Her Last Breath - Debt Collector 9 (A Jack Winchester Thriller)

by Jon Mills

  Desperation was setting in.

  His eyes went wide.

  Instead of fighting it, Jack tore at the front of his shirt until the buttons snapped and he was able to slip out from the shirt. Like a snake shedding its skin, Jack slipped away from the tangled clothing and headed for the surface.

  Gasping for air, he inhaled deeply; feeling the surge of oxygen hit his lungs.

  “Jack!” Meghan yelled swimming over to him. He grabbed a hold of her and slowly but surely both of them swam back to the edge. When they made it to the muddy embankment, both raked at the earth pulling themselves out of the water until they collapsed from exhaustion.

  Chapter 32

  “They have him,” Meghan blurted out.

  Five minutes later, speeding around turns along the long stretch of dirt road that snaked its way through the forest and thick brush, they were now getting closer to the cabin. Out of breath, chilled to the bone and furious, Jack could still see the cruiser as he eased off the gas and hopped out. Before heading in, he leaned back inside.

  “Get on the radio, call for backup. If I don’t come out, you get the hell out of here, okay?”

  “Jack.”

  “Just do it,” he said. Removing the shotgun from the center of the police cruiser, he checked that it was loaded before jogging towards the cabin at a hunch. Lights were now on inside. Through the thin drapes that shielded the windows, the silhouette of a stranger glided back and forth ahead of him. Jack felt a nagging sense of recognition. The way his shoulder bounced a little, the jabbing of the hand in the air and the way he moved… Jack had seen that before. Aaron Gance. He would have thought he’d learned his lesson the first time he whipped his ass but some men didn’t learn. In the shadows of the night, he watched trying to decide the best course of action. There was no easy way to do it but an officer’s life hung in the balance.

  That’s when a second man came to the window and peered out. Jack shifted back behind a tree trunk and waited until he moved away. Slipping out he faced forward again and ran up, now parallel to the front entrance of the building. He drew near focusing on the window that gave him a clear shot of those inside. He took in the scene. Chairs toppled on their sides, the muffled noise of a man groaning while someone laughed. He could now see Larson slumped forward in his chair while the other two were chugging back on beer. They placed the bottles down and Aaron took another swing, knocking him to the ground.

  As he watched and crept forward, his boot touched one of the steps on the porch and it let out a creak. Aaron and Dale froze.

  “Billy?”

  That’s right, you’re expecting him back, he thought.

  “Get your ass in here and stop messing around,” Aaron’s voice came in a rasp as he stared at the window. Could he see Jack? No, it was too dark outside.

  When there was no response, a different expression crossed Aaron’s face, one of comprehension. He pulled out a revolver from the small of his back and nodded to Dale. Dale strode over to the window and peered out. Jack pulled back into the shadows expecting them to come out. He raised the shotgun anticipating the door to swing open. It didn’t.

  What he heard next was movement off to his right. It was quick but not quick enough that he couldn’t move. By the time the trigger was pulled, Jack had already dived out of the way, taking cover in a thicket of trees. He glanced back over his shoulder towards the cruiser — Meghan was still in there, the dome light inside illuminating her. No. He waved trying to get her attention but she was on the radio, completely distracted.

  Coughing and spluttering, another wave of pain coursed through his body.

  Larson was unable to move, tied to the chair, but from what he could hear and see through blurred vision he was able to make out what was happening.

  Was it backup? Ethan?

  Someone was causing enough trouble that they had left the room. All that mattered was Aaron’s beating had stopped and they were gone. Larson tried to slip his hands through the cuffs but they were too tight. He wasn’t getting out of here. And whoever had shown up had just bought themselves a one-way ticket to the grave.

  From his scrunched-up position on the floor, he could hear gunshots outside and Aaron yelling to Dale. The silhouette of a figure dashed past the window. The flash of a gun muzzle and a cry as someone hit the ground in agony.

