by Luxie Ryder
Brandon studied Murdoch as he tolerated the frisk search, noting his hands were shaking as his gaze darted around the room. “You okay?” Brandon asked him, silently cursing the fact that he had someone with him he’d have to protect. The last thing he needed was a distraction. Costanza was a nasty piece of work who had orchestrated this whole thing so he’d get a chance to kill Brandon, face to face. All they didn’t yet know was how he planned to do it.
“One more day,” Murdoch said again as he put on a stab vest. He’d already mentioned, numerous times, that Costanza’s extradition to New Mexico was scheduled for the next day. “One more day and he’d have been somebody else’s problem.”
“Okay, let’s roll.” Roberts strode from the room, leading the way down the stairs to the set of metal doors at the entrance to D wing. The door slid open and Roberts turned to slap Brandon on the shoulder, a gesture that said as much as was needed in these types of situations, then stepped back to let the two men enter.
Brandon walked behind the warden, allowing the man to lead the way, conscious of the sound of the door as it closed behind them. The knowledge that it would only open for him again if he survived the encounter with Costanza made him think of his family. A knot formed in his gut as he allowed himself that one last moment of weakness, then reminded himself that if he wanted to see them again, he had to keep his mind on the task at hand.
Brandon saw that Manny’s cell, situated about halfway along the block, wasn’t the only one that had been left open. Murdoch slowed down as he got nearer to Costanza, giving Brandon a moment to visually scan the empty cell next to Manny’s. Before he had a chance to ask the warden why it wasn’t locked like the others, Murdoch moved forward without awaiting Brandon’s instructions.
“Costanza? We’re here, and we’re unarmed,” Murdoch said, his hands already in the air as he stepped in front of the open door.
“Where’s Reed?”
“Here,” Brandon said, stepping through the door and glaring at Murdoch. Fucking civilians. Brandon damped down his irritation at the man who’d just proven he couldn’t follow a simple order, such as not doing anything until he was told to, and turned his attention to Manny.
Costanza was a shell of the man he used to be. Once a vain peacock, who fit the stereotype of the drug running pimp, with his flashy white suits and fondness for ostentatious jewels, he now looked like nothing more than a frail old man. Wispy scraps of graying hair clung to his balding pate, exposing the genetic flaw that he used to hide with custom-made hairpieces. His artificially whitened teeth now looked faintly ridiculous as they gleamed in his pale, sunken face. But his eyes hadn’t changed. The dark, almost-black irises glittered with anger, as they always did when focused on Brandon.
“Ah, the murderer of my son.”
“Manny, we’ve been over this. You killed your son, not me. I’m not the one who put a gun in his hand before he could walk.”
Antagonizing a madman wasn’t a negotiation tactic Brandon would have normally chosen, but the one thing he had to his advantage was Manny’s irrational and unbridled hatred of the man who’d shot his son. It didn’t matter to Costanza that Brandon had simply shot back at the man who’d been shooting at him. But it didn’t take a shrink to figure out that Manny directed his hatred outward, because he couldn’t face the truth about who was really responsible for his son’s death.
“Cabrón!” Manny’s face contorted around the word, his rage evident, but he stayed where he was, with his back pressed to the wall between his bunk and the toilet. He gestured toward the men with the hand gripping his cell phone. “Get rid of the vests.”
Brandon and Murdoch slipped them off, then followed the instruction to throw them out into the corridor. Only after they’d removed their shoes, and lifted their shirts and trouser legs, did he seem satisfied that they had no concealed weapons.
“So, where’s the judge?” Brandon knew it was pointless asking the question, but there was always a chance he’d release the judge now he thought he didn’t need her anymore. The prison’s PA system would have surveillance equipment patched into it, and SERT would be monitoring every word they said. Murdoch didn’t even know about it, nor a few of the other precautionary measures the team would have implemented since arriving at the prison.
“All in good time,” Manny said.
“What makes you think you’ve got time to waste?” Brandon scanned Manny’s clothing, searching for any sign of concealed weapons. “You know how it works, Manny. The judge turns up dead, or it begins to look like you’re fucking us around, I give the signal and my guys storm in here.”
