He kissed her and then turned and headed down the hall, knowing she was right behind him.
At that moment what he really wanted was to lock them both in a closet and only come out when the shooting was over, but he knew neither one of them could do that.
They were cops. It was their lives.
And right now a lot of other cops were getting shot at. If they had the best chance of stopping it, they needed to take it.
They had to take it.
With the rifle leveled and ready to fire he went around the first corner under the camera. There was no one in the hallway.
He kept moving at a near run.
Bonnie stayed close behind, the sound of her footsteps almost matching his.
In about fifty paces the hallway opened up into a wide foyer with plants on one side and a door leading outside to the right.
The door into Robins’ study was to the left and down another short hallway.
There was a guard poised, facing the exterior door, as if waiting for someone to come through.
Craig shouted, “Drop the gun!”
The guard was too stupid for words.
Instead of dropping the gun he spun and tried to fire.
Craig cut him down with a short blast, almost ripping the guard in half with the tight pattern of his bullets.
“To the left!” Bonnie said behind him and Craig headed that way.
Ahead of him a guard poked his head out of a door and Craig fired through the edge of the door and wood of the wall, aiming at where the man’s midsection would be.
The guy jerked and fell out into the hallway, clearly dead. Any good cop knew that the wood and plasterboard of regular house walls didn’t stop most bullets. This guy clearly had watched too much television thinking he was safe behind that door.
“Grab his rifle,” Craig said as he checked the room the guard had been in for anyone else, and then moved on down the hall.
Robins’ study was two more doors away.
Bonnie grabbed the rifle and kept guard behind him as Craig stared at that office door.
There was no doubt that there was someone on the other side of it waiting for him to come through.
And the minute he did, he was dead.
He didn’t want to be dead just yet.
But there was a guy here that already had that distinction, and wouldn’t mind a few more holes, Craig figured.
Craig went back and picked up the guy he had just killed, keeping the rifle in one hand as he did it. The dead guy wasn’t that heavy, or the adrenaline in Craig’s body was working overtime.
The guy’s blood got on his hands, but Craig ignored it.
“Get on the floor and cover me,” he said to his wife and rushed at the study door, the guy’s body a shield ahead of him.
Just before he reached the door he tossed the body as hard as he could, using his running momentum to get the body to hit the door halfway up and at a good speed.
Then Craig dropped to the carpet, rifle pointed ahead.
The body smashed open the study door and was instantly peppered with bullets, making the dead man jerk and flip his arms as he dropped.
Craig had his gun up and firing before the body was out of the way.
Almost instantly the gunfire from inside the study stopped. A moment later there was the sound of a gun hitting the floor.
Craig dove over the dead man and rolled, coming up with his rifle facing Charles Robins’ scared face and his shaking hand that was holding a small pistol.
To Robins’ right was the guard who had been firing, now slumped in, and bleeding all over, an expensive leather chair.
“I would suggest you drop that gun now,” Bonnie said, moving to cover her husband. “I would love to pull this trigger and blow those tiny brains of yours all over your desk.”
Charles glanced at her, then dropped his gun like it was suddenly too hot to hold.
Craig used the barrel of his rifle to kick the gun onto the floor.
“Now,” he said to Robins, “tell your men to drop their weapons and surrender.”
Robins hesitated until Craig raised his rifle and pointed it at the man’s head. Then Robins picked up a small communications unit and said, “Attention. This is Robins. Drop your weapons now. Cease fire.”
Slowly the noise of gunfire died off, replaced by a wonderful silence filled only by distant sirens.
“Tell them to put their hands on their heads and walk toward the nearest cop until told otherwise,” Craig said.
Robins hesitated.
“Oh, please let me shoot him,” Bonnie said, moving up and putting her gun against the side of his head.
“Oh, I kind of like this side of you,” Craig said, smiling at her.
“Let me pull the trigger and see how hot it gets me,” she said, winking at him.
Robins instantly moved to do as Craig had ordered, repeating his words exactly. He clearly believed Bonnie would kill him.
“Now what?” Robins asked as he finished.
“Now we shoot you,” Bonnie said, raising her gun again.
“She’s just kidding,” Craig said, smiling at the sick look on Robins’ face. “But I won’t hesitate. So come on out from behind there and sit at the feet of your dead man there.”
Robins did as Craig told him until he stood over his dead guard. Then he turned and shook his head. “I can’t do that.”
“You caused his death,” Craig said. “Seems you owe him a little company. Now sit down.”
Craig jammed his rifle into Robins’ chest and the man dropped to the floor.
Craig took the dead man’s arms and placed them around Robins’ neck, as if the man was giving his boss a hug from behind. Blood dripped down the front of Robins’ shirt from the man’s hand.
“Now isn’t that sweet?” Bonnie asked Craig.
Craig couldn’t think of a better thing to have happen to the man who wanted Senator Knight dead. And who had ordered his men to fire on police.
