The Ivy Nash Thrillers: Books 1-3: Redemption Thriller Series 7-9 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set)

by John W. Mefford

  A minute passed as we heard voices of gratitude.

  “Good fuckin’ pizza, Miguel,” Matt said with his mouth full. “You sure you don’t want a slice?”

  “Nah,” we heard the boy reply. “I mean, no sir.”

  “So, Matt,” Theresa said, “we’ve done you a favor. Let’s make it even. Why don’t you let the kids go? You cool with that?”

  I heard a quick slurping sound. “I’m always cool. Cool is my middle name,” he said with a chuckle, as if we were just hanging out at a local bar.

  “Good. Glad to hear it. We can have—”

  “I’m cool, but I’m not stupid,” he said.

  Theresa and I locked eyes.

  “If I give you the kids, then I start to lose leverage. I was born before today, but I wasn’t born yesterday.”

  “Have you thought about what you really want, Matt? You’re right; you weren’t born yesterday, and I wasn’t either,” Theresa said, both hands on the back of a chair. “We only want everyone to walk out of that house unharmed. That’s our goal.”

  “If I do that, I’ll be in jail the rest of my life. Or worse.”

  There was only one reason he would say that: if he had already murdered someone.

  His wife.

  “Daddy, you’re not going to jail, are you?” Miguel said in the background.

  “I…just stop asking me questions.”

  “Matt there’s no reason for anyone to get hurt. Just put down your gun, walk outside, and this can all be over,” Theresa said.

  “Screw you, cop. I ain’t doing shit.”

  “Matt, you keep being hardheaded and…let’s just say this can’t go on forever. We need a resolution. We need everyone to walk out of the house. How about it?”

  “How about you go fuck yourself, cop? I came here to do one thing, and even though you keep finding reasons to get me to do other shit, I see no reason why I shouldn’t just follow through. Nothing is going to change, no matter what you say. I still have the same pathetic life without my family. The whole world has screwed me. And I’ve let down everyone I care about.”

  Matt’s emotions swung wildly one way and then the other. My stomach felt like I was on a seesaw. I noticed Stan and SWAT man whispering back and forth, both looking at Stan’s phone. It seemed like a decision to move in was about to be made. Unless we were lucky, I felt like Matt wouldn’t go down without killing multiple people, cops and kids included.

  “You want more time to think this over?” I asked, knowing I’d draw some displeased looks from the police contingent. And I was right.

  “Yeah, I need more time. This is Ivy, right?”

  “Yes, the same woman who met your son. He’s such a nice, respectful child. You’ve done a heck of a job raising him.” I had to do anything to butter this guy up, make him think he had at least one advocate on the outside.

  “Thanks, I guess. Although his mom had something to do with it.”

  “From my experience, Matt, to raise a son as good as Miguel, it really takes a team effort. So, don’t discredit yourself.”

  “I don’t know. I guess he’s a good kid.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Stan bring a hand to his face as he stared at his phone. SWAT man looked over his shoulder, then whispered something and headed for the door.

  Stan held out his phone, and Theresa and I saw the message: Berta Garza found dead next to her car in parking lot. Bullet in chest. I could feel bile tickle the back of my throat.

  “You still there, Ivy?”

  “Uh, yeah. I’m just looking for some food around this place,” I said as I tried to keep my mind and stomach from spinning. “I haven’t had a thing to eat all day.”

  “You work for the CPS, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do, Matt.”

  “That’s the group that took away my son.”

  “Who do you work for, Matt?”

  “For years I worked for the post office.”

  “Did you always lose my mail?”

  “Hell no, I was the quickest carrier out there. And I delivered the right mail to the right people.”

  “Right. And even though I work for the CPS, I try like hell to help families work through their issues so they can have a happy family life. That’s really my only goal.”

  “That’s pretty cool, I guess.”

  “Tell you what, Matt. This is normally against our agency’s policy, but I say screw management. How about I make one of my official in-home visits now?”

