Risk of a Lifetime

by Claudia Shelton

  He zoned into himself, didn’t let his guard down. His back muscles tensed along with his sharpened focus. Adrenaline rampaged through his system. Control. Get the edginess under control. When the moment came, he had to make sure to tell Marcy what to do a second before he reacted.

  Wilson had to be outside. Why was he waiting? Didn’t matter. They’d wait him out. Play this out on their own terms.

  The two of them stood and turned. Stood and turned, for what seemed like hours. His watch showed ten minutes. Only ten minutes, but more than enough time to set a trap. At least he knew the skunk’s stripe now. One step closer than when he woke up. He processed through the little he knew of Wilson’s routine. Not much there.

  Footsteps on the porch. Not quiet. Not sneaking up.

  Strong, stomping footsteps. Blunt and in-your-face, I’m-here footsteps.

  JB faced the front door, pointed and gripped the Glock with both hands. Squared his stance.

  “Hey, JB. Thought you might need help.” Wilson banged on the door. “You in there, JB? Marcy? Let me in. I’ve come to help.”

  …

  Marcy closed the bedroom door then turned on the shower in the bathroom. Followed the plan. She opened the window where JB’d removed the screen last night. She waited for him to give her the final verbal cue to go. Go out the window, through the trees, down to the lake. He’d told her to climb into the boat and push off.

  He’d keep Wilson occupied in the house long enough for her to get away. The script hinged on the jerk believing she was taking a long shower. The ploy hinged on JB risking his life to harvest info from a man crazy enough to blow up a building in broad daylight.

  A slight quiver ran the length of her body. From the bits she figured out from JB’s phone conversation, Wilson intended to make her husband hurt the same way he’d hurt. In fact, this guy would probably look her in the face and truthfully say it wasn’t personal as he shot her. Might not be personal to him, but it was mighty personal to her. The idea of JB being hurt in any way was more than she could bear to think about.

  She waited.

  Getting into the boat frightened her. The idea of being in the middle of the lake by herself scared the bageebers out of her. Sure, she could swim. That wasn’t the point. The boat and the water were the fear factor. Rubbing the back of her head, she half expected to still feel the lump from hitting her head on the side of the boat the day it had capsized years ago. If JB hadn’t jumped in to save her, she’d have sunk to the bottom.

  She remembered fighting the water and herself and him. Water mixed with bubbles. Bubbles from her nose as they headed to the light of the water’s surface high above her. Another quiver ran her body. Then another. Fight the fear. All she had to do was get out the window, run to the dock, and fight the fear of the water.

  “Hey, JB. Open the door.” Wilson yelled. “I came all this way to help. Surely you can let a buddy in out of the cold.”

  “Hold on. I’m coming.” JB’s voice sounded tired. Fake-tired for the most part.

  She heard the slight movement of the sofa. The latch on the door being thrown. Her husband baited the killer into their space so she had a chance to get away. What happened after JB got his answers?

  Her heart pounded with each word she strained to hear. If she missed her cue, then the set-up would be a bust. As much as she wanted to stay and help, she’d follow the plan. She would not let JB down.

  “Come on in, Wilson. Glad to see you. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” JB sounded like a guy opening the door to a high-stakes poker party. These stakes were even higher. “I can use all the help I can get.”

  The stomping boots from the porch walked onto the wooden floors in the living room. She swallowed hard. Her breath shallowed, quickened. Nausea vied against her nerves for first place.

  “Figured as much. Cut my vacation short just to help you out,” Wilson said. “What the heck took you so long to open the door?”

  “Trying to get a little sleep while Marcy takes a shower.” JB chuckled. “I swear that woman uses more water than a steam locomotive.”

  Wilson laughed. The noise filled her mind with visions of elves and gnomes on crack.

  The sound of her husband’s fake yawn and stretch brought her on alert. Soon. Real soon. She’d do what he planned. JB would handle the rest and make sure they survived. She had to believe that the two of them would be okay. She had to get out.

  Out the window. Into the boat. Out of the cove. Had to…had to…had to.

  “I haven’t gotten much sleep the past couple nights. If you don’t mind, maybe you can stand guard while I get some rest,” JB said.