Charles Robins looked as if he might throw up at any minute, but with Bonnie’s rifle leveled on his chest, he didn’t move.
Ten minutes later Hagar and a dozen others swarmed into the room. Once they saw that Craig and Bonnie had it under control, they stopped and all but two of them moved off to finish checking the house.
“I was wondering why they suddenly stopped firing and gave up,” Hagar said.
Craig pointed at where Robins still sat with the dead guard’s arms around his neck. “He just needed a little convincing is all. And Bonnie is a real good convincer.”
Craig smiled at his wife as she nodded her thanks.
“Does he know about Senator Knight’s press conference yet?” Hagar asked.
“When is that scheduled?” Bonnie asked, smiling at the startled look from Robins.
“Eight eastern time,” Hagar said. “Just about any moment now.”
“Well,” Craig said, “Bonnie turn it on while someone reads Mr. Robins his rights.”
Hagar got down on one knee in front of Robins, and without moving the dead man’s arms off the guy’s shoulders, read Charles Robins his rights.
A moment later, on CNN, the serious face of Senator Knight appeared and began to talk.
For a short moment Charles Robins just stared at the screen, then slowly he closed his eyes.
“Ain’t justice wonderful?” Craig asked, listening as Senator Knight thanked him and Bonnie for saving his life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Monday, April 10th
6:36 a.m.
THE LIMO PULLED through the gate and out onto the tarmac of the Scottsdale airport, stopping beside the two private jets just as the sun was breaking over the hills to the east. A moment later the man Charles Robins called Bill finished his last phone call. He hung up the phone, then flipped closed the laptop computer he had been holding on his lap.
“Well?” Grant asked.
Bill looked across the private area of the limo at his old friend Grant and sm
iled.
“Done?” Grant asked.
“Done,” Bill said. “We’ve just moved over sixty-seven million of Charles Robins’ company’s money to varied accounts, and then on to other numbered accounts. It will be moved automatically another hundred times, in varied amounts, before it finally settles in our accounts.”
“As always no one can trace it?” Grant asked.
“Trust me,” Bill said, “if someone does try to trace it, it will look like Charles did it himself. And the money will be gone. Hell, it will take a team of auditors years to find everything that’s missing.”
Grant laughed, the sound filling the limo. “The man was just too stupid for words.”
“That he was. And I must say, it was a pleasure taking him for every penny.”
“It almost makes taking orders from the idiot for four years worth it.”
“Sixty-seven million?” Bill said, laughing. “I’d say that was worth it. You got us access to everything the man owned, every password, every account. And the guy let you.” Bill shook his head at the craziness of it all.
Grant laughed, his big frame shaking. “Sure hope those two nice cops from Seattle got out of that firefight alive. She was a looker.”
“I’m sure they did,” Bill said. “They were smart enough to save the Senator, they’re smart enough to get out of Robins’ house, I’m sure.”
“I sure wanted to tell old Robins about Senator Knight being just fine in Washington, D.C.,” Grant said, laughing.
“If he doesn’t know by now,” Bill said, “he will shortly.”
The two men laughed again and climbed out of the limo.
Bill looked at the two planes. One jet waited for him, the other for Grant. They were headed in two different directions.
In a matter of hours they would both be far out of the reach of Charles Robins and the FBI. In a matter of days they would both have new identities and enough money to last a very long time.
“Well, friend,” Grant said, shaking his hand. “When will I see you again?”
“Oh, a year or so. As soon as I find another sucker like Robins. I’ll be in touch.”
“Take your time,” Grant said. “I think I’ve got enough to last for a few years.”
The man who had been called Bill laughed.
They let go of the handshake and turned for their jets.
It was the third time they had done this to a stupid, greedy businessman like Robins. They both knew it wouldn’t be the last. They enjoyed the score too much. It made life worth living for both of them.
Bill’s jet left the runway first, followed a minute later by Grant’s.
In the air one jet turned west, the other south.
EPILOGUE
Friday, April 14th
10:12 p.m.
MONDAY HAD TURNED into a day from hell for both of them. Bonnie could not remember a day like it before. They had had no sleep and millions of questions to answer, forms to fill out, details to go over.
And all while trying to understand that Maxwell had been killed.
Bonnie found his death almost impossible to believe for some reason. The guy seemed like he always had everything under control. But clearly he had made one mistake, and that was walking into the line of fire of that estate’s front gate.
Hagar had told them that he was lucky to get back when the firing started.
Bonnie still hadn’t believed Maxwell was dead until the funeral on Thursday. Then finally she had allowed herself to cry for the man she had only known a short time.
By six in the evening on Monday they had been allowed to return to their hotel room for a shower and change of clothes.
But Hagar had had a car bring them right back to the station.
By midnight Monday they had finished almost everything that needed to be done immediately, and were allowed to go back to the hotel to sleep.
