While Alex chose to hide behind the excuse of not wanting to disturb the captain, the trio knew the truth. There is no way in hell that Captain Lewis would agree to the trip. Not after California. Not after the ass whipping he had taken from the ATF.
“You’re going to get us fucking fired,” Kris mumbled.
Alex’s eyes snapped to her face, his jaw hanging slack in disbelief. He’d never heard her swear before. Not a shit or a damn. Certainly not an f-bomb. He expected nothing less from Jackson, but from Kris? He flashed a reassuring smile and lightly squeezed her shoulder. Surely she had to realize that if anyone’s ass was on the line, it was his.
“Not all of us—just me. You know the golden rule: it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission.” Alex checked his watch and nodded to Jackson.
“Yeah, I’ll remember that when Lewis is picking his teeth with my femur. No John Wayne stuff,” Kris called after them.
“Yes ma’am,” Alex said.
“You know, Shannon, I like you better now that you’re breaking the rules,” Jackson grinned.
“Bending them. And I don’t think that Kris shares your opinion.”
Without so much as a backwards glance, the budget updates were abandoned, and Jackson’s low chuckle reverberated down the hall.
The Alaska Air flight arrived at Yakima’s McAllister Field five minutes ahead of schedule. Stepping out into the bright afternoon sun, Alex and Jackson made their way toward the black-and-white waiting outside the terminal. It was a cool thirty-eight degrees, but Alex barely noticed the cold wind blowing through his light jacket. Anticipation had the blood pumping fast through his veins. They were close to bringing Honeywell in. He could feel it.
Alex ducked his head into the open window of the cruiser and fastened his gaze on the officer behind the wheel.
“I’m Detective Shannon, and this is Detective Levy.”
“I’m Mitchell.” The young officer cocked a thumb toward the backseat. “Hop in.”
The two piled into the car, and the uniformed officer accelerated smoothly away from the curb. Mitchell was a young red-headed cop with green eyes and translucent eyelashes. Glancing over, Alex gauged him to be in his mid to late twenties. An average-looking kid with a square jaw, set in a decided frown. He probably wanted to be the one to take down Honeywell, and letting two Seattle cops horn in on the action was the last thing he wanted to do.
“Hey, thanks for letting us crash your party.” Alex flashed a lopsided grin. “I wanted to be here in person to bring this bastard in.”
Mitchell nodded but didn’t say anything right away. When he did, he was all business.
“We’ve got two guys watching the house. There are at least three people in there. They got home about four p.m. and haven’t moved since. Looks like they’re watching television.”
Alex looked out the window, watching the houses fly by without really seeing them. His thoughts turned to Natalie, piecing together her final moments. He could envision the dark interior of the hunting cabin in Winthrop, the musty smell of the threadbare couch where they had found her shoe.
According to the medical examiner, she put up a hell of a fight. But in the end, Honeywell ended her young life by wrapping his strong, grease-stained hands around her neck and squeezing until she stopped thrashing. Sometimes at night, when he closed his eyes, he still saw her bluish fingertips poking up out of the snow: frozen, gruesome spring flowers.
Now it was time for Honeywell to pay.
“It’s just a few blocks from here.”
Mitchell’s voice brought Alex back to the present. He propped his elbow against the door frame and rested his chin against his balled fist. The neatly kept houses near the airport gave way to sagging, rundown neighborhoods. They flew by row after row of small, military-style bungalows with peeling front doors and listing front porches.
Mitchell slowed and brought the cruiser to a stop near a faded yellow house, its white shutters hung slightly askew. He pointed down the street to a brown sedan parked under a canopy of trees a block away.
“Officers Howe and Bentley are down there. See the blue bungalow?”
Alex and Jackson followed the trajectory of his outstretched finger with their eyes. Both nodded.
“That’s where Honeywell and his buddies are holed up. We’ve got backup a few blocks away.”
Alex nodded and opened the car door, his eyes directed toward the door of the blue and white house, as if waiting for someone to appear. The shirttail of his navy button-down hung loose over the waistband of his faded jeans and concealed the bulge of his weapon. Jackson said nothing as they approached the brown sedan, but tension tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“You ready for this?” Alex asked softly, stealing a glance at his partner out of the corner of his eyes.
