Double Jeopardy (34 page)

Travis whirled around. “Henderson!”

He was standing in the doorway, gun drawn. “Thought you’d been inside too long,” he said, entering the room. “Especially after I saw this clown go in. I got worried.”

“Damn good timing,” Travis said. “But did you have to use your gun again?”

“What did you want me to use? Harsh language?”

“Right.” Travis picked up the phone on Jack’s desk. “I’ll call an ambulance.”

Yet another voice echoed through the room. “Don’t bother.”

Travis looked up and saw an older man in the doorway, his hands in the pockets of a long overcoat.

“And who the hell are you?” Travis asked.

“I’m with the FBI,” the man replied.

“Isn’t everyone?” Travis said. “Or so it seems today.”

“I’d be happy to show you my ID.”

“Why don’t you start by telling us your name?”

“As you wish,” the man answered calmly. “My name is Special Agent William Henderson. You may have heard of me.”

T
HE OTHER MAN—THE
man they believed to be Henderson—whirled around to face the newcomer. Curran raised his gun and covered both Hendersons.

“Wait a minute,” Travis said. “If you’re Henderson, who the hell is he?”

“One of them is lying,” Curran growled. “The question is which.” Curran pointed at their first Henderson. “I’ve been suspicious of this one since he entered the picture. He doesn’t look or act like any fed I’ve ever met.”

“No, it’s him!” shouted the first Henderson, pointing at the newcomer. “He’s with the mob!”

“
He’s
lying,” the new Henderson said calmly. “Believe me, I’ve known who I am for years.”

“How did you find us?”

“I followed Agent Janicek. When I arrived, I spotted this man hiding in the brush.” He indicated the first Henderson. “When he made his move, I followed him in.”

“You’re with Janicek?” Travis said. “Janicek just tried to kill Moroconi.”

“That can be explained.”

“I called the FBI,” Travis said. “They said they’d never heard of anyone named William Henderson. Either one of you.”

“What did you expect them to do? Give you my phone number? My men and I work for a special subdivision called Bureau 99. It’s kind of an FBI within the FBI. My work is extremely sensitive; I have one of the highest security clearances in the Southwest. After all, if the mob can get to me, they can get to any of the federal witnesses I’ve relocated.”

“Our first Henderson knew the password,” Cavanaugh reminded them.

“True,” Travis said. He addressed the newcomer. “What’s the password?”

“Which one? I know a dozen of them.”

“See?” the first Henderson insisted. “He doesn’t know it. That proves he’s the imposter.”

Curran grabbed the newcomer by the neck. “I don’t trust anyone connected with this Janicek creep.”

While they were talking no one noticed Moroconi pulling himself off the carpet and wiping a smear of blood from his face. He quickly surveyed the situation. “
Him
!” Moroconi shrieked, pointing.

The first Henderson glared at him.

“He’s not the FBI! His name is Kramer. He’s a fuckin’ hit man!”

Kramer slammed into Henderson like a linebacker, square in the stomach, knocking him into Curran. Henderson doubled over and went reeling onto the floor; Curran fumbled for his gun. Kramer kicked Henderson’s head against the desk. Henderson’s eyelids fluttered, then closed.

“
Grab him
!” Travis shouted.

It was too late. Kramer was out the door. Moroconi started after him; Curran grabbed Moroconi around the waist. Moroconi swung his arms back and clubbed Curran on the shoulders. They both fell to the floor, struggling.

Travis didn’t have time to help. Curran would eventually recapture Moroconi and Cavanaugh could look after Henderson. He wanted this killer Kramer.

Travis bounded downstairs and hit the first floor just in time to see Kramer fly out the front door. He leaped over the sofa, ran through the door, and hit the grass running. Kramer was making a beeline for the northern grove of trees, trying to disappear in the thick, dark brush. Travis couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of him. If he let Kramer get too far ahead, he would lose him.

Damn!
Travis ran as fast as he was able. Damn these stupid shoes, and damn me for getting so badly out of shape. He was doing the best he could, but Kramer was getting away from him. His lead had already doubled; soon Travis wouldn’t be able to see him at all.

A sudden cry up ahead told Travis he had gotten a lucky break. Kramer must’ve tripped over a stump or something; Travis saw him fly into the air, then crash to the ground. It was just the chance he needed to catch up.

