The Sean Kruger Series Complete Boxed Set

by J. C. Fields

  JR did so. Kruger stared at the image. “Do you have a profile picture of Bishop you can compare this image to?”

  JR nodded. “Yes, his booking photos in Jeff City.”

  “Compare the profiles using your facial recognition software.”

  Five minutes later, JR smiled. “It’s him. Ninety percent match.”

  Kruger sat back in his chair. “Now we know he has money and a gun, and he’s changed clothes. We just don’t know what he’s driving.”

  “But we know he’s heading this way.”

  Taking his cell phone out of his pocket, Kruger made a call.

  Chapter 41

  Central Missouri

  Earlier the Same Day

  It was 5 a.m., and Bishop stared out the backseat of the sheriff’s car. The only thing to keep his mind occupied was watching the value on the mile markers increase as they headed toward St. Louis. His hands and feet were shackled, with the ones on his hands too tight. The deputies in the front ignored his complaining so he stopped half an hour earlier.

  He heard the rumble and saw the lights of a large pick-up truck trying to pass on the left of the patrol car. Out of pure boredom, he glanced over to watch it pass. As the truck pulled even with the patrol car, it suddenly veered to the right, crashing into the side of the car. The driver fought to keep control of the skidding car, and the deputy in the passenger seat started shouting at the driver.

  “Get a grip on it Jim, keep it under control.”

  The pick-up slowed as the sheriff’s car skidded to a halt on the side of the highway. The deputy in the passenger seat unbuckled his seatbelt, drew his service weapon, and opened the side door. Just as he did so, Bishop heard a loud roar as the driver’s side window exploded inward and blood from the now-dead driver splattered the interior of the sheriff’s car.

  More gunfire could be heard as the deputy who exited the car fired his weapon at the truck. The fire fight was over after two more blasts from a shotgun ended the life of the remaining deputy.

  Bishop sat still. He could feel the driver’s blood sliding down his face. The door on the right side of the car flew open, and the barrel of a shotgun pointed at his head.

  “You want to live?” Bishop could tell the man was Vietnamese from his accent, but the face was hidden by the roof of the vehicle.

  “Yes.”

  “Get out and get in truck. No questions.”

  Bishop held his hands forward. “Get these off of me.”

  “No, do yourself.”

  Exiting the car, he bent down to search the deputy lying next to the patrol car. The man’s face was missing. In the darkness, the Vietnamese man lowered the shotgun and stared back toward the highway as a series of headlights could be seen approaching.

  In the light of the passing cars, Bishop saw the deputy’s service weapon, a Glock. With his back to his would-be liberator, he secured the weapon in a side pocket of his jumpsuit.

  “Give keys.”

  “Still looking. Here they are.” He stood but hesitated until the shotgun barrel poked his chest. With a grim smile, he handed the keys to the smaller man and watched as he put them in his right jeans pocket. As he walked to the truck, the barrel of the shotgun pressed against his back.

  “Hurry, before cars come again. Move.”

  The small man steered the F-250 back onto I-70 and headed east a mile before taking the exit for state road 19. Now traveling south, the man spoke for the first time since leaving the sheriff’s car. “You pay debt now.”

  Rolling his eyes, Bishop shook his head slightly. “How? I’m shackled and in a moving vehicle.”

  “No, no, no. Not now. When we get to place we go. You pay debt or die.”

  Bishop did not answer. He just stared at the road as they passed through the rural Missouri countryside.

  ***

  Janet Pratt was confused. The four-way intersection seemed unfamiliar to her. She knew the route, having driven it a hundred times to visit her sister in Owensville. But this morning she couldn’t remember which direction to turn. Frustration and sadness were her emotions as she sat in her stopped car, trying to remember.

  She was in her late sixties, overweight, with curly gray hair. Widowed for twenty years she lived alone and, unknown to everyone but her and her doctor, was suffering from early on-set dementia.

