“Fine. I’ll go around right, you take the left.”
He looked like he wanted to argue, but she didn’t give him a chance. She set out with Peabody, leaving Grayson to follow or go the other way. He went the other way.
There was a motorcycle parked at the back of the house. The engine wasn’t cold.
Grayson came around the other side and she pointed to the motorcycle. He shook his head. “Not hers,” he mouthed. He pointed to the back door. A pane of glass was broken. Paige sidled up to the kitchen window.
Shit. Stevie sat at the table, her face deathly pale, her hands flat on the tablecloth. Another pair of female flattened hands could be seen at the end of the table. And barely visible to the left was a man’s large shoe on a foot that bobbed nervously.
Paige backed up against the house. “Silas,” she mouthed.
Grayson peered in the window from his side, then briefly closed his eyes. “He has Cordelia,” he mouthed back. He pulled out his phone and began to text.
I’ll take front and call 911, Paige read. Only confront if tries to leave. Yes?
She met his eyes. Nodded. Texted back. Don’t die.
One side of his mouth lifted grimly as he read it. Then he was gone and she and Peabody stood alone. Paige let the backpack slide silently to the ground, then reached behind her back for her .357, flicked off the safety. And waited.
Thursday, April 7, 5:30 p.m.
Silas glanced at Stevie’s phone, willing Smith to answer. He’d texted the prosecutor an hour ago. Why wasn’t Smith answering? He’d texted the right number. It had come from Stevie’s contact list and was the same number he’d called the night before.
He checked Stevie’s call log and frowned. There had been no calls to Grayson all day. With everything that had happened, that wasn’t likely. It hit him and he snarled.
“He got a new phone. A new number.” He lurched to his feet, dragging Cordelia with him. “Didn’t he?” Stevie flinched, giving Silas his answer. “Goddammit. You lied to me.”
He ran to the front, tightening his grip on Cordelia. He grabbed car keys from the table, opened the door. And stopped in his tracks.
Grayson Smith stood in his path, the barrel of his gun pointed straight at Silas’s head. “Let her go, Silas. Or I’ll blow your head off.”
Silas lifted the child, then realized she wasn’t big enough to shield him.
A knife cut into his neck. “Let her go,” Stevie said, her voice cold and deadly.
Silas tossed Cordelia at Smith, then spun, grabbing Stevie’s wrist. He’d known her eyes would follow her child and not him, giving him the opportunity he needed. He squeezed hard, bending her wrist back until the knife fell to the floor.
Silas shoved his gun into her temple, clamped his arm across her throat. Cordelia was screaming. Grayson swept her into his arms, turning so that he protected the child with his body. He backed down the steps, his eyes fixed on the gun in Silas’s hand.
“Run,” Stevie gritted out. “Dammit, get her out of here.”
Grayson took off at a sprint, disappearing around the house, and too late Silas realized what he’d done. It was my chance. I could have shot him. I missed my chance.
But reflex had taken over and he’d done the unforgivable. I protected my own skin.
It wasn’t too late. It couldn’t be too late. Go. Move. Find him. Finish this.
Grayson held Cordelia close to his body as he ran away from the house. She was hysterical, clutching and clawing at him. “Sshh, it’s all right. You’re all right.” No, she wasn’t. Stevie’s child might never be all right again.
Izzy appeared, stumbling around the corner. She’d escaped through the back door.
Paige. Where was she? In the house. Without a doubt Paige was in that house.
Izzy was crying. “He’s got her. Stevie’s still in there.”
“Go to the neighbor’s. I called 911.” Grayson peeled the child’s arms from around his neck. “Go with Aunt Izzy. I’ll take care of your mommy. Run, Izzy.”
Izzy took Cordelia and ran next door, banged on the door, and was pulled inside.
Grayson drew a breath, getting his bearings. He could hear sirens in the distance. He ran to the front, gun in his hand. Silas was pushing Stevie toward the front door, his arm pressed across Stevie’s throat, his gun still to her head.
When Stevie saw Grayson, her body sagged, her eyes filling with tears. “Cordelia?”
“She’s okay, Stevie,” Grayson said, approaching slowly. “She’s not hurt.”
“Drop the gun, Grayson, or I’ll kill her,” Silas said quietly. “I have nothing to lose.”
