Kill Zone: A Lucy Guardino FBI Thriller (21 page)

His gaze locked onto hers and he crossed his legs, getting comfortable. “You’re right. You’re not your father. And you’ve his experience to learn from. That puts you ahead of the game.”

Silence as he waited.

“Does Lucy know?” Morgan asked. The question came half out of pride, half out of shame. Why couldn’t she stop watching Lucy and her family? If she wanted revenge she should have just taken care of them all ages ago. She told herself she was waiting, wanting them to suffer. That was a lie. They weren’t suffering. They weren’t scared.
 

They were… happy.

“Of course she does. Megan spotted you too. Until tonight, I’ve been the only one without a Morgan sighting.”
 

“It’s not a game!” She jumped to her feet.

He shook his head slightly as if chiding himself. “I didn’t mean to imply it was. I was making fun of myself. When I’m with my patients I’m usually the most observant one in the room, but compared to Lucy and Megan—well, let’s just say they run circles around me. It’s hard coming home and being treated as the absent-minded professor.”

There was just enough bitterness in his tone to let her know he spoke the truth. “Your IQ is higher than Lucy’s.”

He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “IQ isn’t everything. Look at you. You haven’t had formal schooling but you’re brilliant. Anyone who could hack into a database and find my IQ, who could elude the authorities as long as you have—”

“My father used to say that the University of Life was the only school worth attending.” Again with her father. Whose footsteps she really didn’t want to follow, not leading right into a jail cell. If Morgan had one goal, it was to never be caught like he had been.

Then why was she so obsessed with Lucy and her family? With taunting Jenna? Risking everything playing these games when she could be half way across the country doing whatever she wanted? She had to be nuts, because she couldn’t understand this compulsion. And she wanted to. Needed to. So she could regain control of her own life.
 

“Don’t you want to talk? Analyze me, fix me? Isn’t that what you shrinks do?”

“I don’t want to change you, Morgan. I’m not going to try to fix you. You are what you are.”

She squinted at him, suspicious. “You don’t think I need therapy?”

He chuckled. “Only thing therapy would do is fine-hone your acting skills. So, no. I don’t consider you a good candidate.”

“You think I’m hopeless, then. Beyond redemption.” Anger spilled over into her voice. Usually she didn’t feel emotions, not this strongly, but Nick’s calm Zen-like demeanor and refusal to cower before her was infuriating.

“Not hopeless. I wouldn’t say that. You have a remarkable intelligence. Abundant talent. Why would I think that’s beyond redemption?” He seemed honestly concerned about her answer. As if he cared.

Had to be an act. No one cared. Not her mother. Not her fathers—either of them. Never had. Never would. It was just Morgan against the world.

The only problem was… deep down inside, she wanted more. She wanted what Lucy’s daughter got without asking; she wanted to belong, to be part of something bigger. Even though in the end she knew she’d ruin it. She couldn’t help herself. It was in her nature.

“You ever hear the story of the scorpion and the frog?”

He nodded, a smile playing across his face, making him look younger. “You’re saying that because of your nature you can’t change.”

“Something like that.”

“Seems an awfully abrupt conclusion to make. After all, scientists and philosophers have been arguing about nature versus nurture for centuries. You’ve made up your mind after what, thirteen years on this earth?”

“Fourteen,” she corrected him. Wondered why she did—usually she encouraged people to believe her lies. Anything but the truth. That she guarded, kept for herself. Not with Nick. Which made him dangerous. Almost as dangerous as Morgan herself.

“You think I can change? Stop being a sociopath? Prove it. Tell me how.”

“I didn’t say that. I believe there are some traits hardwired into our brains.”

“Like sociopathy?” She’d read every book available on the subject, taken Hare’s test, probably knew more about it than he did—hell, she lived it, saw up close what her father did. She was the world's expert on sociopaths.

