Blind Spot

by Maggie Kavanagh

  “You date-rape drugged him?”

  Rivera shrugged as he kicked the car into drive. “It works. He won’t even remember this.”

  “Won’t remember he was eating a burger with you and then passed out, only to wake up and hear I’m, what? Dead? Missing? They’ll find my truck, you know.” Sam wrapped both arms around Nathan to hold him still as the car jostled over the rough track toward the main road.

  “It’s being taken care of.”

  That’s probably what the texting was for. Great. “Where are we going?”

  “Oh, out for a little drive. You’ve been more trouble than you’re worth, I’m afraid. Now I think we might be able to work out an arrangement for Nate… if you cooperate. He’s a good friend of mine.”

  Rivera took a left, which led away from Stonebridge. Sam’s gut clenched with panic and a strange sort of longing. In all the dangerous situations he’d been in over the past couple years, he hadn’t ever really expected to die—not when he was held at gunpoint by Bernhardt Hoff and Rich Petersen, not when he was trapped underground by Randall Palmer. Even in those moments, he never believed it was the end. But Rivera was so cold… so calm. He was a professional. Sam would never again see the home he shared with Nathan.

  “Some friend.” Sam brushed the hair back from Nathan’s forehead. While part of him wanted Nathan to wake up and get them out of there, Sam knew it was for the best that he stay unconscious. Rivera had played his cards well. Sam would do anything he needed to do to keep Nathan alive.

  “I’m a better friend than you know. I let you live this long. And if you hadn’t meddled in this case, you wouldn’t be in trouble now. You’re a hard man to help, Sam.”

  “Help me? You bastard. You killed my family.”

  “It was business.”

  “Because my father found out you were a double agent, working for the Voronkovs. That’s what happened. Wasn’t it?”

  “Your father was too self-righteous for his own good. It’s a quality you share, unfortunately.”

  Sam’s stomach churned. “How did you do it? Why would you?”

  “So many questions. Do you really want to know?”

  “I have a right.”

  Rivera made another turn onto a narrow road. Sam immediately recognized the place, though it was unmarked. They were heading toward one of the more concealed banks of the Connecticut River. As a teenager, he’d swum in it with his friends, though their parents warned them to beware of floating debris. There were urban legends about a girl who was knocked unconscious by a tree branch and swept out to sea. Her body was never recovered.

  The small parking lot near the riverbank was dark and silent. Trees folded around them, blotting out the light from the moon and the city beyond.

  Rivera seemed to consider whether to answer Sam’s question. He killed the engine and lights and turned around so Sam could see his face—and his lack of remorse. “I approached your father. He was an old friend and a state’s attorney. A good man to have in our corner. We figured it would be easier to move in with him on our side.”

  Sam could feel the thump of Nathan’s heart under his shirt. He drew strength from its simple, steady beat. “But you killed him when he said no.” Sam could hardly take comfort in knowing his father had refused.

  “He knew his options, and he made his choice. I would never have rigged the car, but I got word he was planning to run after the party. I had to stop him.”

  “What?” Sam tried to remember anything out of the ordinary during those last few weeks, but he couldn’t. He’d been away at school. If his father feared for his life and the lives of his family, of course he never would have told Sam. He wouldn’t have wanted to drag him into it.

  Rivera tsked. “He should have made a different choice.”

  Sam closed his eyes. So his family had been fleeing, all together, and not driving home as he always thought. But where were they heading? Had Tim known? Had his mother? Had they realized what was happening when the car wouldn’t stop? Were their final moments filled with terror?

  All was silent. Sam wondered how high a dose of roofies Rivera had given Nathan. When he woke up in the morning, would he suspect he’d been drugged or be convinced by whatever lies Rivera would spin?

  “But Dan Sheldon…. He didn’t know you. He said he worked with Hoff.” Sam was still trying to wrap his mind around how Rivera had insinuated himself into Stonebridge society. “Or was that a lie?”

  “I left town after the accident and returned to Columbia. I was down there for a couple of years on a joint CIA venture. Made some good connections for Victor. Got this lovely memento, as well.” He gestured with his thumb and forefinger, spanning the width of the fierce scar on his face. “Hoff took over up here and made further arrangements.”

