Cold As Ice: Novel (A Kristen Conner Mystery Book 3)

by M. K. Gilroy

  “Get it and get in the closet with everyone. If this doesn’t go well, somebody bad is going to come back there. No matter what you think is right and wrong, just know, it’s right to pull the trigger.”

  This was taking too much time. He couldn’t hear them coming but he knew they were poised to strike. He had to mount a defense. It was life or death time.

  Reynolds looked at Torgerson and pointed to the front door, the back door, and at the floor. He suddenly realized Kristen was nowhere to be seen.

  “Where’s Conner?”

  Torgerson felt sick to her stomach as a wave of fear and guilt gripped her.

  “She said she’d be in in just a sec. She had to do something outside.”

  Reynolds wanted to scream but kept a stone face. It was what it was.

  He would have stationed Kristen on the basement door, the safest spot. Now he would have two points of egress to monitor.

  No time to think, just act and improvise, he told himself. It’s kept you alive before.

  “You got front door,” Reynolds said, low and soft to Torgerson. “Safety off. Shoot to kill.”

  “What if it’s one of ours?”

  He looked at her and couldn’t help but think how young and inexperienced she was.

  “It won’t be. They’re going to come in fast and loud. Any second. I’ve got the back two doors. Just hold your position.”

  He wanted to ask her if she knew how to use that pretty little Glock 23 she had in hand and if she’d experienced live fire. No time to ask and he didn’t want to hear the answer.

  Don had already told Vanessa he was leaving right after practice to see Debbie. Rodney pulled some strings and got her in a nice place in Oak Lawn. It was Don’s job to get her to sign the papers that basically waived her legal rights to leave the premises. She was in a comfortable but secure wing for patients that had the habit of running off.

  The thing was, you can’t leave your partner in harm’s way. Paperwork would have to wait for morning. He kissed Vanessa and the kids. He didn’t want to say anything. They’d had a tough stretch the last few months of their marriage.

  “I’m going to be later than planned.”

  “What’s up?” Vanessa asked.

  Better to just be upfront.

  “Conner is not answering her phone and we’re having to amp up security. I’m checking in at her mom’s.”

  He could tell she wanted to argue. Instead she gave him a hug.

  “I don’t care how late you are. Just be careful and give me a call when you know what’s going on.”

  “I will. Love you baby.”

  “I love you, too, Donald.”

  Now the wind was howling and blew his SUV from side to side as he slid in the direction of Mrs. Conner’s home.

  LA sounds good about right now. Maybe we can get Debbie transferred to a place out there. She needs a fresh start. We all do.

  Conner, how do you get yourself in so much trouble?

  Delta stole to the front of the house from the opposite direction of the squad car. He liked Vladimir. They had a lot in common. Both had combat experience. The man kept it bold and simple. He gave clear orders and expected them to be followed. He didn’t shy away from the action. A good combination of traits. A good man.

  He looked at his watch. Five seconds until show time. He took two deep breaths, stood, threw the brick as hard as he could through the front plate window. It shattered immediately. He was already moving up the steps with his gun aimed at the doorjamb. He didn’t want to switch out clips unless necessary. He unloaded three rounds and kicked the door open effortlessly.

  The female FBI agent had a gun pointed at his chest but seemed frozen. Their surprise attack was apparently not a surprise. Nothing to do but move forward. He raised his gun and pulled the trigger as she fired back. He felt a fireball erupt in his stomach. He staggered back to the threshold. This was bad. But she was down and he was up, so he forced his feet to move forward.

  A man looked around the corner of the hall and shot him between the eyes.

  84

  WAS IT SOMETHING Bradley said in our first interview? Was it something Leslie Levin or Nancy Keltto said? What’s bothering me? Maybe I’m just bothered by the thought of a fourteen-year-old killing his volunteer mentor. Except Nancy told us Ed wasn’t actively serving as mentor because Bradley didn’t like him. I’m beginning to feel tingles. I walk into the Keltto’s backyard. I look at the back windows. I walk back out front and look at the windows there too. I circle back to the backyard and over to where the Keltto and Starks yards meet at the fence. I look between the two houses.

