Wyatt had been told, more than once, that he could stare down a charging bull. He’d thought the joke hyperbole, but he did know he could have a certain effect when he wanted to.
He wanted to now. Desperately.
It took a greater effort than it ever had to summon up that focus, that intensity. Especially since the back of his neck was tingling in warning that there was something he was missing.
“You have one chance,” he said, barely aware that his voice had dropped to a low, lethal-sounding rumble. “Let him go and leave here alive.”
He heard a tiny gasp. He knew it had come from his son, but he didn’t shift his gaze from Max’s face, his eyes. He was aware that Jordan had stopped struggling. With his peripheral vision he could see that the boy was staring at him.
Max blinked. Instinctively drew back a half-step. Wyatt closed in. For the moment he had to ignore that lingering sensation, hoping it was just a misfire after lack of use.
“You’re a cop, aren’t you? Asshole Hunt brought in a narc, undercover.”
“I’m not a cop anymore. Worse for you.”
Max blinked. “What?”
“I don’t have to follow their rules.”
Again Jordan gasped, but he kept his gaze on Max, who tightened his grip on Jordan.
“You can’t shoot me,” he said. “I’ll cut his throat.”
Wyatt shrugged. “Your muscles might try to move after the bullet scrambles your brain. He might need some stitches. You’ll need a coffin.”
Max’s fingers trembled. He immediately tightened them around the handle of the knife, but Wyatt knew he’d seen the betraying motion.
“But you won’t get a coffin. Because nobody will ever find you. You’ll just…vanish.”
Max was sweating now, despite the cool air.
“Toss the knife here and step back, Max. Now. Last chance.”
There was a silent split second when Max hovered between pride and death.
He tossed the knife. As it landed halfway between them, he let go of Jordan.
Wyatt breathed again, but didn’t relax. The boy didn’t move, just stood there, staring, his eyes wide with shock.
Wyatt took a step toward his son.
“I don’t think so.”
The voice came from the trees, and Wyatt whipped around. The dappled shadows masked everything. And then a more solid shadow separated from the rest, and stepped out into the moonlight.
For an instant it was like a situational target range, where a silhouette target popped up and you had to assess in a split second whether it was a danger—mother with baby or suicide bomber with explosives?—and whether to fire.
He would have shot this one, instantly. Because there was no mistaking, even in the dark, the lethality of the Beretta in his hand.
Wyatt’s finger tightened on the trigger. He didn’t, couldn’t fire. Because there was no mistaking where the pistol was aimed.
Jordan.
And there was no way the man, who looked vaguely familiar, could miss the boy at this range.
It was a standoff.
“I knew you were there,” Max sputtered at the newcomer. “I knew you’d have a gun on him, so I—”
“Shut up.”
Max’s stumbling explanation for his quick capitulation told Wyatt his guess was right. This was the man in charge, the real brains behind the operation he knew Max hadn’t been smart enough to mastermind. He’d probably been ordered to cozy up to Jordan, to get the boy to quiz him on the setup at HP.
“We’ll go get the stuff now, finish the job—”
“I said, shut up.” The man’s voice was cold, and as vaguely familiar as his face. “You’ve served your purpose.”
“I caught the boy,” Max said, sounding desperate now, “I heard him up here in the trees, Mr. Stark, and—”
The man shot him in the face.
Jordan yelped in terror as Max collapsed soundlessly in front of him. The boy backed up hastily but stumbled, and Stark was on him before he could recover. The casualness of the murder, and the speed with which he did it and then shifted his aim back to Jordan, was chilling. He clamped a hand on the boy’s shoulder and yanked him to his feet.
But just as chilling was the name Max had used, the name that had pulled together that vague familiarity of face and voice. Phillip Stark.
Odd that he’d thought about him not that long ago, the crime boss whose son, also a killer with a minimal claim on sanity, had died during an operation three years ago. His father, this man, had gone to prison himself. Not for long enough; although he’d been the mastermind again, they hadn’t been able to prove it, and he’d been convicted on much lesser charges. And there’d been sympathy, however undeserved, for the man who’d just lost his son. The man who so publicly and emotionally wailed over the death of a son who had, in his short but productive career, murdered at least nine people in cold blood, probably more.
Like father, like son….
He’d gotten five years. And been released after three. And that ludicrous inequity, in a system that was supposed to bring justice, had been the beginning of the end for Wyatt.
“At last, Agent Blake,” Stark said with deep satisfaction.
He should never have put all those odd inquiries on the back burner, Wyatt thought. Because suddenly it all made sense, the flurry of inquiries from people, people who could come across as friendlies, people he’d helped over the years. No doubt approached by this man, posing perhaps as another of them with a good, benevolent reason to want to find and thank the agent that had helped him in some way. Or maybe, since his face wasn’t unknown, he’d had someone else do it. Some other dupe like Max, who was probably also dead by now. But either way, Wyatt guessed he’d been looking for him ever since he’d gotten out.
It was all Wyatt could do not to launch himself at the man. But he had no doubt the man wouldn’t hesitate to shoot, he’d just proven that, and right now his weapon was jammed against Jordan’s ear.
