CHAPTER 64
Coop grabbed Kirsten’s shoulder and spun her around, his SIG against her throat. He heard a squeak, then a boy’s high, trembling whisper. “Wait, don’t kill me! I had to check out your security. It sucks, dude, it sucks; there isn’t any. Please don’t shoot me, I’m only doing what she made me do, I swear.”
Coop whispered in the boy’s ear, “Why?”
“She hit our mom, tied her up, and stuffed her in a closet. She forced us to come with her.”
“Who’s us?”
Savich shouted, “Down!”
Coop pulled the boy down with him as Savich shoved both Lucy and Sherlock back into the bushes. In the next instant, a half dozen fast shots cracked loud and sharp in the silent night. They heard bullets hit the side of the house, way too close.
They didn’t return fire, since they didn’t see her. The last thing any of them wanted was for neighbors to come out of their houses to see what was going on and step into the line of fire.
Savich whispered, “All of you, stay put.”
The shots had come from somewhere on the other side of the street. She was close, probably had her car parked on the next block. Savich saw a shadow. It paused, then moved out fast. It was Kirsten, had to be.
Savich ran hard after her, all the while praying his neighbors would stay in their houses. Another shoot-out, he thought—that would be all their neighbors needed in their sedate Georgetown neighborhood.
She was running hard, bent as low as he was, and Savich thought she was heading toward her car. He heard Sherlock behind him, running all out. Kirsten didn’t turn to fire at them, she ran.
He grabbed her around the waist and hauled her down. He flipped her onto her back and slammed down on her. She didn’t fight him, didn’t do anything. He pulled the gun easily from her hand. She still didn’t fight, just lay there, panting.
“That’s it, Kirsten, fun time’s over.” He came up over her. Something was wrong—she sobbed, then, “Please don’t kill me, mister, please. Let me up, I won’t do anything, please, let me up. This wasn’t supposed to happen, it wasn’t. She lied. Now she’ll kill my mom.”
Savich stared down into the face of a terrified young girl, maybe twelve, thirteen, tops. Sherlock came down on her knees beside them. “It’s okay,” she said. “Who are you?”
“I’m Melody. She made us come, swore she’d kill our mom if we didn’t do exactly what she said, said she’d know if we screwed up. She told Bobby to break a window, then told me to fire the gun at you when I saw you get Bobby, and keep firing, then run away when the gun was empty. She said they weren’t real bullets, so I shouldn’t bother trying to shoot her with it.”
Sherlock took the empty magazine out of the Glock 17.
Savich heard Coop running toward them, dragging Bobby with him, Lucy beside them.
Savich looked around but couldn’t see any movement. Still, Kirsten could start shooting again at any moment, and they were all in the open. He wondered if she’d been the one shooting the real bullets at them, not this young girl.
It was quiet. Where was she? His skin crawled. “Let’s get back to cover,” he said, and they herded the kids back to the house.
Savich said low, “Lucy, I want you inside with the kids. No telling what she might try. Protect them.”
“Where is she?” Lucy asked. “Why didn’t she shoot us when we came running out?” There wasn’t an answer to that. Lucy fanned her SIG around her as she pushed the kids inside the house, closed the front door, and told them to hunker down. She crouched next to them. “Give me your address so I can get people there to help your mom.” When Lucy punched off her cell, she said, “You guys did good. We’re going to wait right here until we hear your mom’s okay.” The little boy was sobbing. Lucy watched Melody pull him against her and rock him.
Outside, Coop said in a whisper to Savich and Sherlock, “Agents and police are on their way. They’re supposed to come in silent. They know who’s here, and that should make them real careful.”
Sherlock nodded, her SIG trained on Coop as he juked across the street to take up position by the McPhersons’ house directly opposite Savich’s house.
Where was Kirsten?
CHAPTER 65
A car came slowly around the corner, headlights dimmed, a Crown Victoria, the first patrol car.
Coop hadn’t expected anyone quite this fast. At least the officer had come in silently. The car slowed a good distance away from him, stopped. Coop waved toward Savich and trotted toward the car, his gun loose against his side.
