‘I thought the same thing.’
She looked up at him with a rueful smile. ‘I figured you did. I want to see Robinette dragged away in cuffs more than just about anything, but if he’s still out there . . .’ She shrugged. ‘He might be trying to get to Mexico, but if he isn’t, I don’t want Cordelia alone.’
They slipped through the fence. With most of the other cars already gone, their black SUV looked a little lonely as they approached it. ‘Careful,’ Clay cautioned, grabbing her arm when she stumbled over a tree root. ‘Don’t f—’
His leg abruptly crumpled, dropping him face first into the dirt. Don’t fall, he thought as white-hot pain shot through his leg, the sound of the shot registering a split second later.
He’d been hit. Stevie.
‘Clay? Clay?’ Her voice was close at first, then further away. Then nothing at all.
Fighting his panic, he struggled up on one knee to look for her. The panic won, twisting him from the inside out when he saw her cane abandoned on the grass.
Stevie was being dragged toward the SUV, a hand over her mouth and a gun at her forehead. Her holster was empty. Robinette had her and he’d taken her gun. Clay glanced around wildly, looking for backup, but everyone had gone. Robinette had Stevie.
‘If you call for help, I’ll kill her,’ Robinette said softly. ‘I swear it.’
Chapter Thirty
Baltimore, Maryland, Wednesday, March 19, 6.05 P.M.
Perfect, Robinette thought. Better than perfect. He’d come back planning to sneak past the one cop Lisa claimed was waiting outside, so that he could grab his backup passport and run.
But now he had the grand prize. Stevie Mazzetti finally belongs to me.
She was, however, a lot stronger than she looked and fought like a wildcat. He shoved the barrel of her own gun harder against her temple. ‘Settle down,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘Or my next shot takes out Loverboy.’ Who was still on the ground, but starting to stir. ‘You don’t want to watch him die, now do you?’
She shook her head, breathing through her nose in short pants. She stopped thrashing, but her body was still tense. She was waiting for an opportunity to get away.
He didn’t intend to allow that to happen. ‘You’re going to walk with me to your SUV, nice and easy.’ The SUV was an exact duplicate of the one he’d shot up in front of Culp’s house, but when he ran the plates, it made sense. The new SUV belonged to Grayson Smith, Joseph Carter’s brother. With any luck, the window glass would also be a duplicate – bullet-proof.
He started moving, but she wasn’t cooperating, so he dragged her. Not only was she stronger than she looked, she was heavier, too. But he was weak, thanks to goddamn Fletcher.
He’d find the bastard and Fletcher would wish he’d never been born. The thought made Robinette tired. The list of people who’d be wishing they’d never been born had mushroomed.
He still had to deal with Lisa, but he’d get to her later.
He’d expected his wife had been lying about meeting him at the bank, but he’d waited – until Brenda Lee called to tell him it was a setup. Cecilia had told her that he was waiting for Lisa, but now that his wife had discovered the truth about his long-term affair with Fletcher, Brenda Lee had worried that Lisa was giving him over to the police out of spite.
Robinette hadn’t worried – until he’d driven by the factory to see the news vans and the horde of cops. And the guys in HazMat suits. And then Lisa was his last concern.
The Feds knew what Fletcher had been making during the night. He’d been stunned. To hell with worrying about Mazzetti reopening Julie’s murder investigation. He had Homeland Security on his ass now. He needed to get out of the country. He needed his fake passport, in the safe in his home office. The fact that he drove Wright’s minivan, and that he’d so drastically altered his appearance, added to the fact that he was desperate . . . He’d decided to chance it.
But his heart had sunk as he’d driven Wright’s minivan past the line of news vans. There were more cops at his house than there had been at the factory. There was no way he was getting to his fake passport now. The cops were probably combing his office and if they hadn’t blown his safe open already, they soon would.
His mind had been racing, searching for another solution, when he saw the key to his escape – Stevie Mazzetti and Clay Maynard walking through his front gate. Joseph Carter would make a trade for Mazzetti’s life. One trouble-making cop for a one-way ticket to anywhere.
How I’ll kill her later will have to be a question left for another day.
