by Joshua Guess
I jerked my head toward the door, catching Amanda’s eye. “Let’s move.”
Amanda was smart enough to play the prisoner until we got to my car. I put her in the back and buckled her up, hands still bound behind her.
“What’s your end game here, Carter?” she asked as I pulled into the road. “If you were going to kill me, I think you would have back there. You didn’t even kill Suzanne or Stephen, and they’re way more dangerous.”
There was genuine curiosity in her voice, but threaded through were strands of deep worry. I laughed.
“It’s just the two of us here,” I replied. “You don’t have to lie. We both know you’re lethal as a hundred of them. They’re the sharp tip of the spear, but you’re the information specialist. You’re the brain who figures out stuff like where I’ve stashed my bugout bag.”
I glanced in the rear view as I said it and was rewarded with a reaction. Just a small flinch, but enough to confirm. “How long has Russey been worried I was going to turn on him?”
It was her turn to laugh. “Always, Carter. You’re too damned smart for your own good. You think the boss doesn’t know you run—sorry, ran—the show? I told him he was being paranoid, but I guess he was right. Though if this is a power play, it’s not a very good one. You’re doing a lot of damage. There won’t be anything left of the company at the rate you’re going.”
I shook my head. “What an idiot. He knows my history. Hell, the only reason I took him up on his offer to come here and even do this fucking job was because I owed him.”
Amanda studied me from the back seat. She was calculating enough to bide her time and gather information, and scared enough on a fundamental level to convince herself it was the only reason she wasn’t trying to escape. “Then what is this about? We’re pretty sure you killed Robby. We just don’t know why.”
It wasn’t a hard conclusion to reach given the circumstances. If I’d been called in to postulate a theory based on the same facts—me running from a building full of bodies—I would have reached it, too. I had known they would.
“He hurt a girl,” I said. “She looked like Hannah.”
The words slipped past my lips before I knew they were coming. My training and long habit told me to berate myself for letting the honesty through, but a few seconds later my instinct caught up with reality. It didn’t matter anymore. I wasn’t wearing a mask, didn’t need to be the man everyone in the organization feared.
In a few glances at the mirror, I saw the words have an effect on Amanda. She knew my history probably better than anyone else in the company, given her specialty. “She got away with you.”
It wasn’t a question. “Yeah. Pretty sure you see the dilemma.”
Of course she did. In terms of raw intelligence, Amanda had more computing power between her ears than anyone I’ve ever met. She understood at once that to keep the kid safe, which I was clearly trying to do, I’d have to eliminate all threats.
“Fuck,” Amanda breathed. “Fuck me and especially fuck you. I can’t just stand aside, you know. I respect Tom a lot, and I don’t plan on dying for him, but it’s not like I can just tell the guy I’d rather not be shot to death and take a weekend. I don’t want any part of this.”
I nodded. “Rock and a hard place, I know. I don’t have the resources to keep you prisoner, and you already know I’m not killing anyone if I can help it. Seems like convincing you to stay out of it would be a pretty tough sell, but I know something you don’t. I think it’ll make your decision for you.”
The cool professionalism I was so used to seeing slipped down over her face like an astronaut’s visor, utterly cutting off any sense of what was happening behind it. “Oh? You have a magical solution to how I can convince Russey to take me off the board without you having to kill me?”
“Not really,” I admitted. “It’s just that I have this phone call to make.” I raised the cell phone I’d had in my hand and pushed the call button. I let it ring several times on speaker phone. Halfway through the fourth ring, it cut off abruptly and went to voice mail. “That should do it.”
“Do what?” Amanda asked, though I suspected she had an idea.
I tossed the phone on the seat next to me. “Before I came after you, I stopped by one of my caches. Don’t think you know about all of them, but it doesn’t really matter. This one had some Semtex and detonators. I went to a storage space you’re familiar with.”
Amanda’s eyes widened despite her best effort to control her reaction. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do,” I said. “It’s the storage unit you rented to hide all the backups. It has a satellite internet connection to receive encrypted copies of all the data you gather. You know, the one only you and Russey are supposed to know exists?”
She shook her head and gave a rueful laugh. “I was going to ask how you knew, but I guess I’m not the only one who knows how to ferret out information. The security measures on the door should have been impossible to get past without the code.”
I gave her a predatory grin. “Didn’t know a thing about them, actually. I didn’t bother going through the door. I broke into the unit next to it, hammered out part of the cinder block between them, and dropped the explosives though the hole. Kind of like what you did with the office.”
“He’s going to think I told you,” she said. To her credit, there was no waffling about whether Tom Russey might believe her. Oh, sure. It was possible she might convince him, but in the state of mind he was in, the risk Russey would kill her outright was real. Add to that the sudden inability to get in touch with most of Amanda’s staff, and yeah, the guy would find it more than plausible I’d convinced them to get out of the way if not help me outright.
“I’m fucked,” Amanda said simply. “Russey’s gonna kill you and come after me when he’s done.”
I shrugged one shoulder. “Possible. Then again, I might kill him. In which case you’re just out of a job. Better than the alternative, though. I’m hoping you’re smart and choose to walk, because I really don’t want to have to kill you.”
