Paying The Piper (19 page)

He unholstered his Glock and snapped back the slide. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, steadying his nerves. He put his back against the wall and twisted the doorknob, giving the door a shove.

No gunshot punched a hole in the half-opened door. So far so good.

He sneaked a look inside. A narrow corridor led into the derelict storefront. A thick layer of dirt dusted the floorboards, with fresh footprints leading into the store. He followed them, his Glock leading the way. He stopped at the end of the corridor to listen for a whimper or a muffled threat.

Nothing.

The area was deserted, but the door leading upstairs sat ajar. Sheils had to hand it to the Piper; he liked to tempt and tease. The bastard had left him another invitation. He crept over to the door.

Sheils pulled back on the door. The staircase disappeared into darkness. He aimed his weapon into the gloom and placed his foot on the first step. It didn’t creak, but his footfall on the wood was unmistakable.

The time for stealth was over, and he pounded up the stairs. In the dark, he had to trust the next stair would be there to take his weight. He reached a door at the top and twisted the knob. Locked. He was backing up to throw his weight against it when, from behind him, someone called his name.

The trap had been sprung, as he knew it would be. He whirled and a flashlight beam struck him in the face, turning his vision into a snowstorm. Reflexively, his non-gun hand went to his face to shield the light. That insignificant action was all the edge
the Piper needed, and he fired twice, shooting Sheils in the chest. His legs went out from under him, sending him tumbling down the stairs.

He never felt the fall.

W
hen Sheils came to, it took a second for him to piece
the world back together. He lay on the floorboards at the bottom of the stairs. His gun lay about three feet from his right hand, with the barrel pointed toward him. He was lucky the thing hadn’t blown his face off.

He heard footsteps but knew the Piper was gone. He was sure the bastard had left before his head had struck the bottom stair.

“In here,” he called out.

Brannon and Dunham stormed into the room, weapons drawn. Their expressions turned grave when they saw he’d been shot.

“Christ,” Brannon said, falling to Sheils’s side.

“He’s gone,” Sheils said.

“I’ll clear the place,” Dunham said. He edged his way past Sheils and clambered up the stairs.

At least someone was playing it by the book.

“I’m getting an EMT,” Brannon said, holstering his gun and reaching for his phone.

“We don’t have time. Help me up.”

Brannon looked grave.

“Just do as I tell you. You can tell me what an idiot I am later.”

Brannon took Sheils’s arm and hoisted him to his
feet. Sheils’s body screamed out where the two bullets had pounded his chest. Getting kicked by a rhino couldn’t have hurt any worse.

“You’re damn lucky you were wearing your vest,” Brannon said.

“Luckier that he didn’t go for a head shot.”

He ripped open his shirt. The slugs lay buried in the Kevlar armor. He peeled off his jacket, shirt, and vest, leaving him in a plain white T-shirt. “We’ve got our first ballistics evidence.”

Dunham came trotting down the stairs. “Clear.”

Sheils picked up his Glock and holstered it.

“What now?” Brannon asked.

Sheils handed Dunham the vest. “Get that to someone who can tell me if those bullets match anything. I need to pick up the Fleetwoods.”

“What about this place?” Brannon asked.

“Secure it, and I want to know who owns it.”

Sheils led the way out of the building. His chest ached every time he breathed and his footfalls drove spikes into his brain. He regretted his earlier remark about not needing a doctor. He took extreme care when he stepped from the doorway into the alley but still almost puked. He sucked in a lungful of air to chase away the nausea.

Brannon placed a hand on Sheils’s shoulder. “Tom, you should get checked out.”

“Later. We need to move fast.”

A ’78 Camaro slid to a halt in front of the building. Scott and Jane clambered out of the car.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Sheils’s bruised rib cage prevented his remark from sounding like a reprimand.

“When you stopped answering your phone, we had to come,” Scott said.

“You could have gotten yourselves killed.”

Jane grabbed Sheils’s arm. “Sammy and Peter?”

He shook his head. “He got away. I’m sorry.”