  Despite some drama and tears, Nancy was feeling better today . . . until Don asked her about Levin being there the morning of the murder. That threw her for a loop. What does that mean?

  I think of the garage and what Nancy said. I look at the two houses side by side. Another click registers in my brain. I think I know what’s . . . no . . . I know what’s bothering me about her story. It’s all suddenly clear.

  Then I hear a crash. Maybe a window being broken in. I move toward the side of the house and hear a gun blast, followed by another at almost the same instant. Then a third, fourth, and fifth gunshot shatters the thin, wintery night air—I stop counting.

  Everything is coming from my mom’s house. I pull out the Glock 9mm I was issued earlier today. I was given two full clips. I pop one in and start sprinting. I start to slip at the corner of the house but I keep my footing and pound forward. I don’t know how the mind processes things so quickly, but I remember a Bible verse from when I was a kid. “He will not let your foot slip.” No idea where that is in the Bible. But I know what it means now. Dear God, you are going to have to keep me on my feet. I run as fast as I can on snow and ice. I can’t slip. I can’t slip.

  The two uniforms leaped from the car, slammed the doors shut, and headed for the front door, weapons up.

  Beta smiled. Just like Alpha said. He shot for the center of the body with both shots, using a Desert Eagle 50-caliber handgun that hit the targets like a bazooka.

  He stepped from the shrubbery. If they were wearing body armor they might conceivably be alive but would probably still be out of commission. Alpha said to play it safe and verify. If necessary finish them off. Then go back for the car.

  Forget what you saw the living room. Nothing more you can do to help. She’s dead or alive. Reynolds’ head was on a swivel, eyes to backdoor, basement door, backdoor, basement door continuously. Thankfully they were lined up in the hall that ran the length of the house.

  He heard crying from the bedroom. Keep focused and maybe you’ll keep them alive—and get out of this with your own life.

  He heard pounding coming up the basement steps at the same time he heard shots splinter the back door. This is going to be close.

  Conner almost fell as she slid to a stop. She watched in horror as her two body guards from CPD were gunned down. She saw the shooter emerge from the bushes. He didn’t see her . . . yet.

  I don’t care what your range scores are. You gotta drop him and get to the house.

  She crept forward. Suddenly his head snapped up and his eyes found her. He raised a huge gun as he pivoted her direction.

  The basement door to the ground floor slammed open at the same time as the backdoor. Reynolds shot the man coming up the steps between the eyes and grabbed him before he could fall. The door had blocked the vision of whoever was charging down the hall from the backdoor, firing five rapid rounds through the two-inch wood shield he had ducked behind. All hits were too close for comfort.

  Reynolds grabbed the dead man in a bear hug, face to face, with blood gurgling between the man’s lips. Reynolds turned him into the hall and rushed forward, slamming the door into the wall and throwing the man into the attacker. All three men hit the floor in a heap, guns skittering across the oak planks. Reynolds was halfway to his feet as a snarling Vladimir Zheglov lunged at him, launching a lightning fast judo punch for his trach
ea.

  I dive sideways at the same instant a fireball bursts from the muzzle of the shooter’s gun. I feel a concussion of air pass by. Despite a flood of pain coursing to my bandaged side, I roll to my knee and get the Glock up in firing position.

  Reynolds ducked his head forward and to the side while firing a flat palm at the man’s wide-open torso. Vladimir’s punch landed hard enough on his jaw to maybe break it, sending waves of pain that threatened to blind him. But Reynolds’ counter move kept it from being a disabling blow. His shot to the solar plexus took the air from Zheglov’s lungs.

  Austin pounced on top of him like a puma, one hand going for the Russian’s eyes, the other for his throat. But Zheglov was an expert grappler—and a survivor. He pried at Austin’s hands as he arched his back and twisted his head free. He quickly let go and maneuvered his hands to Reynolds’ throat.

