by Rachel Rust
“We’re both in this,” I said. “I might not have a badge, but I’m not an idiot. And I’m not going to sit in this shitty-ass motel room any longer than I need to, just waiting for the day when someone magically saves me, or for the day when Sergei comes shooting through that door.”
Eddie turned back to look at me.
“I can help, so I’m going to help.”
He exhaled hard, running fingers through his hair. “All right. When are we gonna move on him?”
“Tomorrow night,” Luke said. “We have to do it fast. We can’t take the chance of him skipping town or the FBI moving in first.”
The three of us exchanged long glances and the weight of the moment—the we’re-really-doing-this moment—heaved down on us.
I sat at the table. “Let’s figure out a plan.”
Chapter Fourteen
It was Friday evening. The night of.
Throughout the day, between fits of restless sleep, it had dawned on me that this was the night—the night I would cross the line from victim to victim-slash-criminal. I was officially helping a fugitive who was going to kill a bad guy. The moral compass of right and wrong was definitely not steadfast.
Eddie sat at the table, guns laid out in a row. There were five total, and a bunch of extra magazines. Boxes of ammo were stacked near the wall. The guns all looked the same to me. Except the silver one, which was prettier.
“Why hasn’t the FBI just gone in and already done something like this?” I asked. “I mean, if it only took us a few days to find Gunnar and create this plan, why couldn’t they?”
“The Bureau moves slower,” Eddie said. “They have to play by the all rules, and it’s a whole lot more difficult to make a decisive move when you have to consult with an entire team of people. Not to mention the fact that they can’t just go in and grab Gunnar and be done with it. They have to be able to charge him with something solid, or he’ll slip out of their fingers.” Eddie slammed a loaded magazine into a black gun. “Gunnar needs to be gone for good.”
He began loading bullets into another magazine. Click … click … click. His hands and fingers moved in skillful precision. They didn’t shake or quiver. There were no discernible nerves of the upcoming night. Nor were there any signs of anguish from a man who had just had his entire world rattled.
“You know, if you want to talk about your dad, you can talk to me about it. That was a lot to take in all at once.”
“I’m fine.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, I said that once too, and you basically said I was full of shit. ‘It takes more than just being alive to be fine,’ is what you told me.”
He cut me a side-eye glare.
“I’m just saying that you should talk about it instead of letting it stew in your head. I know it’s hard. It was hard to for me to talk about my anxiety and fear, too, but I did what you said I should do—I went to that psychologist. Things aren’t great, but I’m working on it. And you should, too.”
“I’ll talk another day,” he said with a grunt, then turned and hooked an arm around my waist. “Come here.”
As he pulled me close, any romantic notions I had vanished when he put a gun in my hand. It was the smallest of the black guns and lighter than expected. I immediately placed it back down on the table.
“You should know how to properly use one,” he said. “Pick it up, keeping your finger away from the trigger.”
With my right hand, I did as he said. I didn’t like the feel of the gun in my hands. Nothing about it screamed protection, only death. “What kind is it?”
“Glock 19.”
“Are Glocks the best?”
“Not necessarily, but they’re popular. They’re polymer, lighter and easier to use for most people. I prefer a Sig.”
I nodded, pretending to know what any of that meant. “Is the safety on?”
“It has a trigger safety. A small lever in the middle of the trigger that keeps you from accidentally discharging it.” He pointed to a small button on the left side of the gun. “Push that.”
I pushed it and the magazine fell out the bottom of the gun, clunking onto the table.
“Pick the mag back up and reload the gun. The tip of the bullet will point toward the front of the gun.”
The slim magazine was cool in my hand. I slid it into the gun, slamming it up at the last second.
“Good.” He wrapped his hand around mine. “Grip it as tight as you can. And go as high as you can with your grip. That’ll give you more control over the recoil when you shoot.” He placed my other hand on the top of the gun. “Now you have to chamber a round by racking the slide.”
I laughed. “What the hell does that mean?”
“The top part of the gun slides back. Pull it back and then release it.” He picked up another black handgun, and with the gun pointed away from him, pulled the top part back, then released it, letting it return to its normal position.
I did the same with my gun, finding it more difficult to move the slide than anticipated. My arm strength was definitely not the same as his.
“Now a bullet is in the chamber, ready to fire,” he said.
My eyes widened. “Shouldn’t we have done this with an unloaded gun first?”
“We don’t have time for a lengthy gun safety course, and you need to learn this now. Dive in head first.”
“People who dive in head first drown.”
“Or they learn to swim real fast. Now wrap your left hand around your right hand, using your palm to fill the void in the grip.”
I did just that, with help from him for proper positioning.
“Now raise the gun, find your target, line up your sights, and—” He moved my right index finger. “Keep your finger away from the trigger for now, thanks.”
I smiled. “Sorry. Now what?”
“Now? Now is when you’d shoot, assuming the time is right.”
The weight of the gun multiplied in my hands. Something so small that could take so many lives.
“How many bullets are in this?”
“The mag holds fifteen rounds.”
Fifteen deaths. All in my hands.
I put the gun back on the table. “I’m good now. Thanks for showing me.”