“Like sociopathy. Brain scans on young children who grow up to be sociopaths show aberrant anatomy and activity, particularly in the amygdala and prefrontal cortex.”

“I know.” She waved her hand impatiently. “I’ve read Wallace and Raine.”

“But you want to know what it means for you, Morgan Ames.”

“Yes.” She narrowed her eyes at him, slid her knife from its sheath. “Tell me the truth. If I’m going to be like my father and this,” she twisted the knife to reflect the overhead light, made the shadows dance across its polished blade, “is all there is, then I want to know. Now.”

To her surprise, he brushed off his knees as if they’d just finished tea and crumpets, and stood. “I’m sorry, Morgan. But I have a patient who needs me and I don’t have the time tonight.” He smiled at her, a gentle smile that crinkled the edge of his eyes. Not made up. Genuine. He meant what he was saying. “Call me if you want to talk. But I think you know the answer already.”

She feinted with the knife. He ignored her, reaching into his pocket for his car keys. “Take care of yourself.”

He walked to the door, opened it. Morgan ran after him, still holding the knife. “No,” she shouted. “Don’t go. You can’t go. I won’t let you.”

He turned back, said in a sad voice, “There’s your first lesson. You need to know when to let people go. Trust that they’ll come back, be there for you.”

“You said I’m not your patient but you talk like I’m, I’m,” she struggled for a word, “a friend?” Hated that it came out as a question. She was the one with the knife. She held his life in her hand. Why couldn’t he see that?

“No. Not a friend. You haven’t earned that right. Yet.” He went down the steps and got into the car, leaving her there. Alone. Holding a knife with only her own blood on it.

“Good luck,” he called as he backed out of the driveway.

Morgan let him go. She felt both powerful and wistful as he drove away. Her finger caressed the blade. She could have had so much fun with him.

Still could. She went inside and activated the spyware she’d inserted onto his phone. Less than a minute after leaving her and he was calling some patient, acting like she didn’t even exist.

She listened as he left a message, saying he was on his way. The knife blade glinted in the glow of her laptop’s screen, mocking her. He never mentioned her. Not even to boast about his good deed for the evening. As if he’d forgotten all about her already.

He was alive only because of her mercy. Yet it was as if nothing had even happened. She should have known better. Her father always said, no good deed went unpunished.

She slumped in her chair, trying to imagine how the night would have felt if she had killed him.

Nothing. No thrill at the thought. Just… nothing.
 

Kill a man, save a man… it didn’t matter. It was all meaningless.

Chapter 23

Lucy and Haddad crossed through the alley beside Holy Trinity to reach Ruby Avenue. 
 

“Let’s try around back.” Lucy kept the Remington at the ready, holding it down by her side where her parka covered it. No one seemed to notice as they circled behind a house and slid into the brick-paved alley leading behind Kujo’s.

The houses bordering the alley had either privacy fences or garages as their rear property border, making the alley feel claustrophobic. Three houses ahead, SUVs facing both directions blocked each end of the alley. Kujo’s. Armed men gathered between the vehicles, leaning against a garage, an old converted carriage house, huddled against the wind, sharing a smoke. There were no windows on the garage, at least not on the side she and Haddad approached from.
 

The house beside Kujo’s had a flat-roofed garage along the alley. On this side of it was a large maple. Hugging the shadows, and moving slowly so as to not attract the attention of the men behind Kujo’s, she and Haddad made it to the tree. Lucy handed Haddad her shotgun. He crouched and gave her a boost up into the lowermost fork of the trunk. From there it was an easy shimmy out across the branches until she could see into the yard behind the Ripper’s headquarters.

No shutters on the windows at the back. Lights blazed from every room and she could make out the silhouettes of naked women and of more men with guns. The yard was empty except for broken pieces of lumber and a pile of trash near the back porch. The carriage house had lights on as well but she was at the wrong angle to see inside. Two men stood guard in front of its door, whetting her curiosity. The small building would make an excellent place to keep hostages. Easily defendable, easy for the Rippers to escape from.