  She was unaware of the large Ford F-250 pulling up behind her. She was also unaware of the flash visible in the front window of the truck and was unaware of the man racing up to her door with a gun in his hand. Confusion would be the last conscious thought she would ever have.

  ***

  The Vietnamese man cursed in his native language at the old Chevrolet Impala stopped at the intersection. With the man’s attention momentarily trained on the unmoving car, Bishop eased the Glock from his pocket and aimed it at the small man’s head. A moment of realization appeared on the small man’s face as he turned to look at his passenger.

  “Who’s in control now, dumbass.”

  Bishop smiled and pulled the trigger. He found the keys in the dead man’s pocket and released the shackles. Amazed the Chevy was still stationary at the intersection, Bishop rushed to the driver’s side door and saw an older woman staring up at him. He yanked the door open and grabbed her by the arm.

  “Out,” he yelled. His adrenalin surged as he pulled her from the car and pointed the Glock at her. She stared at him with a look of pure confusion. Pushing her around the rear of the car she fell into a ditch beside the road. Now on her knees and looking up at him, Bishop could see tears welling up in her eyes. The only emotion he experienced was disgust as he pulled the trigger and hurried back to the Chevy.

  ***

  Traffic was light, and Bishop passed only a car and two pick-ups as he drove west on Route 42 in the woman’s Impala. Keeping low in the driver’s seat, he tried to keep the orange prison jumpsuit from being seen by passing motorists. The towns in this part of Missouri were no more than wide spots in the road and sparsely populated.

  Traffic increased as he approached the town of Vienna, but he managed to drive through without attracting attention. Again, traffic diminished as he continued west.

  Bishop looked at his face in the rearview mirror and saw dried blood in his hair and forehead. Realizing he needed to do something about his appearance, he started looking for isolated houses on the road. It was approaching eleven a.m. when he spotted an older gray Honda Accord pulling into a side road. He slowed and followed the car down a winding gravel road until it stopped at an old house with a falling down barn several hundred feet behind it.

  Bishop watched as an elderly man with stooped shoulders exited the Honda and walked slowly toward the house. As he parked the Impala behind the Honda, the old man noticed and turned to stare. A puzzled expression appeared as he slowly walked toward the Impala.

  Bishop opened the Chevy’s door and stepped down. When the elderly man saw the orange jumpsuit, his eyes grew wide. Raising the Glock, Bishop smiled. “Don’t say a word.”

  ***

  Two and half hours later, Bishop stood outside The Bank of Mack’s Creek and pretended to be talking on a cell phone. His real purpose was determining where the surveillance cameras were located.

  Once he spotted them, he took one of the checks he found at the old man’s house and walked into the bank to a teller.

  “Can I cash a check?”

  The young teller appeared to be a recent high school graduate. She wore thick glasses, was slightly overweight, and in bad need of fashion advice. She looked at the check. “I can, but your check is from another bank. We’ll have to charge a service fee. All I need is a driver’s license or some form of ID.” She smiled. Bishop could see her teeth needed straightening.

  “How much is the service fee?”

  “Five dollars.”

  Shaking his head, he turned and started walking out. “Thank you, but I’ll pass.”

  The old man’s gray Honda was parked several blocks from the bank in a de
serted area of the small town, away from buildings and nosey neighbors. In the car, he changed out of the slacks and shirt appropriated from the late Mr. Addison and put on a pair of jeans and a dark brown hoodie purchased at a Walmart store in Camdenton an hour ago.

  He returned to the bank, parked on the side of the building, slipped a ski mask over his head, pulled the hood over it, and walked into the bank. Saying nothing, he raised the Glock taken from the deputy and shot out the surveillance camera on the right side of the bank. Sweeping the gun to the left, he took out the camera on the opposite side. He then spoke in a gravelly voice, “Every one into the store room, and you won’t get hurt.”

