Special Agent Charli

by Mimi Barbour

  Kayla yelled, “No, Charli. We have to save Poppa John.”

  By then, the decision had been made. Both the men had climbed in the back of the van, Dylan shoving John to get him in, and even the dog had somehow sidled in next to John, huddling close to his side.

  The lighter-skinned black man holding the gun pulled off his full beard and his old man’s cap. He ran his hand through his tight white curls and wiped the sweat away. “Fucking costume’s so hot, I could’ve stroked out. Let’s go Agent Madison. I want us out of here or first, the dog gets it and then, the old man.”

  Charli stepped on the gas and headed back the way she’d come.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “You told me to drive, you never said where.” Her voice could have solidified rain.

  The two girls, seated in the front of the old van with her were crying, huddled together, Kayla secretly typing on her phone.

  “If I see anyone messing around, I swear, it’s game over. I’m sick and tired of dealing with this shit. Alicia, you should have minded your own business that night. Look what you’ve done now; everyone has to die because you’re a nosy bitch.” The resentment in his voice came through loud and clear. The man was not happy.

  Within a short time, Charli watched in the rearview mirror and saw Blake’s fancy Jeep pull out from behind a car and sneak into the lane next to hers. She felt slightly better, knowing she wasn’t alone. But no telling what the maniac would do before he made them stop.

  “I’m driving in circles here. Where do you want me to go?” She kept her voice level, hiding her relief.

  “There’re warehouses out by the airport. Head in that direction and while we’re on the way, maybe say your prayers. You know what’s in store for the lot of you. Truth is, I can’t wait to get this over with and get back to the real world. You ladies have led me on one hell of a chase, so don’t expect any sympathy from me.”

  Charli heard the thud as he kicked the dog, who had begun to whine. The poor animal screamed in pain, and John snatched him up in his arms.

  “Shut up, you stupid mutt. Don’t know why I picked you from all the others. You’ve been nothing but a fucking headache ever since I broke you loose from the pound.”

  Charli checked the rearview mirror and saw John cuddle the poor animal onto his lap, while the golden dog, who looked like a mix of terrier and poodle, shivered, eyes enlarged and looking as if they were full of tears.

  “Right, you freak. Go to John. Think he’ll save you? It ain’t gonna happen.”

  John began to speak, rage apparent, but Charli cut him off. “Do as he says, Gramps. Just do as he says.”

  “Listen to your granddaughter, John. Oh, and Charli, if you want the old man to live one more second, you’ll pass over your weapon. No way would any cop worth their wages be out here without a gun. And from what I’ve read, you’re one of Seattle’s finest.” The sneer was unmistakable.

  Charli reached under the seat, pulled out the Glock and handed it over her shoulder. She saw Angie holding Kayla close. Tears dripped down Kayla’s face, her behavior screaming – it’s all my fault. I’m to blame.

  Angie didn’t cry. Instead, she secretly lifted her shirt and leaned forward enough for Charli to see the gun she’d hidden in her belt. One of the guns from Blake’s cabinet.

  Charli’s stomach dropped.

  Now the prayers began in earnest.

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Blake couldn’t believe Kayla’s message that was staring him in the face. The old man with the dog had been their perp, and he’d been close to the house – right under their noses all this time.

  He’d created a costume, gotten a dog and made friends with John, and he now held them captive in the pool boy’s van. Jesus! How could he have let them leave? Turns out, they would have been safer if they’d stayed home.

  He grabbed his car keys and headed for the garage. Just then, he saw the van go past the intersection at the head of the street, and he rushed to catch up to them, giving orders to his crew the whole time.

  “Newton, I’m following a 1990 blue Ford van, license number four, nine, six, XRR, heading south on Highway ninety-five. Do not intercept. Repeat, do not intercept. Follow at a distance. It’s Dylan Ross and he’s got four hostages. Do not spook him.”

  “Got it, boss. I’m connected with your GPS. We’re heading out now and will be nearby in five minutes.”

