by J. D. Allen
He looked her in the eye when he said it. She felt his sincerity, but she knew better than to trust it. Too many men had used that ploy on her before.
But for the moment she’d enjoy the possibility that he could love her without going through her treatment plan. The fear that the plan would fail and she would have to slash his throat had faded some. But she would do it if need be.
She remembered playing cowboys and Indians when they were kids. She was the Indian, of course. He tracked her down. He held that cap gun to her stomach. Looked her in the eye as he pulled the trigger. Over and over.
You shot me, she’d said. Easy to remember the hurt and surprise.
You’ve committed nineteen crimes against god and humanity, he’d replied with a smile. It’s what I do.
And that was it, wasn’t it? It was what she did too.
Looking at his stern face, she thought she might kill him anyway. He’d hurt her so many times. And all she’d ever done was love him. That was not how she expected to feel. She thought once he was here, he would fight and she would convince him … of what? That he loved her?
The cops and that fucking PI were closing in. Her throat was tight.
“Drink. You have to be thirsty.”
He looked down at the glass in his bound hands. “More drugs?”
She gave him a small smile. “No,” she lied.
If he killed that girl, that would make Sophie happy. She wanted to see him do it with the same smug look of the cowboy who shot little girls with crushes in the stomach.
“Are you happy to see me?”
He took a sip. Good. “I’m worried ’bout you, Soph. You’ve caused a truckload of trouble.”
“It’s what I do.”
He nodded. Did he remember the words he’d uttered to her all those years ago? Did he remember that he’d laid his body on top of her and kissed her hard right after that? She’d felt his desire for her. Did he remember that? Did he remember acting like it never happened the next day?
“Talk to me.” He took another sip.
“About what?”
“Why are we here? What do you really want me to do?”
His hair was a mess, his clothes rumpled and twisted on his body. She’d waited so long for this moment and now she wasn’t sure what she wanted out of it. She’d pined for him. Wished for his attention. She knew he would complete something that was missing, some huge piece inside her. But now all she felt was …
“I want … wanted … But you’re not.”
“Not what?”
Not what I remember. Not what I really want. Not worth a shit for fucking around all these years.
She needed to think.
“Drink your water.”
There was a soft bong like a doorbell several rooms away. She jumped. He tried to move.
“Stay put.”
59
“You stole a baton from a cop?” O shook his head.
They made their way past the property at 11103 Southwest Highway. Its driveway led into the dark. No way going in the front door was going to work.
They had gone to the next farm road and cut through the woods on foot. O held his gun at the ready. Jim had managed to find a police baton lying on the hood of a car before they left the checkpoint. “He left it laying around. You know how bad crime is these days.”
“Right.”
The SWAT team need not have waited. The forest was so dark Jim had a hard time negotiating the stumps and roots. Again, there was no way to be quiet about it when the damned blackberry bushes were reaching out and grabbing his clothing. Did not help going in stealth mode one bit.
They headed toward a couple of lights twinkling through the trees. They eased closer, doing their best to be quiet. Again Jim wondered how the hell he made so much more noise than everybody else. O had at least forty pounds on him and he was ghostlike as he moved around the trunks and over the dried leaves.
They stopped and hunched down behind a couple of downed trees. The trailer wasn’t the only building on the property. Closer to them was a shed large enough for a car. A small outdoor light burned on the corner, revealing an ancient tractor rusting behind the shed. The seat and steering wheel were gone. The tires were flat and cracked by time.
For the second time in as many days, Jim was hit by the shockwave from an explosion. This one was smaller, farther away. In the front of the trailer. He and O both ducked for cover.
Jim peeked over the logs. Fire and smoke rose over the trailer.
“Cops came in the front. So much for waiting till dark.”
Jim saw movement off to the side. Three men in assault gear were creeping through the woods, moving in unison around the back of the trailer. Jim suspected the formation was mirrored on the other side. They hustled into the yard.
Mistake.
Within seconds one stepped on a mine. The explosion was loud. Jim’s not-quite-back-to-normal ears complained.
Guys came in and retrieved the screaming men and dragged them to the relative safety of the woods. They would fall back. Call for more help.
“They’ll reconvene,” O whispered.
“Probably send in a negotiator.”
Ten minutes passed. Nothing moved. Not a curtain. Nobody crossed in front of the back windows. “You think it’s another dead end?”
Jim thought about it. Remembered her smug look the morning after she’d … He closed his eyes. The sooner this ended, the sooner he could forget Sophie Evers and move on with his life. Dan wouldn’t be so lucky. If he was still alive, he’d lost his mother and his sister to the crazy bitch.
“She’s arrogant. She may have had one backup plan, but I doubt she has two.”
60
She chewed her fingernail. Dan was looking at her, his eyes sparkling as if he were amused. She considered slapping him for his smugness.
“You know how this ends, don’t you, Soph?”
