by Karen Rose
‘Thank you,’ he whispered. She’d known just how to make him feel better.
She leaned up to place a soft kiss on his lips. ‘Make sure the boys are okay. I’ll talk to the cops.’
Cincinnati, Ohio
Monday, 18 March, 3.30 A.M.
Cade had waited long enough. The house was dark and quiet, and if he waited much longer, the sun would come up. Detective Stone’s body would be found, and they’d know that someone had followed him and Dani Novak out to the house in Bridgetown.
Then they’d move Michael and he’d have lost his chance.
It had to be now or never.
But he was prepared. He double-checked his inventory. Two Molotov cocktails. A lighter. A spare lighter. One rock.
In the event of a necessary contingency, he wore two handguns in shoulder holsters, an AR-15, backup guns at each ankle, and carried three switchblades – all from the old pedo’s weapon room. And if things went truly south, he had the grenades in his jacket pockets.
He hoped they still functioned. They were at least fifty years old, relics from the Vietnam War. He’d never had to use them, but he’d never tried to smoke out a house where a Fed was watching over children, either.
Hell. He was planning to smoke out a house where a Fed was watching over children. So that I can kill a fourteen-year-old kid.
Just leave. Turn your SUV around and drive to fucking Canada.
He closed his eyes. He really wanted to. Michael Rowland had already been through hell. But if Cade got caught on his way to the border, he’d fry for sure. Even if he did manage to cross the border, he could still get caught and, best case, spend the rest of his life behind bars. And wouldn’t his father find that hilarious?
Michael’s eyewitness testimony could send him to prison. Avoiding prison was worth both the risk and whatever guilty conscience he experienced later.
Pulling the ski mask down to cover his face, Cade started his SUV and slowly approached, hugging the wrong side of the road so that he was closer to Dani’s house. He rolled to a quiet stop at the end of her driveway. This was it.
Go! He got out of his car, crouch-walking alongside Deacon Novak’s Suburban, so that he couldn’t be seen. The street was deserted now. No cars. No people walking umpty-million dogs. When he was inches outside the range of motion sensors, he put down the rock and lit the fuse on the Molotov, holding the bottle in his left hand. He had about ten seconds before it blew.
He dropped the lighter into his pocket and picked up the rock, then stood and hurled it at the front window before passing the Molotov to his right hand. He leaned backward, ready to launch it through the broken glass . . .
But the window wasn’t broken. It wasn’t even nicked. The rock had simply bounced off it.
Shit. Impact-resistant glass. He’d have to be content with a fire on the outside of the house. It would still force them out. He’d started to pitch the bottle toward the house when a woman’s voice barked out of the darkness.
‘Stop! FBI. Toss the bottle into the street. Now.’
Cade spun toward the voice, immediately recognizing half of the last couple to have left Dani Novak’s house. The redhead who’d kissed the blond man now held a rifle like it was a lover.
FBI. It was a trap. Not taking time to think, he hurled the bottle toward her, pleased when she turned and leaped out of the way, sliding on her belly. The bottle shattered, spreading fire all over the lawn.
The woman had tricked him, doubling back. The man was likely here, too.
FBI. Fuckers.
Sure enough, a male voice growled from behind him. ‘Hands in the air. Or I will shoot you, make no mistake.’
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Heart racing, Cade slowly turned, leading with his left shoulder. He lifted his left hand while his right reached into his pocket and withdrew the grenade, keeping it palmed and out of sight.
Shit, damn fuck. The big blond man was standing next to the open door of Cade’s Sequoia. Any grenade explosion would destroy his own transportation.
I’ll have to shoot him instead. He reached for his gun, but stopped when the Fed fired a warning shot at the ground in front of him.
‘I said, hands up,’ the man snarled.
Asshole. Cade pulled the pin and tossed the grenade at the man’s feet. He had only a split second to enjoy the shocked look on the man’s face before the Fed turned and sprang forward, better than any long-jumper Cade had ever seen. Sailing over the grenade, the Fed landed on his stomach with his arms outstretched, reaching for Cade.
