Made to Be Broken

by Kelley Armstrong

  "It's late. My wife is waiting."

  With your new baby, I thought. But I couldn't say that, so I settled for, "Just have it in the account by nine. Now, you're right, it is late, so if that's everything..."

  He rubbed the ring, as if calling forth a genie to help him think. "You shredded all the papers, right?"

  "Yes, and I removed the hard drive from his desktop computer and took the laptop."

  "Did you bring them?"

  "Was I supposed to?"

  He rubbed the ring harder. I aimed my foot and shoulder toward the door, hinting I wanted to be going, but the second I moved, he jumped back, as if I'd pulled a gun.

  As I sucked in my annoyance and lifted my hands to say, "Look buddy, I just moved, okay?" I sensed someone behind me. Maybe it was a faint change in the light. Maybe it was a click so soft only my subconscious recognized it. Maybe it was just a sixth sense. But my body reacted, sending me diving for the floor, brain screaming "what the hell -?"

  The pfft of a silenced shot cut the thought short.

  Chapter Forty-seven

  The bullet sliced through my jacket as I hit the floor in a roll. A second shot bounced off the concrete beside me. I came out of the tumble and shot forward, hunched over, head down, hand going for my gun. A third shot, this one so far from hitting me I didn't even see where it went.

  I caught a glimpse of MacIver, still standing where I left him, his hands at his sides, eyes wide - not in shock that I'd nearly been shot, but that I'd avoided it.

  I swung around as a shadowy figure spun, lifting his gun to take aim.

  "Stop," I said.

  He hesitated, gun still aimed down, lowered as he'd moved. He started to lift it.

  "That goes for the gun, too," I said. "Move it and I'll shoot."

  He adjusted his hands on the gun, as if considering his odds, only to decide they weren't in his favor. He let it drop an inch as he looked up, his face turning into the glow of MacIver's half-lowered flashlight.

  "Hello, Ken," I said.

  His brow furrowed.

  "No, we haven't met," I said. "But I know who you are. Kenneth Keyes, proud papa to a new baby, just like MacIver here. Two new babies, courtesy of a pyramid scheme. How did you guys come up with that one? Sitting around the country club after a few holes, and someone says, 'Hey, I know how we give our wives those babies they want'?"

  "We don't need them to give us anything," said a voice behind me as a gun barrel poked my spine. "I'm perfectly capable of getting what I need."

  "Leslie," I said, striving to keep my voice neutral, hiding my surprise. "You hired a baby-sitter for the evening, I take it? Better keep this short, then. I hear they charge double after midnight. But I suppose when you've paid the big bucks to kill a girl and steal her baby, that's a minor expense."

  The gun didn't even waver. Damn.

  I inhaled through my teeth, telling myself it might not be a gun. For all I knew, she was poking me with a stick. But was I willing to bet my life on that?

  These weren't cool and experienced criminal masterminds. They were suburbanites, panicked and ready to kill everyone involved to cover their tracks. That's why MacIver had told me this was a one-shot job. Spooked by Fenniger's disappearance and the "FBI" visit, they were shutting down all connections to their hitman - killing the guy who'd hired him, then the hitman who'd done the job.

  Once the smoke cleared, they could get a new hitman elsewhere, which I was sure they'd do. It was a very profitable endeavor.

  After coming up with the scheme to get babies for themselves, they'd recruited Payne to provide the documentation, and he'd convinced them they could sell babies to other desperate parents-to-be, who'd believe they were getting a child from a willing - and living - teen mother.

  So they'd hired Fenniger to find girls and take pictures. If the child wasn't quite what they wanted themselves, he went to one of the paying parents. MacIver had taken Connor, the first baby. The second was sold to a pair of the "innocent" parents. Ken and Leslie held out for a girl: Destiny. There were two other couples in the scheme, still waiting for children; plus a half dozen more innocent prospective parents.

  "Ted and Doug couldn't make it tonight, I take it?" I said. "Big poker game planned? Or since you guys have kids already, and the most to lose, they pawned off this nasty bit of business on you? Hardly fair."

  "Shoot her," Ken mouthed.

  "Payne isn't dead," I said quickly.

  "What?" Leslie said.

