Obsession Falls (47 page)
“Then follow me.” He headed toward his tiny, tightly packed house. “I’ve got exactly what you need.”
She and Kennedy drove away from Mr. Szymanski’s home carrying two World War II grenades cradled in a towel in a cardboard box, and with Mr. Szymanski’s advice ringing in their ears: “Remember, kids, five-second fuses only last three seconds, so pull the pin, throw, and
duck.
”
About a half mile from Parnham’s construction site, Summer and Kennedy parked and hiked in, then skulked through the underbrush, from tree to tree, from cypress to Douglas fir, around the perimeter of the lot, surveying the situation.
The house surprised Summer. Berk wasn’t kidding that his crew had been busting their butts. Construction was considerably farther along than when she left it. The roof was finished except for a few places where special work was needed to custom-fit the plywood over the trusses and against the walls. All the walls were closed in with plywood and white Tyvek house wrap. With no holes for windows, the place looked like a prison. Two ground-level, steel-plated, riveted doors furthered the impression.
When they got to the northern edge of the lot, Summer put her hand on Kennedy’s arm. He stopped, and she pointed up at the tower, where one large window opening had been cut through the plywood. “How much do you want to bet Jimmy’s got a view of the Hartmans’ from there?”
Kennedy turned and looked behind him. “Since someone cut the treetops in a straight line toward the house, I’d say you nailed it. And that he’s got some kind of high-end observation device with attached electronic weapon aimed at the house.”
As she remembered the blast that took out that beloved family home, she got angry all over again. “That bastard. I loved that house.”
“So you said.” Kennedy eyed her curiously. “Brachler kidnapped my nephew, chased you into the mountains, blew up your car, executed a man in front of you, killed the man who employed you, and because of him, you cut off your own finger. But what you’re really pissed about is the Hartmans’ house?”
“All that other stuff is in the past. My position as concierge is my future, and I have just lost one of my first clients.” She stared forbiddingly at Kennedy. Then her professional indignation deflated, and wretchedly she confessed, “The house had a feeling to it, of continuity, of family, of summer vacations on the beach, and a long history of good memories. What am I going to tell the Hartmans? How am I going to explain their family’s beloved beach house is gone, blasted to oblivion in a silly, deadly game?”
“Do you want me to—?”
“No. I’ll do it. But believe me when I say this—I am bringing Jimmy down.”
Kennedy grinned. “Have I told you recently how much I love you when you’re a badass?”
She grinned back. “Then at least for the rest of the day, I will endeavor to earn your love.” She pulled out her iPad and fired it up. “Here are the plans.”
“You’re going to set the grappling hook here”—he pointed at the screen, then back at the house—“and climb onto the roof over the window seat. Then you’re going to retrieve the grappling hook and set it here.” He pointed at the highest place on the steep roof over the master bedroom. “There the framers didn’t get the framing fitted. You can squeeze through the hole.”
She put her hand on her framing hammer hanging from her belt. “If not, I’ll make the hole bigger.”
“Once you’re inside, all you’ve got to do is find that weak spot in the maze, and follow it to Jimmy.”
“And together we will take him out. Nothing to it.”
“You’ve got ten minutes until I lob the grenade at the entrance to his command center.” Kennedy indicated the steel-and-rivet outer door Jimmy had installed.
Summer teased him. “I love it when you’re a badass.”
“Well, that’s something.”
That made her look down at her toes. He meant that she’d confessed to loving him for any reason. “I hope the grenades still work,” Summer mumbled.
“I’ll get in, one way or the other.” His eyes were crystal clear and cold as a glacier.
They had about an hour and a half until sunset, two hours until full darkness. They had no time, yet she had to say it. “From the way you reacted to my housebreaking, I wouldn’t have thought you’d be so good at this.”
His smile was nothing more than a chilly upturn of the lips. “My parents taught me what they knew. At one time they had both been brilliant, but by the time I was seven, ego and a grand contempt for authority had reduced them to jail time waiting to happen. I realized I needed to handle the heists, concoct the strategies, coordinate the timing. If I didn’t, my parents were going to get us killed.”