He looked into the open driver’s window to see a young man in a WPD uniform, a patrolman’s hat on his head.
The patrolman raised a gun and aimed it right at Coop’s face, and out of the young man’s mouth came, “Well, now, isn’t this the sweetest thing? You came trotting right over to me. Agent McKnight, isn’t that right? For a moment there I thought you were the big dog himself, and I’d gotten real lucky. I saw you bring down whiny little Bobby, then the big dog caught Melody. The little bitch didn’t run very hard, now, did she?”
Coop saw a shadow moving toward them. Savich?
He said calmly, “You sure fooled us, Kirsten; that Crown Vic you’re driving looks just like a police cruiser, and the patrol hat you’re wearing works. But you really should drop the eye makeup when you’re trying to play a cop.”
“I’d shoot you dead, Agent, but I need you to get out of here. Get in the car now, or I’ll shoot you dead anyway, right here. Give me that gun. You’re going to drive.”
Her gun never wavered as she scooted over to the passenger side. Could he bring up his SIG in time? Maybe drop to the ground? No, she had the gun pointed straight at him, and she was too close. He got into the car, handed her his SIG.
“You and I are going on a little road trip, Agent McKnight. Get out of here, now!”
He couldn’t stall. She was pressing the cold, hard steel of her Smith & Wesson against his temple. He pressed on the gas. He saw Savich clearly in the rearview mirror, his SIG drawn—but then an older man stepped out onto his front porch, and Savich lowered his gun.
“Go! Fast! Or I’ll take down that old codger.”
Coop went. Fast.
Savich came to a stop in the middle of the street, kept his SIG pressed to his side. “It’s okay, Mr. McPherson. You should go back inside now.”
When Ollie arrived two minutes later, it was to see Savich’s Porsche peeling out of his driveway, Sherlock beside him, speeding away.
Lucy was left with two terrified children, Ollie beside her.
They both looked up to see Mr. McPherson again on his front porch, watching.
CHAPTER 66
Early Sunday morning
If you don’t survive, Cooper McKnight, I will be well and truly pissed.
It was nearly dawn when Lucy pulled Coop’s Corvette back into his parking place at his condo in Wesley Heights. She was numb with fear because that madwoman had Coop. Had she already killed him? No, he was her hostage; there was no reason to kill him. Yet. No, Coop’s smart. He’ll be okay. It was now her mantra. She leaned her head against the steering wheel. Her cell rang, and she grabbed it up.
It was Sherlock. “Lucy, we haven’t seen them yet, but we’ve got an APB out on the Crown Vic. We’ve notified every law enforcement agency in both states to watch out for the car but to keep clear of them.”
Yeah, sure, like that’s going to get any results. Lucy said, her voice flat, “You know she’s changed out cars.”
“Yes, it’s very probable she has. But listen up, we have an ace in the hole. Kirsten hasn’t taken Coop’s cell phone, and it’s on. The GPS location signal is moving south toward North Carolina, and so are we. We’ll follow the GPS signal until we get to them ourselves. It will be enough, Lucy. Coop is well trained; he’ll do what he needs to do.”
Lucy started to say But what if she takes his cell? but she didn’t—those words blighted hope. She said instead, “How can Kirsten possibl
y expect to control him for long while he’s driving? How many hours can they drive before she has to sleep? What will she do with him then?”
Lucy heard Savich say, “You’re right, but like Sherlock said, we’ve got the GPS signal, and we’re traveling faster than they are. Look, Lucy, Kirsten could drug him, tie him up, whatever.” She could shoot him dead, but he didn’t say those words.
After a moment of silence, Sherlock said, “I think Coop is more valuable to her alive. Lucy, there’s no reason for you to follow us down here. Get some sleep. Ollie is sending Agent Keppel over to stay with you.”
“I don’t know him.”
“Keppel’s a woman. You’ll like her; she’s hard-nosed, funny. And she’ll make sure you get into bed. You hunker down—I’ll call you when we catch up to them.”
“What if Kirsten doubles back? What if—”
“She won’t. Have a cup of tea and rest for a couple of hours, okay?”