  “Columbia. So that’s where the Voronkovs get their supply,” Sam muttered, more to himself than Rivera.

  “Good story, huh? It’s a damn shame you won’t be able to write about it.”

  The reality of the situation returned with crushing force. Sam didn’t want to die. He couldn’t imagine making Nathan mourn for another lover. And Tim. Sam didn’t doubt Nathan and his friends would care for him, but Sam wasn’t about to leave his brother behind.

  How the fuck could he escape? Rivera had his cell phone and a gun. And of course there was the most obvious issue. Sam was locked in the car. If he waited to make a run for it when Rivera opened the back door, he would kill Nathan. Whatever Rivera said about friendship, there was no doubt in Sam’s mind that Nathan was a bargaining chip. The only thing he could buy was time.

  “But I don’t understand,” Sam said as he hoped for a miracle. “You helped Nathan clear his name after Hoff killed Emma. You helped put him and Sheldon behind bars. Why would you do that if you were all working for the same organization?”

  “Same reason I got rid of White,” said Rivera. “Hoff fucked up. He started acting like a big shot, like he was invincible. And if there’s one thing you learn in this business—you’re not. Once you get cocky and start making mistakes, well… you get the picture. The boss wanted them all out of there, and they didn’t know me. Safer that way.” He flashed a predatory smile, and Sam cringed. How could he ever have considered Rivera handsome? And then Sam realized what he’d heard, and his heart skipped a beat.

  “Wait a second. You killed the mayor?”

  Sam had barely asked the question when a flash of headlights through the trees startled him. His body surged with adrenaline as a familiar vehicle pulled up beside them. It was his truck.

  A small-statured man he didn’t recognize climbed out. Without another sound Rivera exited the car and slammed the door behind him. Sam’s truck was still running, and the two men met in the headlights. Rivera reached out a gloved hand.

  A muffled shot rang out, and the smaller man crumpled to the ground, disappearing below Sam’s line of sight.

  Sam’s gut heaved, and he broke out in a cold sweat as he watched Rivera turn off his truck and kill the lights. He knew he had to hold it together. He needed time to think, but he had none. In a flash Rivera was at the back door, swinging it open. His gun was a cold, metallic certainty aimed right at Sam’s temple.

  “Can’t take any chances. It’s so hard to find trustworthy help these days,” said Rivera. “Get out.”

  Sam looked from the gun down to Nathan, who didn’t show any signs of waking. He rested a trembling hand against Nathan’s forehead and felt the warm skin he had loved so many times. He had to believe Rivera was serious about sparing him. He slid Nathan’s head from his lap. He couldn’t say “I love you” out loud—not with his soon-to-be killer as audience—but he needed Nathan to know all the same. In a carefully disguised move, he slipped his birthday keychain and the tiny collar key he always carried into Nathan’s shirt pocket. Hopefully when Nathan woke up to find the engraved S+N nestled there, he would understand that it meant “Be happy.”

  “Hurry up,” said Rivera.

  Of course
it was a lie. Sam knew as sure as he knew the pressure against his spine was a gun that Nathan would be devastated. But Nathan was resilient. He would heal.

  What would death feel like?

  Sam dragged his feet as Rivera urged him toward the gruesome scene in front of his truck. The dead man was young—probably not more than twenty-one—and he was wearing a skullcap and a black leather jacket. His eyes were open with surprise. Sam had the urge to reach down and close them, but he didn’t want to touch the body. There was a dark liquid seeping onto the ground near his shoes. He avoided it narrowly.

  “Pick him up,” said Rivera. “Let’s get this done.”

  Sam seriously doubted he could lift the dead weight of a man nearly his size. He had half a mind to tell Rivera to go fuck himself. Still, with Nathan alive and helpless in the car, Sam couldn’t take any chances. He bent down and managed to get a grip under the man’s arms. The head lolled backward at a painful angle. The body was warm, but it was obvious in an instinctual way that it was dead.

  Would this be what he looked like when it was over? Sam recoiled at the thought, and from the smell coming from the body. The man had soiled himself in his last moments. He turned his head and breathed through his mouth.

