by Pamela Clare
Beckett glanced down into her eyes, surprised. Then he nodded, clearly understanding. “She had some tests yesterday and again this morning. I called her surgeon a while ago, and everything’s still a go for the operation.”
“You’ll be there when she goes into the O.R., right?”
“I’m planning on staying at the hospital all day. The doctor said it would be okay if I spent the night, too.” He set his jaw in that stubborn way she’d come to love. “I don’t plan on leaving her side for long. Not even after I get her home.”
The gusting wind blew the first drops of rain against Amy’s face. She shifted away from Beckett and turned to go back into the station.
“You’re a good man, Beckett,” she said softly, staring at the gathering storm. “And a hell of a lot braver than I’d be in your situation.”
He scoffed. “Bullshit. You’re as brave as they come. You prove that every day out there on the front lines.”
She gave a weary laugh, feeling it scrape like broken glass in her throat. “I wish that was true.”
She moved away, picking up her pace as the rain intensified. Beckett caught up with her, his long strides eating up ground. By the time she reached the door, he already had it open for her. Halfway down the hallway, her cell phone buzzed.
She didn’t recognize the number. Not a local exchange. “Robitaille,” she said, giving her damp hair a shake.
“Listen up, Detective, because this is going to be quick.”
Gardner. Her stomach twisted into a pretzel and she immediately began to sweat profusely. Please, God, don’t have him tell me where to find the bodies.
She turned to face Beckett. “Go ahead, Gardner. Or, should I say Garneau?” Motioning Beckett to follow, she strode back toward the door they’d just come in. She didn’t need anyone overhearing the conversation.
Gardner snorted. “Smart little Detective Robitaille. Well, I’ve got your sister and the kid, smart bitch, and they’re alive. At least so far.”
Relief almost buckled her knees. They were alive, and Gardner was calling because he wanted something. Without having to think, Amy knew in her gut what it was likely to be.
Beckett hovered over her, his face grim, his hands flexing into fists. She gave him a quick, reassuring nod before returning her full attention to the call. “What do you want, Gardner? Just spit it out.”
“You know what I want.” His drawl seemed to thicken. “I want you.”
Though she’d seen it coming, it still hit her like a freight train. A wave of nausea washed over her and she clutched a hand to her stomach, desperately trying to force deep breaths.
She had to stay calm. Focused. Her sister and Cooper depended on her. This time, she wouldn’t fail. “Spell it out, then.”
“Oh, come on, Detective.” He blew out an impatient breath. “I get you, in exchange for these two.”
He’s probably going to kill us all.
A nightmare image flashed into her brain. Her parents, in a cemetery, standing beside three caskets waiting to be lowered. One only four feet long.
Not going to happen. Not as long as I’m still breathing.
Amy knew what she had to do. She steeled her voice. “All right. You let them go, and I’m all yours.”
Beside her, Beckett recoiled as if he’d been punched in the jaw. He gave a violent shake of his head, looking ready to rip the phone from her grip.
She put up a hand, trying to signal that she had the situation under control.
If only.
“Smart move,” Gardner snarled. “The next time I call, I’ll give you the details.”
“But—”
He hung up.
She’d been about to demand proof of life, but the killer hadn’t given her the chance. Now he was going to make her wait. And suffer. She hoped to God it wouldn’t be for long.
Beckett grabbed her by the shoulders, his dark eyes blazing. “Fuck, no! There’s no way you can do that. You know damn well he’ll kill them. He’ll kill all three of you.”
Amy shook out of his grip and took a quick glance around to make sure no one had heard Beckett’s raised voice. “I don’t know that,” she said sharply. “But I do know that we have absolutely no idea where that nut case has taken my sister and her son. And I know he will kill them if I don’t do what he asks. I know those things, and so do you.”
Beckett slammed his hand against the wall. “Then you’ll have to find a way to string him along until we can find them,” he said, his voice as hard as stone. “Trying to be a hero almost always gets you killed. Trust me on that. I’ve seen it happen too often.”