But Cade was already running and the Fed grasped at air. He’d sped between Novak’s house and her neighbor’s by the time the grenade exploded behind him. He ducked as hunks and shards of metal – remnants of his own vehicle – rained down. Grabbing the pistols from their holsters, he ran, fueled on adrenaline, rage and fear.
Searing pain tore through his thigh and he looked sideways to see the redhead holding her rifle, aiming it at him again. She’d rounded the burning lawn, coming at him from the back of the house.
He whipped his arm to the side and fired repeatedly, not caring where it hit as long as it slowed her down, then felt rather than heard the gun clicking on empty. He couldn’t hear anything right now. Between the woman’s rifle fire, his own gunfire, and the grenade, his ears were seriously ringing. Shit. He half hobbled, half ran forward, grateful that Novak lived in a no-fence neighborhood.
Damn HOAs were good for something, after all.
His knees nearly buckled when another hot shard of pain pierced his leg – the same damn leg. He’d been hit again.
Fucking Feds.
Cade didn’t slow down as he swung the rifle from his back, one-handed, and pulled the trigger, spraying bullets behind him. With his other hand, he found the second grenade and pulled the pin, then tossed it over his shoulder. A few seconds later, the ground shook and dirt rained down around him, leaving him in a smoky haze.
And then he saw his escape.
A woman had opened the door at the back of her house and was peering out. Cade made a run for the door and shoved his way inside before she could draw breath to scream.
He pointed the rifle at her. ‘Don’t scream and I won’t kill you.’
Cincinnati, Ohio
Monday, 18 March, 3.33 A.M.
Michael gasped when the second explosion rocked the house. He’d felt them, which meant they had to be close. Hawkeye crowded his leg, the poor dog trembling. But the dog didn’t leave him, nor did he bark. But he was growling. Michael had his hand on Hawkeye’s neck and could feel the sound vibrating in his throat.
The other dogs were barking, though. They stood, their attention focused on the stairs, bodies jerking with every bark.
They were in the basement of Dani’s house, he and Faith sitting on the sofa while Joshua lay on the floor, curled up in a sleeping bag. ‘Camping’, Faith had called it. Joshua had already been asleep by the time Michael had come down the stairs with Deacon Novak.
Joshua wasn’t asleep anymore. If the explosions hadn’t woken him, the dogs’ barking did. But Joshua didn’t look scared. Mostly confused.
Michael was grateful that Faith had kept Joshua from being afraid. But those explosions changed everything. He saw her fear before she quickly hid it away, because Joshua was sitting up and rubbing his eyes.
‘What was that? Why are the dogs barking?’ Joshua asked, his small hands signing clumsily, like he always did when he first woke up. Then his eyes suddenly filled with excitement. ‘Fireworks? Can we go see?’
No, not fireworks, Michael thought dully. The explosions felt like bombs. Because of me. Because some asshole is trying to get to me. To kill me.
He lurched to his feet, unable to sit any longer. Unable to pretend to be calm and unafraid. He waved at his little brother, signing that he was going to the bathroom.
I just need a
minute. Just a minute, that’s all. He closed himself in the small bathroom and stared at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were wide. Wild. He’d scare Joshua if he went back out looking like this.
Run. Every nerve in his body was telling him to run. To lead this monster as far from Joshua as he could. But that was what the man wanted. Michael understood that. His stepfather’s killer supposedly couldn’t get into this house with its security system designed by Deacon himself. So he’s trying to lure me out.
Michael also understood that as soon as he stepped out of the house, he’d be dead. And then no one would watch over Joshua.
Actually, that wasn’t true, he thought. Coach would. Dani would. Her friends would. Still, Michael had no desire to be dead. So I’ll stay put.
He splashed cold water on his face, then drew several deep breaths, just like Dani had shown him the day he’d gone to the police station.
When was that? Less than two days ago. This is insane. My life is insane.
Drying his face, he returned to the cozy basement room, where Faith was now sitting on the floor with Joshua, rubbing his back comfortingly.