  The man was drawing a bead on her as Kristen pulled the trigger and rolled before another explosion sounded from the Desert Eagle. She made it to one knee, her gun back in the ready position. Her shot had hit him and he stumbled backwards and fell, but he turned over, popped to his knees, and dove for the shrubbery. If he got there, Kristen realized he would have cover and she would be a sitting duck. She fired another shot and saw his body spasm. She leaped forward to finish him.

  Two men trying to protect her were dead or dying. Her family was trapped inside a war zone. She had to get inside the house.

  Reynolds knew not to give him space and pressed his shoulder into Zheglov’s face while grasping his wrists and pulling apart with every ounce of strength he had.

  Zheglov used the momentum of Reynolds’ hands pulling sideways and flung his own hands to the side while twisting his body hard, flipping Reynolds on his back, and gaining the upper hand. Without a nanosecond of hesitation, Vlad began pounding at Reynolds’ head with a furious rage and strength.

  This guy was good but not good enough, Vladimir thought. But this has taken way too much time and we don’t have the detective. Finish him fast and get out of here.

  He was hurt bad but didn’t stop moving. Kristen could see him clambering through a hole in the bushes as she rushed forward.

  No hesitation. Get him.

  When she broke through the gap of evergreens, he had got his back to the house and was raising the Desert Eagle to shoot her from a sitting position.

  Now or never.

  She held the trigger down, letting seven rounds explode from the barrel at near pointblank range.

  No question he was dead, but she still moved cautiously, her gun never lowering.

  Do I have another round in the barrel?

  She kicked him and he slid from the side of the house, splay-legged, flat on his back, the gun a foot beyond his outstretched hand, his eyes staring lifelessly into the night sky.

  Her fingers were nearly frozen from throwing her gloves down on the Keltto’s driveway, but she managed to get her hands on the extra clip in her outside pocket while sprinting for the front door. She pulled the spent clip and popped the new one in.

  Reynolds curved his spine forward and then backward in a desperate movement, giving him the space to drive his knee into the Zheglov’s groin, loosening the vise-like grip of Vlad’s hands just enough for him to jerk his head forward and head-butt the Russian mobster in the mouth. Blood spurted everywhere, but he hadn’t caught him the nose, which would have immobilized him.

  The fight was still on and the man was still on top of him.

  Vlad’s mouth was a bloody maw with gaps where teeth were broken off, but he ignored the pain, throwing more tight, controlled, downhill punches. Reynolds jerked his head right and left but some were catching him. He knew the second one well-timed punch broke his jaw, probably finishing what the opening judo punch started. The pounding was taking a toll. Zheglov was sliding his knees up Reynolds’ torso to keep a grip on his body and keep him beneath him.

  I should have told Conner what I had to say, Reynolds thought as he jabbed his fingers at Vladimir’s throat, giving him a temporary respite from the onslaught of punches.

  I’ve got to get him off me or I’m a dead man.

  As Don turned on Mrs. Conner’s street he laughed at himself. Everything’s so quiet. You should have just gone to see Debbie and sign the papers. It might be too late after stopping here. Then he heard a series of booming gunshots. He hit the accelerator, fishtailing left and right, but heading in the right direction.

  The last thing his sister said to him was that his skinny partner was going to get him killed. She might be right.

  As he braked to a sliding stop in front of the Conner home, he saw that the front door was blown off the hinges. Two uniformed bodies were sprawled on the ground. Conner burst through the front hedge and was racing for the gaping doorway.

  Am I too late? I crash through the splintered opening, nearly tripping on the two bodies lying on the tiny living room floor. The bad guy is down but so is Torgerson. I can see her gasping for air like a fish out of water. Then I hear baby Kelsey cry from my mom’s bedroom.

  I hear a feral roar and take two jump skips to the hallway.

  Vladimir Zheglov was a disciplined fighter. He threw no long, wide-open punches like they show in police dramas. He tightened his elbows even more, protecting his throat and face and helping him keep his balance, no matter what Reynolds did to move him.

  Reynolds anticipated Vladimir’s next punch perfectly and sunk his teeth into Zheglov’s wrist, clenching hard enough to loosen teeth in the effort to try to hold it.

