Irrevocable Trust (Sasha McCandless Legal Thriller Book 6)

by Melissa F. Miller

  He stood about twelve feet or so behind her. She was basically situated dead center between the gun-wielding father and son.

  Reflexively, she stepped to the side.

  “Clay,” Bricker breathed.

  “The name’s Cole,” the boy said.

  “No, son, your name is Clay Bricker. You can reject me if you want, but there’s no denying my blood runs through your veins.”

  Sasha sucked in her breath. Where was Connelly already?

  “Why’d you do it?”

  “Do what—put your mother down?”

  Cole’s eyes blazed and he jabbed the gun in the air.

  “Why?” he repeated.

  “Because she betrayed me, and traitors have to be dealt with as a deterrent. I spared you then, but I won’t spare you again, Clay.”

  “I told you. My name is Cole. It’ll be pretty funny when I kill you with the gun you got her for protection, don’t you think?”

  Bricker was laughing.

  Sasha’s mind raced. She had to stop this, now. It was time to put her head down, run as fast as she could, and aim for his middle. She inhaled, filling her lungs with air, and took off. She sprinted, her arms and legs pumping, her ankles wobbling in the stupid stilettos.

  In a flash, she reached him. She didn’t hesitate. She wrapped her arms around his midsection, and tackled Cole, pushing him to the ground. She cushioned his fall as much as she could. He blinked away tears and stared up at her in wordless disbelief at her betrayal.

  She looked up and saw Bricker advancing on them. He pointed the gun down—toward the ground and their heads. She knew from experience that he wouldn’t hesitate to execute someone with a single shot to the head.

  She pried Anna’s gun out of Cole’s hand, swallowed the bile rising in her throat, and aimed the weapon up at Bricker. She stared at his cold eyes and steeled herself. She couldn’t believe she was going to have to shoot him. She told herself to squeeze the trigger.

  Where the hell was Connelly?

  Bricker took aim at the back of Cole’s head—

  From behind him, Pat swung his own arms wide, knocking Bricker’s hand to the side as he fired. The gun bucked, but the bullet arced far to the left and burrowed into the brick wall.

  Bricker wheeled around, shouting in incoherent rage, and shoved Pat against the wall.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Leo had been running from the parking garage toward the alley when he heard the unmistakable crack of a gun being fired. From the way it echoed, he knew it had come from within the alley. He poured on the speed, fear of what he might find, pulsing in his mind.

  He rounded the corner and assessed the scene in a fraction of a second. Sasha and Cole, cowering on the ground. The homeless man from the courtroom batting at Bricker’s arms. Bricker, aiming a gun at Sasha.

  Leo reached for his Glock. He squeezed off two steady shots, aimed at Bricker’s gun hand. The first whizzed by him. The second grazed Bricker’s arm. He lost his footing for a moment, but then he took off running.

  Leo stopped and crouched beside Sasha and Cole.

  “Are you hurt?” His voice cracked with fear.

  “No. We’re both fine.” She was rocking Cole like an infant. “Go, please. Don’t let him get away again.”

  “No way. I’m not leaving you.”

  His throat was so tight and dry he could barely force the words out.

  “Connelly, please.”

  “You okay, Cole?” he asked, ignoring the fire in her eyes.

  “I would have been if she hadn’t stopped me,” he snarled. He pulled free of Sasha’s arms.

  Leo and Sasha locked eyes. She shook her head sadly and gestured with the gun.

  “He had Allison’s gun. He was going to kill his dad.”

  Jesus. What do you say to that? Leo wondered.

  He didn’t have to respond because the homeless guy piped up from his spot against the wall. “You hit him. Right bicep.”

  “Good. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, man. I’m fine.” Pat called from his spot against the wall.

  Sasha closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, tears shimmered, waiting to fall. “I can’t believe he’s getting away again.”

  Leo nearly choked on the force of her desperation.

