The Inheritance

protectors sat about five feet in front of it. “Anyone in law enforcement will tell you that most gunfights take place within a range of five feet or less. For personal protection, that's what you need to learn.”

  Charley took a box out of the bag that looked just like one the Steve had used in Texas and opened it. “This is what Steve and I use these days. Sig Sauer P229, forty caliber model. PMPD switched to them right before Steve...left. See how it feels. Don't worry, it's not loaded.”

  Sam gently took the gun in hand. He remembered something Steve had told him and placed his right finger on the slide, above the trigger. Keeping the weapon pointed down, he ejected the magazine to verify it was empty, then pulled back the slide to make sure there wasn't a round in the chamber. Dunleavy nodded in approval.

  The sergeant had Sam step up to a firing line five feet from the target. Charley gave him a loaded magazine. Sam loaded the gun. “We'll keep it simple,” Dunleavy said, handing him safety glasses and ear protection. “Just squeeze off a few rounds to get comfortable with the weapon. Aim for the center of the target.”

  Sam put on the protective gear and did as Dunleavy said. He gripped the gun carefully, but not too tightly, and aimed at the paper target. When he squeezed the trigger, the gun jerked up from the recoil. It was more powerful than he remembered. There was a hole in the target, about three inches from the center, to his left. He leveled the gun and fired again. The second hit was just a hair to the left of the first. On the third try he managed to get it a little closer to the center, but just a little.

  Dunleavy tapped him on the shoulder and held his hand out for the weapon, which Sam carefully handed over. They took off their hearing protection. For the next few minutes, Dunleavy walked him through some simple adjustments in his stance and grip to improve his accuracy. When Sam tried again, he did much better. Four shots came within an inch of the center.

  “Good,” Dunleavy said. “Very good, in fact. Do you feel more comfortable with it now?”

  “I think so,” Sam said.

  He was about to load another magazine when Charley got a phone call. He listened to the other party for a moment, his face going pale with shock. “How bad?” he asked. “I'll get down there as soon as I can.”

  “What's wrong?” Sam asked.

  “Steve's been shot.”

  Sam chartered a plane to take him and Steve's family to Houston as quickly as possible. A Learjet was warming up when Sam and company arrived at the airport. To his surprise, Tracie and the kids were waiting for him.

  Tracie had packed a bag for him and the kids wanted to say goodbye, she explained. Both she and Stan Tyler tried to talk him out of going but Sam wouldn't budge. He was responsible for this. He was going.

  His heart sank when Steve's parents arrived. Jim Bennett, Charley's older brother, and his wife, Ann, had been like second parents to Sam growing up. They'd been next door neighbors and close friends to Sam's parents. It wasn't fair. First Tom, now Steve.

  It was all he could do to keep from breaking down in tears as they approached. “I'm so sorry,” he said. “He was trying to help me and...”

  Ann hugged him tightly and Jim put a hand on his shoulder. No words were spoken and none were needed. Sam knew they didn't blame him. The problem was that he blamed himself.

  The Bennetts boarded the plane, leaving Sam with his family. “Be careful,” Tracie said. “Please. I'm so afraid for you right now.”

  “I'm afraid for me, too,” Sam replied.

  He hugged and kissed each of his children. Sam Jr. looked as worried as Tracie did. Kristen also looked concerned. Only Noah smiled. “Can you bring me something when you come back, Daddy?” he asked.

  “You've got it,” Sam said. “Let's have a quick prayer before I go.”

  They prayed for Steve, for a safe flight, and for Sam. They hugged and kissed one last time before Sam boarded the plane. Minutes later it was in the air.

  Hank Curtis' murderer received the report of Sam's departure from Port Mason calmly. This was it. Endgame.

  SEVENTEEN

  The Houston police had few facts when Sam and the Bennetts arrived at Methodist Hospital. A housekeeper had found Steve outside his hotel room with a gunshot wound to the chest. No gunshots had been reported so he likely had been shot elsewhere and left in the hotel.

  Steve had been working with Detectives Phil Edmiston and John Taylor on unraveling the mystery of Stu Peart and the apparent conspiracy against Sam. They were now investigating the shooting.

