by Davis Bunn
Matt had the keen sense of her waiting to be kissed. Not in the way she held herself so much as the air that surrounded her. Of trust and openness. It would have been so easy, just another step down the short road leading to the precipice called inevitable.
Matt turned to the window and sorted through the voices in his head. He listened closely to Lucas D’Amico, then mouthed silently and fit himself into character.
Then, “All right, Morales. I want you in Bernstein’s office. Give us a rundown on how you wasted your day.”
“Wow.”
He knew Connie was watching him. So he shut his own eyes to hold onto the internal discourse. “What say we go out and fight some crime.”
“Not tonight.” She touched his arm. “How do you do that?”
As usual, it took a moment to reclaim his own voice. “Couldn’t say.”
“It sounded like Lucas had just walked in and plopped himself down beside us.”
“My mom used to love me to do it.” He smiled at the memory. “She’d laugh like crazy, then go sad.”
“I can understand that. Wondering what’s inside her little man, feeding that ability of his to step so far outside himself.”
Matt took the words like a slap to his soul. Rocking back in his chair.
“That was a terrible thing to say.”
“No. It wasn’t.”
“I’m so sorry. I never could control what came out of my mouth.” Her lips twisted into a worried parody of humor. “Case in point.”
He rose from his chair. “Ready to go?”
She did not protest. But as soon as they left the restaurant, she wrapped an arm around his waist and grabbed his hand with the other. Molding to his body. Saying in more than words all he needed to hear. Which was why he let her lead them back toward her Nissan XTerra, as red as her dress, the rear packed with building materials and tools. At the door he spoke before she could, saying, “You mind if I walk back?”
She recovered well. A lady who rarely if ever lost her balance. “If you want.”
“I think it would be best, Connie.”
“Okay, Matt. If that’s what you want.” She unlocked her door, then gave him a heat-seeking missile of a gaze. “This time.”
The nightmare clawed at Matt. Jet lag added supplementary chains to keep him submerged. The feral beast in his head made up for the previous missed night.
Which was why, when the phone woke him, he answered panting and sweating hard. “This is Kelly.”
“Lucas here. Catch you working out?”
“Hang on a second.” Matt swung his feet to the floor, padded to the bathroom, pulled a towel from the rack, wiped his face, leaned his forehead against the wall, and waited for the chimes to fade. He avoided his reflection in the mirror both coming and going. “I’m back.”
“I’ve never found a way to make bad news go down easy,” D’Amico told him. “So I’m just going to hit you with it. Our geeks have finished going through Freid’s records. He duplicated his system in an electronic lockbox in case his computers were zapped. A real freak for backup, everything totally up to date. Our gun guys found some major league surprises, stuff that’ll keep them busy for months. But that’s not what this call is about. His last appointment was for Sunday afternoon.
You with me?”
“The Ravens game.”
“Right.” D’Amico paused, then hit him with, “The appointment was Allen Pecard.”
“No way.”
“Goes further. They did a search. Pecard has been in three times before. First time was to make a buy. Second time was early January, trading information for weapons.”
“The armory heist.”
“Pecard handed Freid the how and the when. Freid supplied the gang. They split the arms. Pecard took the claymores. Only the records show Freid held back a few. Which might have been what got him killed.”
Matt walked into the kitchen. Poured a glass of water. Drank it. Another. Willing his hands and mind to steady.
“You there?”
“Yes. I have something too.” He related the conversations at the pub in England, the tall, broad-shouldered Yank who came and went with the night.
“We need to get a photo to that barmaid,” D’Amico said. “See if she can do a positive ID.”
“I’ll handle that.”
“Good. But first we’re going in. Connie is over waiting to see a federal judge in chambers. We wanted to do this quiet and official, seeing as how your man is so well connected.”
“I need to inform Bannister.” When D’Amico did not respond, Matt pressed, “Part of this whole deal was improving relations with the feds. This is important. Bannister is SAC.”