  “You got it, buddy.” Wilson’s voice held her attention. Somewhere between crazy and sane, his words flowed like sludge. Slow and heavy. “Can you help me bring in my gear from the truck first?”

  The sofa scraped the floor a bit. “Help me move this sofa out of the way of the door.” JB’s cue. She inhaled deep. Readied herself.

  The sofa scraped again. She hoisted herself to the window, looking outside. At least the fog had lifted. Loud and long, the sofa scraped and banged against the floor, slamming into the wall as she climbed outside. Her coat snagged on a nail from the window frame. She pulled. Pulled again. Had she made a noise? She slipped from the coat and left it hanging.

  She ran for the trees. Through the trees. Gun. Where was her gun? The gun? Her stomach cramped. She’d left the gun in the coat…on the nail at the window. Maybe she should go back for it. No. Run. Water…where? She tripped. Slammed into a tree limb. Ran again. The thick fog held heavy in the trees as if trapped. Her feet went out from under her on slick mud, and she crashed to the ground. Slid into a clearing in the woods where the sun had found a spot to soak up the fog. Fast, she jumped back up. Finally, she had a clear skyline through the trees to find her way. Where was the dang boat? She stopped, looked around.

  No. No, no, no. Not good. She’d run parallel to the lake. Hadn’t even bothered to look for the water as she ran. Wouldn’t have seen it for the fog. She’d used up valuable time going in the wrong direction. She retraced some of her steps, then turned and started down toward the dock.

  Heart pounding, she knelt at the edge of the tree line. Inched forward to the edge of the lake. Moisture crept through the knees of her jeans, coating her legs in icy cold water. JB’d been right. The water was too cold for her to wade to the boat. The storm front had moved in with dropping temperature. Dangerous hypothermia might set in if she got wet and ended up in the boat for any length of time.

  That was why the plan had been she walk out on the dock to the boat. That was before she ran the wrong direction and had to circle back. Too much time had passed to assume Wilson wouldn’t be looking out the window. The best she could do was stay low and crawl onto the dock. After inching her way to the side of the boat, she eased downward onto the flat bottom and braced her stance. Undid one of the lines.

  The front door on the cabin opened, and she crouched down, peering over the edge of the dock. JB and Wilson walked outside onto the porch. She should have already been gone. Laying in the bottom of the flat–bottomed aluminum jon boat, she continued to watch the men. For less than an instant, she saw JB’s gaze glance across the dock. The boat. He acted as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

  Had he seen her? No.

  He had to think she was still inside the cabin. That she’d never made it out the window. Her out-of-control running through the trees in the wrong direction had cost them.

  How much? How much had it cost?

  …

  JB’s mind worked to create a new plan. The boat bobbed on the water, still looped to the dock. Marcy hadn’t made it out. He’d hoped to gather more insight into Wilson. Try to garner a confession. See if the man had any traps set for anyone else. With enough information, the FBI could stop the threats.

  Not now. The situation had changed. One priority remained. Marcy’s survival.

  She must still be in the cabin. />
  He stretched. Stooped to retie his bootlaces. Walked down the steps. Played for more time. Time for her to get away. Why hadn’t she followed the plan? “Where’s your truck?”

  Wilson walked behind him. “Not far.”

  JB angled his trail in the direction of the fallen log. The fireplace poker. He still had his Glock, but a backup weapon added an edge. His instincts shouted the man wouldn’t kill him until he made him suffer losing Marcy. JB didn’t plan for either one of those scenarios to happen.

  Instinct also told him before this walk ended he’d become a wounded prey. His spine tingled with a shot of adrenaline straight to his brain. He needed to react now. Attack before disabled. He couldn’t. Couldn’t attack until he knew Marcy had escaped.

  With Wilson’s expertise in explosives, there was no telling what traps he’d placed. Even if she made it out of the cabin, she could be lying somewhere wounded. The man might have even rigged something so she couldn’t get out of the window. Out of the cabin. She might be trapped inside.

  “That’s far enough, JB.” Wilson’s voice quivered with excited anticipation. “Turn around.”