  Blake closed the phone and wiped his sweaty hands on his pants, one at a time. How could he have been so cocky, thinking he had it all figured out. Forgetting that the original plan of sneaking the girls from the house had been suggested by Prowler, he put the guilt on himself and it fit like a snug coat.

  He saw Charli’s face, felt her last kiss, her whispered words that she kinda guessed she loved him. Her teasing grin when he questioned her, “You kinda guess? Baby, you either know or I’m gonna have to work on you again.”

  “Then for sure, I’m still guessing. Maybe if you try a little ahh… harder next time.” The giggle that followed had him pulling her close for one more kiss that left them both breathless and heated.

  The van stayed within the speed limits, making it easy to keep them in his sights. He wouldn’t crowd too close because the backdoor windows revealed the upcoming traffic. It was safer to ride alongside a lane or two over. He couldn’t take any chances that he’d get made.

  Time passed with visions crowding his head. The two sweet girls playing games with Charli; sticking up for John when they worried that Charli would attack. His favorite memory – the night before when he held the strongest, bravest, most beautiful woman in his arms and told her he loved her.

  Suddenly, he saw the van pull off the highway to the right. He had no idea where they were heading. Son of a bitch, the animal was taking them on the Cypress Creek exit, and onto Dixie Highway to the industrial area where they had a lot of old warehouses and buildings. Seeing as today was Sunday, and most of the buildings would be closed, no one would likely pay any attention. The image of his girls alone with no one to care launched such a vicious pain in his gut, it almost doubled him over. Not on my fucking watch.

  He pulled his wheel hard, cutting back through traffic, forcing cars to give way, creating a hazard anyone without authority would pay a hefty fine for. Too bad – he couldn’t take any chances on losing them.

  By the time he’d made it through the traffic, the van was out of sight. Not wanting to be spotted now wasn’t an option. He needed to find them fast.

  Blake called in his position and had one of his men at the station give him the reading from the map they’d picked up by satellite. Thank God for up-to-date technology.

  “The van is arriving at a building called Hal’s Custom Marine Sewing, Blake. They’re pulling in right now. It’s a smaller structure where there are trees around the parking lot in front of the building. He had to know the business would be closed seeing as how it’s Sunday.”

  “Find out who owns it; question them if Dylan’s been anywhere near there recently. The man is smart and creative. He plans for every development. What better place to kill his victims than a warehouse that’s empty for the day, then head off to the airport only a few miles away.”

  “You’re close, Blake. Go another mile on 17th Street and right on Route 1. Pull over in the Cold Storage building’s parking lot and go on foot from there; otherwise you’ll drive into a trap. Back-up is on the way.”

  “Affirmative. We can’t let him know we’re onto him. Keep a low profile until I say different, got it?”

  “Yes, sir. Understood.”

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Charli sent a signal to Angie by waving her fingers as if to say pass it over. The slight nod led her to believe she’d listen, but Angie was all heart, and she’d gotten very attached to Poppa John.

  What if she decided to take the shot herself and risk them both getting killed? Charli couldn’t stand the thought, and the stress she’d shed began to reassert itsel
f.

  Her foot started shaking on the gas pedal, and her heart double-timed so that swallowing hurt.

  God, no. Don’t let me lose it now. God!

  The atmosphere, sinister and heavy, added to her reaction. She needed to say something, lighten the tension.

  “Where are you taking us?”

  “Just keep driving. There’s a nice quiet shop a few miles further down that’s closed for business today, seems that they’re all attending a wedding. We won’t be interrupted if we stop there. And don’t try any funny business.”

  “You can bet on it when you have my grandfather beside you.”

  “Good, because I might just take pity on the old bastard, he’s a smart man. I like smart people.”

  “Then you’ll love him. They say he’s a genius.”

  “Just shut up and drive.”

  Charli kept her eye on the road behind, praying that Blake saw them take the turn-off. She couldn’t see him anymore, but then neither would Dylan, which was just as well. He didn’t seem to recognize Blake’s vehicle while they were on the busy highway, but on this out-of-the-way street, he’d spot it instantly.