The tons of cops searching for him suddenly didn’t worry him – they annoyed him. They wouldn’t find him in the house – because he wasn’t there. Eventually they’d give up, go elsewhere and then he’d make his move. Mazzetti would leave with them and he’d follow her. But they hadn’t gone fast enough, so he’d given them a little nudge.
One ticket to Mexico City bought online for the non-existent Eric Johnson using Wright’s credit card, six hundred bucks. Watching the Feds scatter on a wild goose chase – priceless.
A few steps more and he’d be out of here.
Wednesday, March 19, 6.07 P.M.
Above Robinette’s hand, Stevie’s dark eyes were wide with fear. Until she saw Clay moving. Then her eyes narrowed, snapping with fury. She was pissed off, not terrified.
That’s my girl. A pissed-off Stevie was a force to be reckoned with.
Clay looked up, found Robinette staring him down.
‘I want to see your hands,’ Robinette demanded. ‘Good,’ he added when Clay complied. ‘Now your gun. Two fingers. You know the drill. Make one wrong move and I’ll splatter her brains. Goddammit,’ Robinette barked. Stevie had begun thrashing like a wild animal, taking all of Robinette’s strength just to keep her overpowered.
Giving me time to get my shit together.
Robinette tightened his grip, lifting her off the ground so that her feet dangled. She kicked, twisting to position her feet where they’d do the worst damage. Robinette shook her hard and Clay could see her blinking rapidly.
The bastard had shaken her so hard she’d seen stars. Her kicks slowed until her feet went still. ‘Good. Now, Maynard, take your gun by the barrel and toss it over here, slow and easy.’
Gritting his teeth, Clay again obeyed, tossing the gun so that it hit the grass and slid, coming to rest a few inches from the SUV.
Stevie grabbed for Robinette’s arm, pulling her body up so that she could breathe. Then her wild fighting began again.
‘Tell her to stop struggling and she can live.’
‘Save your strength, Stevie.’
Robinette’s lips curved. ‘Not what I had in mind, but it will do for now.’
‘Glad . . . you approve.’ God. It hurt. Clay hadn’t hurt this badly since . . . well, since the last time he’d been shot in the leg. An unexpected jolt of humor shocked him, shook him loose from the grip of pain.
It was the adrenaline, he knew. But it had served its purpose. Now he could think.
The barrel of Robinette’s gun was at an awkward angle to Stevie’s forehead, thanks to the helmets they both wore. That they wore flak jackets, too, was the only reason he wasn’t dead. The only reason Robinette had aimed for his leg, the only part of his body left unprotected.
Clay looked over his shoulder. A few agents remained, but they were in the house with Lisa Robinette. No one was close enough to see. He could only hope someone had heard the shot.
His pants were already wet with blood from the knee up. He was lucky – the bullet had missed his femoral artery, hitting his thigh a few inches below his groin.
Thank God for that, too, he thought grimly. He’d be needing that part of his body when they got out of here. Because they would. Clay would entertain no other outcome.
‘Throw me your car keys,’ Robinette demanded. ‘Now.’
No fucking way that was going to happen. There was no way Robinette would let her live.
Clay made
a quick, calculated move, letting Robinette believe that he was going for the gun that he’d tossed away, grunting when a second bullet hit his right arm. He wore Kevlar under his shirt, but Robinette couldn’t see it. Clay moaned, grabbing his arm and rolling as if he’d been hit, curling up in the fetal position.
Robinette’s growl of fury was Clay’s reward. During the seconds Robinette had fired, his gun had no longer pointed at Stevie’s head and she’d used those seconds the best way possible.
Throwing herself into him like a tornado, she punched and kicked. Robinette checked her a moment before she kneed him in the nuts, slapping her so hard that she flew against the SUV.
You are so gonna die.
Still hunched in a fetal position, Clay went first for his backup revolver, concealed in his left pants pocket. He shifted then, grimacing as he went for his phone in his right pocket which was too damn close to the bullet in his leg. He silently cursed when his phone failed to turn on. It was soaked with his own blood. Useless.
