Delta Stevens 1: Taken by Storm (20 page)

Lowering the barrel, Delta closed one eye and took sight of the window with the other. She realized now that her hunter was not a cop, he had made too many tactical mistakes in a warehouse situation to have ever been a cop.

If he was, he would never allow himself to walk right in front of the far window, no matter how dark it was. And as his soft-soled shoes moved closer to her, Delta was sure he’d end up in front of the window.

Putting slight pressure on the trigger, Delta barely breathed. The pounding of her heart had slowed, but the beating still resounded in her ears. One, two, maybe three more seconds, and he would come into her sights. There was no time for regret or guilt. It was self-preservation, and she had no compunction about blowing his head off his shoulders.

Suddenly, a large-framed outline appeared in her sights. With slow, deliberate hesitation, Delta breathed in, held it, and depressed her finger evenly on the trigger.

Instead of a reverberating bang and thunderous kick, only a loud, ominous, empty click echoed through the warehouse. For a second, Delta stared at the gun in disbelief as it lay in her hands, cold and empty.

In the second that followed, a booming roar and flash of light exploded, lifting her off her feet and throwing her backward against the crates. The light from the gun flash temporarily blinded her as she crashed, sending the useless shotgun clattering once more across the floor.

As the light spots left her eyes, Delta saw the outline slowly move toward her. Grabbing the left side of her chest, Delta rolled, withdrew her weapon, and crawled beneath the raised forklift.

Her chest was on fire, and she felt dazed and confused. Her left side was throbbing in unison with her pounding heart. Delta painfully scooted over to the other side of the forklift. Every move she made drove a sharp spike through her shoulder as she inched into the darker area beneath the forklift.

Looking back at the window, the apparition was gone. As her eyes readjusted to the minimal light, she saw the barrel of the shotgun gleaming in the night. Delta knew she stood a better chance against him with the shotgun than with her pea-shooter, so she reached across the floor and painfully pulled it to her. Her left chest continued to burn, and it felt as if she’d been stabbed with a hot poker. When she reached up with her right hand to feel blood, Delta didn’t find any. The blood must not have soaked through her vest yet, she mused, wincing.

Pulling the shotgun to her, Delta opened it. The gun hadn’t, as she originally thought, misfired. It had been emptied of its rounds; emptied, she surmised, when she handed it to Taggart. That was why it took him a little longer to follow her through the window; he was unloading her weapon. She remembered his reaction to her wanting to bring it along.

Damn him, she thought angrily. Damn them all.

But she was not beaten. Delta reached in her right pocket and pulled out the two rounds she’d brought along and loaded them into the empty chamber. So, Taggart had brought her here to die, did he? Slowly slipping the radio out from its holder, Delta knew it was time to call in the reinforcements. Once she announced that S1012 was in need of assistance, Connie would have Bear there in an instant.

Pulling the radio out, Delta also pulled her sidearm. She knew that the noise from the radio would alert him to her position, but she had to take that chance.

As Delta turned the radio on, she waited for the usual crackle and hum. Instead, the radio was silent. Turning the volume up, and still hearing nothing, Delta realized she had been burned once more, by Taggart. She remembered him offering her the radio after he came in early to “get their toys.”

She may not have a radio, but she had one piece left to play.

Pushing the shotgun ahead of her, Delta made the biggest gamble of her life. She remembered once, when she and Connie were playing chess, Connie told her that sometimes the best move was the most preposterous, illogical, and outlandish move one could make. She told her that unpredictability was often a chess player’s greatest ally. Connie had beaten her and Miles on several occasions because of that very strategy.

Scooting out from under the forklift, Delta felt along the wall. Her left hand held the gun while her right hand crept along, searching, feeling, until finally touching the light switch. Inhaling, wiping her right palm on her pants, Delta lowered the shotgun, backed her shoulder underneath the light switch, and held her breath.

