I wanted this to end. I wanted it to all be over.
I didn’t like that a small - very small - part of me felt sorry for Joe.
I didn’t like waiting.
The wait finally ended and the answer came back; hitting like a champion boxer’s punch to the head.
Mary Jones had died late last Wednesday night; unbeknownst to any of us. Right before Cawfield went crazy and things started to heat up.
“Shit,” Pierce said softly, lowering his cellphone from his ear.
“He’s fighting the PSYOPS,” Ava said. “Good for him.”
But he wasn’t fighting it for Damon or me. Nor was he fighting it for Carole or Stretch either. And he wasn’t even fighting for CIB.
He was fighting it for his dead wife.
No wonder Weston had started making mistakes. The blackmail he’d undoubtedly had on Jones was as good as defunct without the wife, so he’d quickly moved to brainwash him. But Trevor was inherently a good man, a decent cop. He loved his wife. He loved his job. In that order. And now the PSYOPS was crumbling.
We’d missed our opportunity at the halfway house. Trevor had spoken, but we’d not been listening. Where would Weston have gone to now?
Somewhere close to Howick so when the time came, and I caved and visited Rachel, he could move Carl to that cliff before I got there.
A knock sounded on the door breaking into my thoughts, and Robbie Simpson peered into the room.
Cawfield smiled in welcome, his whole face lighting up at the sight of his partner. Simpson checked him out, from head to toe, to make sure he was in one piece. There was mutual respect and care for each other in that simple exchange. Nothing overtly mushy nor sexual; neither man went that way. But a connection was definitely there that had developed over years working as partners.
Just like my connection to Carl had become so strong that even after death I still turned to him for guidance.
“You were right, Sarge,” he said to Pierce. “He took his assigned vehicle. His sedan has just stopped at an address in Howick.”
Pierce looked at Ava. “He’s breaking the PSYOPS.”
She smiled sweetly and then stood up. “It seems our work here is done.” She turned to leave.
“Hold on a minute,” Pierce snapped. “What about Weston?”
She cocked her head to the side speculatively and said, “I don’t know anyone named Weston, Sergeant.”
And then walked out the door. Charlie followed silently and chillingly after her.
Chapter Thirty
“Keep Pushing And Pushing And Pushing, Sport. But The Moment You Hear Them Snap Back, Shut The Fuck Up And Watch Them Unravel.”
There wasn’t much time, so CIB moved into overdrive. Detectives loaded up on weapons and protection. Velcro ripped. Dome buttons snapped into position. The click-click of magazines being checked sounded. The stab-vest I donned was stiff and cumbersome, but we didn’t know what sort of resistance Weston would offer. Uniforms were brought in. Pierce had a map of Howick up on a large whiteboard. A diagram of the property in question was displayed with red marks and arrows for where we’d all approach from. He was giving directions and placing people where he wanted them.
We’d done operations like this in the past; usually with the Armed Offenders Squad in attendance. And today may end up no different, but you couldn’t rush the Bureau. We had to dot our Is and cross our Ts. That meant AOS had been put on standby, but only until we could get eyes on the scene. A plain clothed car was doing a drive-by in the next ten minutes.
However, I couldn’t help feeling using force would be a very bad thing.
He still had Stretch and Carole. Before this day was through, we’d have a hostage situation on our hands.
I stared at my cellphone and considered phoning Damon and giving him a heads up. I knew he had every right to be involved in this. Not just because his sister was being held by the lunatic we were about to confront and arrest. But also because he’d been working with me on this case almost from the beginning. And recently in an official capacity.
But Pierce didn’t mention him, and I thought Hart was remaining silent on purpose; hoping I’d be too caught up in the manic preparations to remember to advise my partner. I looked up at the board as Pierce repeated his orders for the third time and then tapped my cellphone screen, activating a call.
“Anscombe Securities and Investigations,” Carmel, the dragon, said on the second ring.
“Carmel, it’s Lara Keen. Can I speak to Nick, please?”
“Yeah, he’s expecting you,” she said, soberly. “Hold on.”
No ribbing. No snark. No snide comments or disconnection of the call.
I sat back in my chair and tried to breathe. The room was a swirl of colours around me, most of it the blue-black of the stab-vests. Voices distorted. The walls closed in. I felt my temperature rise as my heart started beating the blood around my body more frantically.
Nick picked up the call a few seconds later, but by then, I was already sweating.
“Hey,” he said.
I closed my eyes.
“What have you got?”
“Eric and Amber found him. Howick. But you already know that.”
I nodded even though he couldn’t see me. “We’re about to go in after a drive-by is completed,” I said.
“You’ll only see what he wants you to see.”
“What does that mean?”
“Lara.” He paused. “He was wearing a trench coat and fedora hat.”
“Carl’s,” I whispered.
“Yeah, but why now?” Why was he dressing up as Carl when we all knew Carl was dead.
I couldn’t think.
“There’s more,” Nick said. “Remember when I said something was brewing on Radar?”
“Yes.” I was sure I wasn’t going to like this.