‘See?’ she signed. ‘I told you he’d only be a minute.’ She gave Michael an approving nod. ‘I think we should have more cookies.’
That made Joshua grin, and Michael forced himself to smile. He sat on the sofa and forced himself to wait. Forced himself to breathe. Forced himself to eat a cookie. And to wait some more.
Deacon finally returned to them, expression grim and clothes smelling like smoke. But he, too, forced a smile for Joshua. ‘Did you save me any cookies?’
Joshua laughed. ‘Yes. One,’ he teased, because there were at least a dozen more in the plastic container. He held one up to Deacon. ‘They’re good. Try it.’
Deacon nibbled at the cookie. ‘They are good. Joshua, I saw a box of Lego in the toy box in the corner. Can you get it for me?’
Michael came to his feet, positioning himself so that he could see both Deacon and the toy box. He did trust these people, but he still found he couldn’t breathe when Joshua was out of his sight.
Joshua ran to obey and Deacon turned to Michael and Faith, signing rapidly without speaking. ‘King set a fire in the front yard. We extinguished it. He also threw a grenade at Decker and another at me when I tried to follow him.’
Faith slapped her hand over her mouth. She hadn’t made a sound, because Joshua never looked up.
‘Is Decker okay?’ Michael asked.
Deacon nodded, still not voicing. ‘He knew how to escape it. He took cover under my SUV, but he caught some shrapnel before he was able to roll under it. He’s bleeding, but it doesn’t look too bad. Kate’s with him and we had two ambulances on standby.’
Faith looked over her shoulder to check on Joshua and, seeing him still searching the toy box, asked, ‘How did he start a fire?’
Deacon glanced at Michael and sighed. ‘He threw a Molotov cocktail at the house. Do you know what that is, Michael?’
Michael nodded. ‘I told you. I watch TV.’
One side of Deacon’s mouth twitched up. ‘So you did.’ He sobered. ‘He tried to break the front window first by throwing a rock at it.’
Faith’s smile was dark. ‘I hope it bounced back and hit him in the head.’
‘I wish.’ Deacon scowled. ‘He was standing far enough back that he didn’t trigger the floodlights.’
‘So he’d been watching the house for a while.’ Faith’s signing was less fluid than Deacon’s, but she was understandable and that was all that was important right now. She looked at Michael. ‘The windows are made with “hurricane” glass. They’re all impact resistant. You can’t break them with a rock or even a hammer.’
Michael understood Deacon’s confidence now. ‘That’s why you knew he couldn’t get in.’
Deacon nodded. ‘Exactly. The doors are set in three inches of steel, and I installed cameras and an alarm system. Just like at our house. Nobody’s coming through that door. But if you stay here, he’ll wait us out. We’re moving you ASAP.’
‘Where?’
‘To a nice place,’ Faith told him. ‘You’ll like it there. Go ahead and pack up the Xbox and your clothes, and I’ll help Joshua gather some toys and his clothes.’
‘What about Coach and Dani?’ Michael asked, feeling new panic rise.
‘They’re going to meet you there,’ Deacon promised.
‘How is Stone?’ Faith asked.
Deacon’s face went grim again. ‘He’s going to be okay.’
But Michael didn’t need to be able to hear to know that Deacon wasn’t so sure.
Faith exhaled slowly. ‘Okay. I’ll go to the hospital as soon as we have the boys settled.’
‘I think Jeremy and Marcus would appreciate it.’ Deacon leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead. ‘Dani had to do chest compressions and Diesel breathed for him.’
Faith closed her eyes. ‘God.’
Michael sank to the sofa. Chest compressions meant that the guy’s heart had stopped. He’d died. Because of me.
‘He’s a tough bastard,’ Deacon said. ‘EMS brought him back with the paddles.’
Faith nodded unsteadily, then opened her eyes to focus on Michael. She sat next to him and made him look at her. ‘Your face says you think this is your fault. It’s not. It’s the fault of the asshole who shot him and tried to kill you. Not your fault. You did nothing wrong and everything right. Do you understand me?’
Michael nodded too. They were nice words, but . . . ‘Is he going to die?’