  "MacIver only asked for his ring. Do you think I needed to kill him to get it? He didn't even ask for proof that the files were destroyed."

  MacIver's chin shot up, eyes bugging. "You didn't tell me to ask - "

  "She's stalling," Ken said. Sweat trickled down his forehead. He couldn't tear his gaze from the gun pointed at his chest.

  "Nervous, Ken?" I said. "You're praying Leslie shoots me before she finds out how badly you fucked up. I cut a deal with Payne. How else would I know your names? Your scheme? Know about that visit from the Feds?"

  "Les, she's stalling." A note of pleading seeped into Ken's voice.

  "You know what the problem is with hiring criminals? We aren't the most loyal employees. Right now, Payne is awaiting my call to say it went fine and his half of your hit money will be transferred tomorrow."

  "His half?" MacIver sputtered. "Why would you pay him?"

  "For the most valuable commodity of all: information. He gets his life and half your money, and I get all his files. He runs to Cancun. I blackmail you, and get an amazing rate of return on my investment. But, if he doesn't hear from me in an hour, he's going to run... with those files. One advantage to dealing with criminals though? If I double-cross you, I double-cross him, too. So how's this? I call Payne and tell him you paid me in cash, so we can make the transaction right now. He'll bring the files. I bring you..."

  The pressure on my back eased as Leslie shifted.

  "Les, don't listen to her," Ken said. "What's to say she won't just trick us again?"

  "You'll be there to make sure I don't. Believe me, between money and my life, I'll take my life. I can always earn more - "

  I fired. Ken gasped. I was already diving to the side. Leslie fired once, but the bullet went wild. I scrambled behind the wall of tires, skidded to the floor, then flipped around, on my back, gun raised, pointed at the edge of that tire wall.

  "She shot him," MacIver breathed, the words coming in disjointed puffs.

  "See?" I called, gun fixed on that tire wall edge, ready to fire at anything that came around it. "That's another problem with hiring professional killers. When things go wrong, people tend to die." I listened and caught the gurgling rasp of Ken's breathing. "Seems my aim was less than perfect, though. That gurgle you hear, Leslie? That's blood filling his lungs. I'd say he's got, maybe, fifteen minutes."

  "You bitch! You fucking bitch!"

  The brief sound of a struggle, MacIver holding Leslie back, trying to reason with her. I pushed to my feet, gun still on that spot, ears telling me they were both a few feet away.

  Ken moaned. The shot, if I'd aimed right, had gone through his left lung, dangerously close to his heart, but not fatal. Not yet. Better to keep him alive and in mortal danger, dividing their attention.

  "I'm going for help," MacIver said.

  I sidestepped to the tire wall and backed up past a gap between stacks. Through it, I could see across the entrance and aim a gun, but Leslie had stopped MacIver and they were arguing.

  I pressed my hands against one tire stack, testing it, but it would take all my weight to knock it over and I couldn't predict where it would land.

  "We have to reason with her," MacIver was saying. "Come to an agreement."

  "Reason with her? She shot Ken!"

  "We - we'll pay her. Insurance. We factored this into the forecast, and we have enough - "

  "To pay blackmail money to a killer? Start and you'll never stop."

  They continued talking about me as if this ti
re wall was soundproof. I staked out the area, creeping about as my eyes continued to adjust.

  "For God's sake, Leslie! Ken's dying. Who cares about blackmail? We'll just pay her to let us out of here."

  Leslie's harsh laugh echoed through the warehouse. "Let us out? Palmer, look around. We're ten feet from the door. She's the one trapped. Now, here's the plan."

  Her voice lowered as she whispered instructions. I crept forward, straining to hear, but Ken's labored breathing drowned it out.

  "No," MacIver said finally. "I mean it, Leslie. I've had enough of this, and I won't let Ken die."

  His loafers slapped the concrete as he strode to the edge of the tire wall. Leslie called for him to stop, but his figure rounded the corner, stepping from the blackness into the gray gloom.

  "I want to negotiate," he said.

  I shot him in the forehead.

  Chapter Forty-eight

  "You bitch!" Leslie shrieked as MacIver crumpled to the floor.

  "Did I mention the part about people dying?"