Beckett was right, but he didn’t get it. If she blew off Gardner, M.L. and Cooper would die and her life would be as good as over, anyway. She’d barely managed to survive Ariane’s murder. There would be no getting over this. M.L.’s and Cooper’s faces would haunt her for the rest of her life. And her parents…they’d simply never survive another unthinkable tragedy. Not for long.
String him along? No, Jason Gardner was clever and he was calling the shots, so she had no choice but to do as he said. He’d set the whole thing up with some skill. For a low-life ex-con that didn’t make it out of high school, the bastard had a brain.
God willing, she would soon put a bullet into that brain.
There was only one thing she could do. And she knew that if she had any hope of making it work, she had to somehow get Beckett on board. Amy hated like hell that she had to drag him onto the field of battle, but she didn’t see any way to do it without him.
*
Robitaille grabbed Luke’s hand and dragged him to her car. He followed reluctantly, infuriated by her stubbornness. He was desperate to shake some sense into her before she got herself killed.
He just couldn’t think about Amélie Robitaille lying dead. It was unbearable.
“Where are we going?” he growled.
“My house. I want you beside me when the bastard calls again.” She started the car, shoved it into reverse, and gunned it backwards. “But we need to make a couple of stops first.”
“Fuck, this is way past insane. You’d be the first one to tell somebody in your position that they should let the police handle it.”
“I am the police,” she snapped.
“But you’re not acting like it. You’re acting like a civilian whose sister and nephew are in danger. Jesus, Amélie, you’ve got to let Cramer handle this. You’re doing the exact opposite of what you preach.”
She gave one firm shake of her head, her jaw line set in stone. “Even if we were able to figure out where Gardner’s holed up, and I put the chances of doing that any time soon at slim to none, I’m not risking my sister and her kid on some TAC Unit operation. Or on some hostage negotiator. Gardner wants me, and he’s going to get me.” Her gaze flickered to him, a bit softer now. “It’s the only way, Luke. Trust me.”
He figured she used his first name deliberately to help get him on board with her insane plan. He hammered his fist against the dashboard so hard that she startled. She took a firmer grasp of the wheel, and her face set again in that determined line.
What he really wanted to do was disable her. Knock her out and tie her up so he could call Cramer and put an end to her madness. He knew he could do it, too. Robitaille was a well-trained cop, and as tough as they come. But his training had been the best. And he was practically twice her size.
But as desperately as he wanted to protect her, he couldn’t do that to her. And he sure couldn’t abandon her, either.
“He’ll kill you all,” he growled. “You know that’s what he wants.”
“Yeah, but not if I can help it,” she responded calmly, sounding more like a cop. “I’m not entirely convinced that Jason Gardner is the kind of man who kills four-year-old boys. In fact, he might even have some sympathy for Cooper. It’s true that he’ll be tempted to kill M.L., because she might well fit his sick profile. But I’m his real target now. He thinks I’m responsible for identifying him. He�
�s done now, and he blames me. This is all about revenge.”
His anger built, warring with fear. “Sure, and you’re going to let him have it. Sacrificing yourself for your sister—you think that’ll atone for the guilt you feel over your twin? Atonement won’t mean a damn if you’re a dead woman.”
She sucked in a sharp breath, so he knew he’d hit home. But her eyes stayed focused on the road as she deftly weaved in and out of traffic. It looked like there was nothing he could do or say to knock her off her deadly course.
“This isn’t about sacrifice,” she finally said. “Gardner’s going to come out of this either in handcuffs or a body bag. He’s an equipment manager for a baseball team, for God’s sake. He preys on defenseless women. He kills them with syringes.” She snorted, making her contempt clear. “But now he’s going to have to deal with me.”
Luke stared at her profile, swallowing the urge to call her a fool. Was what she said bravado, or did she really believe it? Either way, he had no choice. She was going to do it, with him or without him.
“And me,” he said.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Saturday, August 7
8:15 p.m.
