Darkness & Shadows (27 page)

The pregnant smart-ass with the gunnysack eye bags answered the door.

“Oh, you,” she said, and walked away, leaving the door standing open.

Bullet ran ahead of him and straight for Tristan’s room. Patrick followed and knocked on the door.

She opened it. Her hair was a mess, eyes squinty. She let out a lion-sized yawn. Bullet jumped up and gave her the Tongue Shot.

“Hell of a way to wake up,” Tristan said, grimacing and wiping her face.

“He just paid you the highest compliment possible, believe it or not. Consider yourself family.”

Bullet ran into the room and hopped up on Tristan’s bed, making himself completely at home.

“Rise and shine,” Patrick said, slipping past her.

She stopped, thought, and then, “Hey, didn’t you recently give me a lecture about barging in on people?”

He settled himself on her bed, ran a hand over Bullet’s back. “This is important.”

“Oh.” She closed the door, firmed a hand to her waist. “So I guess important depends on who’s doing the barging.”

“I didn’t barge. Miss Loads O’ Fun let me in.”

“Who?”

“Never mind. I need your help.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“I need to break in somewhere.”

Her shoulders dropped. Her eyes squeezed shut, and her head did a back-and-forth rattle. “So, let me make sure I understand you correctly. You tear me a new one for breaking into your place, and now you want my criminal ass to help you do the same exact thing somewhere else? What am I missing? Help me out here.”

“I have to get into the Clark compound.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m not.”

She joined him on the bed, looked into his eyes, and said, “Let’s back it up a bit, shall we?”

He nodded.

“Why exactly are we wanting to do this?”

“Because there’s something in there I need.”

“And that might be what?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Great reason. Try again.”

“I’m not sure. I just know it’s there.”

She spoke around a pithy smile. “You’re out of your freakin’ mind. You know that, right?”

“Not yet, but I will be soon if I don’t get to the bottom of this.”

“Patrick—”

“Are you in or not?”

“I’m not sure what I am.” She did the head rattle again, followed it up with a face-scrub. “Do you even realize what you’re saying here? That place will be locked up tighter than a stripped screw.”

“Which is why I’m asking for your help. If anyone can do it…”

She got up, took a few steps, turned to face him. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because, Mr. Brain Trust, have you forgotten I’m on parole? As in, if I get caught, I go straight back to jail.”

“We won’t get caught.”

She threw her arms up. “Famous last words! Holy shit, Patrick, I can’t believe you’re actually trying to get me to rob a place!”

“I’m not asking you to steal anything.”

“And I’m sure the judge will appreciate that.” She sat next to him again. “Breaking and entering is a crime whether you steal something or not. I can’t do it.”

Patrick gave her an injured look. “You said I had you now. You said you were on my side.”

“I
am
on your side, but that doesn’t include going back to jail for you. Don’t you get it?”

Patrick looked away, raked a hand through his hair. “Okay, then tell me how to get inside.”

She broke into laughter.

“What’s so funny?”

Still laughing, she managed to say, “You are.”

“Why?”

“Because! There’s not a chance in hell I can teach you what I know in a few minutes, or a day… or a week even. It’s too complicated, and you’re way too inexperienced. You’d never make it past the front gates. There are fences, locks, alarm systems, guards, and God only knows what else.”

“I’ve got to try. I have no choice.”

“All for that woman.”

He nodded.

“She’s not worth it, Patrick.”

“That’s not your call.”

“I don’t care if it is or not. I may be a criminal, but I’m also your friend, and I’m telling you: don’t do this. You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“Did you happen to hear about the torched corpse in my driveway? How about the sociopath who put it there, the one who’s been following my every move for weeks?” He stood up, spoke through clenched teeth. “What part of my-ass-is-on-the-line aren’t you getting here? I’m already in danger—now I’m just trying to stay alive!”

“Then let the cops handle it.”

He raised his clenched fists in the air. “The cops can’t handle it! The cops are part of the problem!
Steve Pike
is the problem! The guy would rather see me dead than lift a finger to help me.”

She crossed her arms, shook her head.

“I’m tired of being the damned victim! I’m not doing it anymore! I can’t! I won’t!” He dropped onto the bed, looked her square in the eyes. “You don’t have to do this, but I’m going. With or without you. It’s a done deal.”

Tristan held his gaze for a long moment.

Patrick unwaveringly held hers.

Finally, she threw her hands up in surrender and said, “Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

“Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll go with you.” She looked the other way, shook her head. “It’s probably the dumbest mistake I’ll ever make, but I already saved your ass once and nearly lost my life doing it. I’ll be damned if I’ll stand by now and let you get killed for being stupid.”

C
hapter
F
orty
-N
ine

C
HAPTER
F
ORTY
-N
INE

Saturday would be the night. The busiest evening of the week for law enforcement. Patrick and Tristan would make their move while deputies were already strapped for coverage; it might buy them valuable time if someone called the sheriff. Tristan needed that time, and, more, she needed to make sure the mission went flawlessly—anything less could land her right back in jail. This was serious, and Patrick knew he was putting her at great risk. He also knew that if anyone could pull it off, she could.

Tristan got busy studying the intended target.

First step: Google Earth—a criminal’s best friend—for a bird’s-eye view of the compound. Patrick watched with fascination as she scrutinized the roads and best possible escape routes, along with mapping out the house’s interior layout after he showed her the virtual online tour.

Next, a real-time look at things. She scouted the neighborhood, studying traffic patterns including those of the security patrol hired to monitor the area. She’d been doing this her whole life, had learned how to sniff out weak spots and turn them into opportunities.

