Mortal Sin (31 page)

All the pieces by themselves made sense, but together Noah had a mess. Far too much conjecture and no solid evidence to link Biggler to Mallory or to Morton.

Noah leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He had a few options, but none of them appealed to him. He could go to the high school and pick up Biggler now or wait until school let out. He could get his current address and wait for him at home. Or, they could simply
put a tail on Biggler, and see where he went and what he did.

The last option seemed the most viable. Once they had a warrant for Fran Buckley and WCF, the news would get out and Biggler might rabbit. Noah needed eyes on him before then. If he pulled him in too soon, Noah might tip his hand.

Mallory’s mother-in-law’s house was thirty minutes away in Herndon on a secluded parcel of land. “I’ll knock,” Dillon said. “He knows me.”

“What makes you think he won’t shoot you on sight?”

“Jack saved his life.”

“Maybe he should have let him die.”

Dillon hesitated. “Mallory is heavily burdened and made huge errors in judgment. But if it weren’t for him sending Kate the longitude and latitude of the island where Lucy was held captive, we’d never have saved her in time. He nearly died because of it. He did the right thing.”

“Too late.”

“You’re not going to get an argument from me, but he’s not going to kill me.”

“You can’t be sure of that. It’s been six years.”

Sean didn’t like the idea of Dillon taking the lead, but they were already far off the reservation in disobeying Noah Armstrong’s direct orders to stay out of the investigation. Since Noah wasn’t his boss, Sean wasn’t taking it seriously, but they both knew that Kate could get some heat for their actions.

Dillon rang the bell. Sean peered into the garage. There was one car inside, but the garage could fit three.

There was no answer. Cautiously, they walked the perimeter of the house. The windows were covered by storm windows and the blinds were all drawn. Sean heard no movement inside. He put a small microphone in his ear and positioned a small amplifier close to the door.

Dillon motioned toward the device. Sean took out the earpiece and whispered, “It detects and amplifies sound and movement. Not foolproof, but it’s worked for me before.” He put the earpiece back in and listened for a good minute.

“I don’t think anyone’s home,” Sean said, taking out his lock pick.

“We’re not breaking in.”

“Go back to the car then.”

“Dammit, Sean!”

Sean popped the lock, then faced Dillon. “We’re in and out. I won’t take anything. You stand guard.”

“Sean—”

“All we need is information.”

Sean went inside and closed the door before Dillon could argue.

The house was extremely tidy, but there was a slight greasy smell. Sean checked the garbage in the kitchen. Someone had cooked a meal last night. No rotting food.

He searched the place quickly and saw nothing out of the ordinary. Then he went to Mallory’s den.

A computer. That was all Sean needed. He’d promised Dillon he wouldn’t take anything, but he hadn’t said he wouldn’t make a copy. He didn’t even try to boot up the computer, but took out a pocket computer and carefully
removed the covering on the hard drive. He then hooked up two wires to the motherboard and copied all the data on the computer, making a perfect replication. He replaced everything and was about to leave when he saw two framed photographs on a small table next to a reading chair. His heart nearly stopped.

The larger photo had been taken on a beach: a young, beautiful brunette with a toddler in her arms. They were smiling. Mallory’s family.

But the second photo definitely had more interest for Sean. A younger Lucy, maybe nineteen. Just as beautiful as today, but her eyes were sad. The shot had been taken from afar with a zoom lens.

The fucking bastard
.

Sean left and said to Dillon, “He has a picture of Lucy.”

“Anything else?”

“No. But I have a copy of his computer.”

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t disturb anything. Just made a copy.”

“Kate’s going to kill me.”

“We won’t tell her. Unless, of course, we have to.”

Sean looked back at the house as they drove off. Something was amiss—he had a strong sensation that Mallory was watching. Not from the house … Sean looked around the perimeter. There were plenty of trees and shrubs he could be hiding in.

He had an idea.

Dillon sat patiently in the passenger seat. How could he be so calm? The minutes ticked by and Sean wondered if he’d been wrong and Mallory hadn’t been watching the house while he searched it.