  The ruse was over. From now on, everything JB did meant life or death for him and his wife. He felt his nostrils flare. Felt his fingers twitch into their fight rhythm. Felt his will for survival kick into fight-to-the-end mode. He might die today, but he for damn sure wouldn’t die easy.

  JB turned to face the monster and his weapon of choice.

  “Stay right where you are.” Straight and fierce, Wilson kept his gun trained on him. He appeared composed. Confident in his madness that he was on the side of right. “Hold your arms out to the sides. Shoulder height. Then use your left hand to remove your shoulder holster.”

  JB complied. “You don’t want to do this. What if you miss a bullet casing? Leave a fingerprint?”

  “I wondered how long it would take you to figure this out. You always were one of my best agents. Too bad.” Wilson motioned with his gun. “Pull your Glock out enough to release the clip. Then throw the clip in the lake.”

  “Carla wouldn’t want you to do this.” JB did as told. Heard the splash as the bullets hit the water. “Go back with me, Wilson. Get some help.”

  “Tell me, did you figure out Jennings, too? He got a little too close to costing me my money. I had no choice but to get rid of him.” The maniac of an agent laughed. “Carla wore her best schoolgirl outfit. Took him in hook, line, and sinker as a snitch. He believed everything she told him. She was being held. Abused. There were others.” Wilson’s expression oozed of pride. “Got him to the right place for me to pop him.”

  Confession. JB didn’t move. A confession he might never get a chance to relay.

  Wilson kept his weapon pointed an inch below JB’s Kevlar. The man knew the weak points. “Now the backup gun on your ankle. And that knife you’ve got on your calf. Guess you thought I wouldn’t check your routine. I give you credit for the knife thing. May even use the idea myself.”

  “Too bad you won’t get to see South America. You and Carla.” JB pushed the limit. He had nothing to lose. Maybe he could get Wilson to break. To drop his concentration long enough to take him down. One split-second…that’s all JB needed. “Oh, that’s right. You were late to the party. Too late to save her. That why you want to kill Marcy? To ease your guilt for being late?”

  “Shut up and do what I said.” The man’s face flushed, eyes bulging.

  “Late, Wilson. Late.” JB goaded with precision and the rhythm of a lullaby. “You weren’t in time. Carla trusted you’d be there, and you failed her. That must be hard to face.”

  Wilson’s cheek twitched. His predatory posture fractured for a second. Eyes moistened.

  JB glided slowly into a new position. Again and again. Each placement of his feet measured. His body angled for the best blow he could strike. Almost like a ballet where every movement took into account the next position. Wilson didn’t seem to notice. He hoped to lull the man holding the gun into a stupor. Anything to slow his reaction time when the moment came.

  “It’s not too late for you to lower your weapon, Wilson. We can get you some help.” JB stared the man in the eyes. “You know I had nothing to do with your girlfriend’s death.”

  Maniacal laughter coupled with a gasping sob spilled into the air. “Girlfriend? How dare you disgrace her memory with such a thought? Carla was my daughter. My. Daughter.”

  Daughter? JB sucked in air. The situation had changed. A man might be angry over the loss of a girlfriend. Even be a motive for payback. But in all likelihood, he could be talked down. The killing of a man’s child was different. Could take vengeance to a whole different level. One that meant blood for blood.

  “I didn’t know, Wilson.” JB shuddered to think what he’d do in the same situation. How he’d get retribution against someone he thought had killed his son or daughter. “Why didn’t you ever tell us you had a daughter?”

  Wilson shook with anger, his finger set against the trigger and pressing. “Why should I? None of you all ever cared about me. Neither did her mother. I was just a trick that produced a problem. A problem she put up for adoption.”

  The air seemed to have grown thicker. Made breathing more labored. Life more fragile.

  “Didn’t even get to see Carla till she showed up at my front door a few years back. She was in trouble with some dealers. Needed my help.” The man shook his head. “Every time I got her out of one situation, another came up. Figured getting her…us…out of the country was the only way to give her a new start. That meant money…and….”

