Fire Storm

by Marlow Kelly

  Finn, mindful that the interview was being recorded, asked for clarification. “Who’s going to kill you?”

  “The Syndicate.”

  “We will protect you if you’ll testify against them.”

  Harris nodded.

  Finn swiped a hand in front of his throat, signaling for Kennedy to turn off the video equipment. He needed to call Deluca. He had to get Harris into protective custody immediately.

  ****

  Michael winced as he fidgeted in Finn’s ergonomic chair. He hadn’t complained, but Finn could tell he was in pain. The trip to Salt Lake City, the mad drive through a wildfire, and now sitting for hours on a broken pelvis had made him sore.

  Finn had tried getting in touch with Sinclair, but her phone had gone straight to voicemail.

  Agents had arrived to collect Paul Harris. Deluca had assured Finn that the information on the former mayor’s location would be known only by his superior in the Department of Justice and the agents in the U.S. Marshals Service assigned to protect him, which meant only the high and mighty would know of his whereabouts.

  Maybe he should ask for the same consideration for Michael. Finn wanted his friend to be safe. Sinclair had seemed like the perfect option. She had her own resources with Child Seekers International, safe houses where women and children saved from the sex trade could hide until new homes could be found for them. But Sinclair wasn’t picking up her phone, and they were out of time.

  A knock at the door made him jump. He covered his weapon as Kennedy turned the handle.

  Sinclair marched in, then stopped and stared at Michael. Her eyes widened for a moment before she turned her green-eyed gaze on Finn. “Sorry I’m late. I drove out to Tim’s, only to find the road closed, so I came here. What the hell happened?

  Finn stepped forward. “Wildfire. It’s a long story. I tried calling. Did you turn off your phone?”

  “I always pull the battery and SIM card from my phone when I’m relocating someone. It makes it harder to track me.”

  Michael grinned. “Smart.”

  Her gaze drifted over him, taking in his long hair, the awkward way he sat on his good side, and how he favored his left arm. Finally, she nodded in his direction. “We need to get going. We have a long drive.”

  Michael scrunched up his face as if he smelt something bad but didn’t comment.

  Sinclair answered anyway. “I know, but it can’t be helped. I have the perfect place for you and a new identity. It won’t stand up to much scrutiny, but it’s not as if you’ll be working and paying taxes. You’ll be safe while you heal.”

  “Then what?” Michael’s question was barely a whisper.

  “Let’s hope Finn catches the bad guys and you can go back to your life.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Finn smiled at Kennedy as they entered the Sharp’s Inn and Resort. They’d called ahead to make sure Ackerman was still in the building and had been advised he was checking out of his suite tomorrow morning.

  They now had the results back from the Questioned Documents Unit, and those findings, along with Booley’s images, proved the deed was forged and therefore the mineral rights to Molly’s Mountain belonged to Ben North and would be left to his heirs.

  Paul Harris was willing to testify that the syndicate was real, but he had no knowledge of their future plans. That could be a problem. He only knew about the Syndicate because Lucy had mentioned them, and that was hearsay. He hadn’t witnessed the group firsthand or received instructions directly from them. A good lawyer would argue that Lucy had been lying to impress her lover. Although he could still go after Ackerman and Portman on the forgery, Lucy Portman had chartered a private jet this morning, her whereabouts unknown.

  They had turned Harris over to the Justice Department and the U.S. Marshals Service this morning. He was now entering WITSEC, the protection program for threatened witnesses.

  “Showtime,” Kennedy muttered as she knocked.

  Finn held up his credentials when Ackerman answered. “FBI Special Agent Callaghan and this is Special Agent Morris. We spoke a few days ago.”

  “I remember.” Ackerman smiled, seeming relaxed and comfortable.

  “We want to talk to you about your plans to mine Molly’s Mountain.”

  “I only have a few minutes. That’s all I can spare.” He waved a hand as if swatting a fly. He didn’t invite them in.

  Finn eyed Kennedy. Interviewing him in this location wasn’t ideal, but it was possible.

