The Chase (33 page)

“I’m not surprised,” Kate said, knowing things would go much smoother from here on out if Villency decided she was okay. “Lawmen have a sixth sense about this kind of thing.”

“We certainly do.”

“This will be a joint effort now between your office and the FBI.”

Villency liked the sound of that. “How do you want to play it from here?”

Kate holstered her gun. “I suggest we restrict this entire property as a crime scene and clear those firefighters out of here as soon as the blaze is under control. Meanwhile, based on what we’ve learned, you obtain a search warrant from the friendliest judge you’ve got. I’ll contact the U.S. Marshals in Lexington and get them out here to guard the evidence until I can get a full FBI operations team and forensics unit here from Louisville.”

“Works for me,” Villency said. “What do we do about Carter? Nobody knows where he is.”

“He’s probably got a safe room somewhere on the property,” Kate said. “If he’s still here, he’s not going anywhere. And if he’s fled, we’ll have to deal with it.”

“We’ve never had a catered field mission before,” Walter said.

He’d set down his sniper rifle when the sheriff arrived, and he was now eating the KFC biscuits. Somehow they tasted better in
Kentucky than they did in L.A., even though they were probably made from the same recipe and ingredients throughout the chain.

“This is the way to go,” he told Jake. “Speaking of going, shouldn’t we be getting out of here?”

Jake surveyed the scene with binoculars. The rocket launcher was propped up on the wall beside him. “As long as Kate is still down there, and Carter is in his bunker, we stay.”

“Fine by me.” Walter dabbed his lips with a napkin. “I’ve still got the Little Bucket Parfaits to eat.”

Carter watched Kate and the fat sheriff come out of the house. He knew they’d be securing the scene, filing for a warrant, and bringing in more federal agents.

“Shouldn’t we get out of here?” Vin asked.

“Just sit still and shut up,” Carter said.

“What’s the point of staying down here now?”

Carter held out his hand to Vin, palm up. “Can I see your gun, please?”

Vin took the gun from his holster, handed it over, and Carter shot him in the head.

Carter set the gun on the console. He wasn’t worried that anyone outside had heard the gunshot. The security center was underground and the walls were thick. And he wasn’t concerned about being found with the body. Nobody would be coming down to the bunker. He was going to blow his house and all the evidence in it to kingdom come, then emerge after the smoke cleared. And he’d talk his way out of this mess, just as he’d done many times before. And then he’d seek revenge. The thought of that kept him happy and occupied as he waited for the drone to arrive. It wouldn’t be long now.

• • •

Kate was feeling pretty pleased with herself. She sat in her car in front of Carter’s house, watching the firefighters shovel dirt onto the smoking embers that remained in the wake of the blaze. She was waiting for the warrant and the marshals to show up. Once they got here, she’d roust Carter out of his bunker, arrest him, and oversee the cataloging and confiscation of the paintings. Any accusations he might make later about her and Nick working together for the FBI would be dismissed as utterly absurd. Nobody would take Carter seriously after what they were about to find in his basement.

The BlackRhino operatives had been taken away and were being held for questioning by deputies. By now, Nick and Willie were waiting at the hotel for word from her that it was all done, then they’d fly back to L.A. on the “borrowed” King Air with Jake and Walter while she stayed in Owensboro until everything was wrapped up.

It had been about two hours since she’d introduced herself to Sheriff Villency, and an hour since she’d phoned Jessup to fill him in. She smiled to herself thinking about that call.

“I thought you’d like to know that I’m in your home state of Kentucky and about to arrest Carter Grove for possession of stolen goods,” Kate had said to Jessup. “Most notably, the three Rembrandts stolen this week in Montreal.”

“Wait one damn minute,” Jessup had said. “You’ve been suspended. You were supposed to be on vacation, recuperating from your injuries. You have no authority to conduct an investigation into Carter Grove or anybody else. In fact, you were explicitly told to stay the hell away from him.”

“I wouldn’t mention that in the press conference.”

“What press conference?”

“The one Bolton will be having tomorrow to explain Carter’s arrest and the recovery of the Rembrandts and dozens of other masterpieces stolen in some of the most notorious art thefts committed in the last thirty years.”

“How did you do that?”

“I’ll give you the details when I see you.”

There was a beat of silence on Jessup’s end. “You’re a credit to the department,” he finally said. “Good thing your suspension was lifted yesterday.”

It had been a good conversation, but time was dragging now. Kate did some housekeeping, sorting through the junk she had in the car. A couple empty water bottles, some confiscated guns, her FBI windbreaker, the high-tech taggant gun she’d forgotten to give back to Nick. She was checking email on her smartphone when the taggant gun started beeping. The beeps started slow and then became more and more urgent. She was initially puzzled, and then a jolt of fear coursed through her body. She knew what the beeps meant from her years as a Navy commando. A Hellfire missile was coming.

From the safety of the security center beneath the game-cleaning facility, Carter Grove watched the video feed from the camera mounted on the nose of the predator drone. He could see the Hellfire missile homing in on his house below. Retribution was coming from the skies. In a few seconds, Kate O’Hare and all the evidence against him would be obliterated and only a smoking crater would be left behind.
That
was how he rolled.

Kate grabbed the radar gun and jumped out of the car. In the distance, beyond the house in front of her, she could see an object streaking through the sky toward her like a fiery meteor. She checked the readout. Ten seconds until impact.

She aimed the taggant gun at the game-cleaning facility and squeezed the trigger, using the laser function to create a target on the wall, hoping it would attract the missile.

• • •

Carter watched the missile closing in on the house. An instant from impact, it abruptly acquired a new target and made a sharp turn.

