Veil of Civility: A Black Shuck Thriller (Declan McIver Series) (19 page)

"Hi you've reach—" Declan threw the phone forcefully against the windshield, a spider web of cracks bursting across the laminated glass. He placed his face against the steering wheel and tried to force the images from his head. The sound of his heart beating and the blood racing through his veins pounded in his ears and his fingers began to numb as he gripped the steering wheel. He could live with all of the other faces, but he couldn't live with hers, her eyes forever asking him why, the question eerily permanent on her delicate features.

As he began to contemplate rushing past the watcher and charging up the driveway in a hail of gunfire, luminescence flared in the foot well, followed by the sound of the phone vibrating against the rubber floor mat. The sound jarred him back to reality and he opened his eyes to see that the phone had come to rest beneath his feet, its display undamaged by the impact and clearly showing a familiar phone number.
Constance.

Picking the phone up, he imagined the voice on the other end, rough and gravelly, a smile playing on the lips of his wife's killer. He'd called three times with no answer. Maybe it had taken the men that long to find the phone in her purse. He barely recognized the sound of his own voice as he answered.

"Are you okay?" he said, nearly out of breath.

"Declan? Where are you? When are you coming home?"

All at once the moaning ghosts of his past vanished. Her voice was heavy with sleep but angelic to his ears. Her tone told him she was safe, she had no idea of the danger that lurked just a short distance from their house.

"Declan?”

"I'm here," he breathed.

“Where are you calling from?"

He remembered that he wasn't calling from his own phone and that perhaps the reason she hadn't answered was because she didn't recognize the number. "It's a company phone,” he lied. “Are you okay? I'm sorry to wake you."

"I'm fine. Where are you? Why aren't you home yet?"

The sound of her sweet voice broke his heart. She had no idea what was going on and soon he would have to tell her. She'd handled the news of his injury and of Kafni's death well enough, but the events of this evening would mean big changes in their life, changes that had to happen fast and without any time for explanations. They had to get away now. Whoever had sent these men after them wouldn't be likely to give up easily and he still had at least one more to deal with.

"The truck broke down," he said, thinking quickly. "I need you to come and get me."

"What do you mean, the truck broke down? It's a brand new truck!"

"I don't know. Just won't start. Come get me. I'm downtown by the old railroad yard. You know where your Uncle's produce warehouse used to be?"

"Yeah, okay. Why are you down there?"

"I was taking the back way home. I'm in his old parking lot. Hurry up. I don't want to be down here for long. It's a rough area."

"Okay. I'm coming."

"Call me when you leave the house."

"Okay."

He heard the rustle of the bedsheets as she pushed them back before she ended the call. He looked up the hill through the trees and could make out a faint light in their bedroom window. He turned to watch the smoking bandit in the car. If the nicotine addiction hadn't gotten the better of him, he might have been successful in staying undetected in the darkness. Suddenly the flame moved through the air to the right and gave birth to a twin.
So there are two men in the car
. That was a good sign that they were still waiting for orders from their now deceased cohorts.

Ten minutes later the headlights of Constance's pearl white convertible moved out of the garage and onto the driveway. The men in the car chucked their cigarettes onto the gravel path of the park and faded into the darkness as they saw her approaching. She made a left turn out of the driveway and drove thirty yards up a small hill where she made a right, heading towards downtown Roanoke.

Declan watched, waiting for the men to make their move, and seconds later they did. The taillights of the car blazed to life in the darkness, casting a red hue on the trees behind it, followed by the sound of an engine turning over, then a white Crown Victoria with two passengers pulled out of the lot and passed within thirty feet of where Declan was parked. Watching closely for them to signal anyone else nearby, Declan saw nothing. It appeared that they were alone after all. He watched for any signs of another vehicle behind him as he followed them at a safe distance. He looked down as the phone in his lap vibrated.

"You on your way?" he said to his wife. "Good. Listen to me carefully. I'm not at the produce warehouse. I'm two hundred yards behind you."