He straightened, coming up on one knee just as Robinette grabbed Stevie by the fasteners on her flak jacket with one hand, lifting her in the air again, his gun shoved under her chin as he pulled her against him. She still looked dazed.
‘Keys, Maynard. I want your damn keys!’
‘Okay, okay,’ Clay panted, leaving his arm against his side, hoping Robinette wouldn’t see his revolver. He didn’t dare shoot now – the bastard was using Stevie as a shield. ‘Just don’t hurt her. Please don’t hurt her.’ Holding on to his sanity by a thread, he dug his keys from his pocket and hesitated, trying to think of something to do. Anything to do.
Then he realized that Robinette held his gun awkwardly, like he’d never held one before. With his left hand.
Was Robinette right handed? Why didn’t he just switch hands? Why was . . .
Oh. Understanding came in a rush. Robinette only had one arm powerful enough to hold Stevie – his right. Because a certain kid had shot him in the left arm. Alec, I love you. The kid must have injured Robinette worse than they’d assumed.
Clay tossed the keys, letting them fall so that they were inches out of Robinette’s reach.
‘Fuck you, Maynard,’ Robinette snarled.
‘My right hand’s all bloody.’ Which was true. The hole in his leg was bleeding faster after his theatric roll across the ground. ‘I can’t throw left-handed. The keys slipped.’ Which was a complete lie. He wanted Stevie to pay attention to Robinette’s left hand.
He wanted Robinette to come closer. The bastard would either have to release Stevie or force her to move. He wouldn’t do the first. The second buys me time.
Robinette shot Clay a killing glare. ‘You’re a fucking liar. I should shoot her right now.’
‘But you won’t, because you need her to get away,’ Clay said, forcing steel into his tone. Robinette spun Stevie so that she faced him, marching her backward until he could cover the keys with his shoe. ‘Kneel.’
Stevie was still blinking rapidly. ‘I’ll fall.’
Robinette shoved the gun into her windpipe, making her choke. ‘Then you’ll die. Kneel.’
Wednesday, March 19, 6.10 P.M.
Stevie put all her weight on her right leg, lifting the left as she knelt. This is just yoga, she thought. She’d seen Izzy do this hundreds of times. Too bad I never actually attended class.
Tomorrow, she thought. Tomorrow I’ll start yoga.
Today she had better things to do. Like get her goddamn gun back. She’d heard the shot, seen Clay go down and immediately had drawn her weapon. But Robinette had grabbed her from behind, taking her gun and her phone. He’d thrown her phone into the trees, dammit.
He’d kept her gun. Robinette knelt with her, keeping pace. Keeping her own gun shoved against her throat. Dammit.
Robinette slid his foot off the keys Clay had thrown . . . thrown with his left hand. Oh.
It was then that Stevie realized how awkwardly Robinette held the gun – with his left hand. Alec had shot him in his left arm. He’d been holding her against him with his right hand.
Got it. Right arm strong, left arm weak. Robinette’s left arm was his vulnerable area.
Still holding the gun at her throat, Robinette reached down to scoop up the keys in his right hand. Deliberately she listed slightly to his left. His gun followed her movement, throwing him off-balance and distracting him. Just for a moment. But that’s all she needed.
Simultaneously, she jabbed one fist into his upper left arm and used the heel of her other hand to knock the gun away from her throat.
Robinette pulled the trigger, but he was a moment too late. The shot was six inches wide, missing her and landing somewhere in the nearby trees.
Immediately, another gun fired and Robinette howled, his left hand flexing on reflex, the gun dropping to the ground. Clay had shot the bastard in the same place Alec had. Robinette fell to his knees reaching for the gun he’d dropped – the gun he’d ripped from her hand when he’d first grabbed her – but Stevie was a little bit faster.
Taking her gun back, she shoved the barrel under his chin.
She had Robinette where she wanted him. At my mercy. Her hand was steady as she stared into his eyes. His eyes were deadly as he stared back into hers.
‘If you expect me to beg you not to kill me, you’ll die waiting,’ he said.
