"Well, I need it."
She wasn't happy when I told her that she was incommunicado. I didn't have any more cold phones to hand out.
"Well . . . I'm still going downtown."
Joanne said, "No, you don't want to do that."
"I--"
I said, "I'm afraid you're going to have to stay with your sister and brother-in-law. And I want to leave now. We've waited too long as it is. I mean, right now."
Maree waved a hand whose fingernails ended in glittery white crescents, French tipped, I thought they were called, though I could have been wrong. She said to me, nodding at her sister, "I don't want to stay with her. My God, she's no fun." Then laughed. "I'm kidding. . . . But really, I'll be fine."
"No," I said firmly. "You're coming with us and--"
"You guys go on. Let me borrow the Honda, you don't mind." She looked at me. "My car's in the shop. Do you know what they want for a new fuel pump? . . . Hey, what're you doing?"
Garcia was taking the luggage out to the Armada. He returned to the kitchen and nodded at me, meaning the yard was clear.
To Maree, Freddy said, "You'll have to listen to Corte. You need to leave. Now."
Maree opened her eyes wide. "Wait, wait . . . I know you." She regarded me with a frown.
I must have blinked in surprise. Had we met?
The woman added, "You're on that reality show. The Vacation from Hell. You're the tour guide."
"Please, Mar," Joanne said.
Her sister pouted. "He's mean. He stole my phone."
At that moment I was looking out the kitchen window again into the backyard, trying to figure out what was different from when I'd looked earlier. There was something visible now that hadn't been a half hour ago, because of the shifting angle of the late morning September sun. I called Ryan over and pointed. "Is that a path?"
A line of trampled grass lay between the Kesslers' house and the one I'd mentioned earlier, kitty-corner to the left. It was Teddy's, I recalled, the man who'd gone out for coffee.
"Yeah, to the Knoxes. They're our, I guess, best friends in the neighborhood. We hang out with them all the time."
The path had been created over the summer, from trekking back and forth for barbecues, borrowing cooking ingredients and tools, birthday parties.
"What is it?" Joanne asked. "You're making me uneasy."
"Wow, he does look totally intense," Maree said.
"Corte?" Freddy grunted.
Grimacing, I nodded.
"Shit," the agent muttered. He sighed and unbuttoned his jacket. "Garcia!"
"Go dark," I said.
Freddy and Garcia pulled shades and drapes in the den, TV room and kitchen.
Ryan tensed and Joanne, eyes wide, blurted, "What's going on? Tell me."
I could see the palm of Freddy's hand tap the butt of his Glock. We do this to reorient our muscles and nerves so we know exactly where our weapons are. Like I noted the pressure of the Baby Glock, in the small of my back. I left it in the holster for the moment.
Ryan stepped forward to the window.
"No," I said firmly. "Get back. Loving's here." I herded everyone into the windowless hallway between the kitchen and the front foyer.
"How'd he do it?" Freddy asked. "He should still be halfway from West Virginia."
I didn't answer. There were several possible explanations, though none relevant to our goal at the moment: to keep the principals alive and get out of the area instantly.
"What do you have, sir?" Garcia asked me.
"The house that path leads to? The window closest to here? The blinds were down ten minutes ago. They're about six inches up now. Makes no sense for them to be open only that far, except for surveillance."
"A spotter?"
"No," I said. "A spotter would've picked the house with the best view. That's the one directly behind here, or to the right. Loving's in the left house because he noticed the path and figured the family who lives there'd be good friends with the Kesslers." I added, "They'd have the best information about you and might know what my SUV was doing in your drive and the sedan parked in front."
"Teddy and Kath!" Joanne blurted. "You mean he's there with them?"
"You sure, Corte?" Freddy asked. Meaning, we push the button on this, it's going to get expensive and possibly messy.
"I'm sure enough. . . . I want people here now. Fairfax County and your folks, whoever's nearby."
"Call it in," Freddy ordered Garcia, who pulled his cell phone out of a holster and hit a speed dial button.