“Son, I was born ready,” Jackson replied, an unexpected smile parting his lips.
The two edged around the brown car, squatting down by the passenger window. “Shannon and Levy,” Alex said quietly, showing his badge as he checked out the two cops sitting in the car.
“Suspect is in the house. As far as we can tell, there are three of them. We haven’t seen guns, but we expect that they’re armed.”
“How do you want to run this?” Alex’s pulse picked up pace as he got his head in the game.
“We’ve got a guy dressed like a pizza-delivery dude. He’s going to knock on the door. We’re going to cover him up. You two go behind the house in case anyone runs. We’ve got more backup standing by. They’ll move in on my word.”
“Got it.” Alex straightened up. “Let’s do it.”
Alex took the lead and strolled across the street, adopting as casual an air as possible. His eyes swung left and right, taking in as many details as he could as he approached the house. Traffic was light. There were a few cars driving down the block, passing by without a glance. A couple of young boys were walking across the street, their loud voices carrying as they took turns punching a skinny kid in the arm—good-natured ribbing.
Alex turned into the neighbor’s driveway. His feet crunched on the packed gravel. In a quick move, he jumped the low fence and crept along the side of the house. Crouched against the siding, he drew his weapon.
The weight of the gun felt good in his hand, like an old friend, as he inched his way toward the back corner. Despite the cold wind, sweat trickled down the back of his neck while he waited for the other officers to get in position. He heard the rustling branches of the pine trees at the back of the house and the buzz of voices in the living room.
The sharp knock on the door was closely followed by the sound of footsteps. Loud voices rang out, and Alex heard muffled shouts. Gunshots fired. The back door burst open, and Alex caught his first live glimpse of Jerry Honeywell since the darkened parking lot in California as he shot out the door at a full gallop.
Alex took off after him. Honeywell sailed over the back fence. His long limbs cleared the ragged chain-link edge with no effort at all. Alex followed suit, his stride settling into a steady rhythm. He kept his eyes fastened on Honeywell’s back.
They were racing through a neighbor’s backyard and down a winding alley when Honeywell darted right. Alex skidded around the corner and caught the bright flash of Honeywell’s shirt as he disappeared around the side of a two-story brick house.
Alex willed himself to pick up the pace as he pumped his arms hard. No way he would lose Honeywell now. He slowed as he got behind the house, and his eyes scanned the backyard. For a moment, his heart sank as he thought he’d lost the suspect. Then he saw some movement from the corner of his eye, and he spied Honeywell running across the street toward a wooded park.
Cars skidded to a halt nearby. Alex bolted across the street and into the park. Sweat stung his eyes. A kid on a bike swung out in Alex’s path, and he dodged it without missing a beat. He could see Honeywell running ahead toward a small pond.
Maybe it was wishful thinking, but Alex could swear that Honeywell was s
lowing down. The sound of kids playing filled Alex’s head as he raced by. The edge of the park was in view, and Honeywell glanced quickly behind him. The sight of Alex gaining galvanized him, and he shot ahead.
Alex was breathing hard but still feeling strong as he continued to give chase. He was suddenly glad for all the late-night runs with Jill and Molly through the streets of West Seattle. He was sure that Jackson and the other officers would be on their trail, but kept his eyes focused on Honeywell’s back. He couldn’t afford to lose Honeywell. Not now. Not when he was so close.
The outskirts of Yakima were largely industrial, and they were passing into a section of town that was made up of warehouses and factories, places where they shipped their bountiful crops across the mountains. They sailed past the train tracks.
Honeywell scaled a chain-link fence and dropped into the parking lot of what looked to be an abandoned factory. He struggled over the fence and landed on the asphalt with a thump.
Alex jumped, his fingers grasping the metal links to scale the fence. He propelled himself over the top and onward. Honeywell rounded the corner of the factory, and Alex followed.