Lucy flicked off her cell, sat for a moment in Coop’s Corvette, smelling the wonderful new-leather smell, and tried to dial up some optimism.
There was a tap on her window.
She hadn’t heard anyone come up. Agent Keppel? She whipped around to see Miranda smiling at her through the closed window.
“Lucy?”
Lucy pressed the down button. Because Miranda was a Silverman and because Lucy wasn’t an idiot, she kept her SIG under her right hand.
She looked up at her cousin. “Miranda? What are you doing here at dawn? Is something wrong?”
“Oh, no, nothing’s wrong. What happened to your bodyguard?”
“He’s tied up.”
“Well, that’s dandy, isn’t it?” Miranda brought up an old Kel Tec nine-millimeter pistol and shoved it into Lucy’s face. “At last you’re alone. I’ve been waiting here for the past couple of hours. I nearly gave it up, but his car wasn’t here, and I knew you had to be with him, and sure enough, you drove right in, all alone. I see you’ve got your gun. I want you to throw it over on the floor. If you don’t, I’ll have to shoot you right here.”
Lucy had known Miranda all her life; she meant it. She threw her SIG onto the floor in front of the passenger seat.
“That’s good. I see you’re not wearing the ring, but I wager you have it with you. Whether you do or not, if I think you’re trying to get it out, I’ll shoot you before you can touch it, you got that?”
The ring? “Why do you think I have the ring? Why would you care?” Lucy stared up into her cousin’s face in the early-morning light. She was hunched over in a black wool coat. Her dark hair was pulled back, fastened with a clip. She said, “You look like a nun, Miranda, I’ve always thought that. What is this all about?”
“A nun?” Miranda laughed, but she shoved the Kel Tec against Lucy’s nose. “Yes, well, nuns serve God, other people, and the greater good. I personally can’t imagine anything more boring than that. I’m here for the ring, Lucy. My ring. And you’ll give it to me. First, though, we have to get out of here. We’re going to drive to a lovely little motel tucked into the middle of Cumberland Street in the warehouse district.
“I’m going to walk to the passenger side. If you so much as whisper or move a finger, I’ll kill you. Keep your arms around the steering wheel. That’s right, hug it close and don’t move.”
“But why do you want the ring? Is it for Uncle Alan? What is going on here, Miranda?”
Miranda laughed. “What? Get the ring for my father? What would he do with it? You know very well why I want the ring. Do what you’re told, Lucy, and only what you’re told, or you’ll be very dead.”
Miranda, her arty, eccentric cousin, was responsible for all this? Miranda, with the magical name and the slouchy clothes and no interest in making her own way in the world? Lucy nearly laughed at herself—she had stopped trying to really engage Miranda years ago, simply because Miranda had resisted any personal attention from her. If Lucy hadn’t finally stepped back from her, she might have realized what Miranda was capable of.
She felt the ring’s now familiar warmth against her throat. If she grabbed it through the material of her shirt, was there time to use it before Miranda shot her? Would it even work if she couldn’t clutch it in her hand? Even if it did work, Miranda was already holding a gun to her face eight seconds ago. It was a huge risk, and it would accomplish nothing.
She looked at Miranda, at the steel in her eyes, and kept her hands on the steering wheel. She had not a single doubt Miranda would kill her.
Miranda slipped in beside her, closed the door. “Nice car. I love that new-leather smell. Your boyfriend’s, right?”
“Yes.”
“And where is Agent McKnight?”
“He’s out checking into something, with another agent. They’ll both be here anytime now.”
“Here you are a federal agent, Lucy, yet you’re a crappy liar. Now, let’s get out of here before someone comes out.”
The Corvette roared to life. She backed out of Coop’s parking place.
Miranda gave her directions in a low, intense voice, her Kel Tec aimed at Lucy’s head.
When she pulled in front of the Allenby Motel on Cumberland Street, Miranda directed her to the back. She pulled a key out of her pocket. “We’re going to the second level, to room twenty-two. You’re going to stand in front of me, and you’re going to take the key. Here.”
As Lucy turned to face her, Miranda grabbed the golden chain and ripped it off her neck. Lucy cried out, grabbed at her hand, but Miranda shoved her Kel Tec into her ear.
