Distortion (Moonlighters Series) (32 page)
I
n the passenger seat of his van, Miller tried to turn his head, without success. He looked around the car for something,
anything
he could reach. His hands were behind his back, but he’d been working on them since Hogan dropped him into the seat.
He’d heard multiple gunshots, screaming. As the wind carried voices, he heard a woman shouting on the phone, saying that the FBI agents were dirty and that they were down. Then it hit Miller. It must have been one of the agents who had recruited Bob Cole into the drug business in the first place—the one Amber had described as a government official on the take. She had never met him, didn’t know who he was, but Bob had told her that much one night when he’d been drinking. The mysterious man had called the shots with Bob, keeping a nice, safe distance, never getting close to the crimes until now, just arranging things with a contact in Colombia and leaving
the dirty work to those beneath him who didn’t even know his name.
Sweat made Miller’s skin slick, making it easier to turn his wrists. He tried to move them under his body, but he couldn’t slump enough. He kept stretching the ties and twisting his hands.
The console, he thought. He had a little Swiss Army knife in the console. If he could just get to it.
Miller twisted his body, letting the tape stretch across his neck like a noose, but he managed to turn toward the door, giving his hands room enough behind him to reach the center console.
Come
on
, he thought.
Just
open!
Sweat dripped into his eyes, and the rag in his mouth gagged him. He could feel the veins bulging on his face as the tape choked him, but he kept reaching. Finally, he felt the latch, clicked it. The lid popped open.
There it was. From the corner of his eye, he could see the knife in a tray at the top. He twisted more and got his hands over the edge, gripped the knife.
Yes! He opened the knife and turned it upside down in his fingers, sawed at the plastic tie. He cut the edge, worked it more, and the plastic split.
He raised the knife and sliced the tape between his neck and the seat. He jerked the tape off his mouth and spat out the rag. Then he cut the tape around his head and around his ankles.
Free! Quickly, he dug back through the console and found another set of van keys. Slipping into the driver’s seat, he started the van and backed down the long driveway. There was a car waiting at the entrance with a woman inside. He screeched the van out onto the road, threw it into drive, and punched the accelerator.
The woman jumped out of the car and fired, but she didn’t hit the van. He would take the back roads out of this area, then call his pilot friend and offer him more money than he’d ever seen to load the boxes onto his plane and get him out of here.
The bank accounts were probably lost, but he could live comfortably for the rest of his life on this cash. He screamed out a victorious
Whoop!
as he made his escape.
H
olly didn’t know what to do. Tears on her face, she jumped back into the car, started it, and screeched out in the direction the van had gone.
But by that time Miller had disappeared. He must have already turned off, and she wasn’t sure where. She searched for muddy tire tracks. She tried one dirt road, but it was a dead end. She got back onto the main road and drove another few miles.
Where had he gone?
She heard sirens and decided to turn back. She had to know if Michael and her sisters were hurt. Back at the red mailbox, she saw the police cars and ambulances turning in.
She followed them, nausea roiling up in her chest. She felt the baby turn, kick.
Her hand went to her stomach, and she felt it again. Another kick.
She decided not to go in with the police. There might be more gunfire, more danger, more death. She had to stay here and keep her baby safe.
Sitting behind the wheel, she waited and prayed.
Z
ach heard David’s phone ringing. David picked it up. “Yeah? No! What do you mean? What about the money?”
He cursed, then cut the phone off and spat out more curses.
“What happened?” Caleb asked.
“It all fell apart.”
Zach sucked in a breath, hope strengthening him.
“Who was that?” Caleb demanded.
“Miller. He got away, but the FBI came. There were a lot of gunshots.”
Caleb’s jaw dropped. “Is Steven okay?”
“He didn’t know.”
Zach peeked through the slit in his eyes.
David clutched his head, his eyes panicked as he tried to think. “It’s over. We have to abort this whole thing. He said we have to kill the kids.”
Zach’s heart jolted.
“No!” Caleb said. “I didn’t sign up to kill kids. I told you, I won’t do that.”
“It’s the only way we have a prayer of getting the rest of the cash. Miller wants them dead. Just move out of my way. I’ll do it.”
Zach heard Abe stirring. He had to do something. He couldn’t just lie here . . .
David pushed past Caleb in the doorway and stepped into the space between the beds, his back to Zach. He raised his gun toward Abe . . .
Zach sprang off the bed, jumped on his back, and bit the side of his neck. David tried to shake him off like a pesky fly, but Zach bit until he drew blood. Groping around the front of David’s face, he gouged his eyes.
Gunfire shook the trailer.
David cursed and fell to his knees. Zach fell with him. Releasing his neck, he looked back toward the door. Caleb was holding a gun.
“I told you I ain’t killin’ no kids!” he shouted. “Kid, move back!”
Zach hit the floor, sweating and gasping for breath. He wiped the blood from his mouth and spat, then crawled over to Abe.
David’s leg was bleeding, and his neck bled in a circle where Zach had bitten him. Crouching, he gaped up at Caleb. “What are you doing?”
Caleb fired again, jarring Zach. Zach covered his brother. When he looked again, David was slumped on the floor. He didn’t move.
Shocked, Zach looked up at Caleb, his eyes pleading.
Caleb grabbed David’s gun, then turned and left the room.
Zach heard the front door slam. Through the window, he saw Caleb running past the beat-up car that must belong to the old man, who was limping up the drive. Caleb dragged him into it and took off.
Heart racing, Zach turned back to his brother. Abe began to move, and slowly his eyelids opened. “Zach?”
“You’re okay, Abe. We’re gonna be fine.” Zach left him and groped through the dead man’s pockets. He found his phone and with trembling hands called 911.
