Desperate Choices (16 page)

“Time’s up now, I guess. Things are mostly in place. I’ll just have to accelerate ahead of schedule and pray everything works out.”

Steven’s expression softened. A look of sympathy crossed his face.

“Mr. Lamoreaux, you seem like a decent fellow, and I’m sure you’re a fine police officer. I’m really sorry.”

Remy stood frozen in place, his eyes never faltering from the gun. “Sorry?”

Steven nodded his head, the gun still pointed at Remy’s chest. “Yes, I’m sorry,” he said, as his finger squeezed the trigger.

A shrill scream escaped from the back of Theresa’s throat as the retort of the gunshot broke the afternoon quiet. Moments before, she’d stood outside the living room window, hands cupped around either side of her face, blocking the afternoon glare. Peering in the open slit between the curtain panels, she’d hoped to signal Remy to get out. Ever since touching the van, her psychic sense had been screeching warnings to leave. To run. Danger flooded her senses, the acrid taste of fear overwhelming, a bilious lump in her gut.

Her fear turned to outrage as Remy clutched his chest. Bright red bloomed between his fingers, spilling through them to fall in crimson droplets speckling the hardwood. Everything played out in slow motion. Remy’s gaze met hers through the panes of glass. She could read the shock and pain. He seemed to fold inward, collapsing to the floor, still and unmoving.

“No, Remy. Please, no.” Stumbling backward, she raced up the porch steps and flung open the door. The living room was empty. Steven was gone. Theresa heard the slam of a door in the distance but didn’t care. Remy lay motionless. The strong scent of blood hovered in the air. Dropping to her knees beside him, she prayed as she felt for a heartbeat. She felt a slow, jittery pulse in the side of his neck, watched the imperceptible rise and fall of his chest with each labored breath. She heard the shallow, wheezing inhalation, a gurgling wet sound in his throat.
Thank you, God, he’s still alive.

With trembling fingers, she managed to unclip his cell phone from his belt and dialed 9-1-1.

“I need an ambulance and the police! A police officer has been shot!”

“An officer has been shot?”

“Yes, dammit. Remy Lamoreaux.” The phone nestled between her ear and shoulder, she applied pressure one-handed to the wound, as instructed by the dispatcher. She rattled off Steven’s address.

“We have a rescue vehicle and police dispatched to your location.” The calming voice of the dispatcher echoed in Theresa’s ears. In the distance the wailing sound of sirens was faint but drawing closer. She knew help was on the way.

“Hold on, Remy. The ambulance is almost here.” Guilt ate at her. If only she had known sooner Steven Black was the person who’d caused so much heartache and pain. Her head jerked at a noise by the front door.

“What the hell happened?” Max rushed in, dropping to one knee beside his prostrate brother, his hand reaching to check for a pulse.

“Steven Black shot him. The police and an ambulance are on the way.” Her gaze drifted back to Remy, to her hands pressing down on his chest. Dark red blood continued to bubble between her fingers, warm and sticky. Bending forward slightly, she increased the pressure, before looking back up at Max.

“Steven’s the one, Max.”

***

“What? Dammit, I knew I should have stopped you two from coming here on your own. You should have waited until I got here.”

Max yanked his shirt free from his pants, and tore the buttons loose as he dragged it over his shoulders and free of his body. Haphazardly wadding it up, he moved Theresa’s bloody hands aside and pressed the cloth against the gaping bullet wound.

“Hold that down as firm as you can, we’ve got to control the bleeding until the paramedics get here.” He brushed a hand through his brother’s dark hair. Bending low, he whispered, “Hold on, bro. You stay strong and fight, damn you, fight.”

“Max?” Remy’s voice was faint, so weak it chilled Max to the bone.

“Yeah, bro, it’s me.”

“Steven’s…the guy…” Remy’s voice trailed off as he coughed, a trickle of blood coursing from the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, I got it. We’ll catch the son of a bitch and he’s going to rot in prison.”