If she didn’t know better, she’d say his expression had changed to pity. She didn’t want his fucking pity. She was in control of this situation. Regardless of the number of police in her backyard. She peeked through the curtain.
“Why don’t you turn off the lights if you don’t want them to see you?” His eyebrows rose. “You know they’ll cut the power soon anyway. Just like they do in the movies.”
She spun back and slapped him. “This is not the movies, you bastard. I am in control.”
No, you ain’t.
She ignored the voice and rushed to cup his face. “I’m sorry. I have to think.” She had nowhere to go. No way to get away from his disappointed gaze.
The party’s over, stupid. Might as well slice these two. You have a better chance of getting out through the woods alone.
She didn’t want to be alone. All the planning. All the struggle.
The whoring. Fucking old, ugly men. Those nasty pimps. You whored yourself all the way up to a cush job and still no one wants you. Your boy sure don’t.
NO! Dan did want her. He was here. He wasn’t fighting her.
He thinks you’re trash.
He didn’t. And she would prove it. He was on the bed. Sitting there with that water glass still in his hand. It was half gone, so he’d drunk most of it. He was a little fucked up, not all the way.
“Danny.”
He looked at her.
She inched forward. Schoolgirl butterflies performed a complicated dance in her belly. Gently she cupped his face again. His expression was blank. She was sure that would change. She leaned forward, waiting to see if he did the same. He did not.
She eased down to her knees. She’d loved this man since she was nine. And this was the last chance they had.
Leaving her eyes open, she tilted her head and made up the distance to his lips. They were warm, soft. And she was sure he was kissing her back.
She pulle
d back an inch.
He was looking at her, face still blank. She was filled with joy and he was blank?
“That’s the last time you do that.” Cuffed hands and the water glass flew at her face. He faltered backward, flailing. Trying to get his hands around her neck. Comical almost.
She shoved him. “Asshole.”
“Whacko.” He kicked out at her.
Well, that settles that, doesn’t it?
“It does.” Her heart broke. There would be no time for the treatment. To convince him. She retrieved her gun from the counter. She unlatched his foot. “Move.”
“Where to? The FBI is out there.”
“So is someone I want you to meet.”
She assumed he didn’t remember seeing the waitress or he would have asked about her first thing, with his cowboy ways.
“You doing the suicide by cop thing?”
She laughed. “Hardly. I have insurance. And you’ll probably like her. She’s cute and young. She’s our ticket out of this hellhole. If you’re good, I’ll let you watch me kill her. If you’re not, I’ll make her kill you.”
61
“Lights went out,” O said.
“Time to move.” Coming from inside, her night vision would be lacking. They’d have a few seconds before it adjusted. “Stay on the gravel path. Less likely to get blown up. She had to leave herself a path out of here.” Jim hoped.
He went first, running low. Staying in line with the shack so she couldn’t see him. Moving as quiet as his clumsy feet would take him. He made it to the tractor and realized the farm equipment was hiding a small car between it and the building. Some kind of all-wheel drive, all-terrain thing.
O pointed two fingers to the right. Jim went left. He made it around the corner just as Sophie and Dan closed the shack door behind them. Sandy screamed. It was worn, tired sounding.
He approached the door, O pointed the gun and just before Jim’s hand landed on the handle, the door flung open.
Jim stumbled back. Sandy stood there, crying. Sophie was behind her with a long, shining blade at her throat.
“Hello, lover,” she cooed at him. His skin crawled. “Come back for more?”
“You can put the knife down now.”
“And then we’ll talk about this? Hardly.” She cut Sandy’s neck, enough to make her screech and blood dribble from the wound. “You and your buddy will get up and walk away. You’ll tell all your cop friends out there to let us drive away. Otherwise she dies.” Sophie quickly glanced back. “Danny. Come here.”
Dan stumbled through the opening and onto his knees. He was under the influence of the ketamine and she’d crudely taped something around his waist.
“I’ll blow him up and cut her. By now you know I’m more than willing.”
Dan tried to stand. He made eye contact with Jim. Winked.
He then stumbled forward, knocking Jim backward. Jim landed on something hard. Metal. The downed SWAT team member had dropped his weapon in the explosion. Jim easily scooted it behind his back and then helped Dan to sit back beside him.
Two hostages, cops, explosions: the scenario was too much for Sophie. He could see it in her fidgety eyes. She was losing control, her mental state degrading just as Ava said it would.
62
Sophie tried to breath normally, to calm and assess. Dan was too far away for her to manage without dropping the knife. She had the detonator for the explosive, and the charge was large enough to take herself out with it. Maybe that was the way to go. Take them all out.
Blaze of glory, really? Stupid girl.
Rain started to fall. Hard. Cold. Running down her face, into her eyes. She didn’t know where to focus. Her gaze darted from the PI to the big guy, to the girl, and landed on Dan.
“What other choice do I have?” Her voice sounded weak in her head.
O inched closer. “You can let the girl go and give me that thing.”
