Stronger Than Sin (30 page)

He had that smile—the dangerous one. Only you had to have experienced the sting of that smile to understand that.

She ducked lower but continued pressing forward. She had to warn the officers.

As the car door opened, a dark blue uniformed leg became visible before the officer stepped from the cruiser. Only one officer,
she realized.

“Good afternoon, sir,” the officer said. He stood behind the open door, one hand on the roof of the car. The other on his
holstered gun.

Morales’s smile broadened and he took another step forward. Put his hand in his coat pocket.

“Can I help you, Officer?” Morales said.

The officer closed the door, and as soon as the officer was clear, Morales moved in a flurry of action.

He pulled a gun from his pocket and fired.

Liliana gasped as the officer stumbled back a step before his knees crumpled, his one hand on the cruiser, struggling for
purchase.

Morales fired again.

The barest recoil of the officer’s body indicated Morales had not missed. Then the officer slowly fell back, his knees still
bent as he collapsed into an unnatural heap.

Liliana held her breath as Morales walked toward the fallen man, his gun upraised.

She couldn’t see clearly enough to determine whether or not the officer was dead, but if he wasn’t, she feared Morales would
finish him.

Pressing forward, she tried to think of what she could do to distract Morales. How she could stop him, but before she reacted,
Morales reached the officer.

He pointed the gun at the man.

Only a slight twitch came from the officer. A death twitch? she wondered as Morales lowered the weapon and then tucked it
back into his coat pocket.

With a careless shrug, Morales pivoted on one heel and walked away.

Liliana continued moving forward, but the sudden roar of an engine made her pause again. Seconds later, a black SUV came around
from the side of the building and plowed down the road, passing the fallen officer and his cruiser. Continuing with the crunch
of tires on the hard, frozen dirt until the sound faded into the cold of the late autumn day.

Jumping out of the underbrush, Liliana hurried to the officer, praying that he was alive and that she could help him.

But before she could reach him, the door to the warehouse opened again and Jack stepped out.

Liliana ducked back into the foliage along the edge of the road.

Jack scurried toward the car, and his eyes opened wide as he noted the officer slumped on the ground.

“Fuck me,” he said and raced back into the warehouse.

Liliana cursed beneath her breath. How long did she have before Jack did something drastic?

How long did she have to do something—anything—to help Jesse?

Not long,
she thought and pressed forward toward the police officer.

T
he cold of the floor registered first against the side of his face.

Chilly. Hard. Wet.

As he rolled onto his back and stared at the metal struts of the warehouse ceiling, Jesse realized he had been drooling. His
entire body seemed disconnected from his brain. Not under his control.

He attempted to rise but couldn’t.

He decided to do something less strenuous and focused on moving a finger.

His pinky twitched. The pinky he had broken during the Rose Bowl in the last quarter of his senior year. He had hit a linebacker’s
helmet as the man had charged at him during a blitz. He’d had the trainer wrap the pinky and finished the game.

He focused again, managed to move his entire hand this time.

The hand Liliana had touched just earlier that day. Closing his eyes, he remembered the warmth of her skin. The feel of it,
so soft and smooth.

Jesse wondered if he was dying. If this was what people
saw when they said that their lives flashed in front of their eyes.

If so, he wanted to hold on to the picture of her, smiling at him. Her dark eyes welcoming and promising so much love.

A loud bang intruded.

The door to the warehouse slamming shut followed by Jack’s mumbled and repetitive, “Fuck me.”

He wasn’t dead. At least not yet, Jesse thought.

Forcing himself to concentrate, other things slowly registered, and he wished that they hadn’t.

His head was pounding and his body felt on fire. The combination of numbness and ache in his right side was a testament to
where Morales and Jack had managed to shock him. Somehow he rolled onto his side and, using his arms, managed to finally get
upright.

Jack was pacing back and forth in the center of the lab. He was pulling at his hair, clearly distraught. Mumbling under his
breath as he walked to and fro in the empty space.