She smiled, clutching the ring and the broken chain in her hand. “You gave it your best shot, Lucy. Don’t try anything else, or I’ll have to shoot you in the head. I thought I saw something pushing out from under your shirt. Be a good girl, do as you’re told, and you might get out of this alive.”
CHAPTER 67
Outside Fort Grant, North Carolina
Coop was more tired than he was afraid, and he knew that meant his brain wasn’t as sharp as it needed to be. The sun had been up for two hours, and an hour before, Kirsten had directed him off the highway to pull into a 24/7 drive-through. They’d eaten breakfast biscuits, and he’d drunk a ton of coffee. Coop had been afraid she’d hurt the kid who took their orders, a smart-mouthed, freckle-faced little idiot who wondered why Kirsten was wearing a cop uniform with her black hair spiked up like a punker, but she’d laughed and told him he was stupid as spit.
She’d insisted on hot-wiring a ratty Dodge Magnum out of the parking lot of a shoe repair shop across the street from the drive-through, switching out the license plate for a rusty old Virginia plate she’d stashed in the Crown Victoria trunk, and left the Ford around the corner on the street.
Even though she could shoot him in a moment of time, Coop was still filled with hope—Kirsten had forgotten to take his cell phone, and as long as it was on and in his pocket, Savich could track them. All he had to do was keep himself alive until the cavalry showed up.
Kirsten had to be tired, too, and he figured that made them about even. He looked over at her and gave a start.
She was staring at him—her eyes fixed, her black mascara smudged a bit—didn’t she blink? She kept his own SIG pressed against his side; though it was a heavy gun, her hand stayed steady. The white makeup she liked to wear was nearly gone now, along with the bloodred lipstick. She looked older than her years in the harsh morning light.
“Hi, there, handsome. You haven’t said a word in a long time. You’re staring at me. Like what you see? Bruce loved to look at me, and he’d touch me, you know, like he was stroking a cat, and I’d arch my back and purr for him. It’s kind of nice having a man look at me like that again, having someone easy to look at to talk to instead of driving around all on my own.
“Hey, why don’t I call you Coop? That’s what I heard that littlegirl FBI agent call you. You two sleeping together? You are, right? I got that vibe loud and clear. What, you playing at being a gentleman, not saying a word?”
&nb
sp; “You’re welcome to call me Coop, Kirsten. I’m glad you’re enjoying this.”
“Why wouldn’t I? You need a shave, but that black stubble is pretty sexy. You thinking about your girlfriend?”
“I’m wondering where you’re taking us, Kirsten. It seems to me we’re getting pretty far away from Savich, if there’s where you want to be.”
“I’ve got all the time in the world for him. Too many people up there looking for me right now, partner.” She laughed. “I guess you can think of this as a little pilgrimage, back to my daddy’s roots down south. I was slowly heading down the coast, anyway. Daddy always tells me I’ve got to be fast on my feet, be willing to change my plans on a dime.”
“He’d be proud of you, then.”
“I like to think so.” She frowned. “He was smart that way. Remember, he escaped that time in Aspen, jumped from a window two stories up.”
“Yeah, but he got himself caught again because he was driving crazy, weaving all over the road. Why do you figure he was doing that if he was so smart?”
“He was exhausted and probably so hungry he couldn’t think straight, that’s why.” Kirsten pressed the gun harder against his side. “It wasn’t his fault. They had the whole hick town out looking for him. He didn’t have a chance.”
“Why are we traveling south, Kirsten? You said something about a pilgrimage to Daddy’s roots—are we going to visit Starke Prison in Raiford? You want to see your daddy’s cell on death row? But why would you want to see where your daddy got strapped into Old Sparky and had two thousand volts shot through his body?”
She breathed in hard and knuckled away the tears in her eyes, smearing her mascara even more. “It was cruel what those animals did to him, and you know they acted all solemn and moral when they did it.
“Old Sparky! Can you believe that name? I’d like to strap all those animals down and fry them but good.”
“Well, a lot of people agree with you. Old Sparky got retired a long time ago.
The FBI Thrillers Collection: Vol 11-15 Page 160