“He’s the one who took Tommy…” Remy’s head lolled back, unconscious.

Max’s roar was drowned out by the sound of sirens as the paramedics pulled into the drive. Rushing inside, they began working on Remy. He lay so still and silent now, Max’s heart ached. He couldn’t lose his brother, not like this.

“Where is that bastard?” Max wheeled around and stalked over to Theresa, who stood by the front doorway, her eyes huge, watching the paramedics working on his brother. Blood stains splattered her clothes, her hands covered with Remy’s blood.

“I don’t know, Max. I was standing outside.” Theresa gestured toward the drapes. “I heard some of what was said, though. He admitted to killing Jacob Freeman because he was going to tell the police that Steven had kidnapped Tommy.”

“God, I don’t believe this. That lousy, good for nothing, worthless piece of filth. He worked for Tommy’s family. Why would he do this?” Turning away from Theresa, Max slammed his fist into the wall. Drywall dust drifted outward from the hole he caused.

Inhaling a deep breath, Max fought to rein in his temper. Turning away from the sight of his brother lying bleeding and helpless on the floor, he reached for Theresa, pulling her close.

Theresa laid her head on his shoulder, and he felt her arms wrap tightly around his back.

He held Theresa as the paramedics carefully loaded Remy onto a gurney and wheeled him to the door. Strapped down, IV tubes running into his arm, Remy made the rough trip over the rocky driveway and to the waiting ambulance. Max jogged alongside his brother, whispering encouragement.

***

Theresa followed behind at a slower pace, giving him a few moments with his brother, some private time. Tears rolled down her cheeks as the ambulance pulled away from the curb, its sirens wailing out their mournful tones.

“Dear God, please watch out for Remy. Keep him safe. Please,” she prayed.

Max reached forward and wrapped his arms tightly around her. She reached around him, squeezing back.

Theresa hid her face against his chest, inhaling the warm masculine scent that was singularly Max. Reaching up, she wiped at the tears trickling in a slow cascade down her cheeks.

“Do you know where Steven went, babe? Did you hear or see anything?”

She shook her head. “By the time I’d opened the front door, he was gone. He must have gone out the back.”

“Excuse me, are you Max Lamoreaux?” A uniformed officer stood beside Max, awaiting his answer.

“Yes. What do you need, officer?”

“Sir, we’ve got a bit of a situation here. If you could come with me, please.”

Armed police officers, outfitted with multiple weapons, handguns and rifles, scrambled around them. The entire area was a beehive of activity. Police car after police car pulled up, with men and women spilling into the melee.

“What’s going on?” Max’s tone demanded answers. His eyes widened at the sight of a SWAT van pulling up, barricades being erected on the street to block oncoming traffic.

They walked a short distance to a police cruiser, where a suited gentleman, obviously the senior person in charge, barked out orders. The officers rapidly responded, taking up positions alongside of the house and on the other side of the cement block fence lining the side of the drive.

***

As a former cop, Max knew marksman positioning when he saw it. The situation had clearly gone to hell in a hand-basket.

The officer who had led them over spoke quietly to the man in charge, gesturing briefly at Max and Theresa, before walking beyond the driveway to join the other officers lining the front fence.

“Mr. Lamoreaux, my name’s Wheeler. Your brother’s a fine officer and a good man. We’re all praying for him.”

“Thank you, sir. What’s the status on Steven Black? I assume you’ve heard something.” Max gestured toward the high police presence surrounding them. Another uniformed officer walked up and handed Max a light blue T-shirt. Max nodded his thanks and shrugged his muscular shoulders into the loaner shirt. “This is more than an officer down situation. What have you got?”

“Mr. Lamoreaux, shortly after the 9-1-1 came in, a second call was placed from this location. It was Black. He confessed to shooting your brother and killing somebody else. Said he was armed, and he wanted to talk. But—and this is a big one—he will only talk to you.”