"Decl—"

"Don't talk! Just listen," he ordered. "Look in your rearview mirror. You see the headlights?"

"Yes. But why are you—"

"Just listen," he ordered again. "That's not me in the car. I'm behind it in a white SUV. You're being followed."

He watched ahead and saw the Nissan's brake lights come on. "Don't react. Just keep going," he said.

"Declan what's going on?"

"Just keep going. I don't have time to explain. Just stay on the line with me and head towards the produce warehouse."

"Okay."

He could hear the fear in her voice and hoped what he was planning would work. Constance had no training for this kind of thing.

Up ahead the Crown Vic followed the Nissan closely, a sign that its driver didn't have a lot of experience. Apparently whoever had hired this crew had run out of experienced men to do their dirty work and had been forced to rely on rookies.

"I want you to get on the highway as quick as possible," Declan said.

The Crown Vic backed off and was now following at a more experienced distance. Declan realized immediately that the driver had been using the headlights to try and determine how many people were in the vehicle he was following; maybe he was experienced after all.

Ahead, Constance was approaching a stop light. Only a few vehicles were on the road at this time of night and the normally busy four lane intersection was empty. The green glow of the traffic signal changed suddenly to amber and then to red as she approached.

Damn
, Declan thought as he saw her slowing down to a stop. The Crown Vic came to a rest two car lengths behind her. Watching carefully as he approached, Declan looked for any sign that he'd been noticed. He leaned over and pulled the Smith & Wesson pistol he had taken from the men who'd attacked him off the passenger seat of the vehicle. Preparation was the key to survival and although he had hoped he would never have to use them, he'd stashed weapons, mostly semi-automatic pistols, throughout his house and vehicles; unfortunately he wasn't in his vehicle.

"Declan, I wish you would tell me what's going on. Why are there people following me? Is this about Abe's death?"

"Yes," he said, and let his words hang in the air for a moment before continuing. "I'll tell you more once we're both safe, but for now, just keep going."

The traffic signal turned green and Constance made a left hand turn heading west towards the highway. Slowly, apparently being careful not to be too aggressive and tip her off, the Crown Vic rolled after her.

"Remember, just keep going and lead them to the warehouse. I'll tell you what to do when we get there. Everything will be okay," Declan said hoping he was right.

Sixteen minutes after leaving the house, Constance turned right off the interstate at the downtown Roanoke exit and drove east. She continued through two stop lights then made a left, heading into the city's southeast neighborhoods.

Between the downtown market area and the expansive ward known commonly as "old southeast" were rows of dilapidated warehouses that had once been used by the Norfolk & Southern railroad and other businesses that had supported it. The railroad still maintained a working yard that occupied a large quadrant of Roanoke's south side, but it was a shadow of its former self. Staying about a hundred yards behind the Crown Vic, Declan could see to his left the dormant shapes of the hulking locomotives across the Roanoke River, their engines kept running throughout the night to avoid freezing.

"Alright, we're almost there," he said to Constance. "Do you remember your uncle's favorite parking spot? The one around the back between the building and the fence, just big enough to fit a car into?"

"Yeah, yeah I think so."

"Grand. I want you to pull straight ahead into that spot and stay in the car until I come and get you. Whatever you hear, do not get out of the car. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

Declan knew he was scaring her. He could hear a quiver in her voice. He was doing it on purpose. He had a pretty good feeling that he had avoided being made, but that was about to change. The last thing he wanted was Constance out in the open when the shooting started. He hoped that the men in the car were only carrying smaller firearms, certainly nothing bigger than the one he carried. While he trusted his aim, he was using a firearm that wasn't his own and he had no desire to take on a sub-machine gun or some other automatic weapon.

"Turn off the engine and the lights as soon as you're parked."

"Okay," Constance said, her voice a high squeak.