Delta pressed up against the light switch and then back down again. The flash of light was harsh and unyielding, but was on long enough for her to see her prey standing watch by the broken window. Without a second’s hesitation, Delta lowered the shotgun and squeezed the trigger as a thunderous clap filled the warehouse. In the darkness, she watched the body rise up, and before it could land, she pressed the trigger once more, sending the dark figure crashing against the fallen crates before slumping to the floor. Discharging, Delta moved over to the body.

“Turn over, you son of a bitch,” Delta growled, withdrawing her sidearm and pointing it at the back of his head. A broad beam of moonlight made its way across the still body.

Still aiming her gun, Delta turned the body over with her foot. Blood trickled out of hundreds of tiny pellet holes in his chest, arms, neck, and face. Delta’s aim was unerring.

Dropping the shotgun on the ground, Delta steadied her weapon on the face of the dead man. At once, she wanted to empty her weapon into his mouth. She wanted to kick him for both killing and forcing her to kill him. She hated his bloodied corpse and everything it stood for. She hated him for what he had done to Megan, for how he brutally and coldly beat her senseless. She hated him for the way he calculatingly killed Miles in cold blood that night. He was a killing machine and now the serpent had eaten itself from the tail on up. And she was glad. There was no remorse or guilt or pain in her spirit. This man’s death did not erase the scars burned deep within her heart. It did not bring Miles back to life or ease the loneliness she’d felt since his life ebbed away. No, killing this man did not bring her a sense of satisfaction or even of completion; it merely drained her of the need for retribution and revenge. His bloody, lifeless corpse made her feel cold and numb inside, throwing water on the burning ache she’d carried since that night.

No, standing over the man who murdered her partner, killed another cop, and beat up her lover did not give her any great joy. She had done what any other cop in her position would have done; she preserved her life in the face of one who would have surely taken it from her.

What was it Megan had said? They do what they have to do to survive? Maybe they weren’t so different after all.

Bending over the corpse, Delta looked for the tattoo, but did not find it. She hadn’t expected to find one. Like the whole cop killer story, it, too, was a phony.

As his eyes stared blankly at the ceiling of the warehouse, Delta knew they were the ones that glared at Miles down the barrel of a shotgun. She would never forget those eyes. And that one eye, the right one, wasn’t it glass?

Delta leaned over for a better look. Yes, it was glass.

“Damn you to the lowest depths of hell,” Delta whispered, picking up the shotgun.

Looking out the windows and into the darkness, Delta felt the cold begin to thaw as the pilot light of her anger flared up. This man was of no use to her now. In saving herself, she blew away her pigeon. A different sort of smile played on Delta’s face. Maybe he couldn’t tell her what she needed to know, but one man could. The same man who had sentenced her to die in the warehouse: the man who emptied her shotgun, gave her a faulty radio, and left her to face a murderer alone.

Turning away from the corpse, Delta wiped the sweat from her palms. It was time she had a chat with Officer Taggart, and boy, would he be surprised to see her.

Making her way across the warehouse, Delta started for the window, but came to an abrupt halt. He would be waiting outside the window; waiting for the would-be killer to exit. Or maybe he was waiting to kill her himself. Surely, she was too dangerous to him now. He would have to kill her. He had no choice.

Turning around, Delta made her way to the other side of the building. All of the lower windows, with the exception of the entry window, had wrought iron bars, so they were out. The doors were also barred. Looking up, Delta saw some larger windows a few feet below the top of the scaffold. They were her only option. She could not afford to spend precious seconds looking for a way out.

Reaching the top of the scaffold, Delta laid on her stomach and peered out the window. She would have to break, jump, land, and draw in one smooth motion, ready to defend herself from a partner who had sent her to her death.

Taking the shotgun by one end, Delta lowered it to the window, swung it hard into the pane, busting glass and sending it everywhere. In the next instant, Delta was perched on the window sill, and without hesitation, she jumped.