Kramer was lying prostrate in the mud when Travis reached him. Travis unstrapped his multistrike gun and aimed. “Don’t move.”

Kramer did not freeze. He lurched forward, grabbing at the gun. Travis managed to shove him back to the ground. This time he held the gun against Kramer’s face. “Don’t move or I’ll shoot.”

Kramer’s face was covered with dirt and sweat, but that didn’t prevent Travis from seeing the cold sneer that crossed his face. “I don’t believe you.”

Travis gritted his teeth and wrapped his finger around the trigger. Pull it,
damn it
! He knew he only had seconds at best before Kramer came at him again, but in the space of a single second every horrible memory raced through his head. Jack. Angela. Her face on the bloodstained pavement.

This was totally different, he told himself. This was a man who had tried to kill him. This was a life-and-death situation! He
had
to pull the damn trigger.

But he couldn’t do it.

Kramer knocked the gun out of Travis’s hands. Before Travis could move away, Kramer kicked up his feet and caught Travis in the abdomen. Travis sprawled onto the ground. He felt as if his chest were on fire. Before he could think what to do next, another kick landed in the same spot. He clutched his chest, writhing in agony.

Travis rolled onto his side, trying to squirm away, propping himself up with one arm. His ribs ached; he felt certain at least one was broken, maybe more.

Kramer reared back with his foot and kicked Travis once more in the gut. Travis screamed. His eyes were watering. The pain was so intense he couldn’t think. Every time he tried to move, Kramer kicked him again.

Kramer shoved him over, then kicked him in the side. “Fuckin’ piece of shit,” he muttered. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna kill you. I’m gonna hurt you. Then I’m gonna burn you. Yeah—Byrne burns.” He laughed. “Then I’ll kill you.”

Kramer removed his lighter from his pocket and lit it. He held it against Travis’s face.

Travis cried out. Even after he moved his face away, he could feel the flame burning his flesh. Kramer moved the lighter to the other side of Travis’s face. Travis screamed again. There was nothing else he could do. He couldn’t run, could barely breathe.

Kramer lowered the lighter to the edge of Travis’s jacket and watched as the windbreaker caught fire. “Welcome to hell, Byrne,” he said. His eyes glowed with excitement.

Then, as he watched the flames catch on, he pulled out his gun, cocked the hammer, and aimed at Travis’s kneecap.

Travis heard the shot. He winced involuntarily, bracing himself. It took him several moments to realize … he wasn’t wounded. Before he could react, he felt about a hundred and fifty pounds slam down on his stomach.

After he regained his breath, Travis cleared the tears from his eyes and tried to figure out what had happened. He was still alive. His kneecaps were intact. And Kramer’s body was sprawled across his lap.

And his jacket was on fire.

“Aren’t you going to thank me?” Cavanaugh ran forward and beat the flames out with her coat. “Another second and you would’ve been about two feet shorter.”

“Mucho gracious,” Travis mumbled. It hurt to talk. “Where’s Curran?”

“Taking care of Moroconi. How are you?”

“I’ve been better. Can you get this big lug off me?”

Cavanaugh bent down and rolled Kramer off Travis’s stomach. Travis tried to help, but the strain was too much. He fell back to the ground, groaning.

“Oh God, Travis. You’re really hurt, aren’t you?” She put her hand behind his neck. “Are you going to be all right? Are you bleeding?”

“I don’t think so. Except maybe internally. I think he cracked a rib.”

“God. I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner.”

Travis grunted, doing his best to speak coherently. “Not your fault.”

She took his hands and held them against her cheek. “I don’t want anything to happen to you, Travis.”

He tried to smile. “Neither do I.” After a moment he added, “I don’t want anything to happen to you, either. Laverne.”

She began kissing his face, then his neck, at first lightly, then less so. Despite the fire burning in his chest, he found it quite enjoyable.

H
ENDERSON—THE REAL ONE—
finished wrapping a tight bandage around Travis’s chest. Not an easy feat in the backseat of Henderson’s sedan—while it was moving fast. Very fast.

“I think you should go to the hospital.”

“Later,” Travis said, wincing. “After I’ve found Staci.”

“You should’ve ridden in the ambulance with Kramer and Janicek,” Cavanaugh said, wringing her hands. “That would be a hell of a result—Kramer lives and you die.”

“I’m not hurt that much,” Travis said, hoping someone would believe him. He certainly didn’t. “And it shouldn’t take too long.”

