Justice for None: Texas Justice Book #1 (33 page)

56

Victoria
kept the revolver pressed into Logan’s ribcage as he eased the Mercury across the intersection and pulled to the curb. He put the car in park, but he made no move to exit; he just stared through the dirty windshield at the darkening street, anger carving furrows in his brow and cheeks, aging his youthful features by ten years.

Victoria jabbed him in the ribs with the pistol. “Logan—”

“You’re in on it,” he said without looking at her. “You
and
Jack.” He banged the steering wheel with his fist. “I never saw that one coming. Never.”

Victoria barked a hysterical peal of laughter, but she choked it off fast. She had to keep it together. If she considered what she was doing, carjacking an Assistant US Attorney, she’d probably start to scream. One more crime to add to the growing list of felonies she had committed that day. Her license to practice law was history, her career was over and she was probably going to jail, but none of that mattered. She had to get to Valentine!

“I’m not in on anything,” she said. “I’m trying to save my husband’s life.” Just saying that amped up her panic to a frenzy. Panic that cut through her brittle composure like a broken shard of glass. She had no time to argue.

“Logan, get out—”

“Did you kill Lubbock?” he asked, still staring at the windshield. “Because of what I told you? Was that why?” He shot her a look that was half hostility, half hope. She knew what he was thinking; getting a potential witness killed would end his career at the US Attorney’s Office. If he weren’t fired outright, he’d be assigned to a post in Anchorage.

“No. And I didn’t kill Garland Sutton, either,” she said. Logan’s look telegraphed his disbelief. But she didn’t care. “Now, get out of the car.”

Logan didn’t acknowledge the command. She prodded him in the ribs with the .38, but Logan’s grip only tightened on the steering wheel. He shook his head and looked down at the revolver.

“You’re not going to use that,” he said.

“You just accused me of a triple homicide,” she pointed out. “What’s one more? Now get out. You can walk to the Federal Building from here.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Logan said.

“Logan—”

“Where are we headed?” he cut her off as he reached for the gearshift.

Victoria started to protest but bit it off. She didn’t have time for an argument.

“Head for Woodall Rodgers Freeway,” she said. “I’ll give you directions from there.”

Logan pulled out into the street.

“By the way,” he said, giving her a level stare, “you’re under arrest.”

57

“Kill
me?”
Jasper laughed. In the light of the two flashlights his swollen face looked like a battered jack o’ lantern. He shook his head. “That ain’t gonna work, partner. I ain’t here strictly for my own-self. There’s other people involved. People that the Cap’n here wouldn’t want to piss off.”

“The Dirty White Boys,” Valentine said and Jasper laughed again.

“Well, now,” he said. “I take back what I said earlier, I
am
impressed. That’s right smart detective work. You get that from BoDean Gannon? He’s your buddy, ain’t he? I might have to pay that big asshole a visit. Remind him of his prison etiquette.”

“We’re not negotiating, Valentine,” Laroy cut in impatiently. “Tell me where the money is and I’ll give you a bullet in the head. That’s the best deal you’re going to get.”

“Kill us both,” Val said with a shrug that caused a jolt of pain in his shoulder that made his vision swim. “The White Boys won’t argue as long as they get Jasper’s share. And they won’t come after you. Killing a county cop would be bad for business.”

Hockley’s expression darkened. “Cop?” He shook his head bitterly. “That’s all over now, thanks to your wife and Jack Birch. I need the cash to make a run for it. The White Boys are going to get me out of the country.”

“Jasper is a—” Val began, but Hockley was done listening. His face was twisted with rage when he ducked down and screamed in Val’s face.

“Where is it?” His breath was bad, feral as a wolf’s. A muscle under his right eye jumped and twitched.

Val made no reply. He sagged back against the wall. He was all out of words. Hockley and Gruene weren’t cops anymore, they were thieves. Murderers. There’d be no reprieve for Victoria.

“The money,” Laroy said. The muscle under his eye was doing a mambo now. “The coins.”

Val gritted his teeth and shook his head.

“You’re going to have to kill me,” he said, “But save a bullet for yourself, Laroy. You’re going to need it when the White Boys come looking for their cash.” That wasn’t much comfort, but it was something.

Hockley turned to Jasper, shrugged and nodded.

Jasper’s face split into a lunatic’s grin. He stowed his flashlight, turned, crossed to the stairwell, ducked under the steps, and grabbed something from the floor.

