Reckless Behavior

by L. A. Witt

  Paula frowned at it. “He’s a short-timer, why him?”

  “He’s got a sick kid he wants to get back to. Or so I’ve been told,” I added.

  Andreas’s lips twisted with a dark smile. “It always comes back to that, doesn’t it.” It wasn’t even a question. Nothing motivated a person like family, and the bond between children and their parents was a brutally effective one to manipulate. “Fine.”

  “I think maybe this guy for the second.” Officer Garland pushed another file forward. “Noah Wiles. He’s young, he just barely got started in his career when everything went down. He had an older partner that was in way deeper than him, and from the look of things, Noah might have taken some heat he didn’t have to to keep the other guy from going away for life. I met him, a few times.” She sighed. “He seemed like a really good guy. A good cop. I think he’d jump at the chance to earn a little of his dignity back.”

  “Seemed doesn’t count for shit, Garland. Everyone thought Blaine seemed nice when he’s actually a kidnapping, partner-shooting son of a bitch.” You could have polished a diamond with Andreas’s voice, it was so rough. “We have to be sure. Do you think you’re sure of this guy?”

  She paused, then nodded. “Yeah. I think he’s a good call.”

  “Okay then.” Paula reached out and took both the files. “I’ll go get the details ironed out with the captain and start mustering the lawyers. We have to move quickly if we want to get this approved in time to get visits in today.” She left, and Officer Garland sat in uncomfortable silence with us before quietly excusing herself.

  After she left, the silence was still uncomfortable, and that wasn’t what I wanted right now. Life was awful and everything sucked, but if I kept dwelling on it, I wouldn’t be able to haul myself upright again. I turned to face Andreas, reached under the table, unceremoniously picked up his broken ankle, and put it in my lap, spinning his swivel chair around in the process.

  “Ow.”

  “Oh please, this can’t hurt worse than leaving it on the floor to swell up does.” Every muscle in his thigh felt tight, and I carefully pressed my fingers into his quad. Andreas groaned and tilted his head back, eyes falling shut, and I grinned. Pay dirt. “Sore?”

  “Little bit,” he grunted.

  “That’s what you get for—” I was about to say for being the getaway driver, but stopped myself at the last second. He was already thinking about that; I didn’t have to grind it in his face. “I was thinking we should get you a walking boot,” I continued, switching gears.

  Andreas opened his eyes. “Zach said I wasn’t supposed to be in one of those before six weeks.”

  “Dr. Hicks is a very accomplished surgeon, but he’s not the one walking into a potential firefight, and neither are you if you’re going to be doing it on crutches. They kill your mobility and will make it harder to handle a weapon.” God, that wasn’t a picture I needed in my head, but there it was, crutches/gun/fumble and— Yep, now Andreas was shot again. I wanted to excise my brain. “It would just be for the meet.”

  “You think he’d go for that?”

  “He’s your doctor, not your boss.”

  “No, apparently that’s you.”

  “Damn straight.”

  Andreas chuckled, and I suddenly felt about ten times lighter. “I suppose I could insist. I can’t let him tell Erin, of course. She’d flip out.”

  “You don’t want to let her know about the exchange?”

  “Oh, God no.” He shook his head firmly. “If—if we were getting the kids back some other way, sure, I’d tell her. I’d tell all of them, right away. They have a right to know what’s going on with their siblings, or in Lisa’s and Marcy’s case, with their kids. But this is different. For better or worse, Blaine has fixated on me. I know pretty well what I can and can’t take, and at this point I know I can’t take my family’s worry. If it was just for the kids it would be okay, I could do that, but I can’t handle them being afraid for me right now too. Not if I want to keep my head tomorrow.”

  Too much love. “Too distracting.”

  “Yeah.” We kept the peace for a few minutes, my hands still working the kinks out of his muscles, before he spoke up again. “I know you’ll be watching.”

  “Of course I will.” I’d do more than that if I could, I just didn’t know if it would be possible.

  “If things go wrong, I need you to promise me that my kids will be your first priority. Not me.” I was already shaking my head, but Andreas kept going. “You have to do this for me, Darren. I need to know you’ve got their backs.”