"I'm sorry, this is too weird for me," Maree said with an edgy laugh. "The tour guide's freaking us out because somebody opened a window? Good luck, guys." Maree lifted car keys from a dish on a table nearby. "I'm going downtown." She started for the front door.
"No," I told her firmly. "And everybody, get--" The rest of my instructions were cut off at the sound of a huge crash from the street.
Joanne screamed, Maree gasped and stood frozen in front of the door.
I strode forward fast, gripped the young woman by the collar of her jacket and yanked her backward and we fell together onto the tile floor, as the bullets began crashing through the front picture window in the living room.
Chapter 6
THE NUMBNESS VANISHED from Joanne's face and she scrabbled forward on her knees, grabbing her sister and sliding her farther into the foyer, away from the windows.
The younger woman had dropped her forwarded mail in a white spill on the floor. Her camera too had fallen and she cried out, reaching desperately for it.
"Leave it!" Joanne muttered, restraining her.
Ryan had his weapon out now and was crouching.
I still didn't draw because there was no target yet and I was busy flinging my computer into my shoulder bag. Besides, as the shepherd, I tend to let people with more tactical experience handle the firepower.
Two or three more shots into the living room. The slugs slammed into a lamp, a picture frame, the wall. The gunshots were soft, the sound of shattering glass loud.
Freddy was on the phone, calling his agents out front but getting no response.
Were they dead?
"Garcia!" I called. The young agent had instinctively gone to the side windows overlooking the trees, covering our flank. "What do you see?"
"Clear," he shouted. "Only incoming's from the front."
I gestured everyone farther back into the dim hall and then slipped into a small guest bathroom in the front and glanced through a window. A silver Ford had slammed into the rear of the agents' vehicle, knocking it forward ten feet or so. The men, without their seat belts on, had been thrown back then forward and were slumped in the front seat. I couldn't tell if they were dead or alive.
The Ford was immobilized but the driver, who'd been belted in and protected by the airbag, was firing a pistol at us through the open window. I couldn't see the face clearly. He was hunkered down and taking careful aim. I stepped out of the bathroom to find Ryan Kessler taking a deep breath and then bursting forward, breaking the window next to the front door with his pistol barrel, like Clint Eastwood in a spaghetti western. He was aiming toward the car.
"No!" I shouted, grabbing him and pulling him back.
"What're you doing?" the cop cried. "I've got a target!"
"Wait," I replied as calmly as I could. "Garcia, monitor the side yard. Stay on it."
"Roger that."
"Freddy, the back?" I called to the senior agent, who was in the kitchen.
"Clear so far."
Two more shots slammed into the living room.
Maree screamed again.
Ryan said, "Out the back! We can flank him. Why didn't you let me shoot, Corte?"
Maree started crawling toward the back kitchen door, sobbing, her flippancy turned to raw panic. "I'm scared, Jesus, I'm scared."
"Get back," I said to her, grabbing her shoulder to stop her once more.
Joanne had gone catatonic again, staring at the broken glass, saying nothi
ng. Eyes unfocused. I wondered if we'd have to carry her, as sometimes happened.
I said calmly, "Nobody go anywhere."
Freddy took a call. "Corte! Five minutes ago, somebody called in two shooters at George Mason University. Ten students down. All of Fairfax County Tactical is on the way. I'm trying to get a team here but there's nobody available for us."
"A school shooting? No, no, it's fake. Loving called it in. . . . Garcia?"
"Clear on the flank still."
"Okay, we're moving. Out the front."
"He's out there!" Ryan cried.
"No, he's not," I said. "The couple behind you, the Knoxes--what do they drive?"
"A Lexus and a Ford." He glanced out quickly, ducked back. "That's their car! He killed them! Oh, shit."
"God, no . . . no," Joanne whispered, clutching her sister, who was sobbing, her own arms around her camera, which she'd retrieved and was cradling like a baby.
"It's Teddy Knox in the car, not Loving," I said.
"What do you mean?" Ryan asked. "He's a hostage?"
"No, he's the one shooting."
"Teddy wouldn't do that. Even if Loving forced him to."