The Dragunov sniper rifle looked ready made for Beckett’s big, capable hands. Amy watched him practically caress the gun’s two-foot barrel as he attached the night scope.
“You look like you want to have sex with that thing,” she joked lamely. After they got back to her house, she’d swallowed two fingers of Scotch, neat, to try to settle her nerves. It was all she could do not to guzzle straight from the bottle.
He cast a ghost of a smile as he lifted the stock to his shoulder. “Damn sweet unit. Not quite as good as the M24 I had in Afghanistan. Not to me, anyway. But not bad for a quick stop at the gun store.”
She moved behind him and put her arms around his waist, nuzzling her head between his shoulders. He smelled like soap and gun oil and her only hope. “Thanks for doing this, Beckett. If you’d refused, I’d have had to handcuff you to my Nautilus machine so you wouldn’t rat me out to Cramer.”
She felt the answering growl vibrate through his body. “Yeah, well, you might as well know how close a call it was for me to decide between saying yes and knocking you out cold.”
“You flatter yourself, Beckett. I’m tougher than I look.”
He put down the rifle and swung around. “Be glad you didn’t have to find out,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “I still can’t believe I agreed to this. We’re both out of our fucking minds.”
Amy never begged, but she’d have begged him to help her if she’d had to. She desperately needed him to help get her sister and nephew back—just her and Beckett, without any police interference. The fact that he’d agreed, and had trusted her in the face of all his doubts, blew her away. If they survived this, she’d vowed that she’d try to give him whatever the hell he wanted from her.
Beckett was in fact the key to her hastily drawn-up plan. He’d been a sharpshooter in the army, and might be as good as anyone the SWAT team had to offer. And he’d be just one lone man. A man trained in stealth and concealment. If anyone could get close without setting off Gardner’s alarm bells—close enough to take him out—it would be Beckett.
They’d pulled together something of an arsenal from the gun and military supply shop in downtown West Palm. In addition to the sniper rifle, Beckett had chosen a nine-millimeter SIG Sauer and a pocket-size Taurus nine-millimeter with an ankle holster. To her surprise, he’d also picked up a wicked-looking military knife that was now hanging from his belt. In addition to the weapons, they’d come away with a high-end GPS tracking device and a set of night vision goggles.
The clerk had joked that it looked like they were preparing for an invasion.
Fortunately, the gun shop had also carried military camouflage gear. Beckett had found exactly what he’d said he needed—an ACU jacket and trousers set, an ACU patrol cap, a sand-colored tee shirt, and combat boots. Except for the jacket, he wore the combat uniform now as he hugged her.
Beckett looked wonderful and completely at home in military gear. For the first time, Amy fully grasped the fact that the man had given up the life of a pampered baseball hero to fight in the hills and wadis of Afghanistan. He’d gone to war for what he believed in, and now he was about to fight for her. For her and for the people she loved.
He was a warrior, just like she tried every day to be.
“I hope the tracker we bought works,” she said, smoothing her hands over the hard ridges and contours of his back. “Just in case the bastard somehow manages to make off with me. Not that I’m going to let that happen, of course.”
Beckett flinched hard enough to jostle her, but his voice stayed calm. “It’ll work. I’ve used one something like this before. It sends its signal through the Internet to my smartphone. You just have to make damn sure Gardner doesn’t find it.”
Amy had laughed when he’d told her where she should stash the tiny unit—underneath one of her breasts. It was a good thing she was generously endowed. “He’ll frisk me, but hopefully he won’t make me strip naked.”
Unless he gets me to his kill zone, of course. She shrugged the terrifying thought away.
“I’m not going to risk a shot if there’s any chance at all that I could hit you or the others,” Beckett answered. “If you’re right and he does let M.L. and Cooper loose, you’ve got to take him down before he gets you back to his hideout. If not, it’s going to get really sticky.”
“I know,” she said, and his eyes went bleak.