“And Pecard’s buddy.”
“We need to do this, Lucas.”
D’Amico went to full cop mode. “You don’t tell him a thing. You got that? Not the what or the who or the why. He comes, or he doesn’t. That’s his choice. You drive him out personal and you make sure he doesn’t use his phone once we get in range.”
“I can do that.”
“We need a place near Pecard’s house where we can meet.”
“There’s a mini-mart and service station about two miles north of his drive. On the left.”
D’Amico held him there through a few more breaths. Not pleased. Then, “We rendezvous in two hours.”
Bannister complained in terse agent-in-charge style over not being told where they were going. But he came just the same. The early afternoon held a very dense quality. The day was hazy, the sky down tight against the earth, just high enough not to be called fog. Everything they passed looked drained of color. Cars, houses, billboards, fields, all looked stained with the day’s monotone. The forests were filled with the bare bones of empty limbs.
When it became clear where they were headed, Bannister vibrated on the seat next to Matt. He held off erupting until Matt pulled into the service station parking lot and drove to the far side, where D’Amico and Connie stood between an unmarked Pontiac and a sheriff’s car. At that point he demanded, “Are you insane?”
Matt cut the motor and rose from the car. Bannister came out in stages, giving each of them a good long glare. D’Amico stood beside the sheriff, drinking coffee from a mini-mart cup. He said to Matt, “I believe this is your show.”
Bannister slammed his door and danced around and got tight in Matt’s face. Matt told him everything. The sheriff was a tall, heavyset man who enclosed his vast gut in an oversized leather belt. He moved in behind Bannister and listened closely, evidently hearing it for the first time. Matt focused his attention on the sheriff so that he did not need to watch Bannister’s rising rage. When he finished, Bannister came back with a blast intended for all of them. “Allen Pecard is a highly decorated member of the federal network. I am ordering you men to stand down!”
D’Amico motioned at Connie with his head. She approached Matt, not Bannister, and handed him the warrant.
“Give me that.” Bannister ripped it from Matt’s grasp. The chest of his suit heaved as he read. He made a mess of refolding the sheets. “Mister, you are so far out of line you’re not even in the same country.”
“I’ve called this in,” Matt said. “Washington has given us the green. We’re going.”
“I’ll take that,” D’Amico stepped forward and slipped the warrant from Bannister.
“I am lodging a formal complaint!”
“You do that.” D’Amico pointed Matt toward the unmarked car. “Let’s roll.”
Bannister continued to move even when sitting tense and silent in the Pontiac’s rear seat. When they pulled down Pecard’s drive, he muttered, “This is an outrage.”
D’Amico rounded the car in front of the garage so that he could study the house. The sheriff pulled his wagon around beside D’Amico, angled for a quick getaway.
“We’re talking serious error of judgment on everyone’s part.”
D’Amico quietly sighed. Connie gave no sign she heard Bannister at all. T
he house was utterly silent.
Bannister sprang from his seat. “I’ll handle this.” His footsteps scrunched up the raked gravel walk.
Matt opened his door. “Stop right there.”
Bannister wheeled about. “Are you ordering me, mister?”
Matt said, “Not the front door. Not any door.”
“Of course,” D’Amico said. “Silly me.”
Bannister glanced at the house, then Matt, then the house again. Showing uncertainty for the first time.
Matt moved to the garage window, looked inside, said, “His Jeep’s gone.”
The sheriff asked, “How do you want to play this?”
Matt looked at D’Amico. “Your call.”
“Okay. Connie, you and the sheriff head around the garage. Check out the windows; don’t approach the doors there either. Scout out the rear of the house. But don’t approach. You follow?”
“Look but hold back.”
“Right. Check your radio.”
She lifted the handset and said, “Test, one.” Her voice crackled from Matt’s belt.
“Give us the word when you’re in position.” D’Amico spoke to Matt. “I say we go for the side windows, stay well clear of the porch.”
“Works for me.”