  “I’ll go after him,” he said, even though they both knew Bricker was long gone.

  She just nodded.

  He holstered his gun and sprinted down the narrow alley.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Sasha watched Connelly disappear from view then turned to Pat.

  “Thank you. You saved our lives.”

  He ducked his head, red-faced. “That guy was Bricker? He killed the kid’s mom?”

  “Yes.”

  “I never would have helped him …” he trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.

  “You didn’t know.”

  He shuffled his feet. “Yeah, I really didn’t. Listen, I gotta take off before the cops get here. There might be an old bench warrant for public drunkenness kicking around in the system.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, to try to convince him to stay, but Cole spoke first.

  “Good luck to you, sir.”

  Pat touched his forehead in a salute and then ambled out of the alley.

  Cole glared up at her.

  “Why did you stop me?”

  “If you shot him, you’d carry guilt with you for the rest of your life.”

  He shook his head and tried to shove her off, but she held him tight.

  “No, I wouldn’t. I’d be doing the world a favor. And honoring my mom.”

  “Look at me.” She waited until he met her eyes. “Your mother would not want you to ‘honor’ her in that way. You aren’t like him, Cole. You’re better than this.”

  A raw sob broke in his throat and his chest heaved.

  “You were going to shoot him,” he said.

  She blew out a long breath. “That’s different. You—we—were in imminent danger.” She reached over and smoothed down his sweaty hair.

  He jerked away.

  “I’m fine,” he said stiffly. His cheeks flamed red.

  She didn’t know what else to say, so she helped him to his feet and they stood in uncomfortable silence waiting for the police to arrive.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Leo ran until his throat burned, and then he ran some more. He knew he was on a fool’s errand, but he couldn’t shake the memory of the resignation in Sasha’s eyes. Maybe he’d get lucky and stumble across Bricker.

  His heart was still jumping erratically in chest, just as it had been ever since he’d turned the corner into the alley and seen Bricker bearing down on Sasha and Cole with a gun trained on them. He no longer wanted to capture Bricker. He just wanted to kill him.

  When he reached the river, he stopped and stared across the water at the still and ghostly steel mills hulking along the opposite bank. Bricker could be anywhere by now—in an abandoned warehouse, under a bridge, on a bus out of town.

  He clenched his teeth together to trap the scream of frustration building in his diaphragm.

  Now what? Go back to Sasha and tell her he’d failed to protect her once again?

  He still woke up most nights, sweating and panicked, dreaming about the aborted raid Bricker had launched against them at their wedding. He needed to put a stop to this. Now.

  His cell phone bleated.

  He wanted to ignore it, but it was Hank. Hank might have information for him.

  “What?” he answered.

  “I’m at the scene. I need you to come back.”

  Two questions fought for primacy. He asked them both. “Why? Where are the kids?”

  “Will’s with them. He’s moved them to Caroline’s house for now.”

  “Jeez, Hank—his secretary? Involve even more civilians, what could go wrong?” he snapped.

  There was a long pause.

  “I’m going to ignore your tone, Leo. I know you’re wor
ried, but you can’t afford to get emotional. Now get your ass back here. Your wife has an idea.”

  “Keep her out of this from here on out, Hank.”

  Hank’s laughter rang in his ear.

  “Tell you what, if you think you can sideline her, be my guest. But, here in reality world, she’s the one with the best plan anyone’s come up with yet. So if you want to come with us when we use Pulaski as a lure to trap Bricker, you better light a fire under your butt. We’re heading out to Monroeville as soon as we work out the details with the locals.”

  “Hank, no.”

  “Twenty minutes, Leo. Tick tock.”

  Hank ended the call.

  Leo wasted a few precious seconds cursing his headstrong wife before changing directions and running back toward the city skyline, double time.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Sasha, no, you’re not.”

  They stared at each other, nostrils flaring, hands on their hips. She had to crane her neck to bore into his eyes with her own, but otherwise they were mirror images. She was sure they looked for all the world like a stereotypical, bickering married couple, but she didn’t care. The stakes were too high to care.