“Do you want to go through it again?”
“No, I got it. Slam the magazine into the gun, slide the top part back, line up the sights, fire.”
He picked up the gun and released the magazine. The chambered bullet ejected as he slid the top part back. Side by side, he placed the gun and magazine on the table.
“I want you to have it,” he said. “I know you’re not crazy about guns, but Sergei and his men are not people you can do diplomacy with. So, from now on, wherever you go, you have this with you.”
He looked to me for agreement. I gave him a nod of my head, as that was the best I could muster. Logically, it made sense. If people came for me with guns, I should have one, too. But it made the situation so much more real, holding the gun, the coolness of it in my hand, the visual of the bullets, knowing the damage they could cause.
My life had come to this—protection by deadly force. People wanted me dead. I glanced at Eddie. People wanted us dead. It was no movie or story on the news. It was real and it was happening all around me. And now I’d be packing heat. I wondered what Josh would think of that. He loved action movies and shooter games. Though something told me he wouldn’t love knowing his own sister was in someone else’s crosshairs.
I stepped to the window. The sun was low in the sky, the street below blanketed by long shadows, cluttered with the quick steps of people headed home for the evening.
I thought about my dad. It was nearly eight o’clock in New York, which meant it was nearly six o’clock in Rapid City. He’d be on his way home from work, or maybe he was already there, reading the newspaper in his office or boiling some ravioli on the stove, just for himself. I didn’t like the idea of him being home alone, with me in New York—supposedly safe on campus—an
d Josh two hours away at Central Dakota University. My dad had spent enough time on his own. I hated the mental image of him having dinner for one.
He’d had a few girlfriends since my mom left, and even a bitch of a third wife, but most of his nights had been spent alone in his office or watching TV with Josh and me. He was a good man and deserved good company, but I had always known that he wouldn’t find it, because there was only one woman he had ever wanted. And she ditched him. But now that I knew the truth about my mom, I wondered if and when he’d find out, too.
“Natalie,” Eddie said.
“What?” I said, tearing my gaze away from the depressing street below. He had the silver gun in his hand and was motioning for me to move behind him. “Oh, right,” I said, having barely registered the knocks at the door.
Luke busted in and plopped down in a chair. “I got bad news and worse news, what do you want first?”
“Either. Spit it out,” Eddie said.
Luke let out a long, low breath. “I just got off the phone with Krissy. She has Toby, tied up at her cabin outside Rapid City. Caught him grabbing a slice of pepperoni at Fazoli’s. Stupid fat ass, I always knew food would be the end of him.”
Eddie gave him a confused look. “How is this bad news?”
“Toby being captured is not the bad part, the bad part is the ripple effect. When Krissy grabbed Toby, that news spread quickly to Sergei, who then intercepted his own prize.”
“Who?”
Luke looked at me. “Your mother.”
My stomach plummeted so quickly that I had to sit on the edge of bed, for fear it would slam me to the floor. “Sergei has my mom? Is she…?”
“Dead? No, he’s keeping her alive for his advantage.”
“How do you know that?” Eddie asked.
“Because he called me.”
Eddie cocked his head. “Sergei called you on your own phone? Holy shit. How’d he get your number? Does Thatcher know he contacted you?”
“She’s aware, of course, that Sergei intercepted Jill Mancini, but she doesn’t know Sergei is making a deal with us. Sergei knows about our freelance work, as he called it. He knows Krissy and I are in contact with you, and are helping you without the FBI’s permission. He’s threatening to expose us to Thatcher if we don’t work with him.”
“Work with him?” Eddie asked. “What does he want?”
“A trade. Natalie’s mom for Toby. He’s giving us forty-eight hours to make the trade, or Natalie’s mom dies and we get ratted out to The Bureau.”
The pleading look of dread that must’ve crossed my face morphed Eddie’s face into anger. “That’s not going to happen,” he said to me. “Your mother is not going to die.”
“What do you think about the trade?” Luke asked.
“Total bullshit,” Eddie replied. “Sergei doesn’t want a trade. It’s a set up to get us all together because we’ll be easier to take out that way. Kill all of us in one fell swoop.”
“Exactly.”
A smile curled up on both Eddie’s and Luke’s faces at the same time.
“You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” Luke asked.
Eddie nodded. “It would be easier for us, too. Get Sergei and Toby together in one space.”
“And Sean should be there, too.”
“It’s what, eight o’clock now? We get Gunnar tonight, we sneak Natalie into the Hyatt, and then we haul ass back to Rapid City. A twenty-five hour drive. That’ll still give us some time to get together with Krissy and figure out what the hell we’re going to do.”
“No way,” I said.
“Not quite,” Luke said at the same time.
Eddie looked back and forth between both of us. “Why not?”
“You said I shouldn’t go to the Hyatt because other FBI agents might be working for Sergei. It could be dangerous.”
“It’s a calculated risk,” Eddie said. “We risk the possibility of a dirty agent at the Hyatt, in order to keep you from walking directly into Sergei’s path in Rapid City.”