“At least let me go with you,” Henderson insisted.

“No. He’ll kill her if he sees you.”

“Believe me, I know how to keep a low profile. I followed Janicek here, once I got Simpson to spill his guts. He never had the slightest idea I was following him.”

“Thanks for the offer, but no. I won’t risk Staci’s life. I’ll check in with you as soon as I’m done.”

“Don’t check in with me. Check in with the hospital. I’m not at all sure your ribs are going to survive this.”

Travis ignored him. “I’ll be okay. It won’t take long.”

“I still don’t understand why you aren’t going to Moroconi’s old motel room,” Cavanaugh asked.

“That’s where the goons hired to kill me will be, but that’s not where Staci is.”

Cavanaugh nodded, then held out his gun. “Don’t forget this. You might need it.”

Travis took it from her wordlessly. Yeah, he thought, I might need it. But will I be able to use it?

A few seconds before midnight Travis stood on the front steps of an elegant Tudor-style home in the fashionable part of Plano. He rang the bell, but no one answered. Of course, he mused, given the size of the house, it might take ten minutes for someone to make it to the door.

But he couldn’t wait. He felt exposed, standing out in the open like this. When no one came to the door, he tried the doorknob. It was unlocked.

He entered the foyer. The decor was impeccable. Heavy on the burgundies and mahoganies. Suits of armor, Victorian-era antiques. A man’s house, decorated to a man’s taste.

As Travis should know. He’d been here several times before. For dinner.

Travis heard footsteps approaching from the living room. He entered the room and waited. A few moments later a rear door opened and Dan Holyfield walked in.

“Travis! My God, it’s you!” His face was the picture of concern. “What are you doing here? Are you still in danger? Why didn’t you come to the office?”

“The office is being watched. Or was, anyway. Not to mention bugged.”

Dan appeared horrified. “Are you certain?”

Travis nodded.

“At least you managed to get here safely. You can relax now, Travis. I’ll take care of everything. I still think you should turn yourself in, but don’t worry. I’ll be behind you all the way, with every penny at my disposal. I won’t rest until you’re cleared of all charges.”

Travis smiled thinly. “Don’t bother, Dan. I have a new friend at the FBI who has already begun the process of clearing my name and getting the charges dropped. I imagine it’ll be a lot easier for him than it would be for you.”

Dan appeared relieved. “Well, that’s great, Travis. Splendid. Come into the office Monday morning and we’ll talk over this whole situation. We need to sit down and plan out your future. See where you go from here. Frankly, I think it’s about time I made you a partner in the firm. Just come in Monday and we’ll thrash out all the details.”

Travis shook his head. “The office is too public for what I want to do.”

“I don’t understand. What is it you want to do?”

Travis seated himself in a comfortable upright armchair. “Give it up, Dan. I know almost everything. And I think I can deduce the rest.”

“Deduce …? I’m sorry, Travis, but you’ve absolutely lost me.”

“What do you take me for?” A trace of anger tinged Travis’s voice. “Did you think I would never figure it out? Hell, you just reminded me yourself the other day.”

“Reminded you of what?”

“Of your small family corporation. The one to which you now devote the majority of your time. The corporation founded by your parents, Elsie and Conrad. Hence the name—Elcon.”

The pleasant expression drained away from Dan’s face. “What do you know about Elcon?”

“I know you were bought out by the mob. Excuse me, I guess technically it was a merger. Forgive me if I don’t get all the legal nuances just right. I’m not a corporate lawyer.”

Dan’s eyes lowered. “You have to understand what happened, Travis. I had no idea those men were connected to the Gattuso mob. They met me in business suits, ties—they looked just like the men you and I work with every day of the week. I had no reason to be suspicious.”

“Did you check up on them? Complete a due diligence?”

Dan sighed. “Perhaps I jumped too quickly. The deal they offered me—it was everything I’d hoped for. I wanted to slow down, to get out of the grind of practicing law day in and day out. I’m almost sixty years old, and when a man reaches that age, he starts to think about retirement. And how he’s going to pay the bills during his retirement.”

“Pity you didn’t stick with Social Security.”

Dan made a snorting sound. “Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t want to live in squalor and poverty.” He gestured about the room. “Look at this place. Do you have any idea what it takes to maintain it? Do you have any idea what it takes to run it for a year? Social Security wouldn’t pay for that chair you’re sitting in.”