Max opened his mouth but paused when he heard his name being called from behind the house. He recognized the voice immediately. Steven Black.

“Max, I know you’re out there. Tell the police to stay back and nobody else will get hurt.” Steven’s voice sounded eerily calm and detached, as if he hadn’t just shot his brother in cold blood minutes earlier, Max thought. “You need to walk around the side of the house toward the back, so we can talk face-to-face.”

“Black, we can talk, but you need to come out unarmed. Turn yourself in.” Max tried his best to disguise the rage he felt toward the man who may have murdered his brother. His hands fisted, he resisted the urge to grab a gun from one of the nearby officers, race around the corner of the house and blow the bastard’s brains out. The temptation was so strong it scared him.

He reached down and grabbed Theresa’s hand, squeezing it tightly.

“Oh, I’m going to turn myself in, Max. You have my word on that. Not yet, though. We really need to talk first. I’m not going to shoot you. Look around the corner. There’s something you need to see.”

That gnawing feeling was back in the pit of his stomach. His gut told him whatever was around that corner, it wasn’t something he wanted to see. But Max had never taken the coward’s way out, and he wasn’t going to now. He stalked forward, shaking off Wheeler’s hand when he attempted to stop him.

“Max, don’t,” Theresa called to him. He didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He had to see if what his instincts were screaming was correct.

He lifted his hands to shoulder level so Steven could see he was unarmed, then stepped around the corner of the house and looked toward the back.

A stand-alone converted garage dominated the backyard, hidden from view by the house itself. It wasn’t visible from the street. Nothing unusual about that. What was unusual was the scene in the open doorway.

Steven Black wasn’t alone. In front of him stood Tommy Saunders. Steven was positioned slightly behind him, effectively using Tommy’s body as a shield. His right hand still held the gun he’d used to shoot Remy. That same gun was now pointed straight at Tommy’s head.

Tommy’s whole body shook. He couldn’t seem to make it stop. He’d never seen a real gun before. Sure, everybody in Louisiana had shotguns for hunting. This was way different though. This one was pressed against his temple, the cool steel emphasizing the reality of the danger he was facing.

Moments earlier, Steven had run into the room, gasping. He and Becca had been listening to some of the country music she liked. A slow Reba song played as Becca crooned along singing slightly off-key. It was kind of sweet. He’d sat with his eyes closed, letting the beat and the rhythm of the words float over him. They were still trying to come up with a workable plan to get away. He’d finally managed to convince Becca they had no choice. Her uncle was stark-raving bonkers, and they had to escape.

Steven had looked between the two of them, then grabbed Tommy by the arm and dragged him to the door. Tommy struggled at first, twisted in his grasp, tried to wrench free, but quickly stopped when Steven placed the barrel of the gun against his head.

“Keep your mouth shut and walk to the door. Just stand there. Not a word, understand?” There was a high-pitched tone to Steven’s voice that scared Tommy. Frightened him to his core. Clamping his teeth together, he walked to the open doorway.

Steven stood close behind, shielding himself with Tommy’s tall, thin frame.

Outside, police officers were everywhere. By the edge of the house. Behind the fence. There were even a couple on the roof of the house. All armed. Sunlight glinted off their guns. Guns pointed directly at him. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry.
This is it; something’s going down now.

Steven called his godfather’s name.
Uncle Max.
His breath caught in his chest when he heard Max answer Steven’s yell, trying to talk him into coming out and turning himself in to the police.

Steven had answered something back, but Tommy stopped listening to the words. His mind raced as he held himself tense, alert. This madness would end now. With the police and Uncle Max here, he’d be going home soon. At least he prayed both he and Becca would get out of this endless nightmare. He just had to stay calm and be ready when the time came to make his move.

Steven pressed the pistol harder against his temple, making sure Max could see it. Tommy winced when the cold barrel dug into his skin, hard enough to hurt. His eyes cut to the policeman on the roof, rifle aimed at him. He knew the cops weren’t really pointing at
him.
They were trying to get a clear shot at Steven. Steven might be crazy, but Tommy knew he wasn’t stupid. He was using Tommy as protection.