"Loving is forcing him. He's threatened his wife, who's back in the house. But Teddy's not supposed to hit anybody. He's just shooting at random, to drive us out the back. That's where Loving's waiting for us. In their house, or maybe the bushes. He'll have a partner. He wouldn't try an open assault alone. We go out the front. Freddy, you and Garcia stay in the house and cover the side yard, the one with the trees, and the back. Ryan, when we go, you cover the field on the other side. Don't shoot unless you see somebody engaging with a weapon. We're going to be getting neighbors on the street any minute. I don't want collateral damage."
Ryan hesitated, looking toward the front of the house. He was debating: follow my orders or not?
Joanne said, "Do what he says, Ry! Let's do what he says. Please!"
"Go to my SUV fast but not so fast you hurt yourself falling. Okay?"
"Hurt ourselves falling?" Ryan blurted, at my bizarre concern.
The delay from a twisted ankle could kill us all.
"What if Loving's in the car, the backseat?" Freddy asked.
"Wouldn't be logical," I called, then turned to Ryan. "The side yard? Loving could be prone and crawling up. You saw his picture. If you can confirm it's him, try for a nonlethal shot. We need to know who hired him."
"I can park one in his shoulder or ankle," Ryan said.
"Good. Better to aim low. Avoid the femoral. I want him stopped but not bled out."
"Got it."
I hit the button on the key fob that started and unlocked the Nissan, then opened the front door to the house a few inches, drew a target on the driver of the silver Ford, which was sitting half on the parking strip, half in the street. He was in a baseball cap and sunglasses, tears running down his cheeks. He appeared to be mouthing, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." A black pistol was secured to his hand with duct tape. The slide was back; he'd run out of ammunition.
"Teddy!" Joanne called.
Miserable, the man shook his head. Thinking of his wife, the edge, at home--with Loving holding a gun on her, or so he thought. Loving had likely killed her the moment her husband pulled out of the driveway. The lifter's plan was good. It was what I would've done had I been in Loving's position, limited personnel attempting to snatch a principal who was an armed cop, with several other law enforcers inside, in daylight, no less.
I looked around and ushered Ryan, Joanne and Maree out. We moved steadily toward the Armada, about twenty-five feet away.
Though I was convinced that Loving and any backup were waiting behind the house I checked the garage first. It was clear. We continued on.
Like a hungry wolf, Ryan kept his eye on the far side yard, weapon up and finger outside the trigger of his revolver.
We arrived at the Armada and I got everybody inside and locked the doors.
Maree was still crying and shivering, Joanne was blinking, her eyes wide, and Ryan was scanning for prone soldiers crawling up on our flank.
"Seat belts!" I called. "It'll be rough for a few minutes."
I skidded in a wide circle through the yard that Ryan had been guarding, then over a neighbor's lawn and into the street, redlining the big vehicle up to sixty, sitting forward and watching carefully for pedestrians, bicyclists and backing-out cars.
I wasn't surprised that I heard no gunshots from either the hostiles or from Freddy and Garcia. The lifter and any associates would have noted the plan didn't work and would get away as fast as they could. Had Loving not called in the fake school shooting announcement, we'd have had more than enough Fairfax County Police in the area to set up roadblocks and interdict them but that wasn't going to happen now.
I slowed the vehicle, to keep attention off us; I wouldn't want Loving to circle around in this direction, flash a fake badge and ask if anybody had seen a gray Nissan SUV.
Ryan sat back and holstered his weapon. "You're sure it was Loving?"
"Yes. That's exactly the kind of strategy he'd choose. There's no doubt it was him."
I was aware of the corollary to that conclusion: Loving would know too--because of the escape strategy--that I was the opponent he was now playing against.
Chapter 7
THIRTY MINUTES LATER--it was about half past noon--I was eyeing a beige car some distance behind us, moving at about our speed, as we cruised along surface roads in Prince William County, a place with a multiple personality. The populace included politicos, business people, farmers, proud rednecks, entry-level strivers and plenty of recent immigrants.
Most of the meth in the Northern Virginia area got cooked in PW.