“Let’s move.”
Time gradually congealed as they crossed the lawn. Jays flittered from one tree to the next, mocking them and the strident day. D’Amico moved quickly, his breath a half-formed whistle. Bannister pounded his broughams into the grass but kept silent.
Connie radioed as they rounded the house. “All quiet back here.”
D’Amico started for the middle window. He was picking his way through the azalea hedge when Bannister stepped toward him. “One last time, Detective. I’m telling you this—”
Bannister stopped because D’Amico pitched forward into his arms.
There was no sound except the quarreling jays and the rustling hedge and a soft grunt from D’Amico. Like he’d suddenly been taken by utter surprise.
Bannister stumbled but stayed upright. He held D’Amico in a parody of a dance, wearing an expression of confused outrage.
Matt saw the red stain on D’Amico’s shoulder the same moment a splinter of brick popped beside Bannister. He leaped forward, taking the two men down. The hedges cracked and flattened and hid them from view.
D’Amico groaned.
Matt ripped the radio from his belt. “Officer down! Officer down!”
Shots rang out from the rear of the house.
Bannister rolled from the hedges, still in denial. “This can’t—”
Matt scrambled, not upright, but almost. He gripped D’Amico by the jacket and hauled. Two more shots sprayed pink dust from the wall. “Help me move him!”
Bannister struggled up. Together they dragged D’Amico around to the front. Only then did Matt realize he had left his radio on the grass. He shouted, “Connie!”
There was a reply from somewhere out back, too faint for him to hear. “Connie! I don’t have my radio! Lucas is hit!”
He was answered by more gunfire.
Bannister was crouched over D’Amico, still in shock. Matt punched him on the shoulder. Bannister looked up. Struggling to focus. Matt yelled, “Call for backup!” He ran and kept on shouting. “Ambo! Chopper!”
He ran around the outside of the garage. “Connie! Coming at you!”
He turned the corner and almost fell on top of her. She was crouched over the sheriff, who was down with a leg wound. “I can’t move him.”
“Grab his arm!” The garage’s rear wall was pitted with shots. Matt pulled with one hand and waved his pistol with the other, but saw nothing to aim at. “Where is he?”
Connie did not respond until they were back around the side. “I haven’t seen a thing.”
“Woods,” Matt decided. “Silencer. Scope.”
As he crouched and moved back forward, Connie cried, “Wait for backup!”
“We’ve got two men down and an assailant who could move around and take us all.” Matt went low, looked around the corner, saw nothing but a forest wall. “Give me cover fire.”
Connie slapped a fresh clip into her pistol and moved up beside him. “Go!”
Matt jinked right, then headed straight in. Waiting all the while for a bullet to take him down. He hit the first line of trees just as Connie stopped firing. She called, “You okay?”
“Here!”
“I saw a flash! One o’clock from my angle!”
Matt hunkered behind a large pine, glanced back. Then to his left. Saw movement in the trees. Heard the crashing of branches. Someone running away. He fired twice. And ran.
The going was hard. The brush tore at his clothes. The ground was slippery with pine needles and autumn leaves. He lost sight of their attacker after ten paces. He stopped, crouched again. His training came to the fore. Never race forward when you don’t know what you’re up against. He listened hard. Nothing.
Then in the distance he heard a car engine come alive. Something heavy spun with four-wheel fury and tore away.
Matt ran ahead until the sound was lost. He turned then and started back. Connie ran across the lawn to greet him. He suddenly felt very weak. But not from the chase. From knowing she was all right. But she was a cop, and he was a professional. So all he said was, “Gone.”
It was just after dark by the time they finished at the house. Bryan Bannister pulled in a full team but managed everything from a quiet distance. He walked from room to room in Pecard’s house, his gaze hollowed.