  I thought Theresa’s eyes were going to pop out. I held up a hand to her and Stan, whose face was glowing red.

  “How would that work?”

  “I would just come in, we’d have a discussion, and I’d write some notes down on my little form here. And then I go back and discuss the possibility of you getting Miguel back.”

  A pause.

  “Now, since I’m bending the rules a bit here, I need for you to meet me halfway. When I walk into the house, you need to let all three kids go.”

  “What? You know I can’t do that.” He sounded agitated, but he didn’t go crazy on me.

  “Matt, you’ll still have the leverage. I’ll be there. Mrs. Gideon will be there. Here’s my quandary. If I go in there, ask you the standard questions, you’re not going to get a passing grade because, by having a gun around your child, you’ll be putting his life at risk. Now, I know deep down inside, you don’t want to hurt him. But no one else will believe it. I have to fill out the form honestly. There’s just no way around that.”

  I could see Stan mouthing something that started with F over and over again while shaking his head vigorously.

  “What do you say, Matt? I can be at the front door in about two minutes.”

  Another pause.

  “Yeah, I think that’s a good next move. Just knock on the door, and then I’ll send the kids out, and you can come in and do the interview.”

  “Great. See you in just a moment.” I removed my headset, and the line went dead.

  “Please tell me…” Theresa paused to cough, as if she might have choked on her own saliva. “What kind of stunt was that? You just promised him something that can’t happen. So now what are we going to do when you don’t show up? He’s going to go ballistic. He’s going to lose it.”

  “I’m going in. That will solve it.”

  “You’re in a dream world, Ivy,” Stan said. “Even if I allowed it, there would be twenty other cops who wouldn’t let you. On top of that, Hamm has his team positioned and ready to go.”

  “The SWAT guy?” I thumbed behind me.

  Theresa and Stan nodded.

  “I really think this is our best chance for keeping the kids safe. Maybe our only chance.”

  “Sure, he might let them go,” Stan said, “or he might open the door, shoot you in the face, and then kill everyone in the house.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Stan smacked the back of an empty chair, and Mino jumped. “Ivy, he probably killed his wife.”

  “A crime of passion. He thought he had no hope, or maybe he thought she screwed him over. You know the routine. To him, I’m someone who he thinks might be able to put the pieces back together, even if he’s fooling himself a bit.”

  “A bit?” Theresa scoffed as she ran her fingers through her hair. It was still beautiful, unlike the frizzy mop pulled behind my head.

  I noticed a notebook sitting on the desk next to Mino. “May I?” I asked as I tucked it under my arm. He just nodded—he literally hadn’t spoken a word the entire time I’d been in the bus. “And a pen,” I said, pulling one out of Stan’s front coat pocket. I started walking to the door, and then I saw Joanna in the corner, trying to pretend that I didn’t see her.

  “Ivy, I can’t let you do this,” Stan said.

  “You don’t have a choice. This is the only way the kids will be okay. Please stop being a pain in my ass, and let’s make this work.”

  “Hold up,” Theresa said. “If Garza allows the kids to leav
e, and you’re in there with Mrs. Gideon, then what?”

  “If you look at the math, we would have started with four hostages, three of which were innocent kids. We’d then be down to two hostages, both adults. It’s a win-win.”

  They both shook their heads. Finally, Joanna spoke up. “Ivy, this might be the craziest thing I’ve ever seen you do. Do you remember how much they’re paying us?”

  A blast of heat rolled up my back as I turned to my colleague. “I…” My free hand balled into a fist, and my cheeks puffed out. “I don’t have time for you and your shit now, Joanna.”

  I exited the bus and started walking, but I could hear Stan’s heavy footsteps playing catchup.

  “Ivy, don’t make me cuff you.”

  I flipped around to see Stan practically tripping over my heels. I put a finger in his chest. “You have a child, right?”

  “Don’t go there.”

  “You haven’t talked about him much, but I’m guessing he’s nine or ten.”