“Shit,” Scott said.

Jane sagged. Then she noticed Dunham
holding Sheils’s battered Kevlar vest. Her gaze went from the vest to Sheils. She examined him, noting his disheveled condition and his pallor. “What happened?”

“Ambush. He knew I was coming. We knew it would go down that way.”

“And you still went in?”

“I had to.”

Scott rounded the car. He checked out Sheils’s condition and ran a hand through his hair. “Christ, I nearly got you killed.”

“You played it the right way.” And it was true; not everything was in ruins. The Piper now knew he was involved, but he didn’t know about Jones. They could still nail the bastard.

“We need to get you home,” Sheils said. “Now.”

“Why home?” Jane asked.

“We nearly had him, so he’s going to accelerate things now. He’ll strike out to keep us distracted.”

“Strike out at the boys?” Jane asked.

“No. He still needs the boys. Now, let’s go.”

Scott pointed at the Camaro. “What about the car?”

“Lock it and leave it.”

The lights changed and Sheils hustled them across the road in the direction of his Crown Victoria. Dunham jogged off toward his car, the Kevlar vest tucked under his arm. Brannon stayed to secure the scene.

“That’s Pitts’s car. He doesn’t let anyone drive it,” Sheils said.

“We persuaded him,” Scott said.

Sheils couldn’t see Pitts doing him any favors anytime soon.

Sheils tossed his car keys to Scott. He wasn’t up to driving. He stretched out in the front passenger seat. His chest hurt less when he didn’t bend. Scott’s driving left Sheils nauseous, and he powered down the window to get some air.

“What’s the Piper’s next move?” Scott asked Sheils.

“He’ll regroup, get your boys to another safe house, then call.”

They arrived outside the
Fleetwoods’ home to confusion. Two of Sheils’s agents were restraining an Asian man, while an Asian woman tried to pry the agents off him.

“That’s David and Linda Cho,” Jane said.

All three of them got out of the car, and David Cho turned at the sound. He became enraged when he saw Scott and Jane, tore himself free of the agents, and raced toward the Fleetwoods.

“What did you do to my daughter?” he yelled at Jane.

Sheils stepped in front of Scott and Jane to block Cho’s path.

Cho called out his question again and lunged for Jane, but Sheils restrained him long enough for the other two agents to catch up and take over. Linda Cho begged them to release her husband.

“Mr. Cho, I’m Agent Sheils. Remember me?”

The question distracted Cho and took some of the fury from him. “Yes, I remember you.”

“Tell me what’s going on.”

“They wanted to talk to my daughter. Mrs. Fleetwood saw her today.” Cho couldn’t have injected any more repugnance into her name if he tried. “Now Annabel’s missing.”

“Missing?”

“Yes,” Linda Cho said. “She left work earlier, but she’s not home and isn’t answering her cell phone. No one knows where she’s gone.”

Cho turned on Scott. “I warned you, Fleetwood. She’s a delicate girl. I didn’t want all this getting dragged up again. It’s not good for her. You hurt her to save your children.”

Then the rage and the strength went out of Cho. He sagged and only the two agents holding him prevented him from striking the pavement.

“I just want her back. Do you know where she is?” he pleaded.

The crazy bitch
, the Piper thought,
what the hell was she thinking?
At first, he’d thought
Sheils had found him and sent in a decoy, Annabel Cho, to unbalance him. He should have known it was no such thing. If Sheils knew where to find him, he wouldn’t bother with a pantomime. As soon as Annabel had called him Brian, he knew she was the real deal. Kneeling by her side, he cleaned the blood from her unconscious face.

He couldn’t believe she’d thought something existed between them. Had she really been holding a torch for him for over a decade? It sure looked that way. Casting his mind back to her kidnapping, her fascination made sense now. She was a strange kid; she’d almost seemed to welcome the kidnapping as a vacation. Allowing his emotions to get the better of him hadn’t helped. When she started getting really sick, he’d feared his perfect system had crashed. Falling down the ladder with her was a stupid accident. Her catching him without his mask just added to the stupidity.