For a moment Grayson stood there breathing hard, considering what to do.
“You’re a good shot,” Silas said. “I’m faster. You know that. I don’t want to hurt her.”
Grayson crouched, placing the gun on Stevie’s front step.
“Back away,” Silas said. “Now.”
Grayson took a step back, saw the change in Silas’s eyes a second before the man moved. Silas shoved Stevie away so hard she fell and went still. He raised his gun.
To my head. Grayson raised his hands. “Don’t shoot me, Silas. Let me help you.”
“I’m sorry,” Silas said. “I’m truly sorry.”
Then Silas pitched forward, his gun dropping harmlessly to the floor. Paige stood behind him, holding his hand firmly in her grip, staring expressionlessly at him. She shoved him to the floor facedown, bending his arm behind him, falling so that her knee gouged his kidney.
Silas struggled wildly. “Let me go.” He bucked viciously, throwing Paige off him. Paige hit the wall and slid to the floor, dazed.
Grayson leaped, pinning Silas to the floor when he tried to rise, holding him down. “Silas, stop this. It’s over. You can’t get your daughter back this way.”
But Silas didn’t listen, kept fighting like a wild animal. Where are the fucking cops?
Silas twisted, grabbing Grayson’s throat, digging his fingers into his windpipe. Gagging, Grayson swung, his fist connecting solidly with Silas’s jaw, but the man didn’t even flinch. Grayson hit him again and the man’s fingers loosened, followed by a cry of pain.
Peabody’s teeth were sunk deep in Silas’s thigh. Grayson twisted Silas’s arms behind him, forcing his knee into the man’s back. Glancing from the corner of his eye, Grayson spied his own gun, still on the front porch, out of reach.
“Peabody, hold,” Paige said calmly from behind them. “I’ve got a gun pointed at your head, Silas,” she added and Grayson let out a harsh breath. “I will use it.”
Silas stilled. “Call off the dog,” he demanded hoarsely.
“Not yet,” Paige said. “Stevie, you okay over there?”
“Yeah,” Stevie answered, breathless. She approached, pausing to pick up the gun Silas had dropped, unhooking the cuffs from her belt. “Release the dog, Paige.”
“Peabody, release,” Paige said. Peabody obeyed, sitting at Paige’s side, alert. Paige didn’t move a muscle, her gun still trained on Silas’s head.
Grayson held Silas’s wrists with one hand, the back of his neck with the other.
Stevie snapped the cuffs on Silas’s left wrist, none too gently. “Who has Violet?”
Outside, cars screeched to a halt, doors opening. At least three cars. Maybe more.
It was one of those moments that Grayson could see coming and couldn’t stop. Stevie’s brief glance from the corner of her eye toward the door. His own momentary distraction. And the sudden, subtle tensing of Silas’s muscles.
“Stev—” Grayson got out half her name when Silas sprang with the force of a bull, surging to his knees. Grayson threw his body forward, his fist slamming into Silas’s jaw a third time. Silas fell to his back, absorbing the blow, then rolled to his feet.
And Grayson froze. Silas leaned, his weight on his uninjured leg. From his left wrist dangled Stevie’s cuffs. In his right hand he held a small, snub-nosed revolver.
Once again
Grayson found himself staring into the barrel of Silas’s gun, watching as Silas pulled the trigger. Then shots cracked the air. Plaster rained down on his head.
And Silas crumpled to the floor. His shirt bloomed red and there was a hole in his forehead. The eerie silence that followed was broken with, “Police! Drop your weapons.”
Paige lowered her gun, staring in horror at the hole in Silas’s head. I shot his wrist. I swear to God I only shot his wrist.
Grayson. He was okay. Stark relief bubbled up from her throat in a muted cry that had him turning to her. He met her eyes, his numb with shock.
“Oh my God,” Stevie whispered. Her gun was still extended, still aimed at where Silas had stood. “I killed him.”
“I said,” a female voice snarled, “drop your weapons.”
The words came from the doorway, where Detectives Morton and Bashears stood in full tactical gear, their weapons drawn and pointed at them.
Paige slowly crouched, putting her gun on the floor.
“You, too, Stevie,” Morton snapped.
Stevie didn’t move. She was frozen in place on her knees. Staring at Silas.