Carter had only a split second to comprehend what had happened, but that was long enough for him to experience true, bone-chilling terror before the missile hit.

The bunker-busting missile was so close to the house when it turned, it sheared off the shingles on the roof before it slammed into the game-cleaning facility.

The building burst apart in an eruption of fire, chunks of concrete, and jagged sheets of metal that frisbee’d through the air like flying buzz saws. The metal sheets sliced into tree trunks, the barn, and the side of the house.

On the missile’s impact Kate and the remaining firefighters had flattened themselves on the ground, and they were so busy kissing the dirt, they didn’t see the predator drone as it streaked overhead, then banked to make another pass at the house.

Jake O’Hare saw the course change from his position in the hunting blind. He picked up the rocket launcher and aimed at the drone. He knew he had only one shot, a split second of opportunity, before the drone released another Hellfire missile on the house. This missile wouldn’t miss.

Jake centered the target and squeezed the trigger. The rocket shot out, the backfire on the launcher punching a hole in the wall behind him.

The rocket slammed into the predator drone and it exploded in midair, the flaming debris spiraling through the air and splashing into the lake behind the house.

There was a long moment as the sound of the two explosions dissipated, the ground seemed to still, and all that was left was the ringing in Kate’s ears and the smell of smoke.

She staggered to her feet and looked up at the wooded hillside. She couldn’t see her father, but she knew he could see her in his sights. He’d saved her life. She smiled and gave him a thumbs-up.

Clay climbed up into the hunting blind where Jake and Walter were high-fiving each other.

“Just like old times,” Jake said.

“Even better,” Walter said. “I thought I’d never get another chance to feel this way before I died.”

“Kate is one tough daughter-of-a-bastard,” Clay said. “I think I’m in love.”

“You’ll have to move to the back of the line, buddy,” Jake said. “Somebody has already beaten you to her.”

After the weeks of international travel and dangerous heists, it was hard for Kate to go back to the procedural drudgery of routine FBI work, tying up the loose ends of the Carter Grove case and wading through a seemingly endless amount of paperwork.

She felt like a prisoner in her cubicle at the Wilshire Federal Building, but getting some of the credit for bringing down Carter, returning the Rembrandts to the Musée de Florentiny, and repatriating the scores of long-lost masterpieces to museums worldwide made it easier to take.

Director Bolton grabbed a big chunk of the credit for himself, claiming that the investigation into Carter Grove had been ongoing for some time but had gained momentum when it dovetailed with Kate’s pursuit of Nicolas Fox. Even Kate’s ex-boyfriend,
FBI Special Agent Andrew Tourneur, got his share of the limelight for arresting Julian Starke as part of a wide-ranging conspiracy to sell forgeries to wealthy suckers and for dealing in stolen art.

The big rig accident that led to the exposure of Carter’s cache was blamed on some unknown person, probably a kid, who’d stolen a gasoline tanker for a joyride, lost control of the large vehicle, and then fled the scene.

Two teeth and a Cartier belt buckle were found on the driveway a quarter mile from the game-cleaning facility and were identified as belonging to Carter Grove. No other remains were found.

Kate heard from Nick two weeks after the events in Hawesville. He invited her to a mansion on Broad Beach in Malibu. The place belonged to an actor who was shooting an eight-hour gothic mini-series in Bulgaria. Nick was an actor friend from England who was housesitting. At least that’s what he told the neighbors.

Kate wore her favorite date-night outfit of jeans, Glock, and navy FBI windbreaker. Nick had Toblerones and caviar set out.

“If I didn’t know better I’d think you were trying to seduce me,” Kate said, eyeing the Toblerones.

“You could be right,” Nick said.

We’d like to thank James T. Clemente, Mark Safarik, Jay Stringer, Laurence Light, D. P. Lyle, Graham Smith, Jamie Freveletti, Christopher Reich, Alan Guthrie, Sam Barer, Gregory Nunn, Tim Hallinan, Cassandra Troy, Howard Shrier, Zoe Sharp, Lisa Brackmann, and Kate Kinchen for sharing their expertise with us. Any creative liberties we’ve taken with the facts, or any mistakes we’ve made, are our fault and shouldn’t be blamed on these innocent bystanders.

THE FOX AND O’HARE NOVELS
with Lee Goldberg
The Heist
The Chase

THE STEPHANIE PLUM NOVELS

One for the Money
Two for the Dough
Three to Get Deadly
Four to Score
High Five
Hot Six
Seven Up
Hard Eight
To the Nines
Ten Big Ones
Eleven on Top
Twelve Sharp
Lean Mean Thirteen
Fearless Fourteen
Finger Lickin’ Fifteen
Sizzling Sixteen
Smokin’ Seventeen
Explosive Eighteen
Notorious Nineteen
Takedown Twenty

THE BETWEEN THE NUMBERS NOVELS
Visions of Sugar Plums
Plum Lovin’
Plum Lucky
Plum Spooky

THE LIZZY AND DIESEL NOVELS
Wicked Appetite
Wicked Business

THE BARNABY AND HOOKER NOVELS
Metro Girl
Motor Mouth
Trouble Maker
(graphic novel)

NONFICTION
How I Write

J
ANET
E
VANOVICH
is the #1
New York Times
bestselling author of the Stephanie Plum series, the Lizzy and Diesel series, twelve romance novels, the Barnaby and Hooker novels and Trouble Maker graphic novel, and
How I Write: Secrets of a Bestselling Author
.

L
EE
G
OLDBERG
is a screenwriter, TV producer, and the author of several books, including
King City
,
The Walk
, and the bestselling Monk series of mysteries. He has earned two Edgar Award nominations and was the 2012 recipient of the Poirot Award from Malice Domestic.

www.leegoldberg.com