Dangerous Ground 2: Old Poison (14 page)

“I don't care for what you're implying.”

“We're not implying anything, ma'am,” Wray said. “We're just trying to get to the truth. It's nothing personal.”

Maybe not for Wray. As far as Will was concerned it was time to take the kid gloves off.

They needed to break Sugimori and break her fast, because if they walked out of this house without the answers they needed, she was going to make two phone calls: one to a lawyer and one to Yukishige Sugimori. There was a more-than-good chance that the first thing she told little brother would be to kill Taylor—assuming he was not already dead.

Will refused to consider that. If they'd wanted Taylor dead outright, they'd have executed him in Will's front yard when they shot Varga.

“Why do you think your husband killed himself, Mrs. Sugimori?” Will inquired.

For an instant the pale mouth seemed unable to form words. “He was…depressed.”

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“I'd say that goes without saying.”

She blinked at him, nonplussed by the sudden, blatant aggression.

“Marital problems?” Will pressed. “That's the usual thing, isn't it?”

“No!”

He could feel Wray watching him, but she didn't try to intervene. “You weren't with him in Japan. That could have made a difference. Why weren't you there with your husband?”

Her lips were parted, but no words were spoken.

Wray interjected, equally cool, “Do you happen to own a brown Chevy, Mrs. Sugimori?”

The pale eyes widened like an animal at bay.

“Mrs. Sugimori, do you own a gun?” Will asked.

* * * *

The broken edge of the earthenware jug had to be fairly dull, because his hand slipped several times but he didn't cut himself—maybe a good thing, if the contents of the bottle had been laced with rat poison. Not so good for cutting through these fucking ropes.

Jesus, he was tired. If he could just rest a few minutes.

But he was making progress. He'd kicked his legs free of the ropes a short while earlier.

He just needed…a few more…minutes…

A door slammed, the bang as loud as a shot in the empty building. Taylor's head jerked up.

Time. He rolled onto his knees, tucked his feet, and stood. Thank you God for the use of his legs, because he'd be a sitting duck otherwise. He leaned back against the wall, fighting his dizziness, trying to contain his breathing.

Footsteps approached briskly. Yu-Gi-Oh! was going to make this fast.

Taylor hit him coming through the door, a shoulder ramming into the other man. Yuki slammed into the opposite wall and dropped the gun he held. It clattered on the cement floor.

After a fleeting second of astonished realization, Yuki dived for it. Taylor kicked him in the jaw, and Yuki went flying. He landed on his back and was back on his feet in a reasonably steady kip-up.

Terrific.

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Josh Lanyon

Taylor gave a hard, despairing yank on the rope around his wrists and felt it give. Not enough, though, and Yuki was coming at him
Fists of Fury
-style, throwing kicks and chops like a crazy windmill. Taylor ducked away, kicked the pistol through the door into the other room, away from their area of combat. He delivered a couple of roundhouse strikes.

Yuki staggered back and laughed. “You think you're Chuck Norris, dude?”

Taylor didn't have the breath to spare. Sweat stung his eyes, soaked the back of his shirt.

This had to be fast, because he didn't have the strength left for extended combat.

Yuki flew at him again; this time Taylor turned aside and let the kid hit the wall. He smashed into it but was up again, fists and feet flying,
laughing.

Oh, to be twenty and a fucking psycho again.

Taylor was only too conscious of the fact that if one of those strikes connected, it was all over for him. He kept moving, ducking, weaving, managing to deliver a few good kicks. His basic strategy was to wear Yuki down a little. The problem was he was wearing down too.

He kept working at the rope around his wrist, tugging and rubbing at it, ignoring the pain of his flesh being scraped raw.

Yuki came hurtling at him again, delivering a succession of showy tornado and 720 kicks.

Exhibition stuff. The prick was playing with him, cat and mouse. Taylor faked a retreat toward the doorway and, when Yuki charged after him, dropped him in his tracks with a jackknife kick to the head. Unfortunately, unable to use his arms for balance, it landed Taylor too. Hard.

It was like flipping a turtle on its back. Taylor rolled over, trying to get his feet under him.