  “A little help would be nice,” said Sam as he started to drag Rivera’s latest victim toward the river. The incline was gradual, and the area was covered with a thick layer of grass. The summer night was windy and fresh, and the sounds of the cresting river reminded Sam of those long-ago swims. It would have been a pleasant scene… if not for all the murder.

  Rivera pursued the spectacle with measured steps, still holding his gun. “I prefer not to get my DNA on the body.”

  “What about my DNA?”

  “That hardly matters. Does it?”

  Despair ran through him in a cold shock, even though he knew he shouldn’t be surprised. After he deposited the body in the river, he’d be next. There was no guarantee anyone would even find him. With all the rain they’d had recently, the river had flooded beyond its banks. Worse still, another thunderstorm seemed to be brewing, one of the nightly downpours that made summer mornings at Manella’s so painfully humid. If it rained hard, all the evidence of Rivera’s kill would be washed away. The bastard would walk free and clear again.

  “Nathan will want answers. He’ll want justice.”

  “And he’ll get it. Either they find you and determine cause of death a mob hit, or they don’t. And with your truck parked here, and how depressed and erratic you’ve been lately…. Well, maybe Nate will decide you’d finally had too much.”

  “A suicide?” Sam trembled. No. Nathan would never believe Sam had killed himself. He knew Sam would never abandon Tim. The previous day Tim had murmured something unintelligible yet purposeful. Like he knew Sam was there. But of course Rivera couldn’t know that. Yes. Let him think Nathan would buy his story. Let his ignorance keep Nathan alive.

  Sam swallowed as he finally encountered the muddy water overflowing the river’s normal banks. The ground squelched and squished, and he lost his footing and went knees down, dropping his cargo as he did. He could feel the pull of the river current as the water soaked his jeans up to his waist.

  “Stand up,” demanded Rivera, standing only a yard in front of Sam with his gun aimed and ready.

  “Not so fast. Sam, don’t move.”

  Looking shocked, Rivera turned his head toward the new voice, still aiming at Sam. Sam, on his knees next to the dead guy, was equally surprised. Though he could hardly see for the darkness, there was no mistaking the accent.

  “Chief?” he whispered.

  Chief Donna Howard stepped out of the shadows. She had her gun aimed at Rivera.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Rivera demanded.

  “Drop the gun, Tony. I’ve got backup on the way. I’ve been trailing you all night. Drop the gun now and put your hands up, or I’ll shoot. Sam. Stay calm.”

  “Uh, yeah. Calm. Easy peasy.”

  “Donna, listen to me—” Rivera said.

  “No. You shut the hell up and listen to me. You thought you were so clever. Didn’t you? Thought you could pull the wool over my eyes with a few lousy fucks. Thought I was easy to manipulate. A lady cop. You had as much access to the mayor as anyone else did, and you were pretty quick to hightail it out of town after months of hanging around up my department’s ass. So yeah. I started taking notice. I pulled the file on Sam’s parents yesterday, and you know what I found? It didn’t exist. It was gone, vanished, caput. No pictures. Nothing. Yet I know it was there when I was appointed, ’cause we did an audit after Sheldon went to jail. So I got to thinking. Who could have done such a thing? And why?

  “So I broke into your room. I found the files and so much more, you double-crossing son of a bitch.”

  As she spoke she moved slowly but steadily toward Rivera. He was no longer paying attention to Sam, though he kept his gun aimed in Sam’s direction. Sam sort of wished she would stop talking.

  “Don’t come any closer,” Rivera told her. Still, he was giving up ground as she advanced. Water lapped at his feet. He was close now, almost an arm’s distance away—and so was the gun.

  Sam weighed his options. If Chief Howard pulled the trigger, there was a good chance he would go down as friendly fire. Even if Rivera was hit, he would likely retaliate and shoot Sam too. It was a case of mutually assured destruction. And who knew when the hell backup would arrive?

  But there was one wild card. Sam himself. Rivera thought he was weak, a coward. He thought Sam would go down without a fight. That he’d consent to be written off a suicide.

  Rivera was dead wrong.

  Without pausing to think himself out of it, Sam lunged and grabbed for Rivera’s gun arm. He managed to catch Rivera by the elbow and held on with both hands, wrenching the man around to knee his groin. Rivera cursed in surprise but didn’t drop the gun. He punched Sam square in the jaw with his free hand, and Sam’s whole body juddered with the impact, but he didn’t let go. He knew what would happen if he did.

