One Clean Shot

by Danielle Girard

  “Guns,” Hal said.

  “Exactly.”

  “Guns Rendell bought or the ones that had been stolen from Dennigs and Wesson?”

  “We’ve got a team on the way down there now but we’re guessing we’ll find some of those stolen guns in storage. Which explains why none of them hit the street until now. After Dennig and Wesson were killed, Rendell sat on them until he thought it was safe to start moving them again.”

  “Dennigs and Wesson stole their own guns, collected the insurance on the loss and then resold them on the streets for profit?”

  “That’s the theory,” Ryaan said. “Hailey, you there? You’re quiet.”

  “That’s good work, Ryaan,” Hailey said, fear tight in her throat.

  “Yeah,” Hal added. “Thanks for the call. Keep us posted.”

  “Will do.”

  Hal ended the call.

  A chime rang from her phone. Early release, the screen read. Two thirty.

  “What?”

  Hailey didn’t realize she’d made a sound. “The girls.”

  “Hailey. What’s wrong?”

  “Today was early release. At the school.”

  “What time?”

  “Two thirty.”

  He glanced at the clock on the dashboard, their eyes met there. It was three o’clock now. The girls were out of school.

  They’d been out long enough to be home.

  “Maybe Liz took them on errands,” she whispered.

  Hal nodded, licking his lips.

  How often did Liz take them on errands? Half the time?

  No. Less than that.

  They had a schedule. Some days they stopped on the way home. There was a day in there for ice cream and a day Liz went to the butcher.

  Today was Thursday but Hailey had no idea what that meant. What did they do on Thursdays?

  “Who knows if Blake would go there,” Hal said.

  The house was where Blake would go looking for Jim, for her.

  “Hailey,” Hal said, maybe a quick right hand turn and heading for the bridge. “We’re going to go to the house. We’re going there now.” He turned on the sirens, the lights. “It’s going to be okay, you hear me?”

  She shook her head, looked at the phone again. Dialed Liz, then Jim. Then tried Dee again.

  After two rings, the line clicked open. “Dee?”

  Voices in the background. A woman’s voice.

  Not Dee’s but perhaps Liz’s.

  “Liz? Dee?”

  A man barked, “Shut up.”

  “Dee?” she said again, then heard a girl’s cry. Felt it in her marrow. “Dee!” she shouted. Shaking, she glanced at the screen.

  The call was ended.

  “Camilla,” she sobbed. “I heard her voice.”

  God, no. Not them. Not her girls.

  Hal snapped the radio off the dash. “I need all units at Broadway and Pierce. Possible 2-2-1 in the home of James and Elizabeth Wyatt.”

  A 221, a person with a gun.

  “And a possible 2-3-6. Proceed with caution. Inspector Wyatt and I are en route.”

  False imprisonment. An armed man had her children.

  Hal honked at a car and blew through the tollbooth on the Bay Bridge, darting through traffic as he raced across the bridge. Blake was already there. Dee, the girls, and Liz and Jim probably, too.

  Would he shoot all of them?

  “What if he kills the girls—”

  “He won’t,” Hal said. The radio beeped and Hal answered the call.

  “Backup’s at Sacramento and Franklin,” dispatch said. “ETA is two minutes.”

  She didn’t breathe.

  “Tell them that the girls might be inside.” She grabbed his arm. “I think they’re inside, Hal.”

  “It’s possible that Hailey Wyatt’s kids are inside,” he said into the radio.

  “Okay,” dispatch said. “I’m letting everyone know.”

  Gone were the call codes, the professional tone and words. She was one of them and there was a murderer in her house.

  With her kids.

  “Stay strong, Hailey. You stay strong for them,” Hal commanded.

  Trembling, she hit redial. Prayed she’d get an answer. Hear Dee’s voice.

  The call went straight to voicemail.

  She dialed the home line again. Then Liz.

  No one answered.

  They reached the crest of Franklin Street and raced toward Broadway. Cars swerved to the right as Hal barreled through the intersection, honking over the blaring siren.