  “Ten. He has special needs.”

  I took in a breath. “The same age as Miguel. If he were in that house, would you trade places with him?”

  “Hell yes, of course.”

  “Miguel’s mom is dead, and his dad is falling apart before his eyes. He has no one to protect him. No one gives a shit about his life. I do.”

  I tried to block painful images of my childhood from flooding my brain. The whole reason I worked for CPS—to protect kids who needed it most.

  Stan’s mouth hung open.

  I put my hand on his shoulder. “It will be okay, Stan. Once I’m inside, I can talk to Matt, get him to put down his gun, and turn himself in.”

  “But—”

  “He agreed to make this switch. He trusts me. You should trust me.”

  Pursing his lips, he was on the verge of making another point, but he couldn’t get the words out.

  “Let’s get these kids out of harm’s way.” I headed for the Gideon house, and this time Stan didn’t try to stop me. As I made my way through the police-car barricade, I could hear officers questioning my decision. Stan then barked out instructions to let me pass. Ten steps beyond the safe zone, I eyeballed the home about a hundred yards in front of me. I felt exposed. I clenched the notebook a little tighter and tried not to show fear or reluctance in my stride, in case Matt was watching.

  My flats crunched against leftover sand from the recent ice storm, muffling the thump of my beating heart. Joanna’s comment zipped across my mind, and a hint of doubt nibbled at the back of my mind. Was I on some type of death march? Did I care that little about myself to walk right into a surefire death trap?

  Stay strong, Ivy. Don’t let the abuse from your past define what you think of yourself.

  I took in a deep breath and picked up a strong scent of wood burning through a chimney in the neighborhood. I chided myself for allowing those kind of self-loathing thoughts to linger in my mind. I’d been to hell and back during my younger years, and even had a few mental and physical scars to prove it, but I’d made myself a promise that I wouldn’t let those demented souls haunt me for the rest of my life.

  I picked up my pace, more confident than ever that I was doing the right thing, for the kids and for me. I’d get them out and then talk Matt into surrendering.

  A muffled crack literally made me jump in the air, my stomach halfway in my throat. It came from the house. Was he starting his killing spree? I took off running for the house, but it felt like I moved in slow motion. Two long steps and I could hear orders being barked all around me, men in black SWAT outfits collapsing onto the home like someone had just kicked a fire-ant mound.

  “Shoot to kill, shoot to kill,” someone yelled.

  “No, please stop,” I screamed.

  But I was invisible. No one heard me, and more shots rang out.

  Windowpanes broke, and tear gas began to fill up the house. Then, men busted down the front door.

  Just as I hit a full-on sprint and hopped onto the curb, I was tackled to the ground, the air leaving my lungs as a person’s shoulder plowed into my chest.

  “Stay down, dammit.”

  It was Stan.

  “Let me go,” I said, scrambling to push him off.

  He moved to his knees but pressed my shoulders down. I could see him pull his handgun from his holster, his head moving back and forth.

  “You gotta stay down, Ivy. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

  The gunshots had stopped, but I could see a parade of boots stomp past us. A few seconds passed, then an officer ran out of the house as I pushed up from the wet grass.

  “We need multiple medics in the home. We’ve cleared the weapons.”

  My breath stuck in my throat. I knew death had touched my life once again.

  5

  It took some convincing, but the police allowed me to be at Miguel’s side in the living room as the medics treated him for a bullet wound on his upper arm. The blood of his dead father was splattered on the bar a few feet away, the body on the kitchen floor.

  Miguel couldn’t stop his spastic breathing.

  “It will be okay, Miguel. Grip my hand,” I said, taking his hand in mine as large box fans whirred around us, clearing the air of any remaining tear gas. The gas mask he’d worn when the officers had first entered was lying off to the side.

  He blinked his eyes as he tried to focus on me and not the medic taking care of his wound.

  “Where’s my dad?” he whimpered.

  “We’ll talk about it later, Miguel. The important thing is you’re safe.”