Faith shook her head. ‘He didn’t the last two times he was shot, so odds are good that he’ll be his own grouchy self by lunchtime.’
‘Two times before?’ Michael gaped. ‘This is his third time getting shot?’
She nodded again, firmly this time. ‘And that doesn’t count the time he was shot in Iraq. My cousin really is a tough bastard. All of us are. So you need to be tough, too. It’s kind of a club requirement.’
It was silly enough to make Michael smile, which was just in time because Joshua returned with a concerned frown.
‘I couldn’t find the Legos in the toy box,’ he said.
‘No?’ Deacon tilted his head. ‘Maybe I was wrong. I know another place they could be. Let’s go check.’ He held out his hand and Joshua took it trustingly.
When Michael and Faith were alone, she squeezed his knee. ‘Dani and Deacon are two of the best people I know. They’ll make sure you’re okay.’
Michael let himself believe it because he was too scared not to. ‘I’ll pack up the Xbox so that Dani can beat Coach at Cuphead.’
Faith grinned wickedly. ‘Video it with your phone, please. I want to see the look on Diesel’s face when Dani kicks his . . . cup.’
Michael laughed. Maybe it would be okay after all.
Twenty
Cincinnati, Ohio
Monday, 18 March, 3.45 A.M.
The cops were doing door-to-door searches. Cade leaned against the wall of the house he’d entered and made himself think. Which was hard, because his leg hurt. The wounds weren’t fatal, not like those he’d given Detective Stone. The first bullet had hit a few inches above his knee, the second a few inches below, both far enough away from the femoral artery that he wasn’t going to bleed out.
He didn’t think he’d dripped any blood as he’d run, and they hadn’t seen his face, so they couldn’t identify him if they did manage to catch him. Plus he’d bought his escape with the grenade, his timing perfect. The smoke and dust thrown up by the exploding dirt had kept them from seeing where he’d gone, but they knew he couldn’t have run that far.
The cops were driving along the street, announcing the danger via loudspeaker. ‘A dangerous criminal is on foot in your neighborhood. Keep your doors and windows locked. We will be conducting door-to-door searches.’
<
br /> They’d be here soon. So think, dammit. Be prepared.
‘You,’ he said to the woman who stood trembling before him wearing Minnie Mouse pajamas and a robe. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Evelyn,’ she whispered. ‘Please don’t hurt me.’
‘I said I wouldn’t, as long as you don’t scream. Are you here alone?’
She nodded, but her eyes flicked to the left. Cade followed her line of vision and smiled. Perfect. He limped through the kitchen to the living room, where a baby lay in a playpen, gurgling happily at the toys dangling over its head.
Shouldering the strap to his rifle, Cade scooped the baby up. The kid was cute. Maybe a year old. He didn’t know much about babies. ‘Where’s your husband?’
‘I don’t have one,’ Evelyn rasped.
Her ring finger was bare, so she might have been telling the truth. ‘Come with me.’
She was wringing her hands as tears rolled down her face. ‘Don’t hurt my baby. Please.’
He wheeled on her, giving her a glare that made her whimper. ‘I will not hurt your baby unless you scream or say or do anything that pisses me off. Give me your phone. Now.’ Supporting the baby with one hand, he held out his other. ‘Now.’
Evelyn dug in the pocket of her robe and handed it to him, her hand shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. He pocketed the phone and motioned her to the stairs. ‘You first. And do not try anything.’
She obeyed, whimpering all the while. But she obeyed.
Her bedroom was nicely furnished, as were the two spare rooms – one as a bedroom and one as a study. No sign of a husband. He checked the closets for suits and wingtip shoes and found nothing but women’s clothes. And aprons. Lots of aprons that were made from heavy plastic, decorated with a dog driving a big van.
‘What do you do for a living, Evelyn?’
‘I’m . . . I’m a groomer. Dogs and cats.’
‘When do you leave for work?’ He could respect the fear causing her hesitation. But he had places to go. Like anywhere but here. ‘When, Evelyn?’ he repeated, lifting the rifle just enough to press his point.
