Risk of a Lifetime (22 page)

Heart pounding, she knelt at the edge of the tree line. Inched forward to the edge of the lake. Moisture crept through the knees of her jeans, coating her legs in icy cold water. JB’d been right. The water was too cold for her to wade to the boat. The storm front had moved in with dropping temperature. Dangerous hypothermia might set in if she got wet and ended up in the boat for any length of time.

That was why the plan had been she walk out on the dock to the boat. That was before she ran the wrong direction and had to circle back. Too much time had passed to assume Wilson wouldn’t be looking out the window. The best she could do was stay low and crawl onto the dock. After inching her way to the side of the boat, she eased downward onto the flat bottom and braced her stance. Undid one of the lines.

The front door on the cabin opened, and she crouched down, peering over the edge of the dock. JB and Wilson walked outside onto the porch. She should have already been gone. Laying in the bottom of the flat–bottomed aluminum jon boat, she continued to watch the men. For less than an instant, she saw JB’s gaze glance across the dock. The boat. He acted as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

Had he seen her? No.

He had to think she was still inside the cabin. That she’d never made it out the window. Her out-of-control running through the trees in the wrong direction had cost them.

How much? How much had it cost?

…

JB’s mind worked to create a new plan. The boat bobbed on the water, still looped to the dock. Marcy hadn’t made it out. He’d hoped to gather more insight into Wilson. Try to garner a confession. See if the man had any traps set for anyone else. With enough information, the FBI could stop the threats.

Not now. The situation had changed. One priority remained. Marcy’s survival.

She must still be in the cabin.

He stretched. Stooped to retie his bootlaces. Walked down the steps. Played for more time. Time for her to get away. Why hadn’t she followed the plan? “Where’s your truck?”

Wilson walked behind him. “Not far.”

JB angled his trail in the direction of the fallen log. The fireplace poker. He still had his Glock, but a backup weapon added an edge. His instincts shouted the man wouldn’t kill him until he made him suffer losing Marcy. JB didn’t plan for either one of those scenarios to happen.

Instinct also told him before this walk ended he’d become a wounded prey. His spine tingled with a shot of adrenaline straight to his brain. He needed to react now. Attack before disabled. He couldn’t. Couldn’t attack until he knew Marcy had escaped.

With Wilson’s expertise in explosives, there was no telling what traps he’d placed. Even if she made it out of the cabin, she could be lying somewhere wounded. The man might have even rigged something so she couldn’t get out of the window. Out of the cabin. She might be trapped inside.

“That’s far enough, JB.” Wilson’s voice quivered with excited anticipation. “Turn around.”

The ruse was over. From now on, everything JB did meant life or death for him and his wife. He felt his nostrils flare. Felt his fingers twitch into their fight rhythm. Felt his will for survival kick into fight-to-the-end mode. He might die today, but he for damn sure wouldn’t die easy.

JB turned to face the monster and his weapon of choice.

“Stay right where you are.” Straight and fierce, Wilson kept his gun trained on him. He appeared composed. Confident in his madness that he was on the side of right. “Hold your arms out to the sides. Shoulder height. Then use your left hand to remove your shoulder holster.”

JB complied. “You don’t want to do this. What if you miss a bullet casing? Leave a fingerprint?”

“I wondered how long it would take you to figure this out. You always were one of my best agents. Too bad.” Wilson motioned with his gun. “Pull your Glock out enough to release the clip. Then throw the clip in the lake.”

“Carla wouldn’t want you to do this.” JB did as told. Heard the splash as the bullets hit the water. “Go back with me, Wilson. Get some help.”

“Tell me, did you figure out Jennings, too? He got a little too close to costing me my money. I had no choice but to get rid of him.” The maniac of an agent laughed. “Carla wore her best schoolgirl outfit. Took him in hook, line, and sinker as a snitch. He believed everything she told him. She was being held. Abused. There were others.” Wilson’s expression oozed of pride. “Got him to the right place for me to pop him.”

Confession. JB didn’t move. A confession he might never get a chance to relay.

Wilson kept his weapon pointed an inch below JB’s Kevlar. The man knew the weak points. “Now the backup gun on your ankle. And that knife you’ve got on your calf. Guess you thought I wouldn’t check your routine. I give you credit for the knife thing. May even use the idea myself.”