  It was selfish of me, so terribly selfish not to say yes immediately, not to just do what he wanted. But the thought of losing Andreas tugged at the ragged edge of the shroud blanketing my grief, threatening to pull it back and expose every raw nerve and bloody emotion hemorrhaging inside of me. “I do, you know I do, but I’m your partner.”

  “And I’m their father. And after them, you’re the most important person in my life, and I need you to be with me on this.” He reached his hand out, and I grabbed it mindlessly, too hard, but he held on just as tight. “I need to know you’ll protect them first. Please.”

  “Yes.” It was one word, one blistering ingot of a word, but it took some of the strain out of Andreas’s face. “But you better do fucking everything to keep yourself safe, do you understand me? That’s my demand.”

  “I will.” Once he’d done whatever was necessary to protect his kids. It was the best I could hope for.

  “I love you.” Oh shit. This wasn’t how I’d intended to say it, on the heels of negotiating for his fucking safety. I didn’t know why it had taken me so long to articulate how I felt when it was so easy to feel, when he’d already said it to me, but now . . . now it had the air of a reluctant confession, which wasn’t how I’d meant it at all. I wasn’t telling him because I was worried about tomorrow, but because I had to say it. I had to let something out. My damn body wasn’t strong enough to keep all these emotions locked up, and love was the only one I had worth sharing.

  Andreas grinned. “I know.”

  I blinked at him. “Did you just . . . Han Solo me? Seriously?”

  “Yep. Cue carbonite bath. My timing will never be better than this.”

  “Carbonite what?” Paula stood in the doorway, looking at us with one raised eyebrow. “Never mind. We’ve got permission to visit three of our favorite felons in prison.” She fanned herself with the files she held in one hand. “Who’s up for a field trip? And I’m driving this time, guys.”

  After spending too much time with suspicious lawyers and frowning prison officials, we finally got in to see our targets. Barry Gronkowski was the first, and he was just as grateful to talk to us as Schneidmiller had said he would be. His lawyer explained the terms of the deal to him—a sentence reduction from five years to six months. Maybe even time served, depending on how things went tomorrow.

  “Arrest Howie Blaine? What the hell, what’s he done?”

  By the time Paula was finished with the explanation, his face had gone white.

  “Ah, that ain’t right,” he said heavily. “Ain’t right at all, bringing your kids into it like that.” He met Andreas’s gaze. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

  Andreas didn’t blink. “Prove it.”

  “Yeah, I guess I . . .” He ran a hand over his face. “But it’s gonna be dangerous tomorrow, right? I could end up gettin’ killed.”

  “We’re going to take every precaution we can, but it’s a possibility,” I said. “But it’s also your best chance to see your own kid again. Detective Schneidmiller spoke up for you,” I added, and the lines in Gronkowski’s face lightened a little.

  “Yeah? Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Huh.” He looked down at the papers in front of them, then at his lawyer. “I guess I’m in, then.”

  Noah Wiles took a little more convincing. “You want to make me cannon fodder,” he said, his voice full of bitterness. He w
as a slight guy, a little shorter than me and thin as a reed. The bones at his collar and wrists were stark beneath his skin, and his face was set in an expression of mulish distaste. “That’s all I’m good for, huh? First my partner, now you guys.” He set a finger on top of the paperwork his lawyer had presented him with and pushed it back across the table. “Screw you.”

  “Noah,” his lawyer began gently, but Andreas was evidently done pussyfooting around.

  “You think you deserve something better?” he asked, managing to seem menacing without even shifting his weight. “Let me guess. You spoke up for your partner, took some of the heat off him because you thought it was the right thing to do. You ended up in prison together, but I bet he doesn’t even look at a little fish like you anymore, does he? You’re not big enough to intimidate, not strong enough to make use of. Your loyalty would be a liability to any cop on the inside, having a guy like you trailing along after them like a lame puppy begging for treats. You’re no good to anyone on the inside, Noah. Not even to yourself. Take the chance to get out while you can or kiss any hope of a decent future goodbye.”