He slowed, his chest heaving with his labored breath. He peered cautiously around the corner. Honeywell had disappeared from view, and Alex raised his gun, gripping it tightly in his hand. He hugged the factory wall, sensing that Honeywell was close. He reached the back corner of the factory and swept his gaze wide.
Honeywell was trying to force open a door and enter the factory. The door was not cooperating, and Alex took aim between the suspect’s broad shoulders.
“Freeze, asshole,” he called out, gun pointing straight in front of him as he gripped it with both hands.
Honeywell’s head swiveled, cold blue eyes vacant as he met Alex’s stare. Quickly he dropped his hand to his skinny waist, and Alex thought he saw the metallic glint of a gun as Honeywell turned to face him.
“Don’t move,” he called out again.
“Fuck you,” Honeywell yelled, raising his hand. Gun metal flashed in the sun, followed by the loud crack of a gun’s rapport.
Alex swerved, but not before he felt the heat of the bullet tear into his arm, loosening the double grip on his gun. The impact knocked him off balance. He fell sideways, his free hand flailing out to steady himself against the wall. Honeywell crashed into the door with all of his force and stumbled inside, out of Alex’s line of vision.
Alex’s breath came in ragged gasps, and he ignored the searing pain in his arm. He edged down the wall and paused at the doorway, allowing his eyes to adjust to the low light. Honeywell raced toward a rack of metal shelves.
Alex cut down the other side, gained ground, and with a quick move, launched himself at Honeywell. They collided full force. Pain radiated through Alex’s body, and he pulled in a ragged breath.
Alex managed to regain his footing first. Honeywell, knocked off balance, stumbled to the concrete floor. His gun clattered to the ground beside him.
Working on instinct, Alex kicked the gun out of reach and slammed his shoe down between Honeywell’s bony shoulder blades. The barrel of his Glock pointed at the back of Honeywell’s head. He shoved his foot forward to rest in the curve of Honeywell’s neck. His wounded arm burned. Hurt like hell, in fact.
“Well, well, the infamous Jerry Honeywell.” Alex allowed a smile to cross his lips. “Somehow I expected you to be … oh, I don’t know … smarter.” He had him. He finally had him. Victory was so close, Alex could almost taste it.
“I don’t know what you think you’ve got, but I guarantee you it won’t stick.”
“That’s what you think, motherfucker. We’ve got you cold. You’re going to need a goddamned good lawyer to represent you, and based on your financial records, the only lawyer you can afford will be a court-appointed attorney. Good luck with that.”
“I wouldn’t bet my paycheck on it, cop,” Honeywell muttered between clenched teeth, his strained voice ringing hollow in the vast, abandoned space.
“Whatever you say, asshole.” Alex applied even more pressure with his foot, forcing Honeywell’s face flat against the cold concrete floor.
“I’m not just going to nail you for murdering Natalie Watson. Lisa Cullen’s hit-and-run has been reopened, too. You remember Lisa, right? Blond hair, pretty face, aborted child? Oh, and I know about Kayla Miller, the girl from Medford.”
Honeywell clenched his teeth, his gaze angled up toward Alex. The hard glimmer of hate burned in his eyes.
“You better pray I never get out of jail, boy,” Honeywell said. “When I do, I’m coming after your pretty wife. If you’re lucky, I’ll even let you watch.”
Alex increased the pressure, pinning Honeywell in place. A thrill of satisfaction shot through him as a pained gasp escaped Honeywell’s lips.
“I just want to know one thing. What did you feel when you killed Natalie?”
Honeywell flashed a cold smile, his eyes vacant as he strained to look up at Alex.
“I felt nothing,” he said in a flat hiss.
A dizzying wave of rage surged through Alex’s veins. The son of a bitch was smiling. Alex’s vision narrowed as he stared down at the man on the floor. He wanted to pull the trigger. He wanted to end this miserable fuck’s life.
What kind of human being killed an innocent teenage girl and felt nothing? If he was able to do something like that, what else was he capable of? Alex’s jaw was clenched tight, and his fingers gripped the gun hard as he stood with a foot pressing down on Honeywell’s neck.