  Kennedy withdrew a small recording device from her pocket and spoke into it. “I’d like to state for the record that agents Callaghan and Morris are interviewing Lance Ackerman in the Sharp’s Inn and Resort.”

  Ackerman grinned and pointed to the device. “Son, you might want to turn this off.”

  Finn narrowed his eyes. “Why would I want to do that?”

  “I was up late last night reading.”

  Finn said nothing. In his experience, it was best to let the suspect ramble on and hang themselves.

  “It was a great story about a young man whose mother was single. It’s kinda sad. She had him when she was fifteen, ended up in Chicago with no money. She started working as a prostitute. That was how she supported herself and her son, by hooking. She died of an overdose. Didn’t she Agent Callaghan? You were fifteen. You were in the system for a year before you were fostered by a cop.”

  Finn flinched. His mom and his childhood in Chicago were part of his past, a part of him.

  “What was it like knowing your dear old mom was turning tricks while you were watching cartoons. Did you meet the johns? Were they introduced as ‘uncles’?” Ackerman made air quotes and then chuckled.

  The implication hit Finn like a fist punching him in the chest. He grabbed Kennedy’s arm. “We need to make some calls.”

  She didn’t move. “No, we need to—”

  “No, we have to go—now.” He headed for the car, hoping she would follow. Ackerman’s laughter echoed in the background, but that didn’t matter.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Kennedy spat the moment they were in the SUV.

  Finn took a long, calming breath in an attempt to suppress his panic. “He has access to our personnel files.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Do you have access to my file? No, you don’t. He has someone high up. Maybe someone in the Justice Department.”

  “No, that’s not—”

  “Everything he said was true. Mom was a hooker. She died of an overdose when I was fifteen.”

  “But he could’ve found out—”

  “Juvenile records are sealed, and I told no one. Not my friends, none of my colleagues. The only time I talked about my background was when I entered the FBI. I figured not telling them about something that big would come back to bite me in the ass.”

  “What does it matter where you’re from? The FBI checked you out. You’re in the clear.”

  “Who gives a shit about me? If they have someone with that kind of access, then they can find Paul Harris.”

  “Shit.”

  “I’ll drive. You call Deluca.” Thank God, he hadn’t put Michael in witness protection.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Ethan sat in the overstuffed couch in Lance Ackerman’s hotel suite wondering if he’d rip his stitches when he stood. That bastard Morgan had cut him deep and probably nicked an organ. Stopping the bleeding had been a bitch. He was running a fever, and his whole body ached. Or maybe the stab to his calf was infected. Then there was the scrape to the side of his head where the cop had shot him. Luckily, the bullet had only grazed his scalp. It had stunned him, bled a lot, and given him a pounding headache. Ironically, that had worked in his favor. Everyone thought he was dead, which meant no one was looking for him.

  He reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a bottle of aspirin. He popped two in his mouth and swallowed them without water. He’d have to go to the hospital and get checked out. He would clai
m he’d been knifed in a mugging, but first he had a job to do, one more murder to commit.

  Ackerman paced the length of the room, his distended belly jiggling with every step. Ethan imagined slicing into all that fat but pushed away the impulse. He had a symbiotic relationship with the Syndicate, and he didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize it. He would obey his orders to the letter.

  Ackerman stopped and stared at him. “So you didn’t get to plant the knife on Morgan, but you probably destroyed that stupid endangered shrub, or whatever it was, with the fire. That means we’re still on the plus side.”

  Ethan nodded.

  Ackerman sat in the chair opposite him, a tablet in hand. “Tell me about this Native American who got the drop on you.”

  “What’s to tell? There were no distinguishing features, no scars. Black hair, brown eyes, tanned complexion, good looking.”

  “And he was sitting down the whole time?”

  “Yes.”

  Ackerman flipped his tablet around. “Was this him?”

  A handsome man wearing a dress shirt and tie smiled at the camera. The man he’d seen in Morgan’s kitchen was scruffier, his hair longer, and he was thinner, but it was the same guy. “Yes, that’s the one. Who is he?”