As her feet crunched in the glass below, Delta rolled, dropped the shotgun, drew her side arm, and waited for Taggart to round the corner. As the sound of footsteps neared, Delta caught Taggart in her sights. She hated him more than the corpse in the warehouse. She hated him for selling out. In the darkest corner of her heart, Delta wished she had it in her to pull the trigger. If she hadn’t needed him alive, she just might have.

When Taggart finally came into view, Delta aimed her gun at his chest.

“Stop, Taggart or I’ll blow your fucking head off!”

“Stevens . . . am I glad—” Taggart stammered as he skidded to a halt. Delta saw his weapon in his right hand.

“Shut the fuck up. The game’s over, you prick.”

“Is it?” Taggart looked down at the weapon in his hand. tHis voice was challenging, but not strong.

“I wouldn’t.” Delta pressed her finger more firmly on the trigger. “I was a better shot than you in the Academy, and I still am. Draw on me, and you’re a dead man.”

Taggart hesitated a second, but did not drop the gun. “I got nothing to lose. They’ll kill me anyway.”

Delta raised her weapon to the same level as Taggart’s head. “Then kiss your brains goodbye,” Delta was not bluffing. As her finger started to press the trigger, Taggart flung his gun onto the ground.

“Okay, okay, there it is, there it is. Don’t fuck around.”

Delta did not lower her weapon. “You think I’m kidding around here? My real partner is dead. I’d just as soon you joined him.”

“It’s not what you—”

“Shut up! Don’t fuck with me Taggart. I’ve already killed one man tonight. It won’t take much to make it two.”

Taggart slowly raised his hands into the air. “Easy, Stevens.”

“Easy, my ass. Lay your radio and the keys on the ground and walk away. I assume your radio works.”

Taggart nodded as he withdrew the radio from the holder and placed it on the ground before tossing the keys next to it.

“Don’t even think about running, Taggart. I will shoot you in the back if I have to.”

“I ain’t runnin’.”

Delta bent over, still keeping her weapon on him, and picked up the radio. “Good for you. Maybe you’re not so stupid after all. Now, slowly take out your cuffs and put them on behind your back. Turn so I can see you putting them on. And remember—dropping you dead where you stand would be like wiping dog shit off my shoes.” Taggart’s hands were shaking as he slipped the handcuffs on, but he managed to lock them behind his back.

“Don’t do this, Stevens—”

“Shut up! Now get down on your stomach.”

As Taggart did as he was told, Delta pinched the cuffs tightly around his wrists to make sure they would not come off.

“Come on, Stevens, can’t we cut a deal here?”

“Cut a deal? Cut a deal?” Delta kicked him in the side so he would roll over. “You must be insane if you think I would cut a deal with a scumbag like you. Don’t talk to me about deals. You can do that with your lawyer.”

Bending over him, Delta took the taping device out of her utility belt and taped it on his chest.

“What’s that for?”

“Call it my ace in the hole.” Turning the device on, Delta brought him to his feet. “Okay Taggart, where’s the dope?”

For a second, he said nothing. Then, Delta jabbed her revolver into his ribs.

“Don’t mess with me, Taggart. I’m working on limited patience here.”

“It’s at the Red Carpet.”

“No shit. Where?”

“Room 315. Sometimes, it goes to room 317.”

“When was the last shipment?”

Taggart shook his head, and Delta jabbed the nose back into his ribs.

“Yesterday. I think it was yesterday. I’m not sure. They’ve slowed way down since you’ve been sniffing around. But you’re making a mistake, Stevens. They’ll come after you.”

“Good. That’s exactly what I want.” Jerking him around, Delta pushed him toward the patrol car. “You either cooperate with me, or your buddies’ll find your body next to the ape’s in the warehouse. Capishe?”

Taggart nodded.

“Good. You do everything exactly how I tell you. If you get out of line, even for a second, I’ll blow your head off.” Delta picked up the mike.

“What have you told them so far?”