She retreated until she had a good view of the SUVs. With her night vision monocular she could read the plates. One of them was Zapata’s Escalade. Bingo.

Lucy climbed back down, accepting Haddad’s help to get her to the ground silently. They backed out of the alley and around the corner before speaking.

“Zapata’s SUV is there. And there are people under guard in the carriage house,” she reported. “Two armed men on the house side.”

“And three more in the alley. How many inside the house?”

Lucy shrugged. “At least a dozen, maybe more. Women as well but only the men had weapons that I could see.” Or clothes for that matter.

“So the odds are what, ten to one?”

“If we’re lucky.”

They were both silent for a long moment. But neither mentioned retreat. Lucy thought about it, thought hard about it, fear knotting her gut. Then she remembered the photo of Fatima and her family. The hope in Mina’s eyes, the laughter in her little sister’s.

“We can’t let the bastards get away with it,” she finally said. It was the only answer she had, the only way her job, her
world,
made sense. The only way she could face her husband and daughter when she got home.

“From the tree you can get onto the neighbor’s garage roof,” she told Haddad. “You cover the men in the alley and slow down any reinforcements. I’ll take care of the two at the door. In and out, easy as pie.”

His smile had nothing to do with pleasure. More like greeting fate. His game face. For the first time since they’d met, Lucy liked the man. “Sounds like a plan.”

<><><> 

Frankstown Avenue had definitely seen better days. Vacant lots overgrown with weeds, abandoned service stations and stores, brick single family homes that had broken windows and rusted cars in their front yards. No Christmas spirit here.

Jenna slowed the Tahoe at Finley. The street was empty. A block ahead the road dipped beneath train tracks, going through a narrow stone tunnel. It was a perfect place for an ambush.

“Don’t suppose you’ve got eyes on me yet?” she asked Taylor.

“Sorry, no. They had to divert the drone to help Zone Five. Figured the drone would be the best way to spot the snipers so they can get their wounded out.”

Okay. Injured police officers took priority. Still. “I don’t like the looks of this tunnel up ahead. There’s no movement, but it would be a great place for an ambush.” Hell, it was so dark in the tunnel there could be a whole fleet of Rippers waiting and she’d never know it. She grabbed the AR-15 and used its sights. There was enough ambient light for her to verify that there wasn't any movement. And definitely no vehicles. Finally, some good news.
 

“Last images I have show a black SUV parked on the north side of the tunnel," Taylor reported. "I couldn’t see anyone on the ground.”

Jenna turned her lights off, put the Tahoe in gear, opened the windows on both sides, and angled the AR-15 so she could grab it fast. Her SIG Sauer she kept in one hand, steering with the other. “Okay, boys, let’s see who’s chicken.”

She barely let the brake out, the Tahoe gliding down the block almost silently. Gunfire sounded—maybe two, three blocks away. Better cover noise than the crickets.

Initially she’d planned to race past the Rippers’ vehicle. But she didn’t like the idea of having them at her back. When they made no sign that they had spotted her, she stopped the Tahoe at the tunnel’s entrance. Leaving it idling, she crept out, sidling through the shadows, her SIG at the ready.
 

The tunnel smelled of dust and diesel exhaust. She pressed her back to the stone wall on the north side. Her coat would be ruined, but she’d worry about that later.

At the far edge of the tunnel a stone wall sloped diagonally down from the train tracks above to the street level. Behind it a few trees provided a bit of cover. She knelt beside the wall, peered between the trees, and spotted the SUV. Music came through its open windows and the interior was filled with a faint glow from the instrument panel and their cigarettes. Two men in the front, each with a Mac-10 machine pistol resting on their windowsills. No one in the back.

They were talking, laughing about something, looking at each other and away from her. She took her cue and ran at a crouch below their eye line, making it to a tree a few feet away from the passenger side of the car.