If he could distract him, give Jordan a chance to run, get to Kai, she’d help him, Wyatt knew that down to his bones. But there was no guarantee he could take the shot that would inevitably come and keep moving long enough to give Jordan a chance to get away. Besides, he knew too damned well he was rusty. Rusty enough to cost his son his life? Had he slowed down that much, been away from the game too long?
Possible, he thought grimly. Too possible.
All this tumbled through Wyatt’s mind in rapid succession. But above it all stood one imperative that outweighed all the rest.
Jordan.
He had to get Jordan away from the man. He raced through every bit of information he could remember about the man, searching for a tool he could use. He grabbed the first one that occurred to him, because he didn’t have time to think of others.
He looked at the man with what he hoped was a puzzled expression. And prayed he’d picked the right button to push.
“Do I know you?”
The reaction would have been almost comical had the man not had a gun on Jordan, who was struggling manfully not to show how scared he had to be.
Stark swore, sharply. “You bastard, you ruin my life, you kill my son and you don’t even remember me?”
Right button, Wyatt thought. And interesting what order he put things in. You’d think the loss of a son would come first.
It hit him then, hard and fast, exactly what this was all about. It was a leap, but he knew in his gut, that gut that had never failed him back when dealing with this sort of human debris had been his job, that he was right.
This had never been about drugs at all, or stealing those materials.
From the start, this had been about getting to him.
Payback.
A son for a son.
He was going to kill Jordan. And he was going to make Wyatt watch him do it.
Chapter 27
Hidden back in the trees, Kai barely breathed, terrified the stranger with the gun might hear. Although the hammer
ing of her heart seemed so loud to her she was amazed all three of the people in that horrible, moonlit tableau didn’t turn to look.
She’d seriously regretted her decision to walk tonight. She’d known the moment Jordy took off on his bike that she was going to have a hard time keeping up with him. Still, it was easier in the woods than if he’d been on the road. But it was also scarier; in the moonlight everything looked spooky. She clung to the distant red dot of his bike’s taillight like a beacon.
She had realized, once she oriented herself, where Jordy was headed. HP was the only thing out here, in this literal neck of the woods. It all came together for her then; Wyatt gone unexpectedly, leaving Jordy behind, apparently locked in, and now the boy breaking out and heading for HP.
Max.
Wyatt must have seen something earlier, something that Max had done, that told him tonight was the night.
He had been right, all along. Those suspicions that had so angered her in the beginning had been right on, just misdirected at first. He might have left the work, but he still had the instincts of a pro.
Jordy looked so scared. The stranger, with his back to her, had the boy held tight against his left side, so that while she couldn’t see the stranger’s face, she could see Jordy’s. And the gun rammed against his right ear.
But he also looked stunned, no doubt at the incredible transformation of the most boring guy in the world. He was staring at his father in utter shock. She couldn’t blame him. Even she, who had been somewhat prepared, barely recognized the man she saw. She’d seen glimpses, especially in the suspicious man who had first come into her store, but nothing like this. And any doubt she’d had that everything David had found out was the truth vanished.
If I was a bad guy, I’d give up just to stop him looking at me like that, she thought.
She wondered how many of those bad guys he’d put away with just that look.
A federal cop. It was still stunning to her, too. As did her certainty, even without any explanation, that if Wyatt truly had killed this man’s son, it was with good reason.
“Before, I was just going to track you down and kill you,” the man said to Wyatt. “Now, watching you watch me slaughter your own son will be so much more delicious.”
Kai shivered involuntarily at the very idea that anyone could use those words about the murder of a child. Jordy whimpered, and her chest tightened at the sound. Yet Wyatt’s face betrayed little; had she not come to know him so well she’d never have seen the emotion in the set of his jaw and the intensity of his gaze, fastened on the man who held his son.
“You so much as scratch him, and you’re a dead man.”
Wyatt’s voice was cold, so cold that she couldn’t see why the man didn’t start shivering just like she was.
Maybe because he’s so cold inside already, she thought. You’d have to be, to use a child, to threaten a child like that. She should do something, find a rock, a big stick, something, but she had no idea what she could do against a gun.
The other man snorted. “Always the hero, aren’t you, Blake? I met a few other people in prison who had you to blame for destroying their lives.”
“Your beef is with me,” Wyatt said. “I’ll make you a deal.”
“You have nothing to bargain with, Blake. I hold all the cards.” He tightened his grip on Jordy’s shoulder so much the boy went white. But he made no sound. In fact, Kai thought, the set of his jaw made him suddenly look more like his father than ever.
“I’m the one who killed your son. You let the boy go, and take me. I’ll go without a fight.”
“Self-sacrifice? How noble of you.” He shook Jordy. “Isn’t that touching? Your father’s willing to die in your place.”
Jordy made an unintelligible sound. But he was staring at his father a whole new way yet again.
“If you knew enough to find us, you know we barely know each other,” Wyatt said. “He hates me. Kill me and he’ll think you did him a favor, and never say a word.”
Wyatt said it matter-of-factly, like a man who believed it completely. Her heart nearly broke for him. He’d been trying so hard. She thought there’d been a small bit of progress, a slight softening in Jordy’s attitude, but obviously Wyatt didn’t believe it.