  Vlad bellowed in pain and yanked it away, losing some skin and tissue. But he didn’t stop punching. His violent world taught him the simple lesson that you punch until the other guy can’t fight back and then you keep punching until he is dead.

  Reynolds knew he was out of options—and strength. Adrenaline could only carry you so far. He lost the fight when he lost top position, he thought ruefully.

  Zheglov felt Reynolds’ muscles relax and immediately stopped punching, bringing both hands to Reynolds’ throat for the kill. Amazingly, Reynolds’ hands met them there, stealing precious seconds from Vlad—maybe enough to save Conner’s life, Reynolds thought. When do the reinforcements arrive?

  Vlad pressed down as Austin pushed back, fighting every centimeter of the inevitable. His larynx would be crushed and he would be strangled to death. Zheglov’s strength, gravity, and his quickly flagging energy combined to spell his doom.

  You don’t quit until it’s over he yelled at himself as he pushed back with a hidden reserve of strength. But Vlad barely budged. His hands were now on Reynolds’ throat. He felt the flow of air being squeezed shut a millimeter at a time by a vice-like grip.

  Bam! With the explosion, Zheglov’s fingers were no longer crushing the life from him. Bam. With a second explosion, the Russian mobster slumped forward and rolled on his side next to Reynolds, his mouth and eyes wide open in shocked amazement.

  Reynolds looked up. Grace Conner was frozen in place, still in a shooter’s stance, her .38 special pointing at the body.

  Kristen and Squires crashed into the hallway a second later, weapons up.

  Is it possible to scream with a question mark behind it? If so, I just did. Don and I got to Reynolds as my mom shot Vladimir Zheglov in the back.

  Bam. Bam.

  “Mommmm!?” was all that came out of my mouth.

  85

  “MOM, GO MAKE sure Jimmy and Kaylen and the kids are okay. Keep the kids back there, especially James. They can’t see this.”

  I am nearly in shock from seeing my mom holding a smoking revolver.

  She nods and turns toward the bedroom calm as a lazy summer day.

  “Mom.”

  She turns back.

  I hug her hard and say, “Thanks . . . and good shot.”

  I feel her shake as she pulls away to head back and take care of family. Okay, maybe she’s not calm. She might be in shock. But we’ve got a triage center here and there are critical needs to ca
re for.

  “Don, you get Torgerson.” I say.

  He is calling the situation in and nods. He has a dazed expression that suddenly becomes alert. He closes his eyes and shakes his head.

  I double-check that Zheglov is dead and turn to Reynolds. He is breathing strong and steady. There is blood coming from facial wounds. I’m not sure where to start or what to touch with the wicked angle of his fractured jawline.

  I breathe him in and lower my lips to his ear.

  “I love you.”

  I have no clue if he heard that. Maybe that’s why I said it now. Sirens are getting louder as help draws near. He’s hurt bad but he’s alive. They’ll know what to do. I don’t.

  “Is Heather alive?” I call to Squires.

  “Yes. But it’s bad,” he answers grimly. “How about Reynolds?”

  “I think he’s okay. I’m going to head outside and check the uniforms.”

  Man oh man.

  Was this my fault? Did I not take things seriously enough? Did I get four people killed or seriously injured? What if Don had been two minutes earlier and Reynolds two minutes later? No doubt, Don is tough and capable, but no way could he have handled what I suspect Reynolds just did. I might have been attending my partner’s funeral and having to look Vanessa in the eyes.

  I hate leaving Reynolds, but he’s going to live. I walk past Torgerson. There is a lot of blood flowing out, despite Don’s makeshift compress using his sweat jacket. I reach over to the couch and grab the first thing I touch, a quilt, and press it to her stomach to help stanch the blood flow. I think my great-grandma made the quilt like a hundred years ago. It’s a valuable family heirloom I’ve been told. Never knew much about great-grandma, but I’m sure she’d understand. Hopefully my mom will too.

  I walk outside to the uniforms. I’m afraid to look. The first ambulance pulls in. Hope there’s more than a couple EMTs. I’d even welcome Thad, the guy with the knockout syringe, with open arms.