“Eddie’s right,” said Luke. “The Hyatt is a minimal risk, but Rapid City is a guaranteed way of getting yourself caught or killed.”
“The level of risk doesn’t matter,” I said, crossing my arms. “I’m not getting stuffed away into another hotel room. I’m going to Rapid City to get my mother.”
“No, you’re not,” Eddie said. “You’d be walking right into Sergei’s clutches.”
I threw my hands up. “He has my mom! I’m not going to just sit here and wait for—”
Eddie stepped toward me. “It’s a damn trap, like I said, and bringing you into the mix will only make it worse. It’s what Sergei wants and it will only make you an easier target for him.”
“I’m going.”
“No, you’re not, you’re staying in New York.”
“You can’t tell me what to do!”
“The hell I can’t, you’re—”
“Shut up!” Luke yelled, standing up in between us. He looked at me and pointed at the bed. “Sit.” He looked at Eddie and pointed at one of the chairs by the table. “Sit.”
I sat at the edge of the mattress, arms crossed over my chest, glaring at Eddie as he leaned against the wall, glaring at Luke.
Luke put his hands out as he spoke. “I’m fine with your plan, Martinez, up until the part about getting together with Krissy to devise a plan.”
“You think she’s compromised?” Eddie asked.
“It’s possible.”
“Does compromised mean she’s dirty?” I asked.
Luke shrugged slightly. “That’s a possibility, but she may have just been captured by Sergei. Either way, the story about her having Toby tied up could be one big lie to draw us in. We have to wonder how Sergei knows about our operation, and how he has my phone number.”
“So, no Krissy,” Eddie said.
“It’s just us.”
“And me,” I added with a cutting look Eddie’s direction. He ignored me.
“You should get ready for tonight,” Luke said, in an obvious attempt to change the subject.
“Fine.” I grabbed clothes out of the dresser and walked into the bathroom, making sure to slam the door extra hard. Just for Eddie.
Screw him if he thinks I’m going to be left behind like a weakling.
Chapter Fifteen
I had never been to a nightclub before, and didn’t know what to expect. My clothing options were limited to the few things Luke had shoved into my backpack. The red sundress would have to do, as it was the only thing remotely sexy. The stretchy cotton material hugged me just enough to bring out my barely-there figure, and the scoop neck was low enough to show off my lack of cleavage.
I twisted my long black-brown hair into a loose bun, securing it with a silky black material. I had no makeup. I had no hairspray. I had no jewelry. All these things, I imagined, were part of the typical package when getting ready to go to a New York club. But this was not going to be a fun social outing. We were headed to the club with only one thing in mind.
It didn’t matter what my hair looked like … I was on a mission to save my ass.
I stepped out of the bathroom to find Eddie and Luke at the table with the guns, quietly discussing the evening’s plans.
“Do you want me to bring my gun?” I asked, sliding my hands down the smooth sides of my dress. “I don’t have anywhere to put it.”
“No, you won’t be able to get into the club with it anyway,” Luke said. “They check for guns at the door.”
“Then how are you going to get a gun inside?”
“I’m not,” Luke said.
For the first time, I noticed Luke was dressed in a button-down shirt with dark pants. The kind of clothes someone might wear to a club. He handed another gun to Eddie, whose jeans and worn t-shirt looked more suited to a corner bar back in Rapid City.
One was dressed to enter the club through the front door … the other through the back door.
“You’re going to do it?
” I asked Eddie. “Why you?” My stomach tightened with a nauseated sense of anticipation. I hadn’t eaten much that day, unable to convince my body to take in food when it was two seconds from lurching at the anxiety of death—Gunnar’s or mine. Eddie going through the back door meant the task was on him to end a life.
He raised his t-shirt and stuck the barrel of the silver gun into the back of his pants. “I can’t take the chance of putting my face out in public for all to see. If we know Gunnar’s hanging out at this club, the FBI might too, which means there could be other agents there. If they see Luke and you, that’s one thing. If they see me, then we have a whole new host of problems. I have to go in through the back door. In and out, it’ll be fine.”
I nodded. “That makes sense, but still…” I stepped up to him, whispering even though in a room so small I knew Luke could hear me. “You going through the back door means we’ll be separated.”
“You’ll be with Luke, you’ll be fine.”
The coarseness of his voice forced a frown onto my face. “I’m not talking about my safety, I’m talking about the fact that if we separate, there’s a chance we won’t find each other again. The last two months have been complete hell, wondering where you were and if you were okay. I don’t want to go through that again.”
I raised my hand to place on his shoulder, but he grabbed my wrist before I could touch him.
His eyes bore into mine. “We have a plan. We stick to the plan. It’s the only way things get done. Is it a risk? Yes, but if I need to go my own separate way in order to save you, then that’s what I’ll do.”
“What about to save yourself?”
He placed my hand back down at my side and let go. “Save you, save me … it’s sort of morphed into the same thing. And just so we’re clear, after we’re done at the club tonight, Luke is bringing you to that hotel in midtown. And you’re going to stay there until I come back for you.” He paused, staring at the top of my head.
My hand flew to my hair. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Your hair looks nice when you wear it up. Cute.”