“Tommy, you okay?” Max’s voice rang out clearly across the yard, concern evident with each word.

Tommy shifted his stance, but remained silent, awaiting Steven’s permission to answer.

“Go ahead. Tell him I’ve been treating you well.”

“I’m fine, Uncle Max. Mr. Black hasn’t hurt me. He’s been…” Tommy’s voice cracked. “Taking good care of me.” He had to start over to get the words out.

“We’re gonna get you out of there, son. You’ll be home before you know it.”

Tommy couldn’t contain the sob that broke free at Max’s words.
Home.
He’d been so unhappy there for the last few months, now it was the only place he wanted to be.

Steven shifted slightly behind him, distributing his weight from foot to foot. Tommy kept his eyes centered on Max.

“I’m sorry about your brother, Max.” Steven cleared his throat. “If he’d just minded his own business and left when I’d asked, things wouldn’t have come to this. I had everything planned out, to the last detail. I just needed a few more days. Your brother ruined everything. That’s why I had to shoot him.”

Tommy’s back stiffened ramrod straight.
When had that happened?

“Remy is a police officer, Black. He was doing his job, helping another family find their missing son. The son you killed, you sorry son of a bitch.” Anger overrode the calm of his voice. Max took a step forward, but an officer grabbed his arm, keeping him where he was.

“I’m really sorry about that. I never meant to hurt the boy. He saw Tommy and wanted to run to the police. I had to stop him. You understand, don’t you, I had to stop the screaming.” Tommy’s knees shook slightly but he locked them tight. Hearing that high-pitched tone in Steven’s voice, even without being able to see him, he could tell—Steven was losing it.

“Sure, Steven, I can understand that. I’m sure it was an accident. I’ll be sure to tell his parents how sorry you are when I tell them their son is dead.”

Tommy felt Steven flinch, but the barrel of the gun stayed firmly pressed against his head. He was terrified to move at all, fearful that, with Steven so jumpy, the gun might go off accidentally.

“Look, Steven, if you just let Tommy go, I’ll make sure everybody knows that you treated him well, that you cooperated with the police. You just need to let him come out here. Put the gun on the ground and step back. I promise nobody will get hurt.” Back was the calm, soothing Max, controlled under pressure, his voice smooth as silk. From his tone, you’d think Steven was his best buddy and he was here to help him out of a bad situation.

“You know I can’t do that, Max. The second I move away from Tommy, those policemen on the roof or along the fence are going to blow me away.”

“No, they won’t, not if you turn yourself in. These men don’t want to shoot you. They are trained professionals. They won’t shoot unless provoked. You’re not going to provoke them now, are you, Steven?”

“Max, tell them I’m thinking about it, okay? I need a few minutes. Can you get me a few minutes?”

“I’m sure since you’re cooperating, that’s not going to be a problem. Just stay where you are, I’ll be right back. All right?” Tommy watched Max jog around the side of the house and out of view. He didn’t think there was a chance in hell they’d give Steven time, but he’d be damned if he’d give up hope now. This was his last chance. He needed to be prepared, ready to save himself…and Becca.

***

“Uncle Steven, why are you doing this?” Becca’s tearful voice came from close behind him. Steven knew she didn’t understand, but right now he didn’t have the time to explain. Everything was almost over. Maybe one day she’d understand and forgive him. He doubted it, though. “Not now, Becca. Later, I’ll explain everything later.”

“No, you won’t. You never explain anything. You never have.” Her voice faded away, as she wheeled her chair back farther into the recesses of the room. His heart tightened in his chest, knowing she wanted to be as far away from him as possible.

Max’s voice sounded from around the corner of the house. “Steven, I’m coming back around. Stay calm, everything’s going to be okay.” He walked slowly back into view, his hands again raised to shoulder height, no gun evident.