  Jesus, that was a brutal assessment, but I couldn’t say Andreas was wrong. Neither, it seemed, could Noah, and his lawyer pulled the paperwork in close again. “Noah, this is the best offer you’re going to get.”

  “Great.” His lips were a tight, unhappy line as he took the pen and signed his name where his lawyer indicated. “Back to being a good little soldier.”

  “If you were really a good little soldier the first time around, you wouldn’t be in here.” Paula took the papers and smiled insincerely. “Thanks for your cooperation, Mr. Wiles.”

  Rory Folsom was the last one we saw, and he was . . . well. I thought Andreas could do a good “inscrutable” impression, but he had nothing on Rory. Part of it was the bruising purple spreading across his right cheekbone and eye—it was hard to read a guy’s expression when his face was swollen like a ripe plum. Part of it was a natural gravitas, though. This wasn’t a man who made decisions fast or lightly. He stared at us in total silence while Paula explained things for the third time tonight, and after she presented the deal to him—his sentence reduced by half, with the possibility for early parole—he just kept staring.

  Andreas was this close to jumping across the table, I could feel it. We didn’t have time to waste waiting for Rory to decide he’d like to speak sometime this century, but we couldn’t afford to antagonize him either. I pressed one of my feet against Andreas’s good one, then spoke up. “If you don’t believe us, we can get your son Gary in here to talk to you. He’s already surrendered himself to us.”

  “Gary’s a slick little shit.” His lips were puffy, but Rory easily made himself understood. “He’ll find a way to wriggle out of anything. Always a momma’s boy, that one. But Howie’s my kid, through and through. When he commits to something, he doesn’t waver.”

  “And this time around he committed to kidnapping and attempted murder, among many other things,” Paula said. “He’s certainly committed to keeping you safe, Mr. Folsom. Are you committed to doing the same for him?”

  “Sounds like he’s got your hands pretty well tied, Detectives.”

  “I’ve already told you what your fellow hostages will be doing after the exchange is made, Mr. Folsom. Are you going to obstruct them, possibly resulting in the death of your son, or are you going to smooth the way and make this whole thing as painless as possible?”

  “For what? So my boy can join me in here?”

  I leaned in. “So we can keep two innocent kids from paying for your son’s mistakes. And so your son doesn’t end up on a slab in the morgue, his head blown open after our sniper is forced to take him out. Those are the choices in play, Rory. There are no other options.”

  “You’re a cold little bitch, aren’t you?” he remarked casually. “You like having this guy watching your six, Ruffner?”

  “I’m trusting him to do it tomorrow,” Andreas said. “And he’ll be watching yours too, so think about who you’re calling a bitch, Folsom. Are you in?”

  Rory Folsom smiled. He was missing a front tooth, the socket still bloody. “Sure, Detectives. Sure. I’m in.”

  I could see why Zach had been reluctant to switch me to a boot. As I drove our three dirty cops to the scene of the exchange, my ankle throbbed like a son of a bitch. The boot itself was all right—it was the lack of crutches that was a problem.

  “You’re way too soon after surgery to be putting any weight on this,” Zach had said last night. “As it is, you’ve already jarred everything enough that you’re definitely going to need another procedure. Possibly more.”

  “Fine. Just do it. I have to be able to move tomorrow.”

  He’d scowled, but he’d agreed to do it. And he’d also sworn not to breathe a word to Erin about it. As far as she was concerned, he’d been called in at eleven thirty at night to deal with an emergency patient, not her father getting fitted for a boot so he could run—sort of—if today’s scene went south.

  I’d stayed on the crutches when I could, though I’d had to do some walking just to get used to it again. I’d even spent some time with my foot elevated, but what little movement and weight-bearing I’d done had taken its toll. At least I could still drive.

  Our meeting place was an abandoned plant outside of town. It reminded me of the old warehouse I used to use as a rendezvous point with my various contacts. Or, if the situation warranted it, a place to rough them up without anyone overhearing. That made me even less comfortable with this. I knew every crack, crevice, and pigeon in that warehouse. I’d installed motion sensors and cameras. No one went into or out of that building without me knowing it.