Well, if her wish was to rejoin him, he’d grant her wish. He put her in the same cellar he’d put her in fifteen years ago.

He finished clearing her nostrils. Blood turned the gauze red.

She’d ruined everything. His escaping the US hinged on liquidating the ranch and his house, but that was no longer an option. Annabel knew the ranch. County records would tell Sheils who owned it. Tax records would lead them back to his Half Moon Bay house. He had his liquid assets to fall back on, but losing the real estate funds limited his options. It was all going wrong again. How crazy was that?

Killing Annabel was the simple solution, but it might not be necessary. If no one knew she was here, as she claimed, there was no need to kill her. What she said in the next few minutes determined if she lived or died.

He tapped her swollen cheek, the bruising
already distinctive and ugly. It took a hard tap to rouse her. Her eyes flicked open, then slid shut.

“Hey, Annabel. Wake up. We need to talk.”

Her eyes opened again and rolled. He spoke her name, and she fixed on his face. A smile developed, then morphed into misery as memory leaked into her consciousness.

“You hurt me, Brian.” Her broken nose made her sound like she had a cold.

“Yes. You know the position I’m in. You came at the worst possible time.”

He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation with this woman. It was like he was explaining to a kid why she couldn’t have candy with her dinner. In effect, he was. Annabel was still the same eleven-year-old he’d snatched. Her wiring had gotten crossed up somewhere along the line, probably long before he’d entered her life.

“I thought I meant something to you.” She went to encompass him in a hug, but the shackles confining her to the bed stopped her well short of her aim. “I thought we meant something to each other.”

He didn’t have time for this. If this woman had screwed him, then he needed to know.

“There is no
us
. Never was. Do you understand that?”

She broke into her little girl sobs. He didn’t bother to wait for her to cry herself out. He turned her head so that she looked him directly in the face.

“I cared for you because I didn’t want you to die. I don’t kill people.”

“You killed that boy.”

Yes. Nicholas Rooker had been a necessary kill. That was what he told himself. But Nicholas’s death had preyed on him in recent days. He’d killed to make a statement. A point had to be made to the FBI, the public, and the other Mike Redferns out there.

“Yes, I killed that boy.”

He softened his tone and leaned in so
close that his breath brushed her ruined face. “It’s very important you answer me truthfully. This isn’t a time for games. Do you understand?”

She nodded stiffly. The fear radiated off her. It was a good thing. He needed her scared.

“Good. Did you tell anyone about this place?”

His hand went to the small of his back, where he curled it around the pistol. His finger looped inside the trigger guard. He wouldn’t enjoy killing her, but he’d do it. He waited for her answer.

“I didn’t tell anyone.” Excitement rushed from her, and she sat up as best she could.

He leaned back from her. “What about your family? You tell them?”

“No. No one.”

His hand remained firm around the pistol. “What about Jane Fleetwood?”

“She knows something about this place.”

He eased the pistol from his waistband, but kept the gun out of her line of sight. “She knows?”

“She and her husband know you have a ranch. Ryan Rodgers remembered the horses.”

He snapped off the pistol’s safety. The dry click failed to register with Annabel. “They know where to find me?”

“No. They know you have a ranch. They don’t know where. I remembered. I remembered the road signs. McKinley and Walnut. It was easy to find after that.”

“But you didn’t tell Jane Fleetwood?”

“No. I’m not helping her. I want to help you.”

Annabel, you just saved your life
, he thought. He put the safety back on and tucked the pistol into his waistband.

“Okay,” he said. “You rest up now.”

She closed her eyes weakly.

He stood up and crossed over to the
ladder. Things weren’t as bad as he’d feared. Annabel was an unfortunate nuisance, but his plan still remained intact. He could escape at his pace. He’d wrap up his affairs, then leave. Of course, he’d have to accelerate things now that the Fleetwoods knew about the ranch. It was only a matter of time before Sheils located it. The good thing was that he was the only one who knew Annabel was here. He still might have to kill her, but not just yet.