“That’s still time enough to watch you die. Nothing else matters.”
Brandon laughed at Manny’s threat, elbowing Murdoch for effect, encouraging him to join in. Murdoch kept his eyes firmly fixed on Costanza, his features rigid with tension. “Why are you trying to irritate him? He’ll kill the hostages.”
“Don’t worry. Me and Manny go way back. If my memory serves me right, he won’t be able to resist the urge to string this out.”
Costanza grinned with the assurance of someone who thought everything was going the way he planned. Brandon’s gaze flicked around the room again. He must have missed something. But unless Manny was gonna strip off and throttle him with his jumpsuit, and there was no way this wreck of a guy had the strength to do that, there was nothing in the room he could use to kill anyone. The bunk was bare of a mattress, had nothing in the space below it, and was screwed to the wall, as were the sink and the toilet. The cell contained no light or electrical fixtures and the smooth concrete of the floor and the walls showed no signs of being tampered with. The narrow window sat eight feet above the floor, and the glass and railings were still intact.
What am I missing?
Brandon cast a glance at the warden. Murdoch wasn’t much younger than Manny and almost in worst shape. His tie, belt, and laces had been removed, as had Brandon’s, so nothing on either of them could be used as a makeshift garrote. Murdoch’s gaze flicked between the two men incessantly, as if he was having trouble figuring out which one to keep an eye on.
For now, he had no choice but to keep up the pressure on Costanza, force him into revealing his plan. “What’s going on, Manny? Give the order to let the judge go, or I walk out of here.”
“You aren’t going anywhere until I say so.”
“How you gonna stop me?” Brandon took a measured step toward the open doorway. Manny’s gaze narrowed, but he didn’t make a move. The warden edged nearer to Brandon, and then backed up a little more, stopping a few inches behind him. Brandon took another step and heard the warden move again.
Why the fuck wasn’t Manny reacting? Brandon couldn’t figure it out. He looked over at Murdoch, just as he stepped out of the cell and backed away down the hall. Again, Manny said nothing.
“Hostages?” Brandon said aloud, as Murdoch’s words came flooding back. Manny smiled, and gave a little shrug, cocky as always.
Had his men snatched someone else and, if so, how the fuck did the warden know about it?
Brandon followed Costanza’s gaze, turning toward the open doorway as Murdoch stepped back into the cell, an automatic pistol gripped in his shaking hand and pointed right at Brandon.
“Give it to me!” Manny thrust out his hand, his tone making it clear that Costanza wasn’t surprised the warden had a gun and expected Murdoch to comply with his demand.
“Hostages,” Brandon said again, comprehension dawning as he watched for Murdoch’s reaction.
The man’s gaze flicked over to Brandon, his eyes holding a plea for understanding. “He’s got my granddaughter.”
“Give me the fucking gun right now or she’s dead!” Manny took a step forward, arm still outstretched.
Murdoch’s hesitation gave Brandon an opening he had no choice but to take. “You give him that, we’re both dead, Murdoch. And so is your granddaughter.”
“Give it to me!” Manny shouted, moving closer to Murdoch. W
hen the man swung around and pointed the gun at him instead, Manny backed up, his hands raised as if to placate the warden. “My guys don’t hear from me in the next couple of minutes, then the girl and Judge Harper will be dead, and their blood will be on your hands.”
Judge Harper? Brandon scanned his memory for the name, taking only a few seconds to remember why it sounded so familiar. “Murdoch, give me the gun. You can’t trust anything he says. He’s gonna kill them both anyway. Judge Harper was the one who gave him the death penalty. There’s no way he’s ever gonna let her go.”
Murdoch’s gaze flicked over to Brandon and then back to Manny. “You don’t care about my granddaughter. You’re just doing your job.” The tremors in Murdoch’s arm intensified as he raised the gun, aiming it toward Manny’s head. “Call your men and let me speak to Sarah. Once I hear she’s still alive, and you tell your guys to release her, you can have the gun.”