  She would die. If something happened… No. Do not think that way.

  Help me. Please, God, help.

  As they turned left on Broadway and crossed through the first intersection, the flashing lights became visible at the house. Three patrol cars, an ambulance with its back cracked open, paramedics at the ready. Above them, the leaves on the oak trees flickered in the light and a soft wind.

  Hal parked at a diagonal, jumped out, leaving his door open. He ordered a patrol officer to set up a periphery at the bottom of the stairs.

  Hailey had hoped the sight of the house might bring some consolation but instead she felt distinctly ill.

  Watching a patrol officer on the stairs brought back the night John was killed.

  She could not lose her girls. She would not survive it.

  She sprinted up the walkway. Hal was right behind her when they reached the stairs that led to the front porch.

  A group of task force officers were lined against the banister that led up the stairwell. In baggy black jumpsuits that covered Kevlar vests, they all wore black boots.

  Under dark helmets, it was impossible to tell one from the other.

  Marshall barked into his radio. “Report on your position.” His face was tense, worried. He was never in the field. He was here for her. She wanted to be grateful. Instead, his presence scared her.

  Marshall believed Blake might kill her family. That’s why he was here.

  “In position,” Cameron said across the radio. “You tell Hailey that we’re going to get them out of there.”

  “Please,” Hailey whispered.

  “Who’s inside?” Hal asked.

  “Don’t know yet. I’m waiting for another specialist to access the neighbor’s roof. Hope to have surveillance from there.”

  “I need to go in,” Hailey said.

  “No,” Marshall said. “No one goes in.”

  She trembled. Her heart felt like it would explode. “I’m going in there.”

  His radio crackled and they all silenced. Marshall pressed the radio to his ear, adjusted the knob so Hailey couldn’t hear.

  Keep related parties out of the loop.

  She’d done it with the families of victims dozens of times.

  Her pulse filled her insides. It beat like something giant and swollen up her neck, throbbing through her back. Her lungs were tight. Her breath wheezed. Her inhaler was in her purse in the car. Tears stung in her eyes. “You can shoot me, then, Captain. Camilla and Ali are in there. I am going in.”

  “She’s right, Marshall,” Hal said. “You can shoot me, too, but we’re going inside.”

  Marshall only nodded.

  Hailey watched as Hal unholstered his gun and released the magazine then pulled the extra magazine from his holster. He nodded. “Full.”

  Marshall reported into the radio that the two investigators were going to enter the house. For a moment, Hailey was frozen. What if she got them shot? What if waiting was better?

  But she couldn’t. She couldn’t be out here when they were in there.

  Hal nodded and she drew her own weapon. Checked her ammo.

  The task force captain stepped forward. “At least let me put a wire on you.” />
  Hailey nodded, reholstered her gun then took her jacket off, moving quickly. Focusing on the girls, hoping they could feel her.

  Mommy is right here.

  Hal and the captain threaded the wire under her vest, clipped it to the inside and zipped her back up.

  When it was done, Hailey drew her gun again. Nodding to Hal, they began to climb the stairs.

  They reached the front door just as the first shot erupted.

  Chapter 31

  Hal took the lead. Hailey was on his heels. He unlatched the front door, crept into the quiet hallway. He listened to the silence, scanned the dim entryways, trying to remember the layout of the house.

  The house was huge, the furniture centuries old, perfectly kept. It had felt like a museum back then. Now it was dank and cold with the faint smell of gunpowder.

  He tried to pretend it was just another crime scene. But this was no such thing.

  This was Hailey.

  She was his family.

  Hailey at his back, Hal cleared the front rooms. When they were cleared, Hailey waved the task force down the hallway. The kitchen was at the end. To its left was a wide wood staircase, which doubled back on itself.

  The den door was closed. The room where John had died.

  Hailey pointed to it.

  She would not lose the rest of her family there.

  He’d take a bullet before he let that happen.