“He’s reactivated old assets that as best as we can tell belonged to Declan King. He’s arming for war, and your drive-by won’t see it. From the moment my guys got eyes on the house, they slithered back into their cracks and disappeared. But they’re there, Keen. They are so fucking there. He wanted us to see.”
“It’s a trap.”
“A fucking big one.”
I tried to reason out what was happening.
“He wants us to bring in the AOS,” I said a few seconds later.
“Suicide by cop?”
“He’s not the self-sacrificing kind of guy. No,” I said, thinking. “He wants to cause as much damage as he can. Decimate us or at the very least put a huge dent in our psyche.”
“Possibly. The man does seem unhinged.”
What did Ava say?
I am surprised. But I cannot argue your logic.
Weston was acting out of the ordinary. Killing Carl had been a reaction to the situation not part of the plan. It had been a reaction to me. I rattled him.
I didn’t know why when nothing else had until now. I couldn’t connect the dots.
I shook my head and focused on the room around me. It would still be another half hour before CIB would mobilise. It seemed like too long a length of time; Weston could do anything in the interim. But even time-sensitive operations needed to be handled with cool, calm and level heads. Pierce was doing so admirably. But once he heard about King’s assets waiting for us in Howick, the Armed Offenders Squad would be mobilised and Auckland City would plummet into the type of war we hadn’t seen since Declan King.
Is that what Weston wanted? So he could make a clean getaway? A getaway with Carole Michaels?
“OK,” I said down the line. “Thank you for your information. We’ll take it from here.”
“What are you thinking, Detective?” Nick asked.
“One way or another, this ends today.”
“But how does it end?”
I didn’t answer. I swiped the call closed and rose to my feet. Officers dodged me. Detectives head-nodded to me. Pierce was too busy to see where I was going. I wove my way through the chaos of CIB
gearing up for an assault and walked into Hart’s office, closing the door behind me.
He was on the phone. His hair was slightly messy as if he’d run a hand through the greying locks a few times already. Or pulled on them in frustration. But worse than that show of distress, he had removed his tie. Completely.
I stared at the piece of silk as it lay discarded on his desk and stood at parade rest waiting for him to finish his call.
It didn’t take long. From the moment I’d entered the office and closed the door behind me, locking out the rest of the CIB madness, his eyes hadn’t left my face, even as he wound up his heated conversation.
“Detective,” he said, placing the handset back in its cradle. “What have you got for me?”
“It’s a trap,” I said simply. “ASI’s picked up static on Radar that indicates Weston has reactivated Declan King assets and they’re lying in wait for when we get there.”
He said nothing for a long stretch of time. Then he turned his chair sideways, leaned his head back, crossed his legs; ankle to knee, and said, “What are you thinking?”
I walked forward and sat down in the chair opposite his desk.
“He wants to destroy us, or as much of us as he can, in one hit,” I suggested. “Or he simply wants a distraction so he can escape.”
“I agree. To both. Which means, he’s likely to take the Michaels girl with him and leave the HEAT member behind, possibly dead.”
I winced. “AOS will set the whole thing off like a bomb, sir.”
“Yes, but we have procedures, Detective. And any armed standoff, such as this, requires they attend and take overarching control.”
“Not if we get there first.”
He turned to look at me.
“I have to activate them as soon as you leave this room.”
“It’ll take them thirty minutes to respond and another twenty at least to get to Howick at this time of day.”
“Yes.”
“Anything could happen between now and then.”
“Not if I give you an order to stay out of this. You’re compromised, Keen.”
“I disagree. Sir. It’s me who set him off. I’m a key as much as Carole Michaels is.”
“Explain.”
“Carl.”
He stared at me. I pressed on.
“He killed Carl to get to me. Ava, the spook, agreed that was unexpected. Weston does nothing without thought, but killing Carl was a reaction only.”
“It served a strategic purpose; getting to you.”
“But I’m not Damon. I’m not the focus of the revenge.”
“Yet somehow, he’s started focusing on you,” Hart reluctantly agreed.
“Carl,” I said, beginning to see a picture of dots emerging. “He had Carl for days. Anything could have been said. You know how Carl could be. He’d wheedle and wheedle until he got a response and then he’d wheedle some more.”
Keep pushing and pushing and pushing, Sport. But the moment you hear them snap back, shut the fuck up and watch them unravel.
“Against a highly trained PSYOPS agent?”
“It’s possible,” I said with a shrug.
He stared at me.
“This could be disastrous,” he finally said.
“It already was a disaster, sir. Doing nothing would only make it worse. Stretch is as good as dead if we don’t act first.”
“I’m not talking about HEAT. I’m talking about you. If this goes south, it could mean your career.”
“If this goes south, sir, my career is the least of my worries.” I’d have Damon to worry about.
Losing his sister again would be bad enough, but we had to assume Weston would keep her alive, though. He’d done so for so long now; it was a good enough bet. But losing Stretch as well; his HEAT brother? It would send him over that line in the dirt. It would put him on the side of it that made his world crumble. That would break him into a million tiny pieces.
I would not abandon him there. CIB was my family. HEAT were my brothers-in-arms. But Damon?
Damon was my life, my love. My everything. It had taken me too long to realise that there was more outside of being a cop, the daughter of a cop, the granddaughter of one. But I knew it in my heart, in my soul now. I couldn’t stand by and do nothing — disaster or not. Career destroying or not. I had to try.
Hart started reaching toward his telephone. I stiffened.
“I’m calling this in as per procedure, Detective,” he announced clearly, as if he were being recorded, which I highly doubted he was. “The next words out of my mouth will be an order.”
He stared at me, handset to ear, finger hovering over the quick-dial buttons.
“Move your arse before I say them,” he grumbled.
I shot up out of the chair and burst out of his office, almost slamming the door behind me. I leaned back against it and tried to catch my breath. I’d made enough of a scene that detectives nearby stopped what they were doing and stared at me. My eyes met Pierce’s. He arched a brow at me.
I shook my head and made myself walk calmly to my desk to retrieve my jacket. I threw it on over top of the stab-vest; checked my weapons; grabbed my cellphone and wallet and stowed them. Then shoved my handbag in my top drawer and locked it. I wanted my hands free.
“Keen,” Pierce said, approaching me. “What was that all about?”
“Nothing, Sarge. But you should probably go in there and check in with him, though.”
He glanced at Hart’s office door, then back at me. “Lara?”
“Just give me five minutes,” I said. I needed a head start. I hadn’t been assigned a new vehicle, so I’d have to either take one belonging to someone else or better yet, grab one that hadn’t been assigned to anyone yet from the pool. It’d take me all of the five minutes to do that. And even then, I’d be pushing it to exit the underground carpark before the order came down to stop me.
“Five minutes?” Pierce growled. “What are you doing, Detective?”
“Do you trust me, Sarge?”
“With my life.”
I offered a small smile. I hadn’t wanted to let Ryan Pierce in. I’d lost Carl, and it had damn near crippled me. But he’d lost Harvey, his former CIB partner, and that had been enough for him to slip through the cracks of my icy façade; I understood his heartache. Harvey wasn’t dead. But he was out. Even if they hadn’t given the final ruling, we all knew Harvey Stone was not coming back to CIB.
Carl had come back, though; in a manner of speaking. And I had worked hard not let myself be in a position to be hurt again. But Carl was now dead-dead. And Ryan Pierce was someone I could honestly call a friend.
I reached out and touched his arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“Five minutes. Longer if you can do it,” I said.
“You can talk to me, Lara,” Pierce said softly.
I blinked at him. “I know I can, Ryan,” I said simply. “But some things are better left unsaid.”
He shook his head at me, looking bemused.
“Five minutes,” he said.
I nodded my head, checked my gear again, and then jogged from the room.
The chaotic sound of CIB mobilising, like some giant behemoth lumbering up from a deep sleep, fell distant behind me. I didn’t bother with the slow crawling lifts; I smashed through the door to the emergency stairwell and took the steps two at a time down to the garage.
Five minutes wasn’t long in the scheme of things. But for Stretch and Carole, it could be a lifetime.
Carl had become crazy. But in a way, he had still been my Carl. He’d killed to protect me; his partner; the opposite side of his coin. I hadn’t understood it then, and I didn’t condone it now. But I think I got it. Buried deep beneath what had happened to him was the same guy I respected and loved. The same cop I looked up to — the same wise old man who had given me such sound advice over the years.
Carl hadn’t made me into the cop I was today; he couldn’t claim that sole responsibility. But he had hel
ped mould me. Along with my father and my upbringing. Along with my own experiences and take on things. Part of the whole but not the whole of the thing.
I would mourn him properly if I survived this. He deserved that at the very least.
But for now, I would just put my faith in my former partner and hope he had laid the foundation for Weston’s demise. Captured, possibly tortured, and no doubt PSYOPS fucked with in the head, Carl Forrester would have still tried to protect me.
And put his trust in me doing what I was meant to do and joining the dots in the end.
Carl was dead; there was no going back from that.
But Carole and Stretch were still alive, and Weston was waiting.
He just thought I’d bring the cavalry with me because that’s what cops did. We had rules. We had procedures. Not following them, meant our jobs; our careers. I was the daughter of a cop. The granddaughter of a cop. Of course, I would follow them.
But I was also Lara Keen. Me. No one else.
And to protect the man I loved, I’d do anything.
Stretch could not die today. And if I had anything to say with it, Carole would not be taken from her brother again.
Rhys Kyle Weston had made a mistake. Not a reactionary one. But a strategic one.
Who said you couldn’t outwit a spy?
Well, no one. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to try.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Tricky Things Spiders. They Hunt With Patience. They Sit And Wait For Their Prey To Come To Them. You Should Try It, Keen. Sometimes You Can Catch The Spider As He Spins His Own Web.”
I made it with seconds to spare. I heard the phone ring shrilly in the garage just as I’d unlocked the door to a pool vehicle that hadn’t been assigned to anyone yet. The officer of the watch in charge of the pool cars answered the phone just as I drove out under the slowly rising gate at the entrance to the carpark.
I turned onto Cook Street and flicked on my beacons, then silently wove my way through traffic, parting them like the Red Sea, towards the motorway on-ramp.
A Lick Of Heat: H.E.A.T. Book Four Page 27