By Saturday, they were ready.

“Okay,” Tristan said. “Let’s do this.”

They drove to the compound in a no-frills econobox rental car, both dressed in black, both silent. Patrick kept his eyes on the road, periodically checking the rearview to be sure nobody was tailing them, while Tristan ran through the logistics in her head.

She reached into her cargo pants pocket and pulled out a high-powered mini Maglite, flicking it on and off, then took out an odd-looking cylindrical contraption, no larger than a cigarette lighter.

Patrick eyed it with interest. “What’s that?”

“You’ll see soon enough.”

Silence fell over them again. Patrick stole a glance at Tristan here and there; each time her face was solemn and stoic.

“It’s okay,” he assured her. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

She turned to him fast, as if startled, and her eyes met his, then she broke contact, looking out through the windshield again.

Mounting tension chipped away at Patrick’s self-confidence with each mile they rolled closer to the compound. Desperation had driven him here; now fear was giving him a run for his money. He assured himself that Tristan knew exactly what she was doing, that she’d taken every precaution possible to ensure success. Then he thought about Marybeth, the one who had brought him here, who refused to leave his mind, even though she’d left him in every other way.

“You must have really loved her,” Tristan said, startling him with her intuitive clarity. He could see her eyes studying him in the reflection of the windshield and worked hard to keep his expression from changing.

“Ex marks the spot?” she said.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t have to.”

The woman was too smart for her own damned good.

They parked in a ditch shielded by dense trees and heavy scrub brush. From there, they set out on foot through the winding meadows and boundless shadows, rows of brambles their only guide in near-total darkness. When they reached the road, a car zoomed past, its headlights flashing like fire, then fading into the night. An owl screeched from above sending Patrick’s heart into overdrive.

Tristan didn’t seem affected by any of it; she marched forward, keenly focused, counting each step. Patrick could tell she was mentally taking notes of landmarks so they could find their way back safely.

At the foot of the Clark property, Tristan pulled out her cell phone and dialed.

“There’s someone trying to break into my house!” she whispered with urgency and panic. “Please! 2230 Miner’s Well Way. Oh, God, no! They just smashed the window! They’re coming upstairs. Help me,
please
!” She clicked her phone off, glanced at Patrick. “That’s a good ten miles from here. It should keep at least a few of them out of our way for a bit.”

“Can’t they trace the phone?”

“It doesn’t exist. It’s a clone.”

Patrick fought a grin, shaking his head, fascinated by her forethought. He wondered what a mind like hers could do outside the criminal world.

They turned their attention to the wrought iron gate standing tall before them, impressive concrete walls flanking each side. As Patrick was about to take a step, Tristan yanked him back. He looked at her, confused.

She pointed at three different spots high above and off to the sides. “Security cameras. You almost moved right into the line of sight. Please keep your eyes on me at all times, and from here on
do exactly as I say. Not even a sneeze unless I give the okay. Understand?”

Patrick gave her a fast nod.

She studied the gate. He followed her gaze and said, “How do we get through?”

“We don’t.”

“Huh?”

“We’re going over.”

“But it’s got to be more than twenty feet high.”

She crossed her arms, shook her head. “As rich as these bastards are, it amazes me how stupid they can be. They spend a fortune building walls, gates, and locks.” She pointed off to the side. “Then they’re too cheap to trim their freakin’ trees. Just brilliant.”

She was right. Next to the gate wall was an oak tree, its lowest branch a mere four feet off the ground. Additional branches spread like rungs to take them right over this impressive-looking yet completely ineffective security measure.

“Follow me,” she said, glancing around at her surroundings one more time before she began to climb.

Patrick went after her. At the top, she said, “And they were kind enough to provide a way down, too. Very thoughtful.”

A tree on the other side had been equally neglected.

Moving toward the house now, she said, “Follow directly in my footsteps. Do not stray. Not even an inch.”

Patrick obeyed.

Tristan left him standing along the wall as she moved beneath the shadows of the massive house and slunk to the front doors, their wooden panels at least fifteen feet tall and twice as wide. She peered through the stained glass windows, then returned.

“We’re in,” she said. “Cops didn’t reset the alarm after they left. They hardly ever do. Less work for me.”

She led him on to the garage area to the left of the house, eight large doors with inset windows. She stepped to one of them, reached in her pocket, and produced the contraption Patrick had
seen earlier. She gave it a quick snap, and suddenly the thing was over six feet long. She winked at Patrick; he looked at her in amazement.

Gently, she began pushing it up and under the weather stripping near the top of one door, watching through the window as she did. Then she gave a quick yank. There was a distinct
click
as the emergency latch disengaged, and she lifted the garage door about three feet off the ground.

“Welcome to our lovely abode,” she whispered.

Before crawling under, they each put on latex gloves and cleaned their shoes thoroughly of any moisture or dirt. Tristan was leaving nothing to chance.

Once they were inside the garage, Tristan lowered the door quietly and gently, then proceeded toward the interior doorway leading into the house.

They flicked their flashlights on as they entered the kitchen area. “You go to the second level and do your thing,” Tristan said. “I’ll walk the property, make sure nobody’s coming.”

Patrick gave a nod of compliance, began heading toward the staircase.

“Wait,” she said.

He turned around.

She reached into one of her pants pockets, pulled out a pistol, reached into the other and produced a second. Opened one to check the rounds. Held it out to him, grip first.

Patrick stared at it.