  Tears spilled down his cheeks. “I want my mom. Where’s my mom?” He began to take in the scene, noticing more uniformed cops…and blood.

  “It will be okay, Miguel. I’m here, and you’re going to be safe. No one is going to hurt you.” I swallowed back a lump in my throat.

  “My dad, he’s dead, isn’t he?”

  “Shhh. Let’s talk about—”

  “Tell me. Is my dad dead? Did they shoot him? I heard the gunshots.”

  He started to get up, and the medic quickly said to me, “If you don’t keep him still, I’m going to accidentally hurt him. Either you hold him down, or we’ll need to put him in restraints.”

  It seemed like no one looked at the situation from the child’s perspective. “I’ve got him, but no restraints.” I tried to take Miguel’s hand again. “Miguel, please stay still so this nice medic can take care of your arm.”

  “I’ve got to see my dad. Let me go,” he said, throwing his good arm forward and kicking his knees.

  The medic called over a colleague.

  “Miguel, please. Just a few more minutes, and then we can walk out of here together.”

  “I don’t care about my arm. I just need to see my dad.”

  The last thing I wanted was to see him being restrained like an animal. “Miguel, look in my eyes. Just give me a second and look into my eyes.”

  He paused just as the second medic was about to put his hands on him.

  “I know this is painful for you, Miguel. Your dad, yes, he died during the raid. I’m so sorry.”

  The next thing I knew, Miguel had his head buried against my chest, sobbing. I wrapped my arms around him and rocked back and forth on the carpet. I could feel his ribs through his T-shirt. The whole place went quiet, and everyone slowed down for a few seconds.

  “Miguel, I want you to tell me more about how you’ll help people as a fireman.”

  “What?” he said, wiping his eyes.

  “Are you going to rescue cats in trees for little old ladies?”

  He sniffled. “I guess.”

  Over the bustle of voices and fans, I heard a piercing scream coming from the back of the house. I attempted to keep Miguel’s focus on me, and his future.

  “If you climbed one of those tall ladders on the back of a firetruck, do you think you’d be scared, or would it be really cool to see across the city, all the tall buildings?”

  The medic blo
tted Miguel’s arm with a cotton ball, and the boy winced. Fortunately, the bullet had just grazed his arm, so the wound wasn’t serious. I looked over his shoulder and saw what I thought was a bullet hole in the wall. I wondered whose bullet that was. His dad’s? A SWAT officer’s? I knew from talking to Stan that unless the bullet was completely destroyed, they’d likely be able to determine the origin of the bullet by doing ballistics.

  “Miguel?”

  “What?” He pulled his big brown eyes away from his wounded arm.

  “The tall ladders on the back of firetrucks. What do you think you’d see?”

  He twisted his lips for a second. “I want to be an NBA player more than a fireman. I want to play for the Spurs.”

  I chuckled, knowing how loyal the people of San Antonio were to the only professional sports team in the city. “Okay, from a fireman to a power forward,” I said with a wink.

  “A fireman could be my backup plan. You know, if I tear my knee up or something like that.”

  “Wow, Miguel, you are such a mature boy. You’re thinking ahead about your future. I think you’ll be successful and happy at anything you do.”

  He nodded, his eyes drifting up to the pass-through bar of the kitchen. An officer was standing there, but I guessed it was the blood smeared on the counter and everywhere else in the vicinity that held Miguel’s attention. He stayed silent, as if he were dealing with it in his own way.

  I squeezed his hand, and he turned back to me. “My dad and I went to a Spurs game last year.”

  “That must have been a blast.”

  “Yeah, it was. I even saw myself on the big screen above the court.” He grinned. “I was jumping up and down, waving my Spurs pennant. I was trying to eat cotton candy at the same time. I got blue stuff all over my mouth.”

  I chuckled again as the medic wrapped his arm.

  Just then, I heard screaming voices coming from somewhere else in the house. We needed to get Miguel out of there before he witnessed any more drama.