  “Connelly, we don’t have time for this. Hank said I can come. Detective Markham said I can come. I’m coming with you.”

  Connelly did that twitchy face muscle thing and glared at the local law enforcement representative whom Hank had strong-armed into agreeing to his plan.

  Finally, he exhaled shakily. “Fine. But you’re wearing a vest.”

  “Fine, I will. And so will you.”

  Bulletproof vest? Sure, sign her up. She didn’t want to die. She just wanted to be there when they nailed Bricker.

  His steely eyes softened.

  “Okay. I just—you worried me today in that alley.”

  He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

  Her anger melted, replaced by something much gooier.

  She smiled but told herself to stay focused.

  Pat had confirmed that Bricker had threatened to kill Pulaski just before Sasha revealed herself in the alley. Deprived of his chance to kill her; threatened by his son; and wounded by Connelly, it stood to reason that Bricker would try to soothe his rage with some good, old-fashioned vengeance.

  Monroeville’s understaffed and overextended municipal police department had agreed to sit on Pulaski until they got there, but the clock was ticking. The chief had made it clear that he couldn’t authorize overtime—not for what amounted to a glorified babysitting job.

  Sasha gave Hank a thumb’s up signal, and he turned to the detective and started relaying final instructions.

  Minutes later, they were in the back seat of a black and white, rumbling over potholes and weaving through Wilkinsburg traffic, speeding toward the William Penn Highway and Pulaski’s Miracle Mile strip mall office.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Bricker leaned his head back against the greasy bus window and breathed through the pain in his arm. He’d had a narrow escape in the alleyway, and he needed to get someplace where he could rest and recover. Then he’d put a bullet in Pulaski and move on to McCandless and her husband.

  As the bus jostled and bumped its way out of the city, his thoughts turned to Clay. A small piece of him was proud that the boy had the stones to confront him. But that sort of paternal sentiment could easily get him killed. The next time he saw Clay, if there was a next time, he’d shoot him as soon as he got the chance.

  Right now, though, he had to get to a safe, secluded place. Luckily, he had scouted one days earlier. After he’d called Pulaski on Wednesday, it occurred to him that he needed to get a handle on the lawyer’s whereabouts, just in case.

  So he’d waited until nightfall and then taken the bus to Monroeville, out to the old Miracle Mile shopping center. From there, he’d circled the area around Pulaski’s office, searching for a good location for an ambush.

  He’d been surprised to find an excellent spot. It was dark, quiet, and would afford him concealment. The authorities would never think to look for him there.

  He had enough water and rations to last forty-eight hours before he had to move on. But he didn’t expect he’d need to be there anywhere near that long.

  He closed his eyes and conserved his strength for the coming battle.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  The officer assigned to stay with Pulaski did so until they arrived but not a second longer. As the squad car circled the parking lot and slowed to a stop, the officer inside Pulaski’s office was already saying her goodbyes. She was on her way out through the rear door as Sasha, Connelly, and Hank were headed in. They stopped, surrounded by dumpsters, to thank the woman.

  “No thanks needed. But that guy’s a piece of work. I might just let whoever’s after him kill him. No great loss.”

  She waved a hand back toward the building and laughed.

  Sasha suspected the officer’s dark humor hinted at her true feelings about Pulaski.

  “You know lawyers,” she said, giving the woman a sympathetic smile.

  She wondered if Pulaski worked at being so unlikeable or if it came naturally.

  The officer tipped her cap and continued on her way. Then, she turned back, like she’d just remembered something.

  “Your boy got a phone call. Whoever it was scared the crap out of him—he turned pale and started sweating. He blew it off to me like a wrong number, but he went out front and told his secretary to knock off early for the day and then locked the front door.”

  Hank’s eyebrows crawled up his forehead.