Yuki, stunned for a few seconds, was getting up again, and the look in his eyes said he was through playing games. He rushed at Taylor.

Taylor gave one last desperate yank to the restraints around his wrists and felt the rope give. He dived through the doorway, scrambling for the gun.

* * * *

“You have no right to insinuate these things!” Alexandra Sugimori cried. There was color in her face now; her eyes seemed to glitter.

“Have you heard of the Federal Death Penalty Act of 1994?” Will inquired. He felt Wray's double take, but he had no time for that. Time was running out for Taylor. He knew it; call it Dangerous Ground: Old Poison

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instinct or intuition or gut feeling. He knew it as sure as he was standing there. It was now or never. It was
now
. He was not standing by while Taylor died.

“No,” Sugimori said defiantly. “No doubt you'll tell me.”

“It means if you're responsible for the death of Federal Agent Varga, you get the death penalty too. But if you help us save the life of the remaining agent, that could go a long way toward making a difference to what happens to you.” That wasn't exactly accurate, but it was close enough for their purposes.

Sugimori seemed to struggle internally. Her face worked. She said, “I have
nothing
to do with anyone's death.”

“Bullshit.”

“How
dare
you? How
dare
you come into my home and accuse me of these things?”

“There's an easy way to solve this,” Wray said, a voice of calm in the high seas. “Mrs.

Sugimori, we'd like to ask you to voluntarily come downtown to take part in a lineup.”

Sugimori froze. She said finally, “I'm not going anywhere with you people. I'm calling my lawyer!”

* * * *

Taylor's fingers brushed the butt of the pistol as Yuki landed on top of him, knocking the wind out of his lungs, sending the pistol skittering. He heaved the younger man off, crawled for the gun. They were in a large open room and not far from away was a sliding glass door. And beyond the sliding glass door was…nothing. Empty sky and then the vast blue stretch of ocean.

The house perched precariously on a hillside that was being steadily eaten away by the waves below. The yard, the deck, the steps—all gone into the ocean.

No wonder Alexandra had been so confident no one would ever find him.

Yuki tackled him around the waist, and they both rolled away from the gun. Taylor head butted Yuki, and as Yuki's grip relaxed, he wriggled free and stretched for the pistol again.

Yuki grabbed his waistband, dragging him back, and Taylor flipped over and kicked him in the chest as hard as he could. Yuki stumbled back and crashed through the glass doors, dropping from sight with a scream.

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Josh Lanyon

Trembling, gulping for breath, Taylor lay on the floor, staring at the man-sized hole in the shattered glass, at the gaping hole in the sky. He half expected Yuki's bloody hands to appear over the jagged glass in the door track, see Yuki drag himself back, invincible like those villains in movies.

Nothing happened. He could hear the thunder of the surf, feel the pound of it hitting the rocks below. The chill, salty air gusted in through the broken door and cooled his sweating face.

He could hear the cries of the gulls wheeling outside the glass door.

He rested his forehead on the cement.

At last he pushed to his feet, picked up the fallen pistol, and went over to the broken door.

He looked down at a dizzying sheer drop of rocks and swirling water. There was no sign of Yuki.

If he'd missed the rocks and knew how to swim, he might have survived the fall. Probably not.

Taylor hoped not. That one had been for Varga.

Far out on the blue, diamond-dazzled water, he could see sailboats beneath the bright yellow sun. He remembered the card Will had given him for his birthday. Abruptly all the strength seemed to drain out of him. He sat down slowly, carefully, as though he were a thousand years old.

* * * *

Alexandra Sugimori was tougher than she looked. From some hidden reserve of strength, she found the will to ignore their threats and reject their bargains. Finally she refused to answer at all, sitting and staring into space, her face as remote as one of those Shinto goddesses.

“We can't continue to deny her access to her lawyer,” Wray warned Will in an undervoice as they took a break from hammering at their suspect's walls. “Even if you are the federal government.”

“No way does that bitch phone anyone without us knowing exactly who and what instructions she's giving.”