“This remind you of anything?” Jasper asked as he hefted the axe, turning the blade in the light of the flashlight. The blade had been freshly sharpened though the axe’s handle was splintery and sweat-stained from long use.

Val nodded and forced a kiss-my-ass grin. “Sure,” he said, hiding the dread that crawled up his spine. “Lamar had one just like it when I shot him in the face.”

Jasper bared his broken teeth in a snarl. “You do have a hateful way of putting things,” he said as he unhitched his belt buckle. He crossed the room, dragging the belt through the loops of his jeans, then squatted down beside Valentine and quickly looped the belt around Val’s ankle, cinching it tight.

“Wouldn’t want you to bleed out and miss all the fun,” he explained as he worked. He stood and took a two-handed grip on the axe, then turned to Hockley.

“You might want to take you a step back there, Cap’n,” he warned him. “This is apt to be a tad messy.”

Hockley didn’t move. Instead he spoke again to Val, “One last chance. The axe or a bullet.”

Val clenched his teeth and said nothing.

Jasper laughed. “That’s a hard man, there, Cap’n. But he’ll be begging for that bullet here in a minute. Take my word.”

Laroy shook his head and stepped back, his eyes on the axe, the look on his face caught between pity and a sick fascination. Gruene backed away as well, her jaw slack, her complexion going green around the edges. She turned her back on the three men.

Jasper placed his right foot on Val’s calf, pressing it tight to the floor. Val fought it, tried to buck Jasper off, to twist his leg free, but there was no hope of escape. He could imagine the pain to come all too well. His mind replayed a gruesome montage of the women that Lamar and Lemuel had dismembered here in this very basement, but one look at Jasper’s anticipatory grin stirred him to fresh rage. He clamped his jaw tighter. He’d never give them the gold. He’d
make
them kill him.

The blade of the axe glimmered wickedly in the yellow light as Jasper hefted it over his right shoulder, his hands balanced along the shaft. He narrowed his good eye and took aim on Val’s ankle, the tip of his tongue poking past his jagged teeth.

“You’re fixing to need a new nickname, Vicious,” he said, flicking Val a sly look. “I’d suggest Hop-a-Long.”

The axe came slashing down.

58

Victoria
spoke little on the drive out to the Hudson subdivision, just enough to relay directions as she traced their route using Google Maps. Since Jack had refused to give her the address to the Suttons’ hideout, she had Googled an old newspaper article on her smartphone and gotten the address that way.

As he drove, Logan spoke not at all. His only response was a silent nod when she told him they were getting close.

“Slow down,” she said as they turned on San Miguel Street. Logan slowed to a crawl as Victoria leaned forward and peered through the windshield. Weeds bristled up through the pavement and the sidewalks had been swallowed whole. Very few houses remained, even on the main street, and they were all dark, lifeless hulks decaying into the vines and scrub growth. None of the intersections were marked; all of the street signs had been snatched by metal-thieves years ago, so she counted streets until they reached Lawther.

“Turn off your lights,” she told Logan, but she didn’t tell him to turn. As they glided past Lawther, she peered down the gloomy corridor of overhanging oak and pecan trees but saw nothing; no cars and no lights. “Turn left at the next block,” she said as she punched up Jack’s number on her phone.

When Jack answered, his voice was pitched low. “We’ve got big problems, counselor,” he said. “The Special Tactics Unit is all here and they’re out for Valentine’s blood. I tried to call Sheriff Swisher to rein in his dogs, but no one down at Crowley knows where the hell he is. Probably laying low, letting this play out.”

“Jesus,” Victoria breathed. She didn’t tell him what she had found out about Swisher from Logan, she didn’t have time.

“Where are you?” Jack asked.

“Hudson.”

Jack digested that silently then sighed, “That’s what I figured. Gary Griggs rolled out of here five minutes ago. He’ll be there in thirty. I want you to stay out of that house until he gets there.”

“Thirty minutes,” Victoria said dispiritedly. She couldn’t wait that long. Val was in danger; he could be dead already. There was no way she was waiting for Gary. And Jack knew that.

“They’re cop killers, counselor,” he said, “Remember that. One more dead lawyer ain’t going to make them blink.”

Victoria shivered at the cold finality in Jack’s voice. She knew he was right…but that didn’t matter.

“Got to go, Jack,” she said and hung up.