“Well, well. Perhaps he’s smarter than I thought. But nevertheless, an eye for an eye. Shall I start there, with his eyes? They are rather like yours.”
Kai gasped, unable to quite smother it. Again she was amazed they all didn’t turn to look.
Turn to look.
As she thought the words, David’s voice suddenly echoed in her mind.
Heavy training, tactics, weapons…
Then her own thought. The instincts of a pro.
She took a deep breath. Perhaps it wasn’t the wisest thing, but it was the only thing she could think of that she could do. She just had to trust it would be enough.
Wyatt kept his gaze fastened on Stark’s face. On his eyes, eyes that would betray intent in the instant before he was going to shoot.
And Wyatt had no doubt the man would shoot. Because insanity also lurked in those eyes, just as it had in the man’s son, who had taken great pleasure in not just kidnapping and killing but torturing and carving up his victims with a blade that made Max’s look like a butter knife.
Jordan squirmed against the tight grip. Wyatt’s breath caught in his throat.
“Don’t move, Jordy,” he said.
The boy froze. For an instant their gazes locked, although his aim at Stark never wavered. Those eyes, so like his own, looked back at him with a steadiness that made his heart pound. Was there more of him in his son than he’d ever realized? Had he been so loaded down with the weight of it, with the concept of having a child he was suddenly responsible for, that he’d never really looked at that child as an individual?
And if this goes south, you’ll never get the chance, he thought grimly.
He’d just better make damned sure if it did go south, he—and Stark—were the only casualties.
Wyatt knew all the numbers, what fraction of time that Stark would still be able to pull the trigger depending on where in the head he shot him. He knew what his best target was, knew what the chances were.
He didn’t like any of it. Not when Jordan was the one most at risk.
A sound came out of the shadows. From back in the trees. A voice. Not talking, or even yelling, but…singing. A glorious, beautiful burst of sound.
Kai.
He thought the name, felt the recognition well up in him like a joyous greeting, in the split second before Stark reacted. The man jerked around, shocked surprise on his face.
His grip on Jordan loosened.
The barrel of his pistol slipped to the side.
Just enough.
Wyatt fired.
Stark went down. Jordan screamed. Jumped away. Stark lay motionless. Wyatt recognized the limpness inherent only to the dead. He wasn’t quite as rusty as he’d feared.
It was over.
Chapter 28
“That was insane. He could have killed you.”
Kai looked at Wyatt. She had herself back under control now, the wild shaking that had overtaken her in those first moments after her hastily conceived ploy had worked receding.
She heard the anger that made his voice razor sharp. But she knew him now, well enough to know what that anger was triggered by. And he was shaken enough himself that he let it show in his face; pure relief. It was that Jordy was safe, she knew, but she didn’t think it was egotistic to assume some of that relief was for her, too.
He stood with his arm around Jordy, who was allowing it without comment. The boy was pale, even in the moonlight, clearly stunned and apparently unaware that his father had carefully urged him around so his back was to the bodies. Another shiver went through her; she’d never been even remotely close to anything like this, and it would rattle her into paralysis if she let it. She couldn’t let it. Not yet.
“I’m insane?” she said, letting
incredulity into her tone. “You’re the one who took this on alone. What would have happened to Jordy if you’d gotten yourself killed? Did you even think of that?”
His brow furrowed, as if he were merely puzzled. “Of course I did. That’s why I brought a second gun.”
And that, she supposed, said it all. And in effect, made her point. “Exactly. That’s why I figured,” she said with a level look at Wyatt, “that all a highly trained federal agent would need would be a slight distraction.”
Wyatt’s eyes widened a fraction. He drew back slightly, wariness leaping back to life almost palpably as she saw him process that she knew who—and what—he was. Jordy yelped in shock; what he’d seen had to have destroyed his perception of his father, but obviously he hadn’t quite put all the pieces together yet in his stunned young mind.
“Kai,” Wyatt began, sounding beyond uncomfortable.
“Yes,” she said. “You have a lot of explaining to do. To both of us.”
“I never meant to lie to you,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “I just… I’m not that man anymore.”
“You’re wrong, Wyatt,” she said softly. “If I’ve learned nothing else about you, I’ve learned that. Once a hero, always a hero. Even if you don’t want to be.”
“I’m no—”
“Don’t even try to deny that one,” she said. “You proved it tonight, even if there weren’t sixteen years of other heroics before now.”
She had shifted her gaze to Jordy as she spoke, saw his eyes widen even further. She was guessing the boy had learned many, many lessons tonight, and that it was going to take a good, long time for him to sort it all out. But right now it was enough that he turned to look up at his father with awe and a raging curiosity.
Which left her to figure out how she felt about landing in a spot she never expected to be in. In love with a cop of sorts. And one who would ever and always end up being that hero.
Even when, like some Old West gunfighter who’d hung up his guns, he tried not to be.
Dealing with all the mess, statements to the authorities and late-arriving cavalry, explanations to his boss, was time-consuming, exhausting and undeniably familiar. And he’d do it all ten times over to avoid what was to come.
Always a Hero Page 19