  “My sources in Justice tell me his name is Michael Papin. Up until January, he was an Army CID agent who worked in their cyber division, using the alias Spider. The Syndicate suspects he’s the man who infiltrated Marshall Portman’s company. It wasn’t until he surfaced for a meeting with the FBI in Salt Lake City that we knew his name. The reason he was sitting, instead of standing, is because Portman hit him with his car.”

  Ethan put a hand to his head. The bastard was crippled. He was weak and injured. That should’ve benefited Ethan. He’d turned and ran when he should’ve stayed and killed the son-of-a-bitch.

  “This guy”—Ackerman tapped the screen—“is the biggest threat to our organization. He knows about us and has the computer skills to expose our plans.”

  “Shit, I could’ve had him.”

  “You mean you should’ve had him.”

  Ethan nodded. He never let pride get in the way of business. He’d screwed up. Now he had to deal with it. “You’re right. Although I didn’t know who he was, and I had no idea he was hurt.”

  “Then don’t second-guess yourself. My sources tell me he’s a genius who’s more than capable of killing without hesitation.”

  Ackerman was right. Papin had the drop on him, but now Ethan knew what his target looked like. Sooner or later he would track down Michael Papin.

  Ackerman stood and paced the room. “Like I said, Papin is a dangerous adversary. He had access to Portman’s computer files. God knows what he dug up.”

  “You want me to go back and take him out?” Ethan inwardly groaned at the idea. He fucking hurt, and there was no way he could take on anyone, at least not today. Besides, he had other plans.

  “Word is he’s gone into hiding. My sources are trying to find out where.”

  “You think Morgan works for the FBI, too?”

  Ackerman shook his head, making his chins wobble. “No, he’s just a salesman. Tell me about him.”

  “He looks soft, but he’s one tough son of a bitch.” Ethan didn’t want to go up against him again. Some people only fought to protect themselves. And most people posture before a fight, trying to make themselves bigger than they are. Most people avoided knives. They didn’t like the idea of being cut, and there was no way to avoid the nick of the blade in a knife fight. But Morgan hadn’t been scared of getting carved up; he’d expected it, accepted it. Ethan had seen it in his eyes. Morgan would’ve sliced his throat without a backward glance. Deep inside, the man was a cold, methodical fighter. Ethan respected that, and he would bet Morgan was as good with a gun as he was a knife.

  “He was a Ranger,” Ackerman said, as if confirming Ethan’s thoughts.

  “In that case, he’s the best of the best. I tussled with a few Rangers back in the day, but this guy was exceptional.” Although Ethan had never served his country, he had fought with a number of mercenary services. They’d given him a chance to hone his skills, but unfortunately they drew the line at indiscriminate killing.

  Ackerman raised his eyebrows. “Was he that good?”

  “Yes. He won’t be an easy target.”

  “All right, let’s forget about using Morgan to flush out Papin. I don’t want to draw too much attention. I still have hopes of resurrecting the Molly’s Mountain Mine. The Syndicate have people digging into Papin’s friends and family. If there’s a weakness, they’ll flush him out. In the meantime, I have another job for you.”

  “Lucy?” Ethan raised an eyebrow. This was his cue. Using the armrest, he levered himself off the couch and reached into his inside pocket for the syringe.

  Ackerman, assuming he was about to leave, stood too. “You can’t use your knife. It either has to look like natural causes or an accident.”

  The door to the suite slammed open. Lucy Portman strolled in. “I heard you had plans for me.”

  Ackerman’s eyes bulged. “Lucy, I thought you were in New York.”

  Ethan used the distraction to plunge the needle into Ackerman’s thigh.

  He twisted, trying to grab at the injection sight. “What have you done?”

  Ethan shook his head. “Sorry, I have my orders.”

  Lucy smiled as she stepped closer.

  “They’ll know it was murder.” Ackerman stumbled but remained upright.