I couldn't tell the make or model of the car but was well aware that it had made the same turn we had a couple of miles back, a pointless trip down a bleak, blue-collar side street, a shortcut to nowhere. You either lived on Heavenly Lane or you detoured along it to see if somebody was trailing you.
Whoever was in the beige car didn't live there; it was still behind us.
Light sedan. No year, no make, no model . . .
I guessed that Loving had probably switched wheels. Yet it was possible that he would keep the same car . . . because it wasn't what we'd expect. I debated but decided not to radio for assistance, not yet; again, I didn't want to call attention to us.
I'd just keep an eye on our beige shadow.
The Kesslers were calmer now, not much, but some. In the front passenger seat Ryan was playing lookout and Maree's pendulum had swung eerily from hysterical back to cute and coy. She kept calling me "Tour Guide," which I found more irritating than her panicked screaming a half hour before. Joanne had gone into withdrawal again and was staring blankly out the side window. I wondered if she'd always been this timid or if the incident at the deli six years ago--facing her own death and seeing Ryan and the owners shot--had affected her fundamentally. The degree of Joanne's emotional state might have been extreme but the frame of mind itself wasn't. The response of principals when a lifter or hitter is after them often follows the stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. Joanne's detachment was a form of denial.
Once we'd sped out of the Kesslers' neighborhood, via an evasive route, Joanne had said only two things. First, she'd made the accurate observation that at least her stepdaughter and Bill Carter were safe, since it was obvious where Loving and any partners had been hiding. Then she offered the speculation that it made sense that Teddy Knox's wife was all right too. If Loving had killed her, that would lessen the leverage--the edge--he'd have over Teddy to discourage him not to testify against him. That was a possibility, yes. It was also possible, however, that Loving didn't care what Teddy knew and could testify to and he'd just killed the wife for convenience. That was my opinion but I said nothing.
Ryan asked me to call Freddy and find out if the wife was all right, but it was possible that he, Garcia and the other agents--if they were alive and function
ing--had engaged Loving or were in pursuit and I didn't want to distract them. Freddy would call when he had something to say. I told Ryan this and he nodded, though he seemed irritated I wouldn't make the call. He returned to his impromptu surveillance.
I made a sudden turn into a Burger King parking lot and paused.
Startling me, Maree said quickly, "Hey, can I escape for a minute? There's a pay phone."
"No. Stay in the vehicle."
"Please?" Sounding like a teenager begging for a trip to the mall.
"No," I repeated.
"But it wouldn't be traced or anything. Really, I know all about it."
"About what?" her sister asked.
"Surveillance. I saw this episode on NCIS? Spies use pay phones to be safe. Off the grid. That's what they say."
"Sorry, no calls," I said.
"Oh, you're no fun. I demand a lawyer!" She fell into a juvenile pout. It irritated me all the more and I ignored her.
I waited for the beige car to pass us. Which it didn't do. After ten minutes, I returned to the road and sped up, trying to catch the lights, incurring a horn or two. An extended middle finger, as well. But we saw no beige cars.
My hands-free announced Freddy was calling.
At last . . .
I asked, "Your guys in the car out front, they're okay?"
"Yep. Battered. Should've had their belts on. They learned their lesson."
"And how about the shooting at the school?" I'd believed it was fake but I wasn't sure. I would have been troubled by casualties, certainly; I was, however, more interested to learn if false alarms were a technique Henry Loving was adding to his repertoire. Something else to file away about him.
"You were right, son. Three-dollar bill. Nothing at all. But it kept sixty troopers and agents busy for close to an hour."
"Okay, Loving?"
"Got clean away. No leads. No vehicle."
"Anybody see anything beige that was there and then wasn't? Sedan."
"Beige? No, and we canvassed. But one of my guys across the street got a look at his partner. In the side yard, the trees, where Garcia was covering. Tall, thin, sandy hair, wearing a dark green windbreaker or army jacket."
"Weapon?"
"Black autoloader. Couldn't tell what kind. He was running out of the woods fast, after you left."
We were past densely populated areas and were surrounded by fields and houses and some commercial lots with businesses limping along or abandoned to banks. I now eased up the speed of the big SUV steadily.