Bombs had been wired to both front and rear doors. The structure was chillingly familiar, though Matt had not seen it before. A hole had been chivied through the carpet and baseboard. A reinforced plywood box was set inside the hole, angled so its open end faced the door. The box was fitted with a metal plate for a base. Its interior was filled with carpet torn from the floor and insulation from beneath the baseboard. Wires dangled where the FBI’s bomb squad had disarmed the firing mechanisms and extracted the claymores.
Matt drove Connie back to town in D’Amico’s car, numb with exhaustion. They stopped by Maryland General, where a nurse informed them Lucas was out of surgery but still in recovery.
Matt asked Connie, “How do you want to do this?”
“Dorcas told me there’s some kind of problem with Lucas’s daughter.”
“Take the car. See to her.”
“Call me soon as you know something, all right?”
“Of course.”
Connie started away, then turned back. Very hesitant now.
“What?”
Connie did not speak. She just looked at him. And did that thing with her eyes. Going from hard and flat to open. Yearning. Her face changed as well. Losing the day’s tension. Turning about twelve years old.
Matt wanted to ask her again how she did that. But was suddenly unable to find the breath.
Connie said, sounding a little breathless herself, “I’m going off duty now, okay?”
He nodded.
She planted one hand on his chest. And kissed him.
She leaned back. Slowly she opened her eyes. She touched her tongue to her lips. Like she was tasting him. Then she smiled.
He did not know what to do with his hands, the day, the kiss, the look, the hunger. “Connie—”
She touched a finger to his lips. Replaced the finger with her own mouth. Then turned and walked away.
The ER nurse looked at his face, then at the gun exposed by his open jacket. She hummed a note. “Honey, you bring a whole new meaning to armed and dangerous.”
Lucas D’Amico came back to life in careful stages. Thirst hit hard. His mouth was so parched his tongue felt swollen. But he could live with the thirst. He moved his fingers and toes. Felt them all. Very good sign. He was an old dog now and knew the tricks. Feeling his extremities bit by bit eliminated a lot of things he no longer needed to worry about.
He opened his eyes.
Matt was conked out on the
next bed. Lucas knew instantly that Matt was not another victim because the kid still wore clothes dirtied by the assault that had landed him here.
A woman’s voice said, “Lucas. You’re awake.”
He knew the voice but didn’t. He moved his eyes and saw Hannah Bernstein standing at the end of his bed. He peeled open his lips. His first word was, “Katy?”
“Connie fixed her dinner and stayed until Sharla got off work. Katy’s spending the night with the Bledsoes.” Hannah moved over and fitted the straw into his mouth. “You deliver a warrant with two rookies and you’re the one to take a hit. What am I going to do with you?”
Lucas drank and sighed at the cool pleasure and drank some more. He said, “I don’t want Katy to know about this. She worries so.”
“Sharla said the same thing. As far as Katy is concerned, her daddy is off doing work stuff.” She set down the cup. “The doctor says the operation on your shoulder went very well. You’ll be in rehab, but he expects a full recovery. I’ve also heard all the gruesome bits, if you’re interested.”
“Later.”
“Feel any pain?”
“Far, far away.”
Matt snorted and turned partly over. Hannah Bernstein didn’t even glance his way. “Don’t mind him. The kid is gone. We’ve had doctors, nurses, a couple of fibbies, ringing phones. That’s the first time he’s even moved.”
“He saved my bacon.”
“Yeah, I’m hearing good things. Him and Connie both. The FBI agent, Bannister, he’s taking this very hard.”
He made a feeble motion toward the cup. Hannah moved swiftly. “Let me. You want to hear more?”
“Shoot.”
“A joke. Guess the doctor was right after all.” She seated herself next to his bed. “There’s an East Coast APB for the arrest of one Allen Pecard. The FBI is in this big-time.”
Lucas waited. This was not the sort of news to tense the chief up like she was just now. There was something more.
Hannah Bernstein appeared to choose her words with care. “I want you to hear what I’m saying, and I want you to think about it very carefully. Crowder is retiring in three months. I’m putting you up for division lieutenant.”