“Thirty minutes?” Logan asked as he turned left at the end of the block, his face lost in shadow.

Victoria didn’t reply; she was counting driveways. As they reached the seventh, she said, “Pull over and park, Logan,” then leaned forward and peered past him as he killed the engine. He followed her gaze but remained silent.

The house that had occupied this lot had been bulldozed long ago. Only its crumbling foundation and the warped concrete of the driveway remained. At the back of the lot a copse of mature trees marked the property line. Beyond those trees was the Suttons’ old hideout, if Victoria had counted correctly.

“Get out,” she said as she popped the door handle. She climbed out of the car and eased the door quietly closed behind her. The night was as hot and humid as bath water. Not a breath of a breeze. Combined with the deepening darkness, it was like being smothered under a damp electric blanket. But the darkness was the worst. With only a sliver of a moon, the abandoned neighborhood had the sinister quality of a post-apocalyptic nightmare.

Logan climbed out and looked at her across the roof. “This is crazy. You should get DPD out here.
If
you’re telling the truth.”

“It’s out of DPD’s jurisdiction,” she told him distractedly. “This is County territory. The Sheriff’s turf.” She didn’t say more; she was thinking about the house, picturing it in her mind. She remembered it well from the heavy news coverage. It was a small bungalow with a deep back yard. A living room up front; kitchen and two bedrooms at the back.

“You need to think about what you’re doing here, Mrs. Justice,” Logan interrupted her thoughts. “About how far you’re willing to go. Give me my gun and I’ll forget about the kidnapping. We’ll make the charge obstructing justice. Your license will be suspended, but you won’t go to jail. That’s the best I can do, you’ve taken this too far to walk away clean.”

Victoria shook her head in annoyance. “Shut up, Logan.” If she could creep up close to the house…if she could see what was happening inside…if Val was okay, then
maybe
she could wait for Jack and Gary. But thirty minutes—

Logan spat into the gutter, shook his head and looked toward the tree line. “How many do you think are back there?”

Victoria shrugged. “Laroy Hockley, maybe some other members of the Special Tactics Unit, and Jasper Smith.” Jack had given her a brief rundown on Jasper ‘Deaf’ Smith on the afternoon that Val had been beaten up by Henry Erath. Jack had described Smith as a sadistic redneck with at least two killings under his belt.

“Are you even sure your husband’s in there?”

Victoria lifted her shoulders and let them fall. The short answer was; no, she wasn’t sure. Jack had said that the tip came via a text message from a throwaway cellular phone. Not high-grade info. It could even be an ambush set up for Jack. An ambush that she was about to blunder into. She was sure of only one thing: she was done talking about it.

Victoria circled Logan’s car, brushed past him and strode up the driveway, Logan’s revolver still in her hand.

“I’m going with you,” he said as he fell in behind her.

Victoria stopped and shook her head. “No you’re not,” she said, but Logan wasn’t listening. He walked right past her, his eyes panning the tree line ahead like an infantryman surveying an enemy’s defenses.

“Logan—”

“You’ll have to shoot me,” he said over his shoulder. “This is
my case.
I’ve got four months on this.
And
a dead partner. I’m not going to let you screw it up any more than you already have.”

Victoria didn’t argue further. She would never have admitted it, but she was happy to have him along. She hurried past him, lifting her knees high as she moved off the driveway and waded into the waist-deep weeds. She stumbled once and almost went down at the midpoint of the yard where an old lawnmower had been abandoned to rust, but quickly regained her footing and moved on. When she reached the rear of the lot, she clambered over a sagging chain-link fence and pressed herself tight to one of the larger trees. From there she looked out on the back yard of the Suttons’ hideout. Logan crowded in close and looked over her shoulder.

The house’s rear wall leaned out at a drunken angle and the roof’s peak slouched in the middle like a horse with a broken back. Traces of white paint still clung to siding that had gone grey with damp and rot. But she barely saw the house; her eyes stopped on a car that was parked close to the back door. A car that looked very familiar…but she couldn’t be sure at this distance; it was just too dark.

Thirty feet closer to the house, at the end of a row of redbud shrubs, an old gardening shed had dissolved into a haystack-shaped mound of moldering planks. Victoria didn’t hesitate; she dropped to a crouch and ran, catching Logan by surprise. She heard him whisper a curse and felt him snatch at her blouse, but she was already out of reach and moving fast. She sprinted the thirty feet and dropped to her knees behind the pile of rotten boards. A few seconds later, Logan flopped down beside her. He was panting, out of breath. She gave him a measuring look that made him flush.