Jesse wanted to stand, but his body was still not cooperating. A hangover-like haze lingered in his brain, possibly from the
electric shocks he had endured. Pulling in a deep breath through his nose, he held it, then released it. Repeated the action
until his mind cleared a bit.

Reaching up, he wiped the drool from his face and got to his knees by holding on to the bars of the cage.

His action drew Jack’s attention.

The man stalked over and, as he neared, Jesse realized Jack had a gun tucked into his waistband.

When Jack reached the cage, he kicked out at Jesse’s hands, landing an awkward blow above them, making Jesse yank his hands
back.

“Fuckin’ bitch. Bastard. It’s your fault this is happening,” Jack said and kicked at the bar again, his actions clumsy.

“She got away, didn’t she? The police are coming,” Jesse said, feeling energized at the thought that Liliana was safe. That
they might all soon be safe.

Jack stepped away from the cage and whipped out his gun, aimed it at him. “Bastard. The police are here, but he’s dead. Shot.”

Jack’s obvious agitation and the brandishing of the gun awakened the attention of the other patients. They streamed to fronts
of their cages, saw what was happening, and then erupted in a cacophony as their drug-addled minds reacted to the menace.

“Shut your fuckin’ mouths,” Jack said and spun around, gun raised high, which dimmed the noise, but only a little.

Jesse laid his hands on his thighs and glanced up at Jack. “It’s not too late to do the right thing.”

Jack whirled to aim the gun at him. “Right thing? I’m in this too deep, Bradford.”

“It’s not too late,” Jesse said again, containing his fear as he stared down the barrel of the gun.

Before Jack could respond, the loud chirp of a cell phone penetrated the air. Jack reached into his pocket, whipped out his
phone, and put it to his ear.

All Jack did was listen as the voice on the other end of the line droned on, punctuated by an occasional barked comment. When
the caller stopped, Jack whined, “I didn’t sign up for this. This wasn’t part of the deal.”

The barking grew stronger across the line, more insistent. Brooking no disagreement.

“This’ll cost you,” Jack said, snapped the phone shut, and tossed it aside.

Facing Jesse once again, Jack raised the gun, pointed it at Jesse’s head. “You’re dead meat.”

Ramon sat in the back of their police van along with Sanchez and two other officers. Another of his men drove while the last
one sat shotgun as the van sped the final few miles down the parkway, siren blaring.

Ramon’s cell phone chirped and he answered.

“Gonzalez here.”

“Our officer finished his shift nearly ten minutes ago but hasn’t reported back. He’s not at home, and he’s not answering
his radio,” said the sheriff from the small local town they had nearly reached via the parkway.

“He was advised not to—”

“Engage. Yes, he was advised. We have a squad car sitting at the entrance to the road,” the sheriff confirmed.

Ramon stood and moved to peer out the windshield. Based on the mile marker, they would be at the exit soon.

“We should be at the scene within a few minutes. Tell your men—”

“Man. Our cars are only manned by one officer.”

Ramon moved back to his seat in the van. “Roger. We have two FBI agents joining us at the scene, as well.”

“Keep me posted, Chief. I need to know what happened to my officer.”

“Roger.”

Ramon turned his attention to Special Agent Sanchez. “How close are your people?”

“Should be arriving at the same time as we are,” Sanchez advised.

The van shifted to the right and slowed. The man riding
shotgun killed the siren. Based on their investigations, the dirt road leading to the warehouse was only five minutes up ahead.
The newer satellite photos obtained by Sanchez had confirmed the location of the building, and minutes later, the van pulled
up to the left and stopped.

“Suit up,” Ramon instructed, and the men in the van donned their protective gear and checked their weapons while Ramon and
Special Agent Sanchez stepped outside.

A cruiser sat along the side of the road, an officer leaning against its bumper.

“Police Chief Gonzalez. Special Agent,” the officer said in greeting and stood, easing from the side of