  After all, it had been the vehicle she’d used to chauffer Kayla around from the time they first arrived. She just prayed he hadn’t seen them driving it. According to the itinerary they’d set up for him, he only just found the house, so the chances were excellent he wouldn’t recognize it.

  She finally saw the older building where, no doubt, he meant for them to stop. Intense panic built rapidly. Her saliva glands began working overtime. Forced to swallow repeatedly to stop from hurling, her mouth became dry, her throat parched. The muscles in her stomach clenched, the pain so intense she feared she’d double over.

  Afraid that the pounding in her chest couldn’t go on much longer without her heart bursting, she let out a small moan. Her foot lifted from the gas. Angie’s hand grabbing hers gave her a lifeline. She grasped it tightly, using her awesome will power to force calm.

  “Why are you slowing down here? Keep going until you’re in front of the shop and then pull in behind the trees.”

  Angie swiveled, her tone hard. “She’s not well. Give her a few seconds. You can hold off shooting us for that long, can’t you?” Angie’s bravery sharpened Charli’s wits. With the extreme strength of necessity, she came out of her funk.

  No doubt, the fact that Angie had passed over her gun had a lot to do with it too. Now she felt back in charge… somewhat. She had the means to protect. She just needed the chance.

  While she leaned forward to check on Kayla, who’d sat in misery the whole time they’d driven, sniffing occasionally, she tucked the gun out of sight. “You okay?”

  Kayla returned her gaze and nodded. “Whatever happens, I’m so sorry that I started this nightmare.”

  Fed up with her remorse, Dylan raged, “You should be fucking sorry, kid. You’ve given me nothing but grief. Now this is the way we’re going to play it. I’ve got my gun aimed at John’s heart. Right? So you will all get out of the vehicle and come to the back of the van. Then you will circle around us as we walk to the shop.” He hit John on his shoulder when he tried to wrestle away. “And you, you old bastard. If you give me any grief, I’ll shoot your precious Charli, don’t think I won’t. She’s been another huge thorn in my side. Now it’s payback time and trust me, this will be enjoyable.”

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Blake watched the circle of people shuffle toward the shop and wasn’t surprised that the killer not only had the key, but must have disengaged the alarm system the IT department warned him about. The asshole had to have some freaking fine tech skills.

  Not knowing exactly why Dylan had gone to so much trouble to set up this far away shop, he could only surmise he’d intended to take John hostage and have Charli bring Kayla to him at this address.

  If he’d been watching the house, which they now assumed he had for at least twenty-four hours, then he knew how many police were around. And he for sure knew that Blake, a Major with the Fort Lauderdale police department, owned the house.

  They’d underestimated the asshole – not something they’d do again. In his gut, he knew Dylan intended to shoot everyone and walk out like nothing happened. Capable of doing just that, would it be better for his SWAT team to storm the place and pray they get him before he shot anyone else? Maybe get a sniper set up and hope to get a clean shot? Or should he try and sneak in alone?

  Knowing he couldn’t take unnecessary chances with the lives of the people he loved, he opted to go in first. If he didn’t stop the massacre then his men, now strategically placed around the building, would deal with the lowlife bastard.

  Taking the vest and rifle that Bill Newton had thoughtfully offered, he gave his instructions and began scrambling past the trees, behind walls and keeping low, heading to the back door where he figured he could enter.

  As quiet as possible, he broke the bolt that kept it locked and forced it open enough so that he could slip through. When he got inside, he headed for the main area that housed seating sections from customized boats, many only partly covered.

  Sewing machines were set up, a few with pieces still attached. Rolls of fabrics were stacked in the corner, various colors and styles of vinyl and leather, the air permeated with their strong smells.

  It gave him a place to hide as he snuck closer to where he heard voices. Hands sweating, he took a deep breath and inched forward. He saw a small boat mirror and picked it up, slowly lifting it between two piles of newly covered pillows so that he could get eyes on the situation.