  “Steve was supposed to meet us for breakfast,” Edmiston said. “He said he was going to work some military sources of his last night and share the results this morning. When he didn't answer his phone we headed to the hotel. By the time we got there he'd been found and the paramedics were on the scene.”

  “Military sources?” Charley Bennett asked. “Why?”

  “Peart got into a fight with a couple of inmates yesterday,” Taylor said. “We saw the video. He took them both down like a pro. He made it look easy. That doesn't exactly fit with the bumbler who peed his pants the first time Steve caught him, does it?”

  “Peart's been well trained,” Edmiston added. “We ran his picture through the military databases but didn't come up with anything. Steve thought he might have been special forces. He said he'd give the picture to some friends who knew where to look.”

  “Where's Peart now?” Charley asked.

  “In isolation at the county jail.”

  “I'd love to have a few four-letter words with him,” Charley said. “I know you guys won't let me, but I would enjoy it so much.”

  Sam understood better than most the bond between Steve and Charley. They were more like best friends than uncle and nephew. Steve had always idolized him; following him into the military, law enforcement, and finally private investigations. Charley's distress, and anger, was all too evident. If he caught up with those responsible, Sam wouldn't give a dime for their chances.

  “Steve didn't have his cell phone on him when he was found,” Taylor said. “And it wasn't in his hotel room, either. We tried locating it by GPS, but it's been turned off.”

  Charley got out his own phone. “He was carrying a company phone,” he explained. “I should be able to get his usage log, see who he's been talking too.”

  A few moments later he had the information he was looking for and called the number. He went to the other side of the waiting room to speak privately. As he did, a man in surgical scrubs entered the room. There was some blood on his shirt. “Bennett family?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Jim said, his voice full of trepidation.

  The man introduced himself as Doctor Spencer, the surgeon who had operated on Steve. “Your son has a strong constitution,” he said. “We almost lost him twice but he bounced back. I don't want to make any promises but if he keeps showing the kind of strength he's shown so far, he'll pull through.”

  Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. “He's not out of the woods yet, though,” Spencer cautioned. “The next few hours will be critical. If he'd gotten here any later...”

  They all understood what that meant. Sam uttered a brief prayer of thanks. “Has he said anything at all?” Detective Edmiston asked.

  “He has a tube in his throat and another in his chest,” Spencer replied. “He won't be talking for a while.”

  Sallie and Nick Curtis arrived. Sallie embraced Sam warmly and greeted the Bennett family. “You all can stay at my place,” she said. “We'll take good care of you while your son recovers.”

  “Don't bother arguing with her,” Sam said, seeing that Steve's mother was about to do that very thing. “It doesn't work.”

  “You're learning,” Sallie said. “I can't believe those boys would go this far.”

  “Mrs. Curtis,” Edmiston said. “Can you tell us anything that might shed light on what's been going on here?”

  “I'm afraid not,??
? she said. “I haven't said much to Bill or Jerry since that first attempt to kidnap Sam.”

  “I don't know anything either,” Nick added. “They haven't even been to the estate.”

  Charley came back over, having finished his call. “This is worse than I thought,” he said. “Stu Peart's real name is Harlan Flinn. He was in Delta Force.”

  “How did you find that out?” Taylor asked.

  “When Steve was in the army, Delta Force tried to recruit him,” Charley explained.

  “I remember that,” Sam said.

  “He never told us,” Ann said.

  “He doesn't like worrying you,” Sam reminded her. “Besides, he turned them down.”

  “Anyway,” Charley continued. “Steve has an old buddy who still works with them. Peart, or Flinn, was a Delta operator for six years.”

  “What's somebody like that doing driving a limo?” Jim asked.

  “Curtis Enterprises has some strong business ties to the military,” Nick said. “It wouldn't surprise me if Dad knew who he was and hired him to double as a bodyguard or something like that.”

  “Flinn was in jail when Sam was attacked the other night,” Charley said. “That makes me wonder how many more of these guys are involved.”

  “Sam, we need to get you back to the estate,” Nick said. “You're the target of all this. You'll be safe with us.”

  “I agree,” Charley said. “I'll work with these guys to get to the bottom of this.”

  Surrounded by family bodyguards, Sam, Sallie and Nick left the