explosion of sound shocked his eardrums in the small room, followed by another.
Incredibly, Landis reeled back, slamming into the wall between a pair of motel art pictures. Then he sank slowly to the floor, an obscenely-wide crimson streak on the white wall tracking his descent.
Ray vaulted over the bed, kicking the pistol away from Landis’s lax grip. One look at the man and he knew he needn’t have bothered. Hollow-point bullets at near point-blank range rarely left any doubt, but he pressed a hand to Landis’s carotid artery automatically to confirm it.
No pulse, and no possibility of resuscitation.
Immediate threat eliminated, he turned to check on Grace. His heart stumbled in his chest.
Even in the confusion of the moment, he’d known the killing shots had to have been fired by Grace, but somehow he wasn’t prepared for the sight of her, lying there on the carpet.
Naked, bound and gagged, she clutched his service weapon between trembling hands, her arms still stiffly extended.
“Oh, Grace, honey.” He dropped beside her, gingerly prying the gun from her tight grip. Placing the weapon on the night table, he dealt swiftly with the gag by dragging it down around her neck, then pulled her into his arms.
She shuddered, dragging in a shaky breath. “Is he dead?”
“Very.” His voice shook just as badly as Grace’s had. Damn, that was close. Too close.
Scooping the bedspread off the floor, he wrapped it around her. He tried to untie the binding at her wrists, but he couldn’t budge them. Swearing, he dug his Swiss Army knife out of his pocket and started sawing through the material. He worked carefully but quickly, anxious to restore circulation to her poor fingers.
“Did he hurt you?”
“Not much. Just a tap on the head.”
He jerked his gaze up from her discolored hands, which he’d been massaging back to life. Now that the gag had been removed, he could see she’d taken a blow to the face. The skin beneath her eye was already turning blue and the flesh was torn over her cheekbone. The eye area itself was swollen, too.
“If the sonofabitch wasn’t already dead, I’d kill him for that,” he said matter-of-factly.
“I killed him.” She looked past him to where Landis lay slumped against the wall. “I killed a man.”
Her gaze was blank, her voice devoid of emotion. That would come later, after the shock passed. She’d have nightmares about it. All that blood, the smell of death, the vacant look in the eyes after life was extinguished. It was hard to deal with even when it was part of your job.
“You saved us, Grace.” He turned her away from the grisly sight, leading her to the other bed where he gently urged her down. “He’d have killed us both.”
She blinked. “We better call the police.”
“No need. Hear that?” She nodded that she could hear the sirens. “Someone must have called 911 after shots were fired.” He quickly cut the bindings at her ankles. “In about two minutes, this parking lot’s going to be lit up like Christmas.”
He was wrong. The cavalry arrived in under a minute.
Instructing Grace to stay put, Ray stepped outside. He raised his arms high in the air as two patrol cars converged in the parking lot, their red-and-blue bar lights bouncing crazily off buildings and cars. He recognized the first officer out of his car, Corporal Jake Hartland.
“Jake, it’s me. Ray Morgan.”
Hartland tipped the weapon he’d leveled at Ray’s chest upward a fraction of an inch. “Razor?”
“Yep.”
“What’s going on?”
“You got a DOA inside, Room 116. And to your left, beside that black Mercedes SUV, you’ll find a man down. He’s a hospital case, too, unless he’s crawled off. Probable fractured skull.”
“Detective Morgan?”
Ray glanced at the second officer, a new recruit. “Crowly.”
The youngster lowered his weapon and Ray lowered his arms.
“Holy hell, Ray, what’d you do to yourself?” Jake again. “I wouldn’t have recognized you, man.”
He grinned. “Long story. You should see Grace.”
“Grace is here?”
Ray’s face sobered. “Grace is the shooter.”
If Jake had been wearing his hat as policy preferred, his eyebrows would have disappeared under it. “This is going to be a long story.” He shook his head. “Okay, where’s the guy with the cracked melon? We better see to him before he does crawl off.”
Ray led them to the black Mercedes behind which the Russian still sprawled unconscious. Jake knelt to check him out.
“You gonna tell me Grace did this, too?”
“No, that was me,” he said. “I might have hit him a little hard.”
“Nah. He’s still breathing.” Jake stood. “Don’t suppose you can tell me who it is?”
“Vladimir Rusakevitch.”
“Cripes, another one of Landis’s men?”
“Yep.”
“Jeez, we’ve been processing these guys all night. Holding cells are full of them.”
&nb
sp; “So I heard,” Ray said.
“Yeah? From who?”
“Landis.”
“Don’t tell me—Landis is our DOA?”
“Yep.”
Jake whistled admiringly. “And Grace shot him?”
“Yes.”
“Damn, I can’t wait to hear this.”
The ambulance arrived just then, followed by another squad car.
“Our sergeant,” Jake said, as the female officer climbed out of her car. Jake waved for the EMTs who had piled out of the ambulance with a gurney.
“Over here,” he called, then turned to the other patrolman. “Dennis, you stay with our friend, Vlad.” Then he turned to Ray. “Razor, buddy, I’m gonna have to put you in my car while Sergeant Copeland and I secure the scene.”
“But Grace needs me—”
“Grace needs to give us an independent statement.”
Standard operating procedure to separate witnesses for questioning. Ray knew it, but it didn’t make it any easier to accept. She’d looked so blank, so stunned. He wanted to be with her, help her through this. But it was out of the question and he knew it. He was going to have to give his own statement, too. Dammit, it would likely be hours before he could wrap his arms around her again.
“Okay, Jake.” He forced his fisted hands to relax. “Okay.”
It was almost six hours later before Grace saw Ray again.
In those hours, she’d held an ice pack to her cheek while she told the bare bones of her story to Sergeant Roberta Copeland. She’d then been taken to hospital where the ER doctor had checked her over thoroughly, closed the gash on her cheek, and pronounced her fine.
Then she’d gone to the station and repeated her story in greater depth for Detective Dave Samsel, a colleague of Ray’s from Major Crime, and Jake Hartland.
She’d written out a full statement and answered what felt like a thousand questions from Samsel and Hartland. Finally, finally, they told her she was free to go.
Thank God. She was so tired, her head was beginning to spin, which did nothing for her stomach. She needed a dark room, a soft pillow and the blessed escape sleep would grant.
Saving Grace (Serve and Protect Series) Page 20