  All the while he tried to at least free his legs. They were held in place by nothing more than rope. Now that he was on the floor, tilted on his side, he shifted his legs down towards the ends and forced the loops off the chair legs. A split second of relief was followed by panic as more gunshots ricocheted, then he heard Dale cry out and start cursing.

  He heard Aaron’s voice nearby as if he had stepped back into the cabin for a brief second before firing his gun wildly and racing out into the night.

  What followed was an explosion as glass shattered on one of the windows. Fragments sailed across the floor stopping near his face. Some of the slivers of glass rained down on him, nicking his skin. Whoever was out there, they were giving those two assholes heck. Rocking back and forth, Larson tried to get onto his knees so he could get up. The awkward position he was in made it almost impossible. He shifted his feet across the hardwood floor moving a few inches at a time towards the wall. If he could get close to that, he could push up against it and stand.

  He winced in pain as he tried to move. His teeth were broken, and his mouth was filled with blood. He was pretty sure that he had several broken ribs and something had ruptured inside, as every movement was extreme agony.

  Outside he could hear the banging of someone against the side of the cabin as if embroiled in a brawl. Something hard connecting with a wooden beam was followed by the faint sound of Dale groaning.

  Aaron appeared in the doorway, staggering a little and reaching for his arm that was bleeding. “Motherfucker!”

  He was paying no attention to Larson; his entire focus had shifted to the attackers. He assumed it was more than one person attacking otherwise they wouldn’t have stood a chance against these two. They were known for playing dirty and wouldn’t have batted an eye in killing someone in cold blood. Aaron raised his gun around the wall and fired a few times before bolting out again. The sound of his boots pounding the wood ended as he exited the cabin.

  More shouting, scuffling and the sound of a body being slammed up against the side of the cabin with such force that it caused the floor to vibrate.

  Dale let out a high-pitched cry before he came soaring through one of the windows. The glass erupted in an explosion. He landed in a heap a few feet away from Larson, letting out a faint gasp before going limp. His skin had been slashed to pieces. He would have cracked a smile if his face didn’t hurt so damn much.

  More yelling ensued, this time coming from Aaron.

  “Come on, you sonofabitch. Where are you?”

  More running. From where he was he could see the rear exit. Aaron stumbled backward and fired off a few more rounds. He shouted again and staggered in, now holding his leg. When he came into view, he could see that he’d been shot. His eyes darted over to Dale.

  “Dale, get up.”

  But Dale wasn’t going anywhere. If he wasn’t dead already, he probably would be soon. He’d received several shots to the stomach and was bleeding out. Aaron dragged his leg, keeping an eye on the doorway while he crossed the room to Dale to check on him.

  Larson squinted, his eye sockets were swollen and he was barely able to make out what was going on around him. That’s when the sound of boots on the roof could be heard. Running back and forth. What the hell?

  Aaron was in full panic mode. His eyes flitted back and forth before he fired a few rounds upward. “You want some of this? Come on then!”

  He unleashed everything he had left in that revolver before loading it again. All the while he was muttering to himself. It was the incoherent babbling of a man that knew he was about to die.

  Aaron fired another wild shot at the ceiling, and then there w
as silence.

  “Who the fuck is this guy?” Aaron asked Larson as if he would know.

  Guy?

  Right then a figure dashed past the window and opened fire on Aaron. A round caught him in the shoulder and spun him like a spinning top. Desperation kicked in and he fired again, unloading another six rounds at the wall, peppering it.

  That’s when he heard the stranger enter the rear door.

  Aaron reached into his pockets to load his gun again but he was all out of ammo.

  “Shit. Shit,” he said over and over again as the sound of boots got closer. Larson was in so much pain, and barely able to see, but he watched through slit eyelids as Aaron tried searching Dale for a weapon. Then he saw Aaron backing up, his hand lifting.

  “Look, man, we can talk about this.”

