Chapter 42
Stone yanked me to my feet and Sam spilled out of my arms and hit the snowy ground with a grunt. Max barked so hard the glass on my truck seemed about to shatter.
“Like I told you on the phone, she’s not going anywhere now.” Reynolds aimed the gun at Stone. From fifty feet away and dusted with snow, he looked skinny and harmless. But I knew he'd created the safer distance to get a clear shot at Stone. “You both lied to me, said she hadn’t a clue about Goliath.” Reynolds laughed. "You thought you were so clever for stalling me, Miss Larson, when we were really waiting for the detective to join the party."
Stone stiffened. I had only a second to enjoy watching fear seep from his pores before my head got back to recalculating ways to save Sam from the hail of bullets about to encircle us. But with the toxic mix of hypothermia, shock, and complete terror, my mind was a blank. All I had was the truth.
“Stone kept the evidence for insurance," I said. "He’s going to bring you down, just like he framed—” Stone shut me up with a jerk of my arm, electrifying my injured shoulder, and I wailed and stumbled
Sam struggled to sit using his good arm and blanched as white at the bed of earth around him. I shook my head so he wouldn't try to help me. He needed to save his energies. My heart sank when his gaze locked on Stone's hip holster, an impossible feat in his condition or from his distance. Reynolds had been right: impotence was Sam's worst enemy. And mine.
“She goes with me.” Stone shoved me toward his car, and I remembered his hidden BUG between the seat and doorframe, the revolver he'd used to kill Burke. But he still held my wrist of my bad arm. “That was the deal, Reynolds.”
"That was the old deal. Now we're renegotiating.""Same girl, same deal. Don't fuck with me."
“Or you’ll do what? You work for Goliath now.”
“No, I don’t. And you don’t call the shots for this operation. But I know who does. He’s just waiting for you to blow this op too.” Stone stepped forward. I didn’t bother warning him about losing toes before two bullets punctured the snow near the tips of his damn perfect shoes.
“You have ten seconds to explain your little deal with the mayor,” said Reynolds.
“The mayor?” Stone glanced from Reynolds to Sam.
"Yes, the mayor, and this phone recording you held back from the evidence locker."
"You've been holding back on me, Sam. Not a good plan." As Stone shifted his body to glare at me, his forearm brushed his gun harness, releasing the snap. That's when I saw the Glock sitting in his holster. He'd retrieved the weapons of his Burke had discarded. Leave no trace.
Whether he was threatening me or Sam, or signaling us, I didn't care. My patience was waning. I didn’t have time to watch these two fools dance around each other’s egos.
"Don't bluff me, Stone," snapped Reynolds. "She already tried that tactic, which only made me start shooting. I see now why you feigned ignorance about that file; you knew the audio would implicate your double-cross. And no one double-crosses me."
"See what I mean," Sam mumbled to Stone. "Never know what you're getting with me."
Sam's curse was his unpredictability. A curse and a blessing. I could still learn a few tricks from Sam.
I ducked behind Stone’s back and ripped the gun from his holster, shooting wildly in Reynolds’ direction. Neither man expected the move, so they both hesitated.
My aim was off, but Stone guided my hand and squeezed, crushing my finger on the trigger, so I couldn’t stop firing.
Then Stone’s body slammed against me as Reynolds returned fire, and we stumbled. He’d survived Burke’s attack thanks to the thick Kevlar vest I could feel him wearing, and now he was serving as my shield. Luckily for Stone, those 22 caliber shots to his center mass weren't dropping him at this distance, let alone breaking any of his ribs.
Sequential shots from Stone's automatic had Reynolds running for cover, which from his angle consisted of a few trees behind his cabin. For an ace shot, the man acted like a coward in face-to-face combat.
A round clipped Reynolds' ankle, sprawling him into the woods. He got off another two shots as he rolled over. One hit my truck, the other grazed Stone's shoulder and made him jerk to the left while his right arm kept firing.
Stone walked us forward, continuing the shooting spree while Reynolds was down. Bullets pelted the man's body, making him buck with each hit. We fired till the chamber was empty.
By then, Reynolds's body settled at the base of the tree, his wide arms welcoming the snowfall, his Wall Street coat looking disjointed against the cradle of snow-laced branches.
“No, asshole. Nobody double-crosses me,” said Stone.
Wheezing like a blown-out tire, he pulled his gun away, leaving my hand throbbing, and bent over to catch his breath. Maybe he’d pass out from so many shots to his ribs in one night. Then Sam and I could escape. Or maybe I couldn't count on luck to save my ass anymore.
Sam lay unconscious, Stone was off-guard. Yet I just stood there, staring at Reynolds’ body. My throat constricted, so I couldn’t swallow. The gun had burned an imprint into my hand, the report still rang in my ears, and cordite filled my nostrils. I’d killed a man. Not Luke, not Raul or Petosa, or even Burke. But this man I had killed. And intended to kill.