  “So you started skimming the drugs and money we busted. I can understand the odds you were up against.” JB needed time. “After all, you were her father. Who else could she turn to?”

  Wilson nodded. “Then Jennings came snooping. Once I offed him, I’d made my choice. Needed to make one big score. Took months to set that meth bust. Then you…you and Landon screwed everything up.”

  JB angled with his words, hoping something he said would make the man have a second thought. “We didn’t know she was your daughter. You should have told us she’d be there. We could have—”

  “What? Just what the hell would you two upstanding special agents have done? You sure as hell wouldn’t have gone down my path. Besides, I had everything planned. You and Landon screwed everything up.” Wilson shook his head, raised the gun straight, and primed to shoot. “You called the go. Landon could have stopped you if he’d been on time. And that turncoat boss of mine… He ordered the bust a day early. He’ll get his, too. Him and his bratty kids.” Pure venom had oozed in his last words.

  In that moment, JB knew there’d be no taking Wilson alive. This had to end today. On this hill. He would not risk other lives to save his own. Either he or Wilson would not walk away at the end of the day. That was all right with him as long as Marcy walked away.

  Maybe he could get Wilson to shoot him. Make him think he’d made a direct hit, then come at him from behind when he turned. JB’d seen no sign of Marcy. She still had to be inside the cabin. Okay, she’d be safe there. Backup was on the way. She could barricade herself in until they arrived. Worst case, she had a gun and knew how to use it.

  Wilson regrouped, motioning JB to step backward again and again. “That should be far enough.” Nonchalant, the man reached in his pocket. “Shame about the cabin.”

  The cabin? What about the cabin?

  The explosion happened like the blink of an eye. One second, the cabin sat peacefully. Blink. The cabin growled into a fireball.

  Trees shook. Ground rumbled. The air echoed with the intensity of the bomb. Boulders catapulted down the hillside. What had been logs became sticks, sharp and jagged as they shot through the air. Searing heat blasted across the open ground.

  “Marcy!” JB roared louder than the bellowing flames. He plastered a charge of blows to Wilson’s nose, his jaw, his kidney. JB dropped, rolled, and came up with the stashed poker from beside the log.

&
nbsp; Wilson shot. Shot again.

  Hot fire pummeled JB’s right shoulder as he swung the iron against the agent’s knee with his good arm. He swung again. Landed a second blow. Wilson staggered, then regained his footing. Smashed his fist into the gunshot wound. JB dropped.

  The killer stomped the bleeding shoulder and held. “How does it feel to know you’ll never hold your sweet, little wife again? Huh? I blew her sky high. If she’d of died back in front of the bank, you’d at least have had a chance to say goodbye.”

  JB spun out of the hold, crawling to his knees. Wilson back-slashed him across the face with the gun stock.

  “You might as well kill me, too, Wilson. ‘Cause I’ll hunt you down one inch at a time.” JB hoisted himself to his feet. “And when I find you, you won’t even know what happened.”

  He lowered his head and charged Wilson’s midsection. The man pulled his backup Glock, crashing it across the back of JB’s skull. He staggered. Still fought.

  Wilson grabbed the poker. Slammed the iron across JB’s shoulders and forearm. JB grabbed his arm. No sound. No cry of pain. His arm hung at a worthless angle. Broke.

  Still he fought with his good arm. Backed Wilson up with the blows. The agent smashed JB’s arm again. JB fell to his knees. Wilson stabbed him with the end of the poker right below the Kevlar.

  “One more thing.” The crazed man laughed. “Wonder who ratted you out on that last job?”

  JB had no doubt. Didn’t matter. The man had killed Marcy. That mattered. This fight wasn’t over. Wouldn’t be over until he took his last breath. “You didn’t even have the guts to do the job yourself, did you? Had to hire it out.”

  “I hated I couldn’t be there when they branded you.” Wilson’s laugh coiled like a snake around his words. “They said you took a long time to pass out from the pain.” He raised the iron, fireplace poker over JB’s head. “Should only take one hard blow today. Goodbye, sucker.”

  …

  “Noooooooo!” Marcy screamed. Stood. She needed to get Wilson’s attention. Get him away from her husband.