“Okay, you’ve got a few minutes, five maximum. What are you going to do with the time?”

“We’re going back inside. No shooting or anything, I promise. I just need a minute to talk to Tommy and Becca, then we’re all coming out.”

Pulling Tommy with him, Steven backed them into the garage. He swung the door closed, even as Max yelled, “No, don’t!”

Steven lowered the gun from Tommy’s head and allowed him to walk over to Becca, watching as she reached up to link hands with Tommy. He squeezed hers gently before letting go and walking around to stand behind her chair, his hands resting on her shoulders, a slight measure of comfort. Steven’s smile was tinged with regret.

“I know you both don’t understand any of this, and maybe you never will. I just want you to remember, honey, I promised to take care of you, and I’ve done the best I can.”

He looked over at Tommy, standing straight and tall behind his niece. “Tommy, you’re a fine young man, with a promising future ahead of you. I know you think I’m a monster. You’re right, I am. I’ve done unthinkable things, but they end here, today.”

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a silver key and tossed it into the air. Tommy reached out to catch it. The key to the lock on his shackles. He stared at it and then at Steven, the knowledge that he held his freedom in his hand sinking in.

He slowly bent down, inserting the key into the lock. It twisted and a click was heard as the lock popped open. He slid the chain off his foot slowly, rising to his full height.

“Why now?” Tommy’s question filled the silence that had descended on the room.

“It’s time. This was never about you, personally. I’ll take my punishment for the choices I’ve made. I took your choices away from you, and now I’m giving them back.” Steven looked from Tommy to Becca and back to Tommy again.

“Choices are funny things. Whether they’re made with time and consideration or are spur-of-the-moment decisions, the choices we make, the actions we take, they all have consequences. My choices—it’s time to pay for them.”

He motioned toward the closed door. “When you leave, take this gun with you, and give it to the police. Tell them I’ll come out unarmed in two minutes. That’s all I’m asking, two minutes to make my peace, and I’ll turn myself in. Will you do that for me?”

He turned the gun handle first toward Tommy, and handed it to him. Tommy wrapped his hand around the grip, the muzzle still pointing at Steven’s chest.

“It’s your turn to choose. You can shoot me. In fact, I’m hoping you will. Trust me, there’s not a jury in the land that would convict you. Or, you can make the decision to walk out that door, and back to your life. Life is all about the choices we make. What’s yours going to be?”

Steven knelt in front of Becca’s chair, reaching up to run his fingers lightly through her long hair, before wiping the tears from her wet cheeks.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart. Things have a way of working out. You’re going to be fine. You go on out with Tommy, now. He’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

He stood and extended his hand to Tommy. Tommy stared at it, refusing to shake it. Slowly Steven lowered his hand and nodded. Walking over to the door, he pulled it inward, standing behind it and out of range of the SWAT sharpshooters. “Go on now, you two.
Remember, Tommy, tell them you have the gun before you go through the door. I don’t want them shooting you by mistake. Two minutes and I’m coming out and surrendering. Two minutes, that’s all I’m asking.”

***

Tommy grasped the handles on the back of Becca’s wheelchair, awkwardly propelling it forward while trying to hold the gun in one hand. She protested briefly, but allowed him to continue, realizing they needed to get out quickly.

At the doorway Tommy paused, the sunlight pinpointing the stocks of so many weapons he couldn’t count them all. His gaze went immediately to his Uncle Max.

“Uncle Max, I’ve got Steven’s gun. I’m going to throw it out in the yard. Becca and I are coming out now.” Tommy lifted the gun above Becca’s head and tossed it out into the yard as far as he could. “Steven’s going to come out and give himself up. He wants two minutes to make his peace, and then he’s coming out. Don’t shoot him, he’ll be unarmed.”

He stepped forward and maneuvered Becca’s wheelchair over the threshold and out onto the grassy surface beyond. When he stepped completely through the door, it swung closed behind him with a soft click. Then, pandemonium reigned.