Malevolent (Lieutenant Kane series Book 1) (27 page)

“No.”

“But she wants to be. I heard her talking with her friend at the bar. It would be a shame if something happened to her.”

“I swear I’m going to kill you.”

He laughed again. “Oh Lieutenant, you and your threats. I told you I haven’t started yet.”

“What do you want, Cross? Why are you doing this?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Fame, recognition, good and evil, boredom. I’d guess a little bit of a combination of those.” He coughed into the phone. “Let’s get back to business. I have a challenge for you. Ready to go over the rules?”

“Where are you?”

“Not yet. Rules first.”

I sat quietly.

“Come on, Carl. I’m going to tell you where I am this time. This will be easy if you can follow the rules. You ready for them, or what?”

“What are your rules?”

“Good. First, you come alone. Just you. If I spot another cop anywhere, I’m going to drive this ice pick through her eye. Second, you come unarmed. The first glimpse of a gun I see, she gets it. Third, you are on a time limit to get here. You’ll have exactly thirty minutes to arrive. A second after, and the fun starts. Clear?”

“Where are you?”

“Are we clear on the rules?”

“Yeah!”

“I’m at her house. Your time has started.” He hung up.

I hit the stopwatch on my phone. After a quick stop at my closet safe, I tossed my clothes on and was on my way within two minutes.

I grabbed my wallet and pulled the napkin with her address from within. After I punched it into my car’s navigation system, it told me the drive would take twenty-four minutes. I fired her address and a short text message off to Hank, Jones, and the rest of my team. I wasn’t going without backup, but he’d kill her if he saw red-and-blues before I got there.

I pulled to the front gates of her neighborhood in less than twenty minutes. They were closed. I backed up. The thought only took a second. I knew what had to be done.

“Sorry, car,” I said.

I put the Mustang back into first and slammed the gas pedal to the floor. The gates crashed open, leaving pieces of the front of my limited edition Mustang destroyed and sliding across the pavement. The airbags filled my car with smoke. I jammed the steering wheel airbag out of my way and kept my foot on the gas. I sped past the first street. My GPS showed an arrow to the right in two hundred feet. I slid the car around the corner. Loose pieces of bumper flew into one of the neighbor’s yards. The navigation in my car told me the house was approaching on the right. I caught the house number and locked up the brakes.

I got out and rushed to the front door, knowing full well I could be running into a trap. The front door was locked. I put my elbow through the door’s glass and reached in to unlock it. After a few seconds of fumbling, I managed to get it open.

I stepped inside. The house was black, aside from a bit of light coming from upstairs. I ran up. The hall spread out left and right. The light was coming from the half-opened door at the end of the hall. I rushed to it and pushed the door the rest of the way open. A master bedroom spread out before me. I spotted more light coming from underneath a closed door at the back of the room. I went to it and kicked it open.

Cross held Callie as a shield in the garden tub. He smiled. His hair and beard were gone. Behind him was a frosted-glass window. To my right were dual sinks and a vanity—a hammer and a spoon sat on the side closer to Cross. A bag of zip ties lay on the counter next to me. To my left was a stand-up shower and toilet. Callie looked unconscious but didn’t show any signs that he had hurt her further. I could see both of her hands—she wasn’t branded. In Cross’s left hand was an ice pick held next to Callie’s eye—in his right, a pistol aimed at my head.

Cross rolled his wrist and looked at his watch. “Twenty-eight minutes and change, Lieutenant. You just made it. Good job.”

“Put the ice pick down. This is between me and you.”

He shook his head. “I think I’ll be holding onto it. Tell me, did you follow my other rules? Did you request backup? Did you bring a gun?”

“No.”

“I’m not quite ready to take your word for it. Lift up your shirt and spin around.”

I pulled up the T-shirt I was wearing and showed him I didn’t have anything in my waist. “Satisfied?”

“Pat down your cargo pockets for me too.”

I did. They were empty.

“Now, what about calling for backup, Lieutenant?”

“I didn’t call anyone.”

“Why not? I would have.”

“Because I want to be the one who kills you.”

“That’s not how a police officer should talk. Your job is to protect and serve. So far, you’ve been a little lacking in the protection department, though.”