It wasn’t what she expected. It was what she needed. She needed to kill this parasitic, sociopathic sonofabitch. He deserved it. He deserved far worse. He killed Paul. He killed my son. To save his own miserable ass.
She was no longer filled with rage. Her mind was clear. She could do this. With a single bullet she could end it all. Today. She would never have to be afraid of Robinette again.
She owed it to Cordelia. Owed her daughter a life without fear.
Paul had died protecting their son. Stevie had seen the video more times than she could count. She’d seen the flash of certainty in her husband’s eyes. The despair. He’d known he was about to die. He had to have been thinking of me. Of our child he’d never see. Of our son he hadn’t been able to save.
She owed it to Paul to protect Cordelia.
‘I should kill you,’ she said, her voice still a bit hoarse.
‘But you won’t,’ Robinette said with a smile, smug in his conviction.
She didn’t rise to the bait. She simply looked at him. Paul. Paulie. An eye for an eye, right? She was just sorry she could only kill him once.
‘Are you sure?’ she murmured. ‘Are you very sure?’
His eyes flickered, the first hint of fear. His eyes skittered away, focusing on a point behind her head, and Stevie knew without looking that Clay had his backup piece trained on Robinette.
He’d said nothing, but she knew if she killed Robinette right here, right now, that Clay would have her back. He’d tell the cops it had been an accident. He’d swear she’d killed Robinette in self-defense.
He’d protected her with his life, offered her his soul. He would lie for her, of this she had no doubt. But I would never ask him to. Because it would taint him. Taint them.
It was no way to start a life together.
Nor was this the way to protect Cordelia. Because if her daughter ever asked for the truth about Robinette’s death, Stevie couldn’t lie any more than she’d ask Clay to.
Are you sure? she asked again, this time to herself. Be very sure. You’ll never have this moment, this opportunity again.
‘Clay, are you all right?’ she called behind her, her decision made.
‘Jim Dandy. You?’
The words came out tight. Agonized. He’s been bleeding all this time. Hell. I am the worst girlfriend ever. ‘I’m okay.’
Quickly she took the cuffs hanging from her belt. ‘I’m going to back up,’ she said to Robinette. ‘You’re going to roll onto your stomach and put your hands out to your sides where I can see them.’ She eased back on one knee, pulling the gun out from under his chin, keeping it trained on his heart. ‘Roll ove
r. Now.’
With a hateful glare, Robinette started to roll, but kept rolling and too late Stevie saw the gun tucked at his back in his waistband. Then it was in his hand, pointing squarely at her face.
She didn’t stop to think. Just did what she was trained to do, adjusting her aim, squeezing the trigger and watching as he jerked backward, his eyes gone wide with shock as her bullet connected with his forehead. Before she could suck in her next breath, two more shots shattered the air, both kill shots.
Robinette’s head had suddenly become well ventilated. He wasn’t getting back up again. Ever. Stevie crawled backward to get to Clay. He was lowering his gun, his face deathly white.
Oh God. Not Jim Dandy. This is much worse than I thought.
Memories of December swirling in her head, Stevie gave a quick, frantic look for her phone while she ripped off her flak jacket. ‘He took my phone and threw it, the bastard. Let me stop this bleeding and then I’ll get help.’ She pulled her long-sleeved T-shirt over her head, revealing the Kevlar she wore under it. ‘How much blood have you lost?’
Clay had rolled to his back and was struggling to sit up. ‘Who fired the other gun?’
Stevie stared at him. ‘I thought you fired both shots.’
‘No, just one. Who fired the other one?’
‘I did.’ Hyatt pushed open the gate and stepped through. ‘I also contacted 911. The EMTs will be here any minute.’
‘How long were you there?’ Clay asked, grimacing as Stevie tied her T-shirt around his leg exactly as he’d done for her that day on the courthouse steps.
‘Most of the time. I heard the shots, but couldn’t get a clean bead on Robinette until Stevie stuck her gun up under his chin.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were there?’ Stevie stared, then understood. ‘You would have let me kill him too, wouldn’t you?’
Hyatt shrugged. ‘You deserved justice. I brought Silas and Elizabeth into my department. Never saw them for who they were. I let them run unchecked for years.’