She laughed. “Yeah. That would be smart.”
Just do it.
Numb fingers curled around the detonator as if they were part of someone else’s body. Under someone else’s control.
63
Dan staggered, struggling to make his way to his feet with his hands tied. He was still looking at Jim.
Jim mouthed, Now.
Dan flung himself backward, into the girls. Sandy screamed, probably assuming her death was imminent. Sophie scrambled up, still holding the detonator, and glared down at Dan. If she pushed that button, they were all goners. She hesitated, her face softened.
Jim grabbed the gun he’d been lying on. Prayed to the heavens there wasn’t a safety on it—he had no idea where it would be—swung it, and aimed for her middle. He squeezed the trigger. Several rounds blasted from the barrel.
The force of the bullets pushed Sophie back a couple more steps. Her eyes went wide. Her arms slack.
She looked down at her stomach; it was blooming blood from her right side.
She dropped the detonator.
O grabbed it.
Agents and police rushed up, careful to remain on the path. They were shouting.
Sandy scrambled to Jim, crashed to her knees, and buried her head in his chest.
64
Stupid girl. You should have killed them all.
“I couldn’t kill Dan.”
65
Lynette Hodge died tragically Wednesday the 18th
of August.
Born in 1928 in Austin, Texas, Lynette received a M.Ed. in Nursing Education from Texas Christian University in 1955. Hers was an entire life spent putting others first, even perishing to protect her son. Lynette was a beautiful individual, a jokester, Fitzgerald hater, and a dear friend.
She is survived by her son, Daniel Hodge, who brought her great joy and cake in her later years.
Dan read the text, nodded, and handed back the words Jim had scribbled on a legal pad. Had taken two hours to get the wording just right. It mattered.
“Seventy-five words. Perfect.” Dan smiled, though his eyes were dull and lifeless. “She would love it. I’ve got to get going. Have a date with a mortician. Thanks. For this”—he held up the obit—“and for everything.”
Jim stood as Dan did.
“My guess is I still owe you money even after that retainer.”
Jim waved him off, not sure what to say. “You going back to Utah?”
“Yeah. I fit there and I don’t have to hide anymore. So, who knows?” He saluted with the folded paper. “Anyway. Thanks again.”
Special Agent Ava Webb entered the Coffee Girl about fifteen minutes later. She was in jeans and a dark blue T-shirt. Nothing fancy. Long legs were all the accessories she needed. Jim shook his head at himself. Always wanted the things he couldn’t have.
“They’ll be filing tomorrow. She’s going up for nineteen murders.” She eased into the booth.
“That’s what Dan told me. But he put it a little more dramatically. He said ‘nineteen crimes against god and humanity.’ I think it meant something to him. Does it to you?”
“Nope. I like it, though. Sounds more applicable than Murder One.”
They both sat for a moment, not speaking.
Nineteen souls gone, just so Sophie could try to play house with a boy from her youth. He wanted to ask about the rape charges and Max, but he kept his mouth closed.
Turns out his shooting did suck. He hadn’t killed her. Once Sophie recovered, she would be on death row. What difference would an additional rape charge bring? He would deal with his mixed emotions on that subject at a later date. It might involve a great deal of scotch.
“Sandy doing okay?”
“They’re going to keep her one more day, just to make sure there’s no lingering aftereffects of the ketamine. It could have killed her.”
“Should have.”
Another waitress showed up. Her name tag read Lou but Jim was sure her name was Louise. She was new. “Would you like to see a menu?”
“No thanks. I’m not staying.” Ava smiled at the girl and then looked back to Jim. “Flight’s in two hours.”
That was a problem too. Ava lived in Dallas.
“She’s coming back to work soon, so you get your morning routine back?” Ava gave him a wink, as if knowing his routine was a major accomplishment.
“No. She’s not. I talked to her last night. Offered her a job.”
That brought a surprised look.
“She’s almost through with school. The girl needs some real experience. I offered her an office management position with a reputable detective agency.”
“Reputable?”
“Yes. Do I detect disbelief, Agent Webb?”
“If you mean like having the reputation of a guy who would move into a hostage situation, disregarding the tactical plans and orders from FBI agents and police officials, then no.”
Dang, she was cute out of that suit and the pressure that came with it.
“It turned out I saved your ass out there and you know it. But I bet that’s not what’s in all the reports.”
She gave him a shrug. “Did you manage to find a home for that dog, Mr. Reputable Detective?”
“I did better than that. I found its owners. Turns out Sophie stole her from outside a café. A young lady was very happy to have her princess back.”
“Too bad I can’t get the dog to testify.”
“I think you’ll make the case, Agent Webb.”
She gave him a little grin. “If you’re ever in Dallas, Mr. Bean,” she said as she stood, “I would still like to hear your story. I have a friend with a similar one. I understand how tiny ripples can disrupt an entire pond.”
She walked away.
Never looked back.
Damn, he liked her.