  He saw that Charli stood in front, with the girls behind her. John, glued to Dylan’s gun, was being held as insurance that no one would be stupid.

  “Charli, lift your pant legs, then take off your shirt and turn around.”

  What the fuck?

  Charli’s face dropped, and she argued, “Why the fuck should I take off my shirt, you pervert?

  “Because, as soon as I take my gun from John, you’re going to make a move with the gun you kept for backup. We can’t have that now, can we?”

  “I gave you my gun. Why would you think I have another?”

  “Because, in your place, I’d have brought one. Now lose the shirt so I can make sure you’re clean.”

  He dug his weapon harder into John, who tried not to wince but couldn’t stop the pain from appearing in his expression.

  Charli lifted the shirt off and dropped it beside her. Then she turned and the weapon he’d expected became visible.

  “See, you didn’t disappoint. I knew you’d be carrying. Take it out of your waistband slowly and throw it on that pile of stuffing over there.”

  Charli did as she was told but took her time.

  Blake saw the despair on her face and knew she’d make a move soon. In her place, he’d rush Dylan hoping to at least save the girls.

  Before she could make her play, Blake sent a bullet through the painted window, giving his men eyes in the room and his sniper a shot at Dylan. Then he stepped out for a showdown.

  Chapter Fifty-four

  Charli had known Blake was close by, she’d sensed his energy as if they were wired on the same wavelength. It had given her the strength to drop her gun as ordered.

  But once Blake showed himself, drawing fire his way to take the heat off her grandfather, she had no choice but to act.

  His ruse worked. Dylan let John go so he could take a shot at the man with the gun. The bullet hit Blake in his shoulder which forced him against the wall.

  While this happened, Charli dove for the old man and shoved him down and behind a table while the two girls also took that moment to sprint around a finished panel waiting for pickup.

  Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to escape with her gramps because Dylan’s fingers had snatched her hair, dragging her back towards him, effectively stopping Blake from taking another shot.

  Though he’d gone down, he hadn’t lost his weapon or the ability to kill. But Dylan’s gun po
inted toward a wriggling Charli… that changed everything.

  Blake began a conversation, hoping to lure Dylan from behind the post and give his men the chance they needed. “You might as well give up, Ross. We have the place surrounded. Even if you manage to kill us all, you won’t get away.”

  Blake had hoped his words would rile the killer and draw him forward. But it didn’t work. What did work was the pooch nobody had remembered saw a chance to get to his friend. When John fell, he came out of hiding, scooted across the space and rushed to the old man on the floor.

  The tense atmosphere had worked her up enough so that rather than being timid, her fangs were showing and the growls she emitted were fierce. When Dylan roughly went for Charli, she became incensed. And when Dylan lifted his gun for another shot toward Blake, she flew through the air and attacked.

  Not only did her teeth grip the man’s wrist but she’d forced the arm with the gun back so its aim was now to the ceiling.

  Suddenly, a shot rang out and everyone froze.

  Dylan flew backwards and slid down the wall, blood oozing from the wound in his stomach.

  Whimpering, the mutt let go and ran to John.

  Charli twisted around and stopped her fist from connecting with its projected target and instead, cautiously grabbed the fallen jerk’s firearm.

  Blake swiveled to where the shot had come from.

  And Kayla, hair in her face, looking like an avenging angel, let her hand fall; the gun now at her side. Shaking wildly, the weapon slipped from her fingers and dropped to the floor.

  Angie rushed to her and gave words to what everyone else felt. “Serves you right, you slimy son of a bitch killing bastard. Good for you Kayla.”

  ***

  Charli was the first to examine if Dylan was dead or not. Though unconscious, the pulse in his throat gave proof he was still alive. She then ran to Blake, who was slowly lurching to his feet, then sliding back to a sitting position. Holding his shoulder with one hand, he waved her off toward Kayla. The poor girl looked spooky, as if in a trance.