  I flicked on my penlight, the weak beam illuminating MacIver's outstretched hand, still holding Ken's gun. Leslie stopped cursing.

  "Yes, I knew he was coming around that corner to shoot, not negotiate," I said. "Did you really think I'd fall for it? Or just good enough odds... so long as someone else was taking the risk? That's how you operate. Get the guys to do the dangerous parts. It's easy, isn't it? We can slide into damsel-in-distress mode without even realizing it."

  The barrel of Leslie's gun slid around the corner. I fired. She yelped and stumbled back, shoes scratching against the pavement as she recovered.

  "The difference between you and me?" I went on, un-fazed. "You do it intentionally. You tell them what you need, the ugly job that has to be done, say you're too scared to do yourself, and they jump right in to help."

  "Would you shut up?" she said between gritted teeth.

  "Why? Am I distracting you? I could talk all night, but Ken doesn't have that long." I paused. "Are you even thinking about Ken? What's little Miranda going to do without her daddy?"

  "She's got me."

  "Ouch, and you call me cold. He can still hear you, you know, lying on that cold floor, dying. Think of all he's done for you. And this is how you repay him."

  "Because he helped me get a baby? He sure as hell better. He robbed me of my own. Do you know what he did?"

  "No idea, Leslie."

  I mentally added "but, please, tell me" as I snuck along the wall of tires, trying to find a gap on the right angle to aim through.

  "He knew I wanted kids, so when we were dating he said, 'Sure, we'll have three, four if you like.' Then on the honeymoon - the fucking honeymoon - he tells me he had a vasectomy after his second kid. But no problem. He'll get it reversed, just for me. Only it didn't work."

  "Huh."

  Through a gap I could see her elbow, but there was no way to fire a lethal shot without sticking my gun barrel through. I stepped back, staying in line with the gap, in case she moved this way.

  "So I say, 'How about a sperm donor?' But no way, no goddamned way, is he having his wife pregnant with another man's baby. Adoption then. Fine, but it has to be a white baby, so his parents don't flip out."

  Leslie finally moved... the other way. From the sound of her voice, she'd begun pacing as she worked herself into a righteous fury.

  "And finding an agency that suits his needs? Well, that's my job. Even though I made more money, worked longer hours..." Her voice trailed off.

  A blur of motion. Leslie's gun flew into the gap, firing. I'd swung to the side at the first sign of movement, my back slamming against the tire stack.

  "You've got a real sob story there, Leslie. Poor little rich girl. Hubby's shooting blanks so she has to buy herself a baby. I'm crying for you. Really I am."

  A sharp intake of breath. I kept my back against the tires, gun fixed on the end of the wall.

  "Is Destiny worth it?" I asked when she didn't respond.

  "What destiny? If you start some New Age bullshit - "

  "That's her name, Leslie. The baby you bought. Destiny. Her mother's name was Sammi. Not that you bothered to find out."

  A sharp bark of a laugh. "Oh, my God. Is that what this is about? Let me guess. You're her sister. Or aunt. No, Sunday school teacher, right?" The laugh took on a manic edge. "So my daughter has a hitwoman in her family tree."

  "Are you worried about that? What's bred in the bone..."

  I tried to read the play of light over the gap, telling me whether she was still there. Wheel, shoot fast... No, I couldn't take the chance.

  "It's a good thing I believe in nurture over nature," Leslie said. "Otherwise do you think I'd go through all this trouble to get the daughter of a white trash whore?"

  My finger clamped around the gun. "Sammi wasn't - "

  "Oh, you know what she was, even if she was your sister or whatever. We went to school with girls like her. We'd see them every day. Empty-headed sluts who think of nothing but boys and partying. Too stupid to even take birth control. They get knocked up, go on welfare, and start pumping out babies like kittens, with no idea how to care for them, no interest in caring for them, because they have no interest in anyone but themselves."

  "Did Destiny look neglected to you? Mistreated? Mal treated?"

  She snorted. "Even a cat looks after its babies for a little while. Miranda was a novelty to her. Like a doll. That's what babies are to these girls. You've seen them, in the malls and the parks, running in packs, not a one of them over eighteen. Pushing their strollers like little girls with dolls. That's what gave me the idea. I was having coffee with a few other women - a support group we'd formed. There, at the next table, were three teenage girls, bitching about their babies, about how much trouble they were, about how they'd only had them because all their friends had one, like it was a goddamned fashion trend. The babies are right there, dressed wrong, fussing because they're ignored and uncomfortable, and here we were, four women who'd give anything to have those babies."