Wray opened her mouth, but her phone rang. She moved away to answer it. Will glanced at her and then glanced at Sugimori. She was staring at him with cold hatred. He stared back.

Wray suddenly let out a disconcertingly girlie squeal. “You got a partial print from the fuse? Yeah?” Her eyes met Will's. “Yukishige Sugimori. The brother.”

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At the same time Will's phone rang. He grabbed it.
Unknown Caller
. If this was some moron trying to sell him something, he was going to be slapped with a federal charge so fast, his head would spin.

“Brandt.”

“It's me,” Taylor's faraway voice said.

Will's heart seemed to stop cold, then bounded like a deer. “Are you all right?
Christ
. I thought—Where are you?”

“I'm not sure.” Taylor's voice was muffled as he turned away to speak to someone. An equally muffled voice answered. Taylor came back on the line. “I'm on the coast road between Surf Beach and Casmalia. At an abandoned roadhouse called Richardson's. You can't miss it. It's the one surrounded by cop cars.” He sounded very tired. “I'm okay, Brandt. Can you come and get me?”

“I'm on the way.”

Taylor said quickly, “Brandt? Swear out a warrant for Alexandra Sugimori.”

“Done.” His voice softened; he couldn't help it. “Hold on, MacAllister.”

“I'm holding,” Taylor said and disconnected.

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Josh Lanyon

Chapter Twelve

The sun was setting when Will pulled up in front of Richardson's Roadhouse.

There were cop cars parked by the rusted gas pumps, a red peeling sign with the words RICH…R…AD… The roadhouse itself was boarded up. The faded paint had an appropriately queasy green cast to it.

Taylor walked out from between the gas pumps, and Will got out of his car. He went around the front and didn't care who was watching as Taylor walked into his arms.

They hugged, drew apart, and Will said, “Whoa. You
have
been through the wars.”

“I know. I stink.”

“I'm not complaining.”

“That's because you haven't been shut up in a car with me for a couple of hours. Wait till we head back to LA.”

Will glanced at the official buzz of cars and personnel, radios squawking and people talking. “Are we going back to LA tonight?”

“Eventually.” Taylor said, “Is Sugimori under arrest?”

“Yes.”

Will watched him brace to ask, “She said Varga was dead.”

Will nodded. “I'm sorry.”

Taylor's eyes shut. He opened them and said, “Yeah. If you don't mind, I'm going to sit in your car and wait for them to clear us to leave.”

“I don't mind.”

A faint smile touched Taylor's colorless mouth. “Not yet, you don't. You will.”

But Will didn't. Not all the long drive back to LA. Taylor slept, mouth ajar and face lined and unlovely with strain and exhaustion. Will drove and used his cell phone to fill in Lt. Wray Dangerous Ground: Old Poison

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and Assistant Director Cooper. He talked while he kept one eye on his partner. Despite efforts to clean himself off in at a rest-stop men's room, Taylor was indeed more than a little on the pungent side, but Will had no complaint.

* * * *

Taylor woke when Will stopped for coffee, and he explained in what was clearly the abridged version how he had managed to get free.

“It was like those convoluted schemes the villains in
Batman
came up with.” He was trying to joke, but it wasn't quite coming off.

“She's insane,” Will said. “I don't know about the legal definition, but she's deranged.”

Taylor nodded without energy. He described knocking Sugimori Junior. into the ocean.

“They haven't found him yet,” Will replied in answer to the question Taylor hadn't asked.

“Good,” Taylor replied. “I hope the fish are having him for supper.” He told Will about leaving the wrecked and derelict house on the cliff, hot-wiring Sugimori's car and driving into Casmalia to phone the cops and Will. “That's pretty much it.”

He made it sound simple. Will tried to keep it low-key too. “Lucky you found it. You could have blinked and missed it. Population less than two hundred. The town's a toxic dump,”

he said. “I mean literally.”

“No wonder I headed straight for it.”

They both smiled, but it took effort.

* * * *

Taylor sat grimly through the medical exam and brusquely declined the amenities of an overnight hospital stay. Will couldn't argue, since he'd done the same thing the day before—was it only the day before?