  Larson tried to shift around to see who it was but it wasn’t easy. That’s when he saw a mass of darkness race forward, bull-charging Aaron and knocking him out of the shattered window onto the porch outside. He was sure he recognized it as a police uniform. Ethan? Though he couldn’t see what going on, he could hear Aaron pleading for mercy. The sound of bone colliding with bone seemed louder in the silence of the forest. It continued for a few minutes. A hard pounding as if a fist connected with a jaw over and over again.

  What followed was a single gunshot.

  Then, it was silent, nothing but heavy breathing. In the distance, the faint sound of sirens echoed. A minute or two passed and he heard the stranger enter the rear of the cabin and make his way into the room. When he crouched in front of him, Larson couldn’t believe his eyes.

  “You?”

  “Let’s get you out of here. Where’s the key?”

  “Uh… Over there.”

  Jack crossed the room and picked up a handcuff key on the table.

  Questions swirled in Larson’s mind as he went about freeing him.

  “Meghan?”

  “She’s safe,” Jack answered.

  “But how…?”

  “No time for questions.”

  He helped Larson up and carried him outside before laying him on the porch, not far from the dead body of Aaron Gance.

  “The flash drive, where is it?” Jack asked.

  Larson winced in agony. “What?”

  “The flash drive. It was in the duffel bag.”

  Larson gave a nod towards his cruiser. Jack hurried over and retrieved it from the back seat before returning. The sound of sirens were almost upon them. He crouched down and placed a hand on Larson’s shoulder. “You good?” Jack asked.

  He nodded gripping his ribs. The squeal of tires captured his attention. Blue lights flashing. Police. Medical. Ahead of him he could see Meghan step out of the vehicle. An array of headlights cut into the night. He turned back to say something to Jack, but he was gone.

  Chapter 33

  Three days later, Jack sat inside a black, rented 4 x 4 truck outside the home of Jenna Whitmore’s family in Durbin. The small town was a blip on the map, having a population of only two hundred and ninety-three people. It was north of Green Bank. He looked down at the fresh copy of the Pocahontas Times in his lap and read the article:

  SEVEN MORE BODIES FOUND IN WATOGA STATE PARK

  Cops say locals murdered the Green Bank Five

  Two suspects shot dead by police, one in custody

  Missing journalist among 12 dead

  The discovery of seven bodies three days ago in Watoga State Park brings an end to a killing spree and the total number of murder victims to 12 including journalist Jenna Whitmore who was investigating the case.

  Merle Gance, 34, a mechanic, reportedly told investigators he had nothing to do with the murders and that all responsibility fell on the shoulders of his younger brother, Aaron Gance, and friends Billy Irving and Dale Markoff, who were killed during the rescue of another intended victim.

  However, investigators aren’t convinced. Merle Gance denies any involvement with the Green Bank Five or Whitmore, and states that he only knows about the women found in Watoga State Park. He is being held without bond on accessory to murder charges and is scheduled to appear in court Wednesday.

  Behind the mask of public service, there was evidence of something terribly wrong with the Gance brothers — all ignored until the skeletons were found in shallow graves. Pocahontas County authorities declined to comment until a thorough investigation is concluded.

  Police said they would release more information as it becomes available.

  Outside the sun was high in the sky. A few birds broke away from a cluster of trees. Jack breathed in deeply and shook his head. Though he had managed to save Meghan, it burned him to know that Jenna had died before he could reach her. He figured she was probably killed not long after the phone call, long before he arrived in Marlinton. He turned his head towards her mother’s residence.

  It wasn’t going to be easy, but it was the least he could do.

  Jack pushed out of the truck and crossed the quiet street.

  Her mother lived in a single-wide trailer at the west end of town on the outskirts of Durbin. The place wasn’t much to look at. The cream plastic siding was cracked and fading. The trailer itself was crouched on stacked cinder blocks with weeds and tall grass growing up beneath it. Though it was in a run-down neighborhood, she’d obviously taken the time to try to make the yard look inviting. A small patch of grass was cut short; a bed full of flowers brought some color to a low-income area. A small series of stones snaked up to the doorway. Outside a wind chime jangled in the breeze. He gazed around. It was quiet, and from the looks of her neighbors, it appeared to be part of a small retirement community. A few trailers down, an old man watered his flowers, minding his own business. An elderly lady rode past on a bike before stopping at a mailbox to collect mail.