“I’m fine,” he whispered. “You caught me off guard.”

Victoria didn’t reply. She turned back toward the house. She could make out the car clearly now and her heart fell through her stomach. It was Val’s battered old Mustang. Until that moment she had hoped the text-tip was a lie. That Val had gotten away. That he was hiding somewhere where the Suttons and the STU couldn’t touch him. All those hopes crumbled instantly, leaving only dread and fear in their place.

A clatter of boards startled her. She turned to find Logan picking through the rotten lumber. He dragged a short length of 2x4 out of the mess with a ‘scree’ of bending nails then hefted it, chopping the air with it experimentally. He caught her looking at him and flushed again.

“Don’t say a word,” he hissed. “You’ve got me going into a gunfight with a stick.”

Victoria let it go. She sure wasn’t giving him his gun back. As she looked back at the house a flash of light caught her eye, but she couldn’t pinpoint it. She narrowed her eyes on the near side of the house. There! She saw it again; a yellow flicker, low to the ground. Light from a basement window. She started to rise, looking sidelong at Logan to make sure he was ready to move. That was the only reason she saw the 2x4 swinging toward her skull. She had just enough time to flinch but not enough time to dodge the blow. The 2x4 clipped her on the forehead and knocked her sprawling onto the mound of rotten wood. Logan piled in on top of her, driving his knee into her stomach. He wrestled the gun from her hand.

“You stupid bitch,” he breathed in her face. “Why didn’t you just give us the money?”

Victoria couldn’t breathe. She lay there wheezing with Logan’s knee in her gut, her head spinning, a knot growing on her forehead like a goose egg.

“Where is it?” he asked.

She shook her head stupidly. Her brain wasn’t working right. Connections fizzed and sparked.

Logan? Logan was a part of this?

“You’re going to
wish
you had told me,” he promised her as he dug a cell phone from his pocket, hit a button and put it to his ear. A moment passed before he spoke.

“Laroy, I’ve got Victoria Justice with me. And the PAC paperwork.” He paused then said, “We’re on our way in.” He put away the phone, pulled his knee out of her stomach and backed off, the pistol in one hand, the length of 2x4 in the other.

Victoria could breathe again, but her mind was still spinning from the blow to the head and Logan’s sudden betrayal.

“On your feet,” he said. “We’re going inside.”

Victoria didn’t move. She shook her head to clear it, but it didn’t help.

“You won’t get away with this,” she finally managed to say. “Jack Birch knows you’re with me. If you harm Valentine, Jack will hunt you down—”

“He can’t track a dead man,” Logan said then chuckled at her look of confusion. “Cory Logan was killed in the line of duty four weeks ago,” he explained. “I should know, I shot him,” he bared his teeth at her but it was more snarl than smile. “What I told you was mostly true. Cory and I were teamed up to investigate the CLO PAC. A crap assignment; long hours, no extra pay. Then Herby Lubbock approached us with a more lucrative offer. Herby had been talking to Abby and her daddy Garland. Herby told me a story about fifteen million in cash and gold coins that had been stolen from Lamar Sutton. I said yes, but Cory wouldn’t play along.”

“So you’re Gill Parker,” she said, it wasn’t a question, “Another dirty cop,” she spat the words.

Logan/Parker nodded. “That’s right. Just like your husband.”

Victoria started to reply, but no words came. How many times had she defended Valentine to herself and to others? But it was time to admit the truth to herself: she had never completely believed the official report of the Suttons’ deaths. She, better than anyone, knew the darkness that lurked at the heart of Valentine. But was he a thief? Had he stepped that far over the line? She couldn’t believe it. She wouldn’t.

Parker was staring at her, reading her expression, his smile still in place, the pistol aimed at her midsection. That smile infuriated her. No matter what Val had done he was a good man. He had integrity and a sense of honor. More importantly, he was
her
man.

“Is my husband inside? Is he alive?” she demanded, looking toward the dark house.

Parker nodded. “For the moment.”

“Then let’s get this over with,” she said as she shoved herself up. For a dizzy minute, her knees wobbled and she almost went back down face-first. But she got it together, turned her back on Parker and marched off toward the house on unsteady legs.