“Too bad you won’t get to see South America. You and Carla.” JB pushed the limit. He had nothing to lose. Maybe he could get Wilson to break. To drop his concentration long enough to take him down. One split-second…that’s all JB needed. “Oh, that’s right. You were late to the party. Too late to save her. That why you want to kill Marcy? To ease your guilt for being late?”

“Shut up and do what I said.” The man’s face flushed, eyes bulging.

“Late, Wilson. Late.” JB goaded with precision and the rhythm of a lullaby. “You weren’t in time. Carla trusted you’d be there, and you failed her. That must be hard to face.”

Wilson’s cheek twitched. His predatory posture fractured for a second. Eyes moistened.

JB glided slowly into a new position. Again and again. Each placement of his feet measured. His body angled for the best blow he could strike. Almost like a ballet where every movement took into account the next position. Wilson didn’t seem to notice. He hoped to lull the man holding the gun into a stupor. Anything to slow his reaction time when the moment came.

“It’s not too late for you to lower your weapon, Wilson. We can get you some help.” JB stared the man in the eyes. “You know I had nothing to do with your girlfriend’s death.”

Maniacal laughter coupled with a gasping sob spilled into the air. “Girlfriend? How dare you disgrace her memory with such a thought? Carla was my daughter. My. Daughter.”

Daughter? JB sucked in air. The situation had changed. A man might be angry over the loss of a girlfriend. Even be a motive for payback. But in all likelihood, he could be talked down. The killing of a man’s child was different. Could take vengeance to a whole different level. One that meant blood for blood.

“I didn’t know, Wilson.” JB shuddered to think what he’d do in the same situation. How he’d get retribution against someone he thought had killed his son or daughter. “Why didn’t you ever tell us you had a daughter?”

Wilson shook with anger, his finger set against the trigger and pressing. “Why should I? None of you all ever cared about me. Neither did her mother. I was just a trick that produced a problem. A problem she put up for adoption.”

The air seemed to have grown thicker. Made breathing more labored. Life more fragile.

“Didn’t even get to see Carla till she showed up at my front door a few years back. She was in trouble with some dealers. Needed my help.” The man shook his head. “Every time I got her out of one situation, another came up. Figured getting her…us…out of the country was the only way to give her a new start. That meant money…and….”

“So you started skimming the drugs and money we busted. I can understand the odds you were up against.” JB needed time. “After all, you were her father. Who else could she turn to?”

Wilson nodded. “Then Jennings came snooping. Once I offed him, I’d made my choice. Needed to make one big score. Took months to set that meth bust. Then you…you and Landon screwed everything up.”

JB angled with his words, hoping something he said would make the man have a second thought. “We didn’t know she was your daughter. You should have told us she’d be there. We could have—”

“What? Just what the hell would you two upstanding special agents have done? You sure as hell wouldn’t have gone down my path. Besides, I had everything planned. You and Landon screwed everything up.” Wilson shook his head, raised the gun straight, and primed to shoot. “You called the go. Landon could have stopped you if he’d been on time. And that turncoat boss of mine… He ordered the bust a day early. He’ll get his, too. Him and his bratty kids.” Pure venom had oozed in his last words.

In that moment, JB knew there’d be no taking Wilson alive. This had to end today. On this hill. He would not risk other lives to save his own. Either he or Wilson would not walk away at the end of the day. That was all right with him as long as Marcy walked away.

Maybe he could get Wilson to shoot him. Make him think he’d made a direct hit, then come at him from behind when he turned. JB’d seen no sign of Marcy. She still had to be inside the cabin. Okay, she’d be safe there. Backup was on the way. She could barricade herself in until they arrived. Worst case, she had a gun and knew how to use it.

Wilson regrouped, motioning JB to step backward again and again. “That should be far enough.” Nonchalant, the man reached in his pocket. “Shame about the cabin.”

The cabin? What about the cabin?

The explosion happened like the blink of an eye. One second, the cabin sat peacefully. Blink. The cabin growled into a fireball.

Trees shook. Ground rumbled. The air echoed with the intensity of the bomb. Boulders catapulted down the hillside. What had been logs became sticks, sharp and jagged as they shot through the air. Searing heat blasted across the open ground.

“Marcy!” JB roared louder than the bellowing flames. He plastered a charge of blows to Wilson’s nose, his jaw, his kidney. JB dropped, rolled, and came up with the stashed poker from beside the log.