“Stevie,” Grayson said quietly, calmly. He reached for her gun, placing it on the floor. Holding her hands. But she didn’t look at him. Didn’t look at any of them. She couldn’t take her eyes off her dead ex-partner.
“He was going to kill you,” Stevie whispered. “He wasn’t going to give up.”
“I know,” Grayson murmured. “But he didn’t kill me.”
“He was going to kill Cordelia. And Izzy, too.” Her face ashen, Stevie scrambled to her feet. “I have to find Cordelia.”
“Where’s the child?” Bashears asked tensely.
“Next door,” Grayson said, rising also. “With Stevie’s sister. We got them out.”
Stevie rushed to the front door, but Bashears caught her, holding her by the shoulders. “Stevie, wait,” he said. He and Morton moved into the room, followed by four uniformed officers, and Peabody came to all four feet, a low growl in his throat.
“Restrain your dog,” Morton snapped. “Or I’ll shoot him.”
And you’d be next, Paige thought viciously but bit her tongue. “Peabody, down,” she said and Peabody obeyed. “His leash is in the kitchen.”
“Get it for her,” Bashears said to one of the uniforms. “Paige, stay where you are.” But his tone was not unkind, so she complied.
Morton knelt by Silas, pressed her fingers to his throat. “Dead.”
Bashears began checking Stevie for injuries. “Are you hurt anywhere?”
“Her wrist,” Paige said. “Silas twisted it hard to disarm her.” She pointed at the butcher knife on the floor. “He had her daughter.”
“Tried to use both of them as human shields,” Grayson added with contempt.
Bashears cast a dirty look at Silas’s body. “Medics are outside. Anyone else hurt?”
“Just Silas,” Grayson muttered. “Thank God.”
The officer returned with Peabody’s leash and Paige clipped it into place. Having acceptably restrained Peabody, she turned her eyes back to Silas Dandridge. There was blood on his arm, darkest at his wrist. Where I shot him. Relief had her shuddering out a harsh breath. I didn’t kill him. More blood spread on his white shirt.
Silas had been shot in the torso, too. I shot once. Stevie shot once. Silas’s shot went wild, hitting the ceiling, and Grayson didn’t have time to get his gun. So who shot him in the head? “Three shots,” Paige said to Bashears. “Torso, wrist, head.”
Stevie seemed to refocus. She looked at Silas’s body. “I shot his chest.”
“I shot his wrist. Who shot the third bullet?” Paige asked. “The head shot?”
“I did,” Morton said. “We’re clearing the room. This is a crime scene.”
Paige’s stomach rolled queasily. Morton should have aimed to stop Silas, not kill him. She must have seen Silas waving his gun and made a quick decision.
Quick, but permanent. Silas was dead and only he knew who had Violet.
Silas had framed Ramon. Hadn’t he? But Morton had been primary on Ramon’s murder investigation. She glanced at Grayson, saw him watching Morton as well.
Why would Morton deliberately kill Silas?
Just because Silas was guilty doesn’t mean Morton isn’t.
Paige was tempted to take a giant step back, out of the room, away from Morton. But she stood her ground. And hoped she was wrong, that Morton had simply thought to save them from Silas and nothing more.
“I’m going to see my daughter,” Stevie said, pulling away from Bashears. “Then I’ll answer whatever you want.”
“Wait,” Bashears said. “We received notification from the Toronto PD an hour ago. Rose Dandridge was found in a hotel room. There had been a struggle and she’d been struck repeatedly in the head before being strangled. Violet was gone.”
Stevie swayed on her feet. “Rose is dead?”
“No,” Bashears said. “In a coma, though. We need to find Violet.”
Stevie blanched. “Yes, we do.”
“Then tell us what happened. Then you can go to Cordelia. I promise.”
“He was here when I got home. He had Cordelia on his lap and Izzy was at the table. He texted Grayson from my phone, to have them meet ‘me.’ He was going to kill Grayson and Paige so that he could get Violet back. He was working for someone who wanted them dead. I knew Grayson was using a different number, that the text wouldn’t reach him. I was buying time.”
“So how did you two come to be here?” Morton asked Grayson.
“We’d arranged to meet for dinner,” Grayson said. “My house is a crime scene.”