“It’s okay, Abe,” he said as he waited for it to ring. “Just stay there. Keep your eyes closed. Don’t move.”
“I have a headache,” Abe muttered.
“Don’t worry. Help is coming.”
J
uliet sat shivering as paramedics loaded Michael into the ambulance. FBI agents had swarmed the place. It was clear now that Darren and Blue’s investigation into the case had been off the FBI radar. The two agents had been entangled in the drug-trafficking scheme. That meant that the agency had no information about where her kids might be.
She didn’t know what to do to find them. Miller had escaped, and Steven and Amber were dead.
Forbes tapped her shoulder. She looked up at him.
The usually gruff detective smiled at her. “Got some good news for you, Mrs. Cole. Your son, Zach, called 911.”
Juliet caught her breath. “Where are they?”
“He’s on the phone. You can ask him yourself.”
She grabbed the phone and brought it to her ear. “Honey?”
“Mom, are you okay?”
She broke into sobs. “Yes, sweetie, are you?”
“Yeah. They wanted to kill us. But I watched over Abe, and they didn’t really hurt us.”
She started to cry. “Where are you? I’ll come get you.”
“The police are here. They’re gonna take us home.”
Home, Juliet thought. Yes, home. They could go home now, wherever that would be, and they would be together.
But Michael’s life hung by a thread. As the ambulance pulled away, Max and Cathy in the car behind it, she prayed that God would give them one more miracle.
C
athy paced in the waiting room, her eyes constantly on the door through which the surgeon would come to tell them Michael was out of surgery. He’d been alive when they got him to the hospital, but he hadn’t regained consciousness. She hadn’t been able to talk to him before they’d whisked him off to the OR, and now she feared she’d never have the chance to tell him how much she loved him.
“Honey, come sit down.” Juliet looked exhausted, and Zach and Abe sat on either side of her. She wouldn’t let them out of her reach.
“I can’t,” Cathy said.
Holly came up behind her and rubbed her shoulders. “You’re so tense.”
“What if he dies?” Cathy whispered. “I can’t go through this again.”
Holly turned her around and hugged her. “He’s not going to die.”
But Cathy had seen blood spewing out of Michael’s mouth as he’d tried to breathe. The bullet had blown through his lungs, and they had intubated him in the ambulance. She’d heard them call it in.
Collapsed
lung, BP 60/40, pulse 50,
chest trauma . . .
He was slipping away, and there was nothing she could do but pray.
“Cathy, oh my heavens!” Cathy turned and saw Michael’s mother coming in with his father at her heels. Becky Hogan cut across the room and pulled Cathy into her arms. “How is he?”
“He’s in surgery,” Cathy said.
“Max said he was shot in the chest! That he could die!”
Cathy nodded as tears pushed back into her eyes. Both of his parents pulled her into a crushing hug, and they wept with her. She wished Michael were here to see it. They’d treated him so badly ever since the trial, as if he were singly responsible for Joe’s killer being set free. She had wanted so many times to remind them that even though one of their sons was gone, Michael was still here.
But now they had come. Maybe this was what it would take to remind them that they loved him.
They waited several agonizing hours with no word until finally, at 2:00 a.m., the surgeon came out. Cathy rushed toward him.
“He’s stable and doing better than we expected,” he said. “We didn’t have to remove a lobe. We were able to repair the damage and give him blood transfusions. He lost a lot, but he’s very lucky to be alive.”
The family cheered as if their team had just won a pennant, weeping with joy and hugging each other.
His parents took Cathy aside before she went to see him
in recovery. “So much time wasted when we could have been with him,” Becky said.
Cathy wiped her face. “Well, it looks like there will be time to make that up to him. I’ve wasted time too. I’m ready to move on with him and stop looking back. I loved Joe with all my heart, but I truly believe that he would be thrilled to know that Michael and I are together.”
“We agree,” Michael’s dad said. “We’ve loved you all this time. You’re already family.”
Later, Cathy sat by Michael’s side, watching him sleep with the endotracheal tube still in, the ventilator humming.
When he finally stirred and opened his eyes, he tried to talk around the ventilator, but couldn’t. Instead, he took her hand.
She kissed his forehead. “We almost lost you.”
He tried again to form words, but the ventilator got in his way. She brought him a pen and paper, and in a sloppy scrawl, he wrote, “Did we get him?”
She knew he meant Miller. She wished she could tell him that Miller was in prison, that he would never be released again, that even though he hadn’t been convicted for killing Joe, there would be a sentence for all the other homicides.
Instead, she had to say, “No, baby. He got away.”
Michael closed his eyes and shook his head.
“You did everything you could. The important thing is that Juliet and the kids are safe.”
He nodded, tears welling in his eyes.
“And you’re going to get through this. We’re all going to
get through it. You could have died, but God answered our prayers.”
He managed a smile and touched her hair. “I love you,” he mouthed.
“I love you too. You’re my soul mate. A gift from God. I believe that now. God knew I couldn’t live without you.”
His thumb stroked her face, wiping her tears. He pulled her close, and she pressed her forehead against his, basking in the warmth of his embrace.
T
wo months later, Cathy chafed her arms, trying to keep from shivering. The courtroom was cold, but she could feel the heat of Michael’s body next to her. He seemed calm, unruffled, as he had when he’d had his preliminary hearing just after being released from the hospital.
The judge looked at Michael. “Mr. Hogan, do you wish to continue with the guilty plea?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Then I’ll proceed with sentencing.”
Cathy couldn’t stand it. “Your Honor, if I may . . . I know you’re aware of why my client had possession of a gun. It’s been all over the news. He’s a hero, not a criminal.”