  The task force spread out to clear the rest of the house.

  Three went up the stairs, two into the kitchen. One squatted low against the wall across from the door. The last remained with him and Hailey.

  The dark wood door opened part way. The room was dark.

  “Hailey,” came a woman’s voice.

  Hal shifted forward.

  “Only her,” the woman said, her voice cracking. “Or he’ll shoot.”

  Hailey stepped forward.

  “I’ll be right here,” Hal whispered. “You need me in there, you just say one of the girls’ names.”

  Hailey nodded.

  He didn’t want to let her go. But he had to. He couldn’t do this for her. But he was sure as hell going to be there when she needed him.

  As soon as she entered the room, the door closed again.

  Hal sprinted out the front. “I need access to Wyatt’s wire. Now.”

  Chapter 32

  The den was pitch black, the window shade drawn and closed. The room smelled of a men’s cologne and something sweeter, floral.

  Behind those smells were gunfire and the dirty, penny scent of blood.

  The blinds were pulled closed. Cameron had no chance of getting a view inside the room through the windows.

  No shot from outside was going to save them. It was up to Hailey.

  The hard muzzle of a gun pressed into her skin below the Kevlar vest.

  “Drop your weapon,” came a muffled voice.

  Hailey drew the weapon from her holster. The gun at her back rattled against the backside of her pelvic bone. The grip was lower than she’d expected. Below her vest.

  He knew about the vest.

  Or he was smaller than she’d thought.

  The voice, too, had come from directly behind her rather than above. Blake had seemed larger in the photographs, but maybe he wasn’t. Perhaps she could take him right here.

  “Now,” the voice commanded and she heard the low voice crack. It wasn’t a man’s voice. Who was holding that gun?

  “Mommy,” Ali whispered.

  A wave of fear crashed over her. She turned toward her daughter’s voice.

  The gun was yanked from her hand.

  She managed to release the magazine. It dropped on the carpet with a dull thud.

  Impatient for her eyes to adjust to the dark, she scanned the room for the girls. A cry from the far side of the room, but Hailey was afraid to call out. She thought it was Cami’s voice, but what if it wasn’t? What if Cami didn’t answer?

  What if something had happened to her?

  “Liz? Are you here?”

  “Mommy?” Ali’s voice called again.

  “Baby.”

  There was scrambling behind Jim’s desk. Dark shapes shifted.

  Hailey stumbled toward them in the dark.

  “Don’t move!”

  Hailey spun toward the familiar voice. The overhead light came on, blinding her.

  Jim sat at his desk, the others huddled behind him. He looked annoyed rather than scared. But the girls looked afraid. Why didn’t Jim?

  Hailey turned.

  Back pressed to the door, a pistol in her fist, was Dee. The gun in her hand was Russian.

  Behind her, a body lay on the floor. His face lay in profile, the full reddish-brown beard of the man she’d seen leaving the crime scene in the Tenderloin a week ago. He was the man in the photograph—Donald Blake.

  “Dee, why are you pointing that gun at them? The girls are back there.”

  She didn’t answer. The gun didn’t waver. Hailey studied the gun, confirmed the make. “A Makarov,” Hailey said for the wire.

  Dee looked at the gun blankly. Like she didn’t know what kind of gun she was holding. Didn’t know that the gun in her hand had killed more people than any other in history.

  Millions of Jews executed by Russian soldiers. The terror climbed under her skin like a burn.

  Dee adjusted her grip on the gun awkwardly. It was not her gun. Whose gun was it?

  Did Jim still own a gun?

  Even after John was shot?

  Tom Rittenberg had been the director of the NRA. He would own a Makarov.

  On the floor, Blake’s hands lay open, empty. Blood had soaked through his shirt onto the carpet. A foot—maybe two—from where John had died.

  “Dee, you don’t want to hurt them.”

  “Like hell I don’t.” Her teeth were bared, her jaw clenched. The gun lifted higher into the air like she was taking aim. “He got them killed—all of them.”