“It’s all falling apart, isn’t it, Manny? I’d do as he says if I were you.” Costanza’s eyes burned with hatred as he stared at Brandon. “Tick tock, old man. You let the hostages die, then I’ve got no reason to be here, and you lose your chance to avenge Manny Jr.”
“Don’t you mention my fucking son! You aren’t fit to utter his name.” He turned on Murdoch. “You double-crossed me, you bastard. Your granddaughter will die for this.”
Brandon guessed she was probably gonna die anyway, but until he was sure, he couldn’t risk making a move. Manny had no intention of letting anyone get out of this alive, maybe even himself. Killing Brandon was all he’d lived for over the last seven years, judging by his actions. Anyone else who’d been caught up in this was no more than collateral damage to Manny. Getting revenge on Judge Harper was just an added bonus, and Murdoch’s granddaughter would be killed by his men to ensure there would be no witnesses left alive. The only thing left to bargain with was Costanza’s desire to kill Brandon.
“Give him the gun, Murdoch.” Brandon didn’t look at Manny, didn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing, for the moment at least, he had Brandon at a disadvantage.
The warden didn’t budge. “I want to speak to Sarah first.”
“Okay, okay.” Manny hit redial and pressed the phone to his ear. “Hey, it’s me,” he said a few seconds later to someone on the other end of the line. Costanza’s eyes glittered with spite as he looked at Murdoch, and Brandon knew before he spoke what he was going to do. “Yeah, change of plan. Kill them now.”
“No!” Murdoch roared and lunged for the phone. Brandon charged across the cell, just as Manny brought his knee up, smashed it into Murdoch’s groin, and shoved him at Brandon, sending both of them crashing to the ground.
The scrape of metal skidding across the concrete floor warned Brandon that Murdoch had dropped the gun. He pushed the warden’s body out of the way and surged to his feet, launching himself at Manny and spotting the gun in Costanza’s hand as a flash of light blinded him and a deafening clap echoed off the walls of the cell.
Brandon staggered backward from the impact of the bullet hitting him in the shoulder and fell over Murdoch’s body, still sprawled on the floor. He rolled onto his knees, willing himself to ignore the burn spreading down his arm and into his chest.
Pain blurred his vision as he looked up at Manny, standing a foot away, with the gun pointed at Brandon’s head. He had to stop him...had to get to him before he pulled the trigger again. Brandon placed his hands on the floor and grit his teeth against the agony of trying to push himself upright.
“Stay down, Reed!”
Brandon heard the chief’s shout a split second before SERT officers stormed onto the floor, stopping outside the cell, their weapons all pointing at Costanza.
“It’s over, Manny. Your guys are in custody and the hostages are safe. Drop the gun and give yourself up.”
Costanza ignored the chief, his hateful gaze fixed on Brandon, the gun gripped firmly in his hand. He looked at the men lined up outside the cell, their guns trained on him, then back at Brandon. Costanza dropped his head and let his arm fall to his side.
“I’ll see you in hell,” Manny whispered to Brandon, as he lifted the gun and took aim.
A burst of rapid gunfire split the air, and Costanza’s body smashed into the wall as half a dozen bullets tore through him.
He was dead before he hit the ground, his unforgiving stare still fixed on Brandon’s face.
Chapter Seven
Kimber stared at Wade, unable to comprehend what he’d just told her. “Brandon’s in the hospital? What happened?”
“Manny Costanza shot him.”
Her vision went fuzzy around the edges and she clutched at Wade’s arm for support. “Oh, my God! He’s been shot? How did it happen...isn’t Costanza in prison?”
Wade nodded. “You’d better sit down.”
“How bad is it?” The question came out in a whisper, as if she was afraid to say the words out loud for fear of what the answer might be.
“Not bad, from what he said.”
“You spoke to him?”
“He called about ten minutes ago.”