No
. Sean never doubted his instincts. When they hummed, he listened. And from the minute he stepped foot outside Mallory’s house, his instincts had been beating the drums like John Bonham. Mallory had been watching. He was waiting for them to leave. For how long? Until he was sure they were gone. There were only two ways out of this neighborhood—on foot and by car. One entrance into the neighborhood by car. Could he have come on foot? In the ice and snow? Possible, but unlikely. And Sean didn’t see Mallory as the type to be without transportation.

Of course, he could have a car stashed somewhere else. Or—

“You don’t participate in many stakeouts, do you?” Dillon asked.

Sean glanced at him sideways. “I’m not a cop.” He tripled-checked the custom GPS and driving system he’d designed, making sure he’d compensated for the road hazards. The icy roads were not his friend, and he hoped his car would help him control any pursuit.

“I’m familiar with RCK. I’m certain there are many times sitting still for long periods of time is necessary.”

“I leave that to others. I’m the only one who hasn’t been in the military. When you enlist, they teach you to be a statue.”

“It’s called survival,” Dillon said. “Are you certain—”

“Yes. I’m certain.”
I hope
. “I have that feeling in the pit of my stomach that I’ve learned not to doubt.”

“That’s good enough for me.”

Sean glanced at his watch. “We have to leave in an hour to pick up Lucy in time.”

“Kate can pick her up.”

“No. Mallory’ll be out before then. I’d rather keep Kate out of this until we absolutely have to involve her. She shouldn’t be put in an awkward position between me and Armstrong.” Sean trusted the Kincaids—he’d be a fool not to—but none of them were trained bodyguards. And while Sean didn’t specialize in personal security, he’d had his fair share of protective assignments. He didn’t like the idea that Lucy was at the Medical Examiner’s Office without a guard, but if Mallory was
here
, he wasn’t
there
. Still, Sean was nervous—if he was wrong, Lucy’s life was at risk. He didn’t care what Dillon said about Mallory not hurting her; Sean didn’t believe it.

The bastard had a photograph of her in his office.

Sean had cracked the windows, even though the air was icy, to better hear a car approach. It was a quiet neighborhood. He closed his eyes and listened. Forced himself to be calm.

“You care about her.”

It was both a statement and a question. Sean suspected after the last few days with Lucy that he’d be getting the third degree from more than one Kincaid.

“Yes,” he said simply.

Dillon didn’t say anything else, and that made Sean nervous. What did Lucy’s brother really think of him? Was he assessing whether he was good enough for her? Whether he knew everything that had happened in her past? Whether he’d be scared away if the going got tough?

Dillon remained silent. Was it that easy?

Cold still air carried sound well, and Sean heard the car long before he saw it.

They were around the corner from Mallory’s private dead-end street abutting the woods, and Sean had positioned his car in such a way as to be able to see through trees and shrubs anyone coming from the ten or so houses up Mallory’s street.

A gray sedan.

Sean turned the ignition of his GT and the engine purred into life. “Seat belt,” he told Dillon. He glanced over. “I should tell you I race cars. Amateur racing, but I’m good. Don’t panic if it gets rough.”

He waited until the sedan had reached the corner, then shot forward to block it.

Mallory braked, immediately reversed twenty feet turning 90 degrees, then drove forward, right behind Sean’s car.

Sean anticipated the move and spun 180 degrees in pursuit.

“This is a residential neighborhood,” Dillon said.

“I’m not going to hit anyone. I love this car.”

But Sean would total it if it meant catching the fleeing bastard. He pressed the “2” on his GPS number pad.

“What’s that?” Dillon asked.

“Questions later.”

His GPS gave him a cutoff route, and the radar in the front of his car told the computer how fast Mallory was driving, and how fast Sean had to go to cut him off.

He made a hard left, leaving Mallory.

“What are you doing?” Dillon exclaimed.

Sean didn’t answer. His eyes glanced left and right, looking for any potential dangers. Kids. Animals. Bouncing balls. It was a weekday, near the time schools let out, which demanded caution.

He glanced at the map, made a hard right up a hill, cut through a dirt service road, then floored it when he hit the main street. He’d lost time on the dirt road, which had turned into a muddy slush from the weather. He suspected that Mallory had slowed, just a fraction, when Sean’s car was no longer in his rearview mirror, but he couldn’t count on it.