“Oh.” Summer suddenly understood a lot. “So it’s not your first time handling this end of the break-in.”
“As a kid I had no morals, no reason to think life should be anything but a game, one that pitted my wits against the best minds in security technology. I enjoyed beating the system. I knew I was the best.” He wavered as if he could not bear to reveal himself, and yet was compelled to show her his shame. “I was ten when Tabitha got caught stealing, ten when my mother made my baby sister feel guilty and miserable for every honest impulse. I realized—I decided—that Tabitha couldn’t live like that. I was determined she should grow up in a better environment than I had. I figured a foster home would be better for her, for us both. So I designed a bank heist with a fatal flaw, and because of me, my parents were captured, sent to prison for five years, and Tabitha and I were removed from their custody.”
“You did it for Tabitha.” An admirable impulse, but still, Summer was shocked that he had been the brains behind his parents’ larcenous successes, and even more shocked that he would so coolly betray them.
“I didn’t understand that Child Protective Services were understaffed and overworked. I didn’t realize they would separate me from Tabitha. When they did, I didn’t realize how bad some of the homes were. Tabitha was a pretty little girl. She never stood a chance.”
“She was abused.”
“Oh, yes. And I am to blame.” Kennedy touched Summer’s cheek. “So you see, you were right. I had no right to criticize you for breaking into houses to survive. Nothing you could ever do would be as bad as what I have done. So, no matter what happens to me, you must live through this. If I can’t join you, go to Tabitha. She knows about you. The money all goes to her. She will help you.”
Summer hadn’t really thought past the moment when they would confront Jimmy—and she killed him. Or Kennedy did. Or they both did. Kennedy had, and he must not like the odds. “Wait.” She gripped his sleeve. “Promise me you’ll survive.”
“I intend to try.”
Not the answer she wanted. “Promise me—”
He leaned down and kissed her, hard, and said, “I love you.”
She touched her mouth, looked down at her fingers as if she could see the kiss there, then looked up—and he was gone. “Wait. I love you, too.” But she only whispered.
She stood there, stupid with longing, confusion, and the terror that she would never see him again. Then she set the timer on her watch. She had only ten minutes; she’d work out her emotions later. She ran toward the corner of the house. She threw the grappling hook up onto the roof, set it, and climbed. And as she did, she asked aloud, “What are the odds we’re going to survive?”
Probably a good thing Kennedy couldn’t hear her. It was undoubtedly not a statistic she wanted to know.
* * *
Summer found her way inside the house, in the eerie, echoing, windowless second story, quietly racing through the partially framed rooms and toward the steps. The rat’s maze of closed-in corridors zigged and zagged and gave the place the feel of a labyrinth; somewhere in here, a monster lurked, waiting to rend her, break her, feast on her bones. She feared him. She sweated in the still, cool air and wished her heartbeat didn’t thunder in her ears.
Yet she was glad for this, glad they would at last confront Jimmy and end this madness.
The second-story loft abruptly ended twelve feet above the cavernous living room. There was no way down; a rough-framed stairway led down to the ground floor, but Jimmy had had the construction crew build his corridor to wrap the steps like a cocoon. Since she was not inside the corridor, she was cut off. She had no choice; she set the grappling hook in the chipboard floor and climbed down the rope to the first story. Which worked great, except that she’d lost a powerful tool in her limited arsenal; she had no way to retrieve the grappling hook, and she wondered if she was dancing to Jimmy’s tune, if he had made a plan to fit every circumstance. If that was true, and she feared it was, he had manipulated her … again.
Did cameras track her every move? If they did, she couldn’t see them in the dark. Anyway, she didn’t expect to surprise Jimmy.
That was what that grenade was for.
When her feet touched the floor, she veered toward the covered corridor. With one hand on the plywood, she followed it and came to that place where the covered corridor met the wall of Jimmy’s office. There was no way in except from inside the corridor. She would have to come through the wall.
She found a seam in the plywood wall, and laughed silently. One nail. Berk’s guys had set the plywood with one nail. She hooked the straight claw end of the hammer and dug in. The nail popped.