Grayson was lying, Paige thought. He didn’t mention Anderson’s case fixing or the broker he’d claimed worked in Bond’s law firm. Or that Thomas Thorne was supposed to have joined them. Because Grayson doesn’t trust Bashears and Morton, either.
“So,” Bashears prompted, “Silas had Cordelia and then what?”
“Grayson went around front,” Paige said. “And I opened the back door and got Izzy out, told her to run for safety and to call for help. Stevie had already grabbed the knife and gone after Silas.” She recited the rest of the events. “And then you showed up.”
“And now I’m going,” Stevie stated, giving Bashears a warning glare.
Bashears held up a hand. “Who has Violet?”
“He never said,” Stevie replied over her shoulder as she hurried through the front door.
Bashears pointed to two of the uniforms. “Walk her to the neighbor’s. One stay with her, the other bring back the sister. Her name is Izzy. Thanks.”
Paige thought about her backpack, hoping Izzy had calmed enough to remember that Paige had told her to grab it when Paige pulled Izzy from the kitchen. To keep it safe and not to let the cops have it. Especially Morton. Just in case.
“Holy hell.” Hyatt burst into the house. “What happened here?” He stared hard at everyone in the group, and then started asking all the questions again.
Paige wondered when they’d be allowed to go. I need to get my backpack back from Izzy. I need to finish looking up all the MAC girls.
“We’ll need to confiscate your weapons,” Bashears said when all of Hyatt’s questions were answered. “For Ballistics.”
“I understand,” Paige said. It didn’t matter. She had others.
Grayson just nodded. “You’ve taken our statements. When can we leave?”
“Any time, Counselor,” Hyatt said. “You’re free to go. You, too, Miss Holden. But as you fired your weapon, we will ask that you be available for follow-up interviews.”
“Of course,” Paige said. “Don’t leave town, right?”
Hyatt inclined his bald head. “Essentially. Where will you two be tonight?”
“My house,” Grayson said. “Assuming we’re allowed back in.”
“CSU is almost done with your place,” Hyatt told them, then looked at Paige. “Miss Holden, that was a nice s
hot, to Dandridge’s wrist.”
Her eyes narrowed, unsure if his compliment was sincere. “Thanks. I didn’t want to kill him. I just didn’t want him killing us. And I thought you’d want information from him.”
Hyatt scowled at the body, then looked over his shoulder. “Too late for that now.”
Paige thought he’d directed that toward Detective Morton, but she couldn’t be sure.
“What are you going to do about finding Violet?” Grayson asked.
“Now that Dandridge is no longer a threat, finding his child is our highest priority.” Hyatt looked at Bashears. “You go back to Silas’s house. There has to be something there, something that connects him to whoever took his kid. Find it. We’ll bring in the Feds, coordinate the effort with the Canadians.”
“What about the sister?” Morton said. “We need to interview her.”
“I’ll do it,” Hyatt said. “Bashears goes to Dandridge’s residence. Detective Morton, please wait with the officers outside until a supervisor arrives to escort you to the precinct, where you will complete the necessary reports for discharging your firearm. In adherence to policy,” he added.
Morton’s jaw tightened. “Yes, sir.” She marched out of Stevie’s house without a look back.
Paige knew that cops were taken out of rotation for a short period of time when they used deadly force, so Hyatt’s command was not unexpected. Paige watched the lieutenant’s face for any indication that he thought Morton had acted inappropriately in Silas’s death, but saw no sign.
When Morton and Bashears were gone, Hyatt crouched by Silas’s body, patted his pockets, and pulled out two cell phones. One was a stripped model, the other a smart phone. Hyatt flipped open the stripped phone. “The log shows him calling your old cell phone number, Grayson. Last night.”
“The warning call,” Grayson said. “Just before the bomb went off.”
“There’s a call on the other phone from a blocked number at eleven thirty-two this morning.”
“Two and a half hours before he shot J. D. Fitzpatrick,” Paige said.
“Also,” Hyatt said, “within the window the Toronto PD gave for the assault of Rose. This is likely the call from whoever kidnapped Violet, telling Silas to kill you.” He gazed at the phone and let out a quiet breath. “A picture of Rose, She looks dead.” He studied Silas’s body with a mixture of pity and anger. “A lot of men would have snapped.”