  Jack gave a short knock on the red door and stepped back.

  He heard shuffling before it opened wide.

  “Can I help you?”

  The woman was frail. She wore a small flowery dress, the material practically hung off her shoulders without form. She had to have been in her mid-seventies but time had not been kind to her. There were dark circles and bags under her eyes, and she had some bruising on her lower leg as if she’d recently had a fall.

  “I’m a friend of Jenna.” He extended a hand. “Jack Winchester.”

  She shook it and he noticed how clammy and cold her hands were.

  When she didn’t invite him in, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the small flash drive. “I have something that I think your daughter would have wanted you to have. Do you mind if I come in?”

  She looked nervous.

  “I won’t take up much of your time.”

  “How did you know her?”

  “Through business.”

  “Oh, journalism. Okay, come on in,” she said, turning and heading back inside.

  Jack climbed the four metal steps up into the cramped living space. There wasn’t much to it. The trailer stretched before him leading down to a single bedroom with a bathroom. The kitchen had barely enough room to turn around. While the floors were covered in a new carpet, it was unable to hide how warped it felt. Humidity, he assumed. Jack stepped inside and felt like he was walking on a slant. The vinyl flooring in the kitchen was faded, scuffed and turning up at the corners and the countertops were scratched.

  It really didn’t look like a home for anyone, let alone an aging woman.

  Every single wall was covered in framed photos, some in color, others in black and white. She walked over to a small table and took a seat, picking up a lit cigarette that was perched in a dirty ashtray. Beside that was a copy of the newspaper he’d been reading earlier. There was an old Windows laptop nearby, and two coffee-stained cups that looked in desperate need of cleaning.

  “Can I get you some coffee?”

  “It’s fine. This won’t take long.”

  “Do you work for the Times?”

  “No. I mainly do freelancing,” he said, just giving he
r an answer off the top of his head. He could tell she was nervous or had some arthritis. Her hand twitched ever so slightly.

  “Yeah, my Jenna did that for a while. She always had these aspirations to work for the New York Times. Big lofty goals, that was my Jenna. Never satisfied with the Status quo. Always after the truth.”

  “Do you mind?” Jack asked motioning towards a seat.

  “Oh please. Where are my manners?” She got up and wiped off the seat and he sat down. Then she picked up a cup and went into the kitchen and began making coffee.

  “So you live alone?” Jack asked.

  “For the past six years. I used to live with a friend but she passed away from cancer. Before that I had my husband, Harold, but he died back when Jenna was in her early twenties.”

  “Did she get along with him?”

  “She adored him. I think more than me.” She went still, holding a spoon in her hand and looking out a window as if recalling the past. She sniffed and continued pouring hot water into the cup and giving it a stir. “We had our issues. Small things now that I think about it but both of us were as stubborn as one another.”

  She shuffled over and took a seat.

  “Does your computer work?” he asked.

  “Yeah, you need to use it?”

  He held up a flash drive and tapped the air with it. “I want to show you something.”

  It took a minute or so to load up the computer into Windows and then he stuck the flash drive in the side and brought up a window full of folders and files. He clicked on the one that had the photos and letter, and then dragged it across to her laptop, and then he removed the flash drive. After he clicked on a few of the photos and they enlarged. Jack turned the computer.

  Her eyes lit up, and a smile formed at the sides of her mouth, creating tiny creases. She tapped the keys a few times and rotated through the photos. “I never knew she kept these. They were from a long time ago. When things were good, less stressful. When…” she trailed off and glanced at him, and for a second looked as if she was going to say something but then returned to browsing through the photos. She laughed a couple of times and it brought a smile to Jack’s face. He could see the strain of her daughter’s death had taken its toll on her.