“I’ll do my service to the community by putting you in the ground.”

He smiled widely. “Well, we have a predicament then because I don’t plan on dying just yet.”

“Put her down and get out of the tub.”

“Seems you forgot I am the one holding the gun. I’ll be the one giving the orders here. Get on your knees.”

I stood my ground.

Cross poked at the corner of Callie’s eye with the ice pick. A drip of blood trickled down her cheek.

“Okay, okay.” I went to my knees, one at a time.

“Reach up and take the bag of zip ties. Place two around your wrists and pull them tight.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“Put them around your hands, slide them down to your wrists, and pull them as tight as you can with your teeth.”

I did as I was told. I sat kneeling and cuffed in front of him.

“Try to break free from the ties.”

I gave it a halfhearted attempt.

“You better try harder!”

I pulled my wrists against them as hard as I could, so the plastic cut into my flesh.

“Good.” Cross dropped Callie down into the tub and stood. He held the gun pointed at my head. “You make one fast move, and you’re dead.” He set the ice pick down and approached. He wrapped another zip tie around my wrists and pulled it tight. Three more zip ties were added around my ankles. Cross walked back to Callie at the tub and stepped in.

I knelt, wrists and ankles bound.

“Now you get to watch the process. Just remember, any sudden moves out of you, and I could slip, and she’ll be dead. Well, that and if you make a move, I’ll grab this gun here and shoot you. But I don’t want to do that. You see, I have plans for you.” He placed the gun on the vanity countertop next to him and picked up the spoon, ice pick, and hammer.

I needed to keep his attention focused on me and not Callie. “What plans are those?”

“I’m glad you asked, Carl. You don’t mind if I just call you Carl, do you? I think we’re to the point where we can be on a first-name basis by now.”

I didn’t respond.

“First, did you notice that I didn’t brand her?”

I nodded.

“I’m going to make you watch the entire process. After I get through with the little bar bitch here, I’m going to inject you with Xylazine and then lobotomize you. Tell me that won’t fetch headlines: ‘Psycho Surgeon Lobotomizes Cop Hunting Him’. Sounds like Hollywood to me.”

I said nothing.

“No response? Really?”

I remained quiet.

“Well, if you got nothing to say, I guess we can just get started, then.” He pressed the spoon against her eye.

“Please, Cross. Don’t do it.”

He ignored me and wiggled the spoon under her eyelid.

I shook my head. “Please! I’m begging you!”

He paused and rolled his eyes at me. “You’re begging me? Come on. Have a little respect for yourself.” He took the ice pick from the counter.

“Please!” I yelled. I jammed both hands down between my legs. My head touched the floor as I bowed to him.

“Geez. You’re pathetic. Are you going to cry next?”

I stuck my hands into the front of my shorts and down into my Ultimate Concealment holster—one of my purchases from the last gun show. It looked like a jock strap with a spot for a pistol that sat in front of my manhood. Then I raised my head from the floor and aimed the gun at his chest.

His eyes caught the gun, and he scrambled for his pistol on the counter. I fired. The bullet caught his left shoulder as he reached his gun. He stumbled in the tub and tripped over Callie’s body. He fired off a shot as he fell backward. The bullet hit the ceiling above me. I fired again, catching him dead center in the chest. His backward momentum sent him crashing through the window.

I used the bathroom counter to pull myself to my feet. I rummaged the drawers for anything that would cut the plastic ties. A pair of nail clippers caught my eye, and I snatched them up and quickly freed my hands and legs. I rushed to Callie and checked her pulse—it was strong. A pair of gunshots rang outside in succession. I pulled myself over to the broken window and looked out.

A body was lying on the grass along the side of the house below, but it wasn’t Cross.

“Awww,” the man said. He rolled backward and curled into the fetal position. It was Hank. “Son of a bitch shot me in the vest. I hit him. He ran,” Hank said.

“Which way did he go?” I shouted.

He pointed through the backyard as he tried to get to his feet. “Jones went after him.”

“I’ll be right down.”