He hung up the phone and watched as she turned right into the fenced lot that belonged to a two story white concrete building with a loading dock wrapped around it. The gate that once prevented people from accessing the property after business hours had now rusted off its hinges and was lying in the muddy dirt lot. Weathered signs along the road and on the building identified it as
Star City Fruit & Produce
. The business had once shipped locally grown goods all over the southeast United States and had belonged to Constance's uncle, Nathan Cobrian. Upon his death six years earlier his two sons had taken over and run the company into the ground. All that was left of it now was the abandoned building, which Declan had bought out of foreclosure, and a few rusting box trucks that sat along the rear fence.

Declan pulled his truck to the side of the road and watched as the Crown Vic cautiously entered the lot, trying to remain undetected. Constance had done exactly as he had told her and was now around the far end of the building out of sight. The driver of the Crown Vic turned off the headlights and proceeded forward. Declan turned off his truck and got out. He would have to be quick to avoid any chance of his wife getting hit during the fight that was about to erupt. With any luck he would get the drop on the goons before they could get a shot off.

Getting out of the SUV, he tucked the pistol into his coat pocket and started off in a jog. Entering the dirt lot, he stayed in the shadows close to the fence as the Crown Vic came to a stop. The cloudy night and the tall, leafless birch trees that lined the rear of the property shrouded most of the one acre lot in darkness.

The men got out of the car and Declan watched as they each drew a handgun from under their coats and chambered a round. He pulled his own pistol from his pocket.

The men moved cautiously towards the far corner of the warehouse, their pistols raised and following their line of sight, as if they realized that there was a good possibility that they'd been led into a trap.

Silently, Declan pulled himself up onto the loading dock and crept along the smooth concrete floor, his dark clothing and the lack of natural light concealing him perfectly. Flattening himself against the wall, he made sure the men were looking away when he moved.

The men arrived at the corner of the warehouse, first pointing their weapons down the side of the building and then in the opposite direction, into the yard, towards the decaying box trucks. Moving down the side of the building they momentarily passed out of Declan's view, their pistols still aimed towards the back of the property.

Declan moved quickly across the loading dock to the far corner and turned quickly, taking aim. The men swept from right to left with their backs to him as they looked for any signs of Constance's vehicle. They were twenty yards from where she was parked in the narrow but deep parking spot her uncle had used for thirty years, the ribbed sheet metal siding of the building easily hiding the slender sports car from view.

"Looking for someone?" Declan announced.

The men turned counterclockwise in a fraction of a second, aiming their weapons.

Declan didn't wait. He fired three times, the report of the shots echoing against the metal building. His first shot hit the driver in the face, where he'd been aiming, and the other two struck the passenger center mass. Both men collapsed into the dirt lot and lay still. He jumped off the loading dock and breathed slowly but deeply as he approached, his gun ready. Standing at the feet of the passenger, he looked down at both men. Like the ones who had attacked him earlier, these two also appeared to be Americans. Their short haircuts and the movements they had been making also indicated that they were trained police or military. He watched for any signs that they were still breathing and saw none. To be sure, he aimed and fired twice more, sending blood and brain tissue splattering into the tire tracks made by Constance's Nissan in the muddy parking lot.

He did a full three hundred and sixty degree turn to be sure there was no one nearby and then moved quickly to the back of the building. His wife's convertible sat exactly where he had told her, a consistent tapping sound from the engine as it cooled in the night the only clue as to its presence. Through the rear window he could see his wife sitting in the driver's seat. As he approached the side of the car she stared straight ahead. He tapped on the glass but she did not move. Tears ran down her face and her chest heaved. Slowly she looked out at him.

Declan felt his insides tighten as regret washed over him. As long as he lived, he would never be able to apologize enough for what she was going through.

"Move over," he said, as he opened the driver's door. She slid silently across the console into the passenger's seat. He could hear her sniffing away tears as he got in and removed the pistol from his pocket, laying it on the black vinyl dashboard. He turned the key and revved the engine. All six cylinders whined as he shifted into reverse and stomped on the accelerator, guiding the vehicle straight back. He turned the wheel suddenly and ground the gears as the convertible slid to a stop in the wet mud. He heard Constance sob as she saw the two men a short distance away. He knew as they tore past the wrecked bodies that she would never look at him the same way again.