The silent alarm on her watch vibrated.
In two minutes, Kennedy would pull the pin on the first grenade.
She popped the nail on the other end and pulled the plywood free from the studs. And she realized Berk had cheaped out. The walls were thin one-quarter-inch ply. By the time they framed this, he must have had his suspicions about the job. Villains of the world, beware. No one could foil your evil plans like a disgruntled construction superintendent.
And … damn. Between this side of the wall and the inside of Jimmy’s office were a whole bunch of upright studs and … Sheetrock. Sheetrock was heavier, tougher than cheap one-quarter-inch plywood. She could only hope a single nail held it in place, too.
Another vibration on her wrist.
One minute until the blast.
She ran the razor edge of her utility knife down the Sheetrock, scoring once, twice. She would wait thirty seconds, then thump her hammer against the seam of the Sheetrock, and while Jimmy was distracted, trying to figure out what was going on there, the grenade would blast the door open and—
Boom!
The Sheetrock trembled in the explosion.
Summer staggered back.
Early? Kennedy had thrown early? No wonder he’d told her to survive. He was going in without her.
She slammed her hammer against the corner of the Sheetrock hard enough to pop the nail. Again on the other corner.
Inside the room, Kennedy shouted.
She heard an ungodly shriek of fear.
Kennedy laughed, loud and hard.
What the hell was going on?
She picked up a short length of scrap two-by-four and punched the Sheetrock. The Sheetrock broke open along the score line. White dust flew. She slid through the studs and into the office.
Jimmy, in a business suit, stood by his desk, white-faced and trembling.
Kennedy was doubled over, bellowing with laughter as he picked up one of Mr. Szymanski’s grenades off the floor. He saw Summer, tossed the grenade in the air, and said, “Dud!”
She swung the two-by-four like a baseball bat and slapped the grenade out of the air and into the wall.
Everyone flinched.
It did not explode.
“Goddamn good thing!” she shouted.
Kennedy laughed again. “Game over!” Before Jimmy could confirm or deny, Kennedy strode over and smashed his fist into Jimmy’s face.
Summer heard Jimmy’s nose break.
He spun and fell facedown.
Abruptly, Kennedy stopped laughing. He stood, legs braced, above his enemy. “The grenade was for trying to kidnap my sister. The broken nose is for Miles.”
Jimmy rolled over. Crimson covered his face, but his bloodshot eyes coolly sized Kennedy up.
“Stupid!” Summer was talking to Kennedy. And, “Snake!”
Kennedy didn’t listen. He wanted the fight, and when he leaned down to grab Jimmy’s shirt collar, Jimmy yanked him off his feet.
Kennedy adjusted in midfall, landed as hard as he could on Jimmy’s prone form.
Jimmy grunted.
The two men rolled, punching and kicking, snarling obscenities.
Summer dropped the two-by-four, pulled her pistol, and waited for her chance to take Jimmy out with a single shot.
Kateri was wrong.
Summer’s hand was steady. She could do this.
Kennedy stood and yanked Jimmy to his feet.
Jimmy stumbled into him.
And just like that, Kennedy’s knees gave way. He collapsed, unconscious, on the floor.
Snake. Venom.
Summer swung the pistol and aimed at Jimmy’s chest.
He lifted his hand toward his mouth and blew.
Something stung her on the neck.
Her vision blurred. She shot. She hit him, she knew she did.
Jimmy staggered backward, then ran forward and caught her as she fell. “You’ll be all right, my darling,” he crooned. “Remember, I’m rooting for you to win.”
“Already won,” she muttered.
“Not yet.” He eased her to the floor. “We’re not quite done yet.”
Summer came awake frozen with cold, staring into the darkness.
It wasn’t a nightmare. It was real.
She was in the cave, on the ledge, utter darkness pressing on her chest like a weight. Her limbs were heavy, so heavy. Her mind was confused. She was going to fall. She was going to …
wait
. Something was biting her neck …
She slapped at herself and cried out in pain, then reached again and discovered a thick needle, two inches long, stuck in her throat to the right of her trachea. In a panic, she plucked it out.