  Ethan moved to stand in front of him. He wanted to see the life fade from Ackerman’s eyes and revel in the power that taking a life gave him. “That’s doubtful. This will look like an overweight man having a heart attack. I used potassium chloride, which has to be injected and is almost impossible to obtain. I had to buy your dose from a veterinarian. It’s perfect because you’re a diabetic so the medical examiner won’t notice the needle mark And Unlike SUX, it leaves absolutely no trace in your body. Even if the FBI suspects we killed you, they won’t be able to prove it.”

  Ackerman grabbed his chest, his face twisting in pain.

  Lucy pointed in his direction. “I voted to let Ethan slice you. I hear that’s how he gets his kicks, but the others wanted it to look like an accident. You got greedy. You stayed and tried to make the Molly’s Mountain deal work when you should’ve cut and run. You even talked to the FBI, for God’s sake.”

  “You gave Harris my number.” Ackerman’s knees gave way, and he crumpled to the ground, his massive butt in the air.

  “Because you were already a dead man. I just needed authorization. The Syndicate will survive without you.” Lucy smiled.

  Ackerman made a loud wheezing sound as he struggled to breathe, and then everything went quiet.

  Lucy opened her purse and pulled out a large vibrator. “I don’t know about you, but watching someone die always makes me want to fuck.”

  Ethan understood the impulse. He’d felt it often enough, but he couldn’t indulge her. A cold shiver wracked his body. His fever was getting worse. He needed to leave now, but he didn’t want Lucy to know he was weak. The woman was as lethal as a scorpion. He took a step back, inching closer to the door. “I don’t fuck women.”

  That was a lie. He’d had sex with plenty of women. Sometimes it was necessary, but he only enjoyed men.

  “Pity.” She waved him away. “I’ll lock the door when I leave.”

  Ethan exited the room, not daring to turn his back.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Two weeks later

  Tim stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Dana. He wished he could make this easier for her, but that wasn’t possible. It was something she had to face. There was no getting out of it. Dana had been a wreck all morning. The woman could shoot a knife-wielding maniac, but the thought of public speaking filled her with panic.

  Mrs. Anderson, the newly appointed mayor, cleared her throat as she strode to the podium. “I’ll keep this short. I know you’re all busy.”<
br />
  Shelly hustled forward carrying a Bible, which she held out so Dana could place her hand on it. Mrs. Anderson led Dana through the oath of office. It was a simple ceremony. Dana swore to defend the constitution of the United States, Montana, and the people of Hopefalls. Then her badge was pinned to her chest.

  The town hall was packed with residents. All of them had come to witness the swearing-in ceremony of the new police chief. It hadn’t taken long for the State Police to investigate. Eva was under arrest for killing Alice Hayden. That had caused a rift in town with Eva’s family claiming she’d been wrongfully accused, but Tim wasn’t worried about them. Most of the residents of Hopefalls supported him and were happy to have Dana takeover as police chief.

  The State Police had also cleared Dana and Xavier of any wrongdoing. Many details of the case were still unknown to the public. Tim could’ve asked Finn but had decided against it. As long as there was no threat to Dana or Logan, he didn’t need to know. The only thing that kept him awake at night was the fact that the police and FBI hadn’t found Ethan Moore’s body. Tim had shown them the exact spot where Dana had shot the freak. There were no charred remains, no body, and no trace.

  A facial composite had been created from the descriptions he and Dana had provided. The Montana State Police were circulating the image, but so far no one had seen him.

  As the ceremony ended, Joe Freeman approached him. “I’m sorry. I’ve been meaning to deliver this letter to you, but with everything…”

  Joe didn’t need to finish his sentence. Tim understood. The chaos of the last few weeks had thrown the whole town into disarray. Not only did they have to deal with the political fallout of their corrupt mayor and police chief, there was also the chief’s murder and then Zoe Harris had been charged in Ben’s death. On top of that, there was also the damage caused by the fire. Although the blaze hadn’t reached the town limits, there was red fire retardant over most of the houses, and the smoke damage was extensive.

  Joe passed him a plain envelope and a piece of paper. “I need you to sign for it.”