  “Thanks for letting us know, Officer …”

  “Truman. Like the president. No problem. Good luck.”

  She reached her car and slid inside, shifted her plastic-covered dry cleaning from the passenger seat to the back, and turned the key in the ignition.

  They continued in through the metal loading dock door and ran straight into Pulaski, who was pacing, wild-eyed, in the hallway. When he saw them, he began to rant.

  “You’re the cavalry? The three of you. Fan-freaking-tastic. I might as well swallow a bullet myself and save him the trouble.”

  Sasha bit her tongue. Let Hank deal with him.

  “Mr. Pulaski, we believe your client’s on his way to kill you. Mr. Connelly and I have a real-time, live link to an elite squad of federal agents that are currently set up in the manager’s office in the Applebee’s up that hill.” Hank pointed toward the back of the building.

  Pulaski stopped pacing and listened.

  Hank went on, “Mr. Connelly and I are more than competent to save your sorry hide if Bricker shows up.” He glanced at Sasha. “As is Ms. McCandless, but I think she’d view your demise as a net benefit to the legal profession.”

  Sasha coughed to cover her laugh.

  “Here’s a bullet-proof vest. Put it on.” Hank lobbed the heavy vest at Pulaski. “Or don’t. I don’t really care. I want to catch Bricker. That’s my primary goal, just so we’re clear.”

  Pulaski huffed but struggled into the vest.

  Then he turned and led them into his office.

  “You know, I didn’t ask for any of this,” he said, stabbing an angry finger toward Sasha. “The judge saddled me with this psychopath.”

  “Karma,” Connelly observed mildly.

  Pulaski narrowed his eyes at Connelly but held his tongue.

  “Tell us about the phone call,” Sasha said.

  “What phone call?”

  “The phone call that almost made you wet your pants. The one that caused you to send your secretary home and lock the door. You know, the wrong number?” Sasha tried to keep her sarcasm dialed down, but it was a losing battle with this guy.

  Pulaski sank into his desk chair and gestured vaguely toward the other two seats. Connelly walked around behind the desk and stared out the window. Hank set up near the door.

  “We don’t need to sit. We need you to hurry up and start talking, so
we can assess the premises and make a plan,” Hank told him.

  Pulaski’s eyes sparked, like he was considering feeding them a lie, but then he shook his head.

  “Fine. He called right as I walked back in the door from the hearing. That female cop who just left was standing in the reception area and started yammering about protective duty. Becca butted in and said I had a call I had to take. I took it right there in the lobby. He said he’d heard I didn’t contest Sasha’s appointment as trustee. I explained that I did but that the judge punted the issue to Kumpar. I told him I wasn’t a probate lawyer, but he wasn’t listening. He just kept saying in this menacing, super-calm voice, ‘you’re going to pay for this.’ So I hung up and sent Becca home.”

  Pulaski turned and gave Sasha a baleful look. “You can think whatever you want about me, but she’s only twenty. She has a kid. I’m not going to let her be exposed out there like a sitting duck.”

  “What I think is that you might have a heart under your exterior crust of misogynistic crap. But the jury’s still out,” she told him.

  Connelly interjected. “How did he sound?”

  “How’d he sound? He sounded crazy, how do you think he sounded?”

  “Was he out of breath? Did his voice sound like he was in pain?” Connelly probed, talking slowly as if Pulaski were a child.

  “Not really. He just sounded pissed off. Why?”

  “Agent Connelly wounded him earlier today, during an alteration outside the courthouse. We don’t know his condition, but it’s reasonable to assume he’s not in peak physical form,” Hank said.

  “You wounded him? And then you let him get away? For Chrissake.”

  Connelly’s face darkened.

  “Listen, Andy, Connolly was more focused on saving Cole’s life. If I were you, I’d tread carefully. There’s an argument that you exposed Cole by sending that process server around. You don’t want to end up in front of the board on an ethics charge, do you?” Sasha smiled sweetly.