Time was on pause. Snow blurred the edges around me, as I couldn’t take my eyes off my victim. He’d never hurt Sam again. I'd sacrificed to make sure. Finally, I walked toward the body and waited for a word, a breath, a twitch from the proud, undefeatable Reynolds. His chest was a colander of oozing holes, his blood shimmering under the cabin’s skim of light. The bastard was so arrogant he hadn't worn a vest.
“Trust me, you got him,” said Stone. “Now let’s go.”
I retrieved my keys from Reynolds’ pocket and released the alarm on my truck.
“Leave the truck,” Stone called, checking Sam's pulse. “I’ll call a bus for Sam, but you and I are leaving now.”
“I’m not leaving without my dog,” I answered.
While Stone busied himself planting his spent gun on Sam, I found Sam's .22, which Reynolds had dropped in the ferns. Small caliber. Just like a woman would use.
Stone turned, registered his new opponent. Not even a tick of fear crossed his face. Rather, he looked bemused for a man who no longer held a gun in his hand.
“I don’t take orders from you,” I said, aiming the gun at his chest. The vest, I remembered, and lowered my aim
“Jules.” Sam’s voice was only a whisper, but I was so cold, so numb I couldn't listen.
The trees cracked.
Stone staggered backwards into the bumper of his Crown Vic. I'd aimed for his balls but hit somewhere near his kneecap. Another bullet belted his side. Another hit his thigh. Another buried itself somewhere into the engine, but the last one sent his arm swinging outward, though that shot I’d aimed for his head. At less than ten feet, my aim had improved.
His body slid down the hood of his car till his crotch caught on the license plate and he froze there, like embedded roadkill.Shadows emerged from behind Burke's SUV. Tall shadows with big sticks.
I aimed the gun, though I knew I was out of bullets.
James stepped into the light, a rifle crossing his arms. “We heard gunfire. Whoa.” He noted Stone’s body spread eagle on the hood.
Malta came up behind him and jerked to a halt. “Holy shit. I definitely miss all the good fights.”
By then I’d retrieved Stone's weapon from Sam's hand. Sam was out cold. Hopefully he'd missed the grand finale.
“Sam, wake up.” I slapped his face, but he was listless. “Get him in my truck. Now.”
More swearing when they spotted Reynolds near the tree.
As James hoisted Sam over his shoulder and carried him to my truck, I gave Malta instructions where to find Stone's gun in his car. "Hid it in one of the stashes in my truck. And don't get your prints on it," I added.
Meanwhile, I raised Stone's Glock, aimed for the gasoline can. "Fire to cleanse." And pulled the trigger.
A couple misses, then I hit the mark, spraying gasoline onto the porch. I found the lighter in the back seat of Stone's car, tore off a strip of roof material and lit up. Whooomph. The flame inhaled the gasoline and spread up the porch walls like a genie set free.
“Drive. And don't stop for anyone.” I tossed James the keys and climbed into the back seat of my truck, taking Sam onto my lap. My nerves were shot, and I knew James could drive a getaway car in his business.
Malta jumped into the passenger seat, wrapping the pistol in her scarf and looked at the fire spreading up the cabin's front door. “What the hell happened here?”
“Just a little family reunion." I handed her Stone's gun to add to her collection.
My prints were on the .22 with Sam's and Reynolds' prints, and on the Glock with Stone and Burke's. No one would ever sort out the mess, let alone believe I killed an ace shot like Reynolds. Hell, I still didn't believe it.
"Give me something to stop the bleeding.” I stuffed Max’s blanket into Sam’s hip, wrapping his body in the rest of the cloth. Max leaned over the seat back, licking Sam's face. “Turn the heat on high. And find me the closest hospital.”
Malta handed me her jacket, which I pressed into Sam’s shoulder.
Sam came to, grumbling from the pressure. “Hey, brother," he said, surprise in his tone.
“Hey, yourself.” James smiled in the rearview mirror on hearing the vote of redemption. “Cool your heels. Gonna get bumpy.” He raced up the winding road, clipping a ditch to get around Stone’s car and then the deputy’s SUV.
“No worries,” Sam slurred. “Got the best driver.”
Already the fire lit up the forest behind us, like hell's jaws chomped at our heels. Sam and I had come full circle.
Like a race-car driver, James hit the main road and ripped through every town stop sign, slowing long enough for Malta to yell “clear,” then surging forward again.
Max whined and Sam's head drooped. I clutched him against my chest. “Wake up, Sam. Damn it, wake up.”
“Glen Falls Hospital,” said Malta, working the GPS.
“That’s twenty minutes,” I said. “He won’t make it.”
Malta looked over the seat. “That’s the only one.”
***
James launched my truck into the hospital parking lot like a Navy Seal boat scraping ashore, and we ground to a stop in front of the Urgent Care doors. We'd flown down the interstate without getting pulled over by cops. According to the CB radio, all the locals were at Burke's murder scene.