  It took less than thirty seconds to get everyone secured. He then went to the teller drawers and grabbed all of the cash he could find not booby trapped with dye packs. It took less than a minute to secure all of the cash he could find quickly. Exiting the bank, he walked casually toward the parked Honda, slipped behind the wheel, and drove west on State Highway W.

  Two hours later, Mr. Addison’s dark gray Honda drove through Kruger’s neighborhood. As Bishop passed the house, he saw two Highway Patrol cars parked in front with two uniformed Highway Patrol officers standing beside them watching the street. Not wanting to attract undue attention, he did not slow and proceeded to leave the neighborhood.

  He found a fast food restaurant several miles from Kruger’s home and stopped to eat while he waited for the Highway Patrol to leave. He made another pass on an adjacent street an hour later. Between two houses, he could see the Highway Patrol cars still parked and the addition of a Ford Transit van parked in the driveway. He stopped briefly, then drove back to Kruger’s street and parked in front of a house several blocks from the Kruger home. Ten minutes later, a dark gray Mustang drove past him. The driver was Sean Kruger.

  Chapter 42

  Christian County, Missouri

  Kruger and JR arrived at Joseph’s property in Christian County just as the sun disappeared behind low clouds on the western horizon. He saw Sandy Knoll’s GMC Denali parked in the circle drive and Joseph’s Range Rover in front of it. Kruger parked the Mustang behind the Denali.

  Joseph’s property was a sprawling parcel of land five miles south of Sparta and a half mile west of Fairview Road. To the east, Fork Bull Creek ran through the front part of the property. Trees were the main feature of the twenty acres behind the house. Access to the home was by a dirt road barely accessible by anything other than an SUV. Kruger’s Mustang struggled.

  Few individuals outside of Joseph’s immediate friends and colleagues knew about the house.

  As he exited the car, Kruger could see Stephanie on the wrap-around front deck holding Kristin’s hand. Kristin was jumping up and down and pointing at her daddy’s car. Kruger marveled at the elegance and beauty of the structure and he never tired of their visits.

  JR walked around the car and stood beside him. “Did you notice the gray Honda Accord following us?”

  Kruger nodded. “The same car was waiting at the end of my street when I left for your place.”

  “I ran the license plate just before we lost cell service a few miles back.”

  “And?”

  “Registered to a Henry Addison.” JR paused for a moment. “Blumley, Missouri.”

  “It’s him. As soon as I get to the house, I’ll use Joseph’s satellite phone to call Allen and tell him.”

  “Not sure I like being without cell service out here.”

  “Relax, Joseph’s got satellite phones and a dedicated T-1 line running underground. It’s faster than your place.”

  “I should have known.” JR chuckled. “I need to find Mia. I’ll see you three inside later.”

  After Kruger climbed the eight steps to the front deck, he picked up Kristin and hugged her. He then kissed his wife and embraced the two women in his life. JR waved at Stephanie just before walking through the front door.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Stephanie smiled. “I was worried.”

  “No need to be.”

  She nodded but remained in his embrace. “I love this place. I wish we were here under different circumstances.”

  “Me, too.” The hug lasted a few more moments. “Let’s go in.”

  Stephanie took Kruger’s hand and he kept Kristin in his other arm as they walked toward the front door.

  ***

  Darkness was total in this part of Christian County. The lights of the nearest city were far enough away the Milky Way ribbon was clearly visible above the isolated house. Kruger stood on the back deck and stared up at the night sky. Joseph joined him on the deck and handed him a crystal highball glass.

  Kruger accepted the glass and took a sip. “Damn, Joseph. When did you start keeping the good stuff out here?”

  “Since I started spending more time here. The solitude is quite intoxicating.”

  “Sorry to intrude on it.”

  Smiling slightly, Joseph took a sip of the twenty-one-year-old Glenfiddich. “Not a problem. Sandy’s team is out there.” He nodded in the direction of the trees. “They haven’t seen the gray Honda Accord yet.”