Amy hated to see the pain on his face. She was asking so much. One small mistake on a stormy night…
But what choice did she have?
“Beckett?” She put a finger against his lips.
“What?”
“You can’t call Cramer unless there’s no other choice. We do this alone. You have to promise me.”
Beckett’s mouth went flat and hard. “Yeah, okay. But I don’t like it one damn bit.”
She knew Beckett would desperately want to call for reinforcements if things started to go south, which was why she had to make him swear he wouldn’t. She trusted him to keep his word.
“Amélie…” He cupped her chin in his hand and lowered his lips to hers. She hugged him tighter as he claimed her lips, first gently, then with exploding passion. The kiss scorched her from her hair to her shoes, and she didn’t want it to end. But she forced herself to pull away. She couldn’t take that comfort from him, not while her family was in danger.
“I’m going to change,” she said, glancing down at her body. “It would be smart to wear some bright color instead of all this black and navy. You’ll be less likely to put a bullet in me by mistake.”
“Fuck, Amélie,” Beckett ground out. “Don’t even joke about that.”
“I can’t help it. I’ve always had a thing for gallows humor.”
Changing quickly into white jeans and a white, long-sleeved tee shirt, she listened to the rain pelt down on the clay tile roof of her house. She grabbed her yellow New Englander rain jacket off the coat rack at the back door. Especially with the hood up, her image would jump out in Beckett’s night scope. And it shouldn’t arouse Gardner’s suspicions, given the crappy weather.
God only knew what M.L. and Cooper would be wearing. Cooper might still be in his pajamas. If Gardner had even a trace of humanity, he’d have found something rainproof and warm for the kid to wear.
Trace of humanity. Who was she kidding?
Her cell phone buzzed against her hip. Looking grim, Beckett moved away and stood at the window, as if he had to put some distance between them.
“Robitaille,” she barked out.
“You’re familiar with the Canal Point recreation area, aren’t you, Detective?” Gardner’s voice was close to a full-out vicious sneer. It made Amy feel like she’d become the target of all his hatred toward women.
She thought back to Megan O’Neill’s tortured body lying beside the boat ramp at
Lake Okeechobee. “You know damn well I’ve been there.”
“So, that’s where you’ll meet us. At exactly ten o’clock.”
“Fine,” she said in a level voice. “But I want proof of life first. Put my sister on.”
Gardner snorted. “Making demands, are you? You’re not in much of a bargaining position.”
“Sure, I am,” she said, infusing her voice with a confidence she didn’t feel. “I’d be crazy to put myself in your hands if you’ve already killed them, wouldn’t I? Put my sister on now, or it’s no deal.”
His low-pitched chuckle sent a chill skating down her spine. “Okay. You’ve got fifteen seconds.”
Amy heard a ripping sound, and then her sister cried out. “Jesus Christ, that hurt!”
Gardner must have put duct tape over her mouth.
“Amy?”
Thank God. “It’s me, Chère. Has he hurt you or Cooper?”
“Not really—other than ripping my lips half off with that fucking tape just now.”
She’s definitely okay. “Can he hear me talking?”
“Uh, I’m not sure. I don’t think so.”
“Don’t say anything more, then. Just listen. I’m coming for you. When I get there, he’ll release you and Cooper. When he does, you run like hell for the nearest phone and call 9-1-1. Trust me, little sister, and do as I say. Now put him back on.”
M.L. must have had a hundred questions, but to her credit she did exactly as Amy asked.
“What’s the verdict?” Gardner said.
“All right,” Amy said, “ten o’clock at the Canal Point boat ramp.”
“Be smart, Detective. Don’t even think about bringing your SWAT team or the goddamn FBI. It’s wide open at Canal Point, and I’ll have a gun against the little guy’s head every second. I’ll blow his brains right into the lake if you try to screw with me.”
“I know you will,” she said, playing to his ego. “You do what you say you’re going to do. Don’t worry, I’ll be alone. I’d never fool around with my nephew’s life. Or my sister’s.”