By eight the next morning they were back at the station.
The hearings and interviews seemed to stretch forever. Over and over again, both together and separately, Bonnie and Craig had answered questions about what had happened the entire weekend.
All day Tuesday, all day Wednesday, after Maxwell’s funeral on Thursday, and then even more questions on Friday morning.
Finally, Friday afternoon they had been set free. Bonnie had felt numb and more tired than she had felt in years.
On Wednesday, Charles Robins had been arraigned on more counts than Bonnie believed was possible to charge one man with. And fifty-six of his men were under charges of attempted murder, murder, and so on. Besides Maxwell, ten others had died, all Robins’ men. Ten cops and two FBI agents had been wounded, but only one seriously.
The firefight, combined with Senator Knight’s sudden appearance in Washington, made all the national news and created a massive media stir around the police headquarters in Scottsdale that didn’t die off until Thursday.
Somewhere in the middle of Monday afternoon, Bonnie remembered talking to her boss in Seattle, telling her they wouldn’t be back for at least a week. Her boss completely understood.
Now it was Friday again. One week after they had first arrived for a weekend golf tournament. They had both taken naps in the afternoon and got out on the putting green and practiced for a few hours after dinner. But neither of their hearts were into playing golf.
As it was getting dark, Craig had suggested they go for a walk.
One week from the time they went for that first walk and overheard a conversation that changed a lot of lives.
“You sure you want to?” Bonnie asked, smiling at her husband. “You remember what happened last time we did that?”
“Sex?” he asked. “I remember sex on warm grass under bright stars.”
She took his hand. “I think there’s a rock out there with our name on it.”
They strolled silently along the dark path.
She forced herself to not think about the events of the week. It was almost impossible to do, but somehow she wanted to get back to that feeling of just walking in the dark, enjoying Craig’s company, and thinking about making love.
He held her hand and every so often would squeeze it.
But he said nothing either.
Seemingly, much faster than the first time they had made the walk in the dark, they reached the big rock.
Bonnie pulled him off the path and out onto the grass of the fairway.
She let go of his hand, kicked her shoes off, and laid down, enjoying the feeling of the warm grass against her skin.
They were both numb and she knew it, but somehow they had to come back to what they had together, put the week behind them and start new again.
She watched as he stood over her, his shape outlined against the stars.
“What are you thinking?” she asked, her voice sounding louder than she had expected in the night.
“Just how beautiful you are,” he said.
“Really?” she asked, smiling up at him.
“Really,” he said.
“And nothing else?” she asked.
“Just that you have too many clothes on for such a warm night.”
She laughed, raised her hips and slid her shorts down and off her legs.
“How’s that?”
“Better,” he said, still just standing over her.
She sat up slightly and pulled her top over her head.
“Better,” he said again.
She unhooked her bra and took it off.
“Getting close,” he said.
She slid her panties off her legs and tossed them away.
“Perfect,” he said.
She stood and gave him a long, hard kiss, then pushed him down onto the ground. “Now who has too many clothes on?”
They went through the same routine until he was nude and lying under her spread feet.
“I love this view,” he said, staring up at her.
“Things don’t look so bad from here,” she said.
They stayed like that for a
moment, then slowly she eased down on top of him, letting him hold her, letting him make love to her.
Finally, things were again right in the world.
They were together and that was all that mattered.
If you enjoyed An Easy Shot, you might want to check out Dead Money: A Doc Hill Thriller, available now from your favorite bookseller. Turn the page for a sample.
Dead Money:
A poker term referring to a player who has paid an entry fee into a tournament in which he has no real chance of winning.
SECTION ONE
THE GAME BEGINS
Poker is not a game of cards. It is a game of people.
PROLOGUE
Central Idaho Mountains. August 17, 2009
SILENCE.
Silence, the absolute worst thing a pilot can experience at seven thousand feet in a single-engine Piper 6XT. A moment before, the engine had filled the cockpit with a solid rumbling, a vibration-filled sound that Carson Hill knew from hundreds of hours of flight time.
The engine-monitoring system panel hadn’t given him a warning. The plane had shaken with what had felt like a small explosion. Then everything on the control board had just snapped down to zero. Black smoke had poured out of the engine compartment, covering the front windows with a thin, black film.
Now the smoke was gone and through the film he could see the tree-covered ridgeline directly ahead.
The slight creaking of metal, the faint sound of the wind rushing past the six-seater’s windows. Nothing else broke the deadly quiet.
He forced down the panic threatening to overwhelm him.
“Goddammit! What the hell happened?” His voice seemed extra loud.
He took a deep breath. Losing control now would just make sure he died.
In his hands, the plane’s controls felt heavy, unresponsive. His dead-stick training was from a book and a few sentences from his original flight instructor over three decades ago. He had never actually flown a plane without a working engine.
Easy Shot Page 12