  “I spoke to Boone about ten minutes ago. They found the Pratt woman’s Impala in a barn belonging to a Henry Addison. Henry was in his late eighties and a widower. From what neighbors told the Highway Patrol, they saw the Chevy turn down Henry’s driveway sometime during the late morning. The only reason they noticed was because Henry doesn’t get too many visitors anymore.”

  “Bad?”

  “Bishop just broke his neck and put him in a chair with the TV on. If someone looked in, they would think he was napping.”

  All Joseph could do was nod.

  “It has to end, Joseph. His killing has to stop.”

  “How?”

  Kruger took a deep breath. “I haven’t got that far yet.”

  ***

  The call came at midnight. Allen Boone was on the satellite phone and asked to speak to Kruger. Joseph went to get him. Five minutes later, Kruger took the phone.

  “Yeah.”

  “Sorry to wake you, but we may have an issue.”

  Kruger was quiet for several seconds. “May have an issue, or do have an issue?”

  “We found the gray Honda Accord registered to Henry Addison.”

  “Where?”

  Boone took a deep breath and blew it out. “Abandoned.”

  “Again, where?”

  “Two miles from your location.”

  “Damn.”

  “Yeah, that’s our assessment.”

  “Any ideas where he might be?”

  “We’re going door to door along the corridor to Joseph’s property. So far, no luck.”

  “It’s midnight Allen. He’s hiding somewhere. If you find a residence that doesn’t answer, let me know.”

  “So far, we’ve only found one residence with no response.”

  “Where is it?”

  “A mile north of the entrance to Joseph’s property, west side of the highway.”

  “Who lives there?”

  “A family named Owens. Husband and wife, teenage boy and girl, plus a baby.”

  “Do you have the house under observation?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any signs of life?”

  “As you said, it’s midnight. Not too many signs of life anywhere.”

  “Keep me posted.”

  ***

  Three minutes after five the phone rang again. Kruger answered.

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s Boone. There’s a male body on the front lawn of the Owen’s home.”

  “When did it appear?”

  “No one knows. A porch light came on ten minutes ago, the body was already in the lawn. Bishop appeared on the front porch and announced he would kill the husband and a baby if you didn’t appear in front of the house at 8 a.m.”

  “Can they tell who the body is?”

  “No, but it looks like a small male.”

  “One of the teenagers?”

&nbs
p; “Probably.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  ***

  JR held the rifle as Sandy Knoll pointed out several enhancements. JR nodded after the lesson concluded. “If he goes, I need to back him up, Sandy.”

  Knoll gave JR a grim smile. “I’ll be there, too.”

  “He won’t agree, trust me. He’ll think it’s too dangerous.”

  Knoll put his hand on JR’s shoulder. “He won’t know we’re there.”

  ***

  Kruger sat at the breakfast bar in Joseph’s kitchen loading magazines for his Glock with 147 grain 9mm hollow point bullets. Joseph was standing across from him sipping coffee.

  “Want some coffee?” he asked.

  Kruger shook his head.

  “Does Stephanie know where you’re going?”

  “She does. She’s not happy, but understands.”

  “I can’t let you go alone.”

  “You have no choice. If Bishop suspects there’s anyone besides me…”

  “He won’t.”

  “I can’t take that chance, Joseph.” He looked up as he spoke. His eyes were narrow and his brow furrowed. “Too many innocent people have lost their lives because I didn’t put this maniac away a long time ago. It ends this morning. If I don’t…” He paused briefly. “You’ll have to.”

  Joseph did not answer right away. With a frown, he nodded. “I understand.”

  ***

  Kruger parked Joseph’s Range Rover a quarter of a mile from the Owens house on Fairview Road. It was 6:30, and the sky was lightening in the east. The crisp morning air allowed Kruger to see his exhaled breath. He needed time to observe the home before he walked up to the front door. Taking his time, he circled the house keeping within the tree line. He saw no activity as he circled around the back. He stopped behind a large oak fifty feet from the rear door of the modest ranch style home and stood still, just observing.