When I next looked at Amanda, she was grinning. “Oh, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about it.”
She put her head down and curled up in one giant spasm. I was trying to figure out why, still processing those last words, when the SUV slammed into my stolen car at full speed.
My head cracked into the window hard enough to crack the glass, and the world went dark.
17
I was only out for a few seconds. As cool as it looks to see heroes knock someone out cold with a punch, real life doesn’t work that way. Trauma bad enough to leave a person unconscious usually means some truly horrific shit has happened to their brain. Which isn’t to say I came right back to the world with no problems. The world also doesn’t work that way. A sharp blow to the head literally moves your gray matter around inside your skull, which shorts out all kinds of connections.
I got video before audio, the sound apparently on mute. I faded from black and the very first thought I had wasn’t ‘I’m fucked’ or ‘ow my head hurts,’ but the last one I had before the wreck.
I should have searched her for a phone.
I had realized right at the moment of impact that in my rush to get us out the door, I screwed up. Amanda was a techie of the highest order. There was no way she hadn’t used her phone.
The car was broken. Shattered windows were the least of its problems; the entire passenger side was caved-in. I looked around without seeing for a few seconds, dizziness sending a fist of nausea knocking on my midsection.
As I struggled to undo my seat belt and push away the deflating airbag, someone flipped the volume knob back on. I didn’t get to hear the tinkling of falling glass or even the shouts of strangers out on the street. No. Instead the confines of the sedan were filled with the siren wail of Amanda as she belted out incoherent noise.
“Shut up. Jesus,” I shouted at her, my words mostly swallowed by her. I twist
ed around in my seat and looked at her. It was a bad idea; the motion nearly forced me to vomit. And that was before I got a look at her.
Somehow her right leg had caught by the seat in front of her. It was a twisted mess of ragged skin, as if someone with super strength gave the tibia and fibula an Indian burn before jamming the pieces together. Worse, her head had also impacted a window. Her scalp bled fiercely, as scalp wounds often did.
The strike knocked her phone loose from whatever pocket she’d hidden it in. I saw that the call was still open. Whoever hit us with the SUV was probably on the other end.
With a sigh, I took the pistol from its holster, reached over the seat, and pointed it at her.
“Amanda!” I screamed, putting as much bass in my voice as possible. Her eyes darted to me and locked there, wild and wide. “I told you I didn’t want to kill you. Fuck you for making me do this.”
It was vital I take her out of the equation. She was too dangerous a resource to leave on the board. Yet in that moment I couldn’t do the practical thing and put a bullet in her head. Maybe it was the fact that she was still restrained, or her stark terror, maybe a combination of both. Whatever the reason, I couldn’t just kill her outright. So I shot her twice in the gut, careful to aim away from as many organs as possible.
She’d probably survive. Surgery and investigations by the cops would definitely keep her out of my hair until this was done.
That was the last thought I had for a little while, because someone reached in through my window and slid a black bag over my head before decking me.
One thing those movies I keep talking about get right: you almost always wake up in a warehouse or something like it. I knew instantly where I was, even with the bag over my head. The sounds and smells were intimately familiar.
Judging by the ambient light filtering through the bag, I hadn’t been out for long. The sun was still strong as fell through the windows above.
“Ow,” I said, slowly stretching in my bonds. Oh, yeah. I was restrained. I knew the room I was in very well. I was sitting in the custom steel chair welded to an enormous steel plate in the middle of it, my hands cuffed and tied to one of the thick loops built into its back.
“You’re awake,” said a voice. An incredibly angry one. “Good.”
My side erupted in pain as something smashed into my ribs twice in rapid succession. “That’s for what you did to Suz, cocksucker.”
“H-hey Stephen,” I said weakly. “Glad to see you’re feeling better.”
Another hard blow to the same spot. “Good enough to beat your ass.”
“Did you say you’re gonna eat my ass? Because I’m flattered but not into that.”
I heard the swish of fabric, the strain of seams as a hand drew back, but the next hit didn’t land. Before Stephen could lash out again, a voice cracked through the room.
“Stop. He’s trying to provoke you.”
Stephen grunted noncommittally, his shoes scraping the steel as he stepped away. My bell was nicely rung, so it took a few seconds for me to put a name to the voice. “Jen? That you?”
Footsteps, then sudden light as the bag was pulled away. After a couple seconds of adjustment, I got confirmation I was in the old riverside building we’d bought two years back for exactly these kinds of situations. Usually I was on the other side of them.
Hovering in front of me and taking up most of my field of vision was Jen Fields, one of the many contractors we hired out on occasion. The building, a single room about the size of a small ranch house, was empty but for the three of us.
Jen’s eyes were searching, as if trying to delve me for an explanation worth the things I’d done over the last day and a half. “You look terrible,” she finally said.
“Eh. Stage makeup. I was playing an older guy most of the morning. Then I got hit by a car.” I glanced over at Stephen, who glowered at me. “Just the two of you. Guess the wreck and the gunshots has everyone else busy.”