  A Makarov magazine held seven bullets. Dee had shot off one, which left six bullets remaining. She could still kill all of them.

  Dee. The night she’d run into Dee in the hall. She’d been lurking there, listening. The way she talked about Nicholas Fredricks. She’d lost the love of her life. Was that why she was doing this?

  Hailey fought to stay calm. She’d only ever seen Dee completely controlled. She had no idea what she might be capable of. Take stock. Move slowly.

  “What happened, Dee?”

  Dee said nothing.

  “I’m going to check Blake.” Hailey dropped to her knees, felt for a pulse. She wasn’t sure if Dee would stop her, but she didn’t. Dee’s focus on Jim was unwavering.

  “He’s dead.” As she got to her feet, Hailey checked along his waistline.

  No weapon.

  Hailey saw the butt of the gun at Dee’s waist. It looked like a revolver.

  “I shot him.” Dee didn’t take her eye off Jim. “He was going to kill me. I didn’t even see it coming, but Tom was right. He was going to shoot them then he was going to shoot me.”

  Tom Rittenberg. He was behind this. Would Dee believe Hailey if she told her about Regal Insurance? About Tom’s piece in the guns?

  Or would she decide Hailey was a liar, too, and shoot them all?

  “Thank you, Dee. You saved the girls.” She wanted to say their names but she was afraid Hal would take it as a sign to come in the door. She had to create a diversion first, get Dee focused somewhere else.

  “But the girls are scared now, Dee. Remember the pajama party—the fun you guys had at the hotel. You don’t want to hurt them. You need to put the gun down.”

  Dee shook her head. “I can’t put the gun down. That’s what he said. Whatever you do, don’t give up your gun.” Tears streamed down her
face.

  She had to be talking about Tom. Tom had put her up to this. It would be perfect for him—with Blake and Jim dead and Dee in jail or killed in police crossfire, Tom Rittenberg could walk away, a free man. “Dee,” Hailey said. “Talk to me.”

  One of the girls cried out. Liz hushed her.

  Jim’s expression tightened. He started to look afraid. Jim knew his sister better than anyone. What did he think she would do?

  In the harsh den light, her skin looked mottled. There were sunspots and freckles across her nose and cheeks that Hailey had never seen. She’d always been made up. The front of her shirt was pulled from her pants where the gun had been shoved in. Her hair hung in frizzy strands.

  How long had her eyes been so red and puffy? Did Hailey miss that? How sick she looked.

  “Blake’s whole family was killed,” Dee whispered.

  “I know,” Hailey said softly. She let a beat pause. Kept her voice low. “I know about the guns, Dee. I just found out. We’ll make this right. Let the police do it, Dee.”

  “Donald Blake wrote about the gun violence—just like Nick did—and they went after him. Sent those street kids after him.”

  “And he had traded cars with his wife that day,” Hailey said.

  “Yes.” Dee’s voice cracked.

  “Let me help you,” Hailey said.

  “This isn’t about you,” Dee whispered, drawing Hailey’s attention to her eyes. The pupils narrow, the whites bloodshot and the irises the same gray as wet concrete.

  “You should’ve stayed out of it. It was about him.” Dee waved the gun toward Jim. He tensed as the gun moved through the air. Liz and the girls were crouched on the floor, partially hidden behind him. But if Dee shot and missed Jim, the bullet could easily hit one of them.

  “But he bought you off.” Dee waved the gun again. “Whatever he did to buy you. It’s what he does. Buys people. He tried to do that to Tom, too, but it didn’t work.”

  “You have to believe me. Tom is a liar,” Jim said.

  “Shut up!” Dee shouted, firing a bullet over their heads.

  Jim flinched.

  Ali and Camilla screamed. Liz shrieked.

  The bullet sank into the sheetrock.

  “It’s okay,” Hailey said. “We’re okay.” She had been here all along—under this roof every day. Hailey had overlooked her. She had focused on Jim’s part in all the deaths, but she had never once looked at Dee.