Wilson shot. Shot again.

Hot fire pummeled JB’s right shoulder as he swung the iron against the agent’s knee with his good arm. He swung again. Landed a second blow. Wilson staggered, then regained his footing. Smashed his fist into the gunshot wound. JB dropped.

The killer stomped the bleeding shoulder and held. “How does it feel to know you’ll never hold your sweet, little wife again? Huh? I blew her sky high. If she’d of died back in front of the bank, you’d at least have had a chance to say goodbye.”

JB spun out of the hold, crawling to his knees. Wilson back-slashed him across the face with the gun stock.

“You might as well kill me, too, Wilson. ‘Cause I’ll hunt you down one inch at a time.” JB hoisted himself to his feet. “And when I find you, you won’t even know what happened.”

He lowered his head and charged Wilson’s midsection. The man pulled his backup Glock, crashing it across the back of JB’s skull. He staggered. Still fought.

Wilson grabbed the poker. Slammed the iron across JB’s shoulders and forearm. JB grabbed his arm. No sound. No cry of pain. His arm hung at a worthless angle. Broke.

Still he fought with his good arm. Backed Wilson up with the blows. The agent smashed JB’s arm again. JB fell to his knees. Wilson stabbed him with the end of the poker right below the Kevlar.

“One more thing.” The crazed man laughed. “Wonder who ratted you out on that last job?”

JB had no doubt. Didn’t matter. The man had killed Marcy. That mattered. This fight wasn’t over. Wouldn’t be over until he took his last breath. “You didn’t even have the guts to do the job yourself, did you? Had to hire it out.”

“I hated I couldn’t be there when they branded you.” Wilson’s laugh coiled like a snake around his words. “They said you took a long time to pass out from the pain.” He raised the iron, fireplace poker over JB’s head. “Should only take one hard blow today. Goodbye, sucker.”

…

“Noooooooo!” Marcy screamed. Stood. She needed to get Wilson’s attention. Get him away from her husband.

She worked the rope on the final line. If she could get free, then Wilson would follow her. If she didn’t, he’d finish JB. She worked her fingers through the tight knot.

Wilson jerked, facing the dock as he smashed the sharp end of the poker downward.

She squinted to see if the blow had connected with JB but couldn’t tell. He hadn’t moved. What did that mean? Was he unconscious? Dead? He couldn’t be. This couldn’t be the end. Not like this.

Wilson never looked down to see if he landed his blow as he yelled with rage. Livid, he threw the poker at her. The iron plummeted onto the ground and tumbled end over end into the lake. Suddenly, he staggered. Fell. Had JB jerked on the man’s legs?

Wilson regained his footing, stumbled again, then hollering like a crazed man with no other words, he charged down the hill.

Sinister. Loathing. Rage.

He’d gone mad. All her analyzing in the world wouldn’t get her out of this. If he got to her, he’d kill her. And, JB? If he was still alive, Wilson would go back and finish him off after he finished with her.

She struggled with the knot, her fingers scraping against the dry hemp. Hard and brittle, yet set like cement in the twines of the knot. Her hand slipped. Blade-like strands of rope sliced her fingers. Blood coated her hands, the rope. She fought to ignore her reaction to the sight. Fought to push the nausea aside. Widened her eyes to battle the lightheadedness.

The closer he came, the more his face snarled with hate. Then he stopped. Glanced over his shoulder at JB.

Crazed laughter escaped from Wilson’s mouth. “Too bad JB’s gone on to his maker.” He turned back to face her, laughing even louder. “Maybe I’ll just take you with me to South America. Shouldn’t take long to convince you to cozy up to me. Do what I say…when I say…how I say.”

He charged forward. Tripped over his boots. Picked up a handful of rocks and threw them at her again and again. Like an angry child tossing their toy in the corner, he screamed through his sob. He’d gone over the edge of sanity. So crazy he had no idea what he was doing. He charged again.

Why couldn’t she get the rope free? Her bleeding fingers fumbled. The more she pulled, the tighter the rope got. Her hand scraped, ripped open. A nail? The rope had snagged on a nail. She tugged the loop upward over the rusted metal till it finally popped free. Looking up at the scene on the hillside, she shoved away from the dock with the oar.