“Amanda is going to live,” Jen said conversationally. “Based on what I’ve been told, I think that was what you were going for. You didn’t hit any arteries, but she’ll be in surgery for hours yet.” She looked off to the side, running her tongue across her lips slowly as she considered. “That fire, the explosion at the storage facility? You’re really trying to dismantle it all? Alone?”
There was real curiosity in her voice, and something else. It was so subtle I thought I might be imagining it, but in my current situation I didn’t have much to lose. “I have my reasons. Good ones.”
Jen had shifted her weight so my face was invisible to Stephen. It only lasted a few seconds, but in that time I let my face flash real emotions at her. I tried to put as much pleading in the expression as possible. If it worked, she showed nothing.
It was over as fast as it began. Before Stephen could catch it, the restrained mask fell over me again. “They must be hard up to bring you in and tell you everything.”
“Like I said, they’re busy. Stephen and I get to watch you until Russey can get free. Which I guess means this will be the last time I see you.”
I nodded. “You’re probably right.”
With a sigh, Jen turned to Stephen. “Go get my stuff out of the car.”
The other man bristled. “Get it yourself. No fucking way I’m leaving this room. He’s a tricky son of a bitch.”
If the barely checked violence in his voice bothered Jen, she didn’t show it. “Fine. I’ll be right back. Do not put a hand on him, though. If he has internal injuries, you might have already made them worse.”
“You’re not my boss, lady,” Stephen said.
Almost to the door, she stopped and slowly turned to face him. “No, I’m not. But your boss did hire me for this job and put me in charge. I’m supposed to make sure Carter can’t get away, but also see that he lives long enough for Russey to get his hands on him. I can’t make you use common sense, so I guess it’s your call.”
Without waiting for a reply, Jen opened the heavy steel door and left in a swish of blonde hair.
The door swung shut with a hollow boom. I let the echoes die out and silence fill the space for a good thirty seconds. Then I got bored.
“Well, this is awkward,” I pointed out. Stephen said nothing as he hate-fucked me with his eyes.
I knew what was in store for me. Jen was a specialist. She’d been a surgical resident, but a series of terrible life choices involving painkillers ruined her career before it truly began. She offered a handful of services, and in a way she was a little like me. She’d picked up skills that made her handy to have around in more than just a medical capacity.
It was her specialty Russey had in mind for me, though. Jen knew exactly where to cut to do the least amount of damage while making it impossible for people to get away. Having your Achilles tendon severed did the job nicely, for example. As a bonus, having muscles and tendons sliced hurt enough to knock some people unconscious. Of my bad options, I hoped for that one.
When she came back inside, Jen carried a massive duffle bag over one shoulder. It was heavy enough she had to lean the other direction to balance it out. Despite the weight, she lowered it to the floor with great care to protect the delicate instruments within.
I watched silently as she took items out of the bag, setting up her work space with practiced efficiency. A crueler person would have made a show, one I was helpless to do anything but watch or close my eyes against, but not Jen. She had a deep kernel of ruthlessness in her, but she was not a monster. Just another person with a lot of talent and terrible decision-making abilities who had to settle for living on the periphery of society.
“I’m going to have to untie your leg,” she said as she worked. “You’ll be able to kick at me, but I’d really prefer you didn’t. I’ll have to take measures if you do.”
She said it with a clinician’s detachment, which if I’m being a hundred percent honest was a hell of a lot scarier than if she’d used a threatening tone. Having seen her work many times
before, I knew the drill.
“I won’t,” I promised. “I know you’re just doing your job, and I’d rather let you get on with it and take the local than Stephen hold my leg while you cut my ACL or something.”
“Fibular collateral ligament, actually,” Jen said. “You’re right, though. You don’t want me cutting that if we can avoid it. It hurts.”
Of that, I had no doubt.
I remained passive as she cut away the bottom part of my pant leg and prepared the anesthetic. I didn’t watch. I knew what was coming next.
The irony wasn’t lost on me. I was the one who’d brought Jen on as a contractor in the first place. The kind of thing she was doing to me was an extreme circumstance we rarely used, one I justified to Russey as a way to keep bodies from piling up. When a man knew he had a good chance of dying, he might get brave. But cutting him down a piece at a time, crippling him, was a powerful motivator.
A lance of hot pain went up my leg when the needle pierced my skin, leaving a dull ache after it had gone.
“This will take a few minutes,” Jen said. “We’ll need to—”
She was interrupted by the sound of shattering glass from outside. All three of us snapped our attention to the door. Stephen drew his weapon and rushed to it.
“I’m gonna check it out. Stay here,” he said. Jen nodded.
She stood and drew her own gun, gaze locked on the door. There was an air of anticipation, of waiting for something to happen.
It wasn’t a long one. Less than a minute after Stephen left, a garbled scream filtered dully through the door.
Then quiet.
18
When the door opened once more and the sunlight streamed in, the figure framed by it was not Stephen’s.
“Kate?” I said, disbelieving. “You have to run. Go! Get out of here!”
Jen was still holding her pistol when I spoke, but upon seeing the girl she lowered it again. “You pulled it off. Good job, kid.”