He couldn’t. Alex took a deep breath and gathered every ounce of self-control he could muster. He willed himself not to pull the trigger.
The sound of Honeywell’s labored breathing echoed in the empty factory. They were all alone, without another soul in sight. Alex’s mind crossed over into forbidden territory. There was a gun on the floor with Honeywell’s fingerprints. The warm blood streaming down his skin at a steady pace was proof enough of a struggle. If Honeywell was dead when the others arrived, who would question how it happened? Any credible story he concocted would be taken as fact, and this case would be closed. No questions asked. He’d be considered a hero.
“Come on, Alex. Pull the trigger,” Honeywell goaded as if reading his mind. “You know you want to. Do it for Natalie. Do it for your wife. It will be the only chance you get to get rid of me for good.”
Alex’s anger cooled into a cold, calculating certainty. His hand was rock steady as he pointed the barrel down at the base of Honeywell’s skull. Far away he heard the wail of police sirens. What was there to stop him from sending a bullet through this bastard’s brain? Wouldn’t everyone be better off if this son of a bitch was dead? Honeywell’s demise would provide closure for Abby and her parents. Jill would no longer have to look over her shoulder. Everybody stood to gain if Alex simply pulled the trigger. His hand tightened on the gun.
“Alex,” Jackson called from the doorway.
Alex flinched, and the moment was gone. Swinging his head around, he caught sight of Jackson’s sweaty face. Their eyes locked, and Alex knew that Jackson had understood his intent. Neither said a word as Jackson stepped forward, footsteps ringing on the concrete floor. He removed his handcuffs from his belt.
As if from a great distance, Alex watched Jackson crouch down to snap the cuffs around one bony, white wrist. Jackson glanced up, and Alex stepped off of Honeywell’s neck and moved back a few paces, giving his partner room to work. Alex held his gun steady, still trained on the suspect.
“You okay?” Jackson asked, nodding toward Alex’s injured arm.
“Yeah.” Alex did not move his eyes away from the back of Honeywell’s head.
“You have the right to remain silent, you piece of shit,” Jackson said. Twisting the man’s other arm roughly around his back, he secured the second wrist. “You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford a lawyer, we will appoint the stupidest goddamned one we can find to represent you.”
As Jackson finished reading
Honeywell his rights, the Yakima officers poured through the factory door, quickly taking control of the scene.
Like a fly on a wall, Alex watched the Yakima officers haul Honeywell off the floor and lead him out of the warehouse and into the frosty January day. Only then did he holster his gun and clap a hand across the wound on his arm. Jackson slowly made his way to Alex’s side.
“Good work, partner.” Jackson slapped Alex’s shoulder.
“Jesus.” Alex cringed and swore through clenched teeth. Pain seared through his arm.
“You should get that looked at.”
“Thanks, but it looks worse than it is.”
“Maybe so. But Jill would never forgive me if we let something as insignificant as a bullet mar that perfect body of yours.” Jackson’s eyes sparkled in amusement.
“Get bent,” Alex said as he strode toward the door, out of the darkened factory and into the cold night. Despite the twisted cop humor, he couldn’t manage a smile as he looked down at his bloody arm.
As he stepped out into the cold wind, Alex wondered what kind of cop he would have been if Jackson had stepped through the factory door thirty seconds later.
CHAPTER FORTY FOUR
Jill smelled the roasted coffee beans from a nearby café as she made her way off 19th Avenue. The dense clouds over San Francisco formed a thick blanket that choked out the light of the moon. A faint glow from the streetlights barely penetrated the darkness. She wasn’t worried about things that went bump in the night, though. With the Glock stowed safely away in her pocket, she was equipped to deal with almost any situation.
The soft soles of Jill’s boots made no sound on the cold concrete path as she wound her way toward the botanical gardens, where she had arranged to meet her date. The same chilly night air that kept the crowds away from the park invigorated her. Meeting him out in the open was only slightly riskier than meeting him at a hotel. Here, there were no surveillance cameras to capture her image. And she was in the mood for something a little different, a little risky business.
Deadly Lies Page 24