I checked Callie’s pulse again—still strong. I rushed through the hall, down the stairs, and out the front door. An ambulance pulled to the curb right as I exited the house. The EMTs piled out.

“There’s a woman upstairs in the bathroom that needs medical attention. She’s been drugged.”

One of the EMTs gave me a nod, and they jogged toward the house.

“Where are you going to take her?”

“Tampa General!” he shouted.

I rushed around the side of Callie’s house, looking for Hank. He was gone. I ran in the direction he’d pointed, through Callie’s backyard and through the yard behind that. Still no one. In the middle of the next street, I stopped and looked left to right. I couldn’t see anyone up or down the block. I continued through the yard in front of me. Someone called my name.

“Kane.”

I heard it again.

It was Hank’s voice in a hard whisper.

I looked to my right into the next yard. The shadows of two men waved me over. Hank and Jones were standing to the side of a house. I crouched and ran over.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Hit me in the trauma plate; otherwise, I’d still be lying there crying,” Hank said.

Jones pointed toward the back of the house kitty-corner to where we stood. “I think he’s in the lanai of that house there.”

“Think or know?” I asked.

“Someone went in from the outside and ducked into the corner. No lights ever came on.”

I nodded and looked to Hank, “You said you shot him?”

“Center mass.”

“So did I. He’s got to be wearing a vest. Keep it in mind.”

“Where did he get a vest?”

I thought about it for a second. “Donner’s.”

They both nodded.

“Jones, loop around the houses and approach from the other side. I’ll take the center. Hank, you take the left side. Stay low—be smart.”

Jones disappeared. Hank and I closed in.

“You have body armor?” Hank asked.

I shook my head.

Jones popped out on the right side of the house and took cover to wait for us. Hank and I stayed close to the ground and made our way into the yard behind the lanai where Jones had claimed Cross was. A motion light on the house’s back patio flicked on and lit us up like a spotlight. Two shots rang as the light from a muzzle flash appeared inside the lanai. We both dropped to the ground. Another shot sounded, and another flash came from the lanai. The bullet smacked against the back of the house, two feet from my head. We scrambled into the darkness on the side of the house next to Jones. The 10-71 call for a shooting came over the radio. We’d have backup in minutes.

“Hit?” I asked Hank.

“No. You?”

I shook my head.

Behind where Cross was pinned down, the lights in the house flickered on. The house was occupied and they were awake. Cross could turn him being cornered into a hostage situation. I hoped the people ran out their front door as soon as the first shot was fired.

“What the hell are we supposed to do? We don’t have a visual, and we can’t just fire into the darkness. We can’t risk injuring someone inside the house,” Jones said.

“Let me think,” I said.

“How much ammo you think he has?” Hank asked.

“Ten more bullets if he didn’t fire any before the first one at me—maybe an extra clip. He has Donner’s Glock.”

Four gunshots boomed, and I heard glass shatter. Nothing was hit around us.

“What the hell was that?” Jones asked.

I glanced around the corner of the house. I heard another shot and saw a spark off the patio. The bullet ricocheted into the house next to us. More gunfire came from the lanai aimed into the house—Cross was returning fire. I spun back around the corner.

“What the hell is going on?” Hank asked.

“Damn homeowner is shooting at Cross from inside the house. Cross is returning fire. Hank, get the people out of these houses back here. I don’t want a stray bullet catching someone in bed.”

Hank rushed off to the front of the houses. Cross was pinned down. He knew we were outside, and now he was taking fire from the homeowner.

I yelled across the yard, “Homeowner, this is the Tampa Police! Stop firing and leave the front of your residence immediately!”

I listened for a response but heard none. I caught the lights of squad cars pulling up to the front of the house. “Jones, call on your radio to get that dumbass out of the house before he shoots one of us or his neighbors.”

“Or gets himself killed.” Jones made the call and let the other officers know we were in the backyard.

A patrolman made his way along the side of the house. I assumed another was on the other side. I motioned for the officer coming at us to stop. He continued forward.

“Tell them to wait!”

Jones thumbed his lapel mic. “This is Detective Max Jones—hold your positions. Repeat, hold your positions.”

The officer stopped. Cross had nowhere to go. Hank came back to my side.