Kimber reassured herself that it couldn’t be too serious if Brandon was able to use the phone—which was just as well because she didn’t think she could handle another shock so soon after Wade’s confession about his infertility yesterday. He’d disappeared for the rest of the day and hadn’t returned until she was asleep. She knew time on his own was the best way for him to deal with anything he had on his mind and she hoped that sharing the burden might have helped some. Kimber had gone over and over what he’d said in her mind, trying desperately to remember if she’d done anything to make Wade feel less loved or wanted than Brandon was. She’d woken up pissed at him first thing this morning, intending to put him straight on a few damn things, but the kids and then her parents hadn’t given her a moment to herself. Then Wade had appeared from wherever he’d disappeared to again, and dragged her into the bedroom, his face creased in concern. Nothing she’d planned to say mattered after that. Brandon was hurt and he needed the pair of them.
“I want to see him. Do you know where he is?”
“Yeah—he had his surgery last night and was flown down to the University Hospital in Albuquerque this morning.”
Kimber jumped to her feet. “If we leave now we should get there by mid-afternoon. I’ll ask Mom to keep hold of the kids.”
They were ten miles out of Eagar before it occurred to Kimber that Wade didn’t seem surprised to find out that Brandon had been at close quarters with Costanza. “So you and Brandon both lied to me?”
Wade took his eyes off the road for a second to look at her. “Neither of us wanted to, honey. We both thought it was best if we didn’t worry you until we had to.”
“This has gotta stop. You and Brandon can’t keep making decisions that affect our family without telling me.”
“I can’t speak for Brandon but I’m pretty sure that, like me, he was doing what he thought was for the best. Didn’t you do the same when you took off to your parents’ place without telling us first?”
So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours, Kimber had forgotten why she’d been in Eagar at all. All the problems that had been weighing on her shoulders recently didn’t seem so important once she’d understood what was motivating Wade’s strange behavior. And then the news had come through about Brandon. If she’d needed a reminder of just how fortunate she was to have the life she did, then almost losing a vital part of it did the trick.
Kimber slid along the seat and hooked her arm through Wade’s, pressing up against him as he drove. “I’m not angry, just a little upset. But I do understand. It’s you I feel sorry for.”
“How come?”
“You’ve been carrying all this stuff around in your head for months and now this with Costanza.” Kimber buried her face in the sleeve of Wade’s shirt as a sob caught her unawares.
“Don’t cry. Brandon’s alive, that’s all that matters, okay?”
&n
bsp; “It’s not just that.” She sat up and dug around in her purse until she found a pack of tissues. Kimber dried her eyes and blew her nose and turned back to Wade, sending him the best smile she could muster. “We’ve got a lot to talk about but now isn’t the time, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Be warned though—Brandon is gonna kick your ass once he hears what you’ve been telling yourself.”
“I wouldn’t blame him, I guess.” Wade blew out a ragged breath as he ran his hand across his brow, and Kimber realized how dog tired he was. He couldn’t have slept much the previous night with so much on his mind.
“You want me to drive?”
Wade shook his head. “I’m okay for now, but I’ll let you know. Try and rest if you can.”
As it turned out, neither of them got any rest for the remainder of the drive. Just under four hours later they’d arrived at the hospital, and within minutes, Kimber was sobbing across Brandon’s bandaged chest as Wade stood beside them, staring down at his feet, a deep frown on his face.
Brandon winced when Kimber jostled him as she got off the bed. He raised a hand to silence her apology. “It’s not as bad as it looks, really. Lucky for me, Costanza didn’t have time to take a clean shot. The bullet lodged in the muscle and did very little damage.”
“Thank God,” Kimber said, and looked at Wade. He hadn’t spoken, hadn’t moved since they walked into the room. “Brandon was lucky, wasn’t he?”
“We were lucky,” Wade said, his voice barely more than whisper, his gaze still firmly fixed on the floor. “I don’t know what I’d have done if...”
Brandon struggled to sit up and reached out to grab hold of Wade’s hand. “Come here, will ya?”
Kimber’s eyes welled up with tears as she watched Wade’s defenses crumble, and he sank to his knees on the floor beside the bed. Brandon wrapped his good arm around Wade’s head and cradled it against his chest. “I’m okay, buddy. It’s over now. Costanza can’t hurt us ever again.”