  The plant was an unknown. It was at least three or four times bigger than the warehouse, and with far too many potential sniper perches.

  Paula and her team—handpicked cops and a couple of trusted federal agents—had been here late last night and again this morning to sweep it and plant their own snipers. According to them, the place was clean. I wasn’t so sure.

  A rusting chain link fence surrounded it. There’d been a checkpoint outside where employees probably showed their badges before being waved in by a bored sentry, but the gate was wide-open now, and the guard shack was covered in graffiti. There were fresh tire tracks in the dust, and Paula had brought her team in through the rear gate, so Blaine was most likely already here.

  My kids were already here.

  As my heart thumped wildly against my Kevlar vest, I gripped the wheel tighter, but otherwise tried to keep my nerves under the surface.

  My three passengers had been quiet the entire ride. Rory Folsom was beside me, hands cuffed in his lap. He’d been staring out the window since we’d left the prison, and kept staring out it now. He’d been snide and cocky with us yesterday, but he was much more subdued today. I wondered a few times if someone had slipped him a sedative, or if he was just defeated. Dirty cop or not, it must’ve been tough for a father to watch his son committing a heinous crime like this, and even tougher to watch him—help him—take the fall.

  Behind me, Wiles and Gronkowski were equally fascinated with the scenery. They, too, were cuffed. I wasn’t expecting any of them to try anything stupid—especially not the boys in the back, who were eager for their reduced sentences—but nobody was taking chances.

  I followed the road to the middle of the plant. There was an old parking lot here, and I didn’t like the looks of it at all. The warehouse to the south had far too many broken windows and other nooks and crannies that would hide a rifle muzzle or the glare off a scope. To the north and east, all kinds of corroded machinery still stood like the gnarled, decaying remains of a Martian city. Again, too many places for someone to hide with a full magazine.

  And right smack in the middle of the lot was the sedan I’d chased yesterday.

  I pulled in and stopped about twenty paces from Blaine’s car. As I shut off the engine, I said, “You all stay here until I tell you otherwise
.”

  That got me a couple of grunts of agreement, and more silence from Folsom. I still wasn’t entirely sure if he was on our side, but at this point, he didn’t have much choice. Not after Paula had reminded him this morning in no uncertain terms that one of her best snipers would have his weapon trained on Blaine’s head until everything was over, and that she’d order him to take the shot if Folsom did anything stupid. The man might have been a cold son of a bitch, but he was still a father. I doubted he wanted his own son’s blood on his hands.

  If push came to shove, though, I was confident my other two passengers wanted to see this through. If Folsom tried anything, I doubted he’d get far.

  I got out. So did Blaine. The slamming car doors echoed through the deserted ruins. As we crossed the space between our vehicles, I didn’t think shoes had ever crunched so loudly on gravel-dusted pavement.

  We stopped an arm’s-length apart. Blaine extended his hand, but I didn’t take it.

  “No games.” I looked past him, my stomach somersaulting as I made out Casey’s hazy profile beyond the glare on the window. “I brought what you asked for, and I’m here alone. Let’s just do this.”

  Blaine grinned. “Cut right to the chase. I like that.” He craned his neck to look past me. “My dad’s in there?”

  “Yes. Along with two others. Just like you asked for.”

  He met my gaze again, and his expression was stone-cold serious now. “And the pardons?”

  “In my inside pocket.” I gestured at it. “I’m reaching for those, not a weapon.”

  He studied me uneasily, but then gave a single nod.

  Moving slowly, I reached into my pocket and withdrew the three envelopes. He took them from me, and we stood there in excruciating silence as he opened one and read it.

  After a moment, he nodded and tucked them into his jacket. “All right.” He turned toward the car and made a beckoning gesture. When the door opened, my pulse went haywire. Even though the sniper was focused on Blaine, I didn’t like the idea of my kids anywhere near the crosshairs of a high-powered rifle. As they got out of the car and Casey hoisted Emily onto his hip, they were too vulnerable. Too far out in the open. Especially if Blaine had brought anyone to this party, and I still wasn’t convinced he hadn’t.