His back wheels slipped on a patch of ice, but Sean maintained control of his car. He slowed, looking up the street where he expected Mallory to emerge. No one was there.

“Shit!” Had he miscalculated? No—but he could have misjudged Mallory. The killer could have turned around or hidden somewhere—in a driveway, perhaps.

Then he saw the car turn and head toward him, slowing as soon as Mallory saw him. Was he surprised?

“You’d better be right about Mallory,” Sean said to Dillon.

“What do you mean?”

“Get out when I tell you.”

Sean turned the wheel hard to the right, using the ice in a controlled slide, relying on his intuitive knowledge and impeccable maintenance of his car to ensure he wasn’t going to hit a pole or jump the curb. He controlled his spin by keeping the tires in it, while his momentum kept the vehicle moving toward Mallory’s car. Because this was the main road into the neighborhood, it was wider than the side streets, giving Sean the room he needed to play chicken with Mallory.

Mallory had to slam on his brakes to avoid hitting them, and he skidded, going into his own short spin before heading back the way he’d come.

In one seamless move, Sean stopped the car, put it in park, pressed the seat-belt release, and opened the door. He had his gun out, using his door as a barrier. He fired two shots into each of Mallory’s rear tires. The car fish-tailed, turned, and stopped.

“Out!” he commanded Dillon. Mallory might shoot
him
, but according to Dillon, Mallory wouldn’t shoot at Kincaid. Sean was counting on that.

Mallory was out of his car, his gun drawn, and then glanced over as Dillon opened the passenger door. “Mick,” Dillon called out, “it’s over. We know about the parolee project. We know about your connection to Frances Buckley. The FBI is getting a search warrant for WCF and Buckley’s house right now.” Dillon crossed in front of the car, putting himself in the line of fire.

“Dillon!” Sean called out. What was he thinking? Sean wanted Mallory distracted. He didn’t want to give the guy an easy target.

Mallory shook his head. “You understand what we face, Kincaid.”

“I do understand. But this is not the way.”

“You have no proof.”

“We have more than you know. There’s only one thing I don’t understand. Why the elaborate game of luring Morton here? It would have been so much easier for you to kill him in Denver. Does it have something to do with Ralston going to Seattle? Morton had something you wanted, didn’t he? What was it?”

Mallory was thinking. Sean couldn’t give him time to think. He stood up, gun aimed at Mallory’s head, and approached the car.

“Don’t,” Mallory said, turning his gun toward Sean.

“You going to kill me in cold blood? Dillon, too? You
fucking prick. You have a picture of Lucy in your house. How dare you!”

Mallory tossed his gun out and put his hands up. Sean hadn’t known what to expect, other than Dillon’s psych-out, but he hadn’t expected it to be this easy.

“I want to talk to Lucy.”

“Fuck no,” Sean said. “Assume the position. Dillon, search him and cuff him.” Sean tossed Dillon a set of handcuffs.

“You’re not a cop,” Mallory said.

“I think you know exactly who I am,” Sean said. “You did a background check on me. Someone tried to pull my data, now I know who.”

Mallory slowly turned around and put his hands on the car hood.

Sean said, “I’m still alive. Does that mean I passed your test?”

“The jury’s still out on you, Rogan,” Mallory said quietly.

Dillon searched Mallory, found another gun, and handed it to Sean. He then cuffed Mallory and had him sit on the curb. Sirens were in the distance—the gunfire had most certainly alerted authorities.

“Dillon, I have to get to Lucy, in case there are others involved who aren’t as friendly with the Kincaids as Mallory.”

“No one will hurt Lucy,” Mallory said.

“Excuse me for not believing you,” Sean said, then turned back to Dillon. “You okay here?”

Dillon nodded. “Mick and I have some things to talk about.”

Mallory stared at them. “Dillon, I have tremendous
respect for you, which is why I didn’t shoot. But we’re not talking.”

“I can help you.”

“Maybe I don’t want help.” He added softly, “Maybe I’m relieved it’s over.”

It was a quarter to three when Lucy received a text message from Sean.

She smiled. Sean was a romantic at heart. And after the last few days, she really appreciated his attention.