  They struggled as the muddy earth slipped beneath their feet. Sam had his eyes locked on the gun. It waved wildly in the air as they both fought for dominance. Since Rivera had a free arm, he had the advantage, but Sam managed to dodge a few additional punches with his adrenaline-sharp reflexes. He snapped Rivera’s arm back with all the force he could muster, and the man howled in pain. His eyes were murderous, fixed on Sam’s face. Chief Howard was shouting at him, but Sam couldn’t make out what she was saying over the roar of the river. Maybe going for the gun hadn’t been the best idea, but it was too late.

  They were deeper now, and Sam felt the current tug at his waist. He was certainly at a disadvantage given Rivera’s greater height, and he was going to fall.

  “I should have killed you a long time ago,” Rivera said. His words were staccato, punctuated by grunts and heaving breaths, and his spittle rained down on Sam’s face.

  Sam’s flagging strength returned and increased tenfold. Now he had murder in his blood too. “Yeah? Just try, fucker.”

  “Sam, stand aside. I don’t want to shoot you,” Chief Howard shouted from the bank. She was panicked, but the words sounded fuzzy in Sam’s brain.

  This man killed his parents, had drugged Nathan—and Sam was going to kill him. Sam held his breath, and with a mighty shove, he threw his entire weight against Rivera. He fell, flailing into the water, and Sam went after him. In the ensuing tangle of limbs, Sam lost his grip on the gun arm. He grappled with Rivera’s shoulders and held him down under the water, but just as he thought he felt Rivera’s strength slacken, a new surge of force pushed him off and over, flipping him onto his back. Sam sputtered a few feet away, scrambling to regain his footing in waist-deep water. He needed to get hold of that gun before….

  A shot rang out. Rivera cursed. He was soaked with water and something darker, but he still managed to stand. He raised the gun and pointed it right at Sam.

  “Sam,” Chief Howa
rd yelled. “Get down. Get down, now.”

  Suddenly Sam heard sirens in the distance, growing louder and louder with every passing second. A swell of triumph rose in Sam’s chest, and along with it, the searing pain of a bullet piercing his flesh.

  The agony was explosive and seemed to spread through his whole body. Sam gasped for breath as he fell back into the water. Another volley of shots went off, but Sam was staring up at the dark sky. Cold, muddy water splashed over his face and into his mouth and nose, and he choked and tried to right himself. There was nothing under his feet. He couldn’t move his left arm, and when he tried, a burst of agony radiated from neck to bicep. He clutched for the bank with his right, but the pain made movement difficult, and blackness teased the edges of his vision. Lights flashed on the land beyond, and Sam called out, but his voice was garbled with water. Shit. He was going to die anyway.

  Wasn’t that just his luck?

  Chapter Seventeen

  SOMEONE WAS saying his name. Sam tried to answer, but he couldn’t move his mouth. His tongue was sore, and it hurt to breathe. Maybe he’d just go back to sleeping.

  “Sam? Sam, can you hear me?”

  He blinked open and a blurry figure came into focus. A tall man who resembled Shaquille O’Neal was holding a clipboard and standing over him.

  “Where am I?” Sam asked. “Where’s… where’s Nathan?” He started to struggle to sit up, but a sharp pain in his left arm made him gasp, and he couldn’t move it. It was tied to his body by some sort of… sling. His arm was in a sling, and there was a thick, white bandage on his shoulder. He must be in the hospital. It came back to him in a rush—Rivera, the struggle, water filling his mouth and his throat. Nathan unresponsive in the backseat of Rivera’s car.

  “Good to see you again, Sam, though I wish it were in another context. You’re going to be fine,” Shaq said. No. A doctor. The same doctor who attended him on his last visit. He had a deep, comforting voice. “You were shot in the shoulder, and we had to perform surgery to remove the bullet. It was a clean wound, and it went very well. After a few weeks, you should be good as new.” He shone a light into Sam’s eyes, and then jotted down a couple of notes and smiled again. “You’ll be sore for a while, and you might have some discomfort in your throat and lungs due to the water inhalation, but I’ll prescribe you something for the pain. You should be released tomorrow.”