“Move, move, move,” I yelled, kicking the door. I’d emptied Sam’s pockets: phone, wallet, keys, federal ID, the photograph of him and James. His guns and knife were gone. Anything that could identify him. John Doe was safer than an abandoned Federal Agent.
A second later, James grabbed fistfuls of Sam’s coat and yanked him out of the car. A man dressed in scrubs ran toward us. He grabbed a stretcher when he saw the body.
“Bullet wound to the left shoulder, another to the right hip,” I said before he could ask.
James unfolded Sam onto the stretcher. As they wheeled Sam inside, the male nurse checked his pulse, and then pulled back his shirt to examine the wound. The nurse shook his head.
“I can give blood.” I ran behind, ready to brave the police, the questioning, the brotherhood... anything to spend Sam’s last minutes holding his hand.
“Are you his blood type?” asked the nurse.
I ran my fingers through my hair. “I don’t know. God, I don’t know.” Two sugars, no cream. What the hell good was that now?
They rolled Sam into a room with aqua tiles and shocking white lights. I pushed my way into the room. And got pushed out.
“Stand back,” said the first man as more staff in scrubs came running.
James held me aside. “Let them do their jobs.”
Everyone was moving, ordering, doing something. And I just stood there.
“Someone will come and take your information.” The voice in my ear was female, but my eyes were on Sam’s body as they sliced off his shirt and pants. I could feel my hands running those scissors up his arm. A voice called “clear” and then I heard the whirr of a crash cart gearing up. I could feel the blood drain from my body.
James gently squeezed my shoulders. “He’ll make it. He’s Sam.”
I turned and pushed him away. “Go. Don’t ask questions, just go get your truck and run. Get rid of the guns, the IDs, anything that lead back to us." I swallowed, remembering the box with the photos that Sam had given me. "And keep your mouths shut if you want to live.”
“He’s my brother,” said James. “I stay.”
“We all stay,” said Malta, a hand to her brother’s back. She’d influenced him before when it came to Sam, and I needed her to be smart now.
Fisting the arm of her shirt, I said, “The last thing Sam would want is to be responsible for your deaths. Now get your brother the hell out of here.”
Malta sucked in her cheeks, looked at the door to Sam’s room.
“I’ll take care of him,” I said, releasing her and shaking off the anger. “You take care of Max.”
She slowly nodded and yanked James toward the parking lot.
The male nurse came out of Sam’s room, found me alone and frowned at the exit. “He’s going into surgery. We call in all bullet wounds. The police will want to ask you questions.”
“Whatever he needs.” I swiped a hand over my face. My cheeks felt wet with tears and snow and... I looked down. My hands were covered in blood. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
I ran down the hall and locked myself into a bathroom. I scrubbed my hands, my face, my neck. Washing, drying, repeating. Soon I’d emptied the towel dispenser and overwhelmed the garbage bin, but when I looked into the mirror my blond hair was still streaked crimson. A chill slipped down my spine. His past, his former bed companions—even Sam claimed he'd experienced blackouts during his last days on the force. Maybe he had participated with prostitutes, unaware. Either way, I’d been exposed completely now. Sam was a part of me, for better or for worse.
I rushed to the toilet and vomited.
On my wrist the gold bracelet sparkled with water droplets. His niece had stood for his heart, the least I could do was stand for his body. So I shook off doubt, got my head in the fight. The photo of Sam and James I ripped into tiny pieces and flushed. Then I headed toward the Urgent Care desk to check on Sam's progress and his blood type.
A security guard exited the elevator in front of me, so I veered into the lounge, pretending to examine the vending machine selection while I watched the guard’s reflection in the glass. I couldn’t risk meeting anyone tied to Goliath. But I couldn’t protect Sam alone.
Sam’s phone casing was scraped and scarred, like both of us. I scrolled through initials I didn’t recognize with New York and D.C. area codes, either of which could be Feds. I skipped the name Ray, the devil known as Stone, then came to the final name: Wife.
My finger hovered over the button. Whoever this was, Sam had trusted them when we were on the run.
The line rang several times. At five in the morning, the person was likely asleep.
“Hey, baby. I was just looking for you at our favorite hangout.” Her voice sounded affected but husky. A hooker?
I couldn’t be sure the line wasn’t tapped, nor could I guess Sam’s code with her, so I cut to the chase. “Are you really his wife?” And would I have to give her the bad news?
“This is a private line. Identify yourself.” Mystery wife's voice was stern now. People yelled in the background over what sounded like a helicopter. With a thud, the sounds stopped, like she’d moved inside and shut a door. “Identify yourself or get off this line."
Down the hall, the security guard stepped to the nurse’s desk and thumbed at the entrance. He was expecting someone, and it wasn’t the pope. The nurse stood and pointed in my direction. The security guard caught my eye.
“Shit.” I whipped back around to face the machine stocked with sugarless gum and candy bars and watched the security guard talking into his handset
“I’m ending this call if you don’t start talking. Now who the hell are you?”
My voice cracked. “I’m the rabbit.”