  "Tragic." I'd taken a few steps as she spoke, but had reached an opening. I hovered on the far side of it. "So it's not fair. And that entitled you to find girls, kill them, and take their babies?"

  "Are you telling me those babies would be better off with those mothers?"

  By her voice, I knew she was far enough away. I sidestepped past the gap.

  "We can give those babies everything," she continued. "The best care. The best schools. Stable, two-parent families."

  "Er, you might want to check the definition of stable, Les. I'm pretty sure you don't fit it. And I'm pretty sure the two-parent part is out, too. Sounds like Ken's gone. Not that you care. You were willing to let him die to protect a baby that isn't even yours. Just like you killed her mother to get her. You couldn't come up with a better way?"

  I readied myself to move again as soon as she spoke.

  "Do you think anyone cares about those girls? Worth less little tramps, prancing around in next to nothing, shaking their asses at every man who walks by. Then, if he takes them up on their invitation, they cry rape."

  A voice echoed through my mind. A neighbor, at Amy's memorial, whispering to her friend, saying almost the exact same words about Amy. As I struggled to focus, I missed the first part of Leslie's new diatribe.

  " - accuses him of rape. Fucking bad judgment, sleeping with your fifteen-year-old student, but rape?" A manic laugh. "He couldn't handle it. Drove the car off an embankment. Killed himself and almost killed me. Then, as I'm lying in the hospital bed, I hear the little bitch is pregnant. She stole my fiance, killed him, then has his baby. My baby."

  "Destiny isn't that baby - "

  "Do you think I don't know that?" The words were barely comprehensible, spewed on a stream of venom.

  "I'm just checking, Les, 'cause I hate to say it, but you seem a bit nuts to me." A small laugh. "Oh, who am I kidding? You're full-blown fucked-in-the-head crazy."

  "You're calling me cr
azy? You kill people for a living."

  "Sure," I said as I reached the end of the wall. "But I know I'm not fit to raise a child."

  "How dare you judge -!"

  "Sorry, Leslie, but no matter what goes down here, you aren't keeping Destiny. I don't care how much money you have or how badly you want her, you aren't one-tenth the mother Sammi was."

  She sprang around the corner, her face contorted with rage, gun raised. I slammed my fist into the bottom of her arm and the gun flew free. As she twisted to dive for it, I kicked her in the stomach. She howled, doubling over as she fell to the floor. I booted the gun out of her reach. She flipped over and grabbed for the one in MacIver's hand. I beat her to it, but as I bent to scoop it up, I stumbled, managing to grab MacIver's but drop my own.

  I flew after it. She was faster, and snatched it as my fingertips brushed the metal. I staggered back, raising MacIver's gun.

  "Stop," she said, smiling as she raised the gun to point at my head.

  "Y-you don't want to do this, Leslie. I can help you. I can make sure you keep Destiny - Miranda, your baby."

  "Sorry, but I can manage just fine on my own."

  She pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. She pulled it again, face twisting. I took the cartridge from my pocket and dangled it in my free hand as I lifted MacIver's gun.

  "Yes, it's empty," I said. "But thank you for putting your prints on it."

  I shot her between the eyes. She toppled back, my gun still clutched in her hands. I took a deep breath, steadying myself, then crossed to MacIver and replaced the gun in his bare hand, putting it back as it had been.

  "Not bad," said a voice behind me.

  I spun, hand going to my holster.

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Jack closed the door behind him. "First thing? Before replacing his gun? Should have grabbed hers. Can't be unarmed. Not for a second. Better yet? Backup gun. Discussed that, didn't we?"

  "How did you find me?"

  "GPS. Put it on your cell phone. Figured that's one thing you wouldn't trash. Supposed to be a receiver, too. Piss-poor one."

  "Probably interference from the cell."

  "Gadgets." He shook his head as he walked over to look at the bodies. "Quick cleanup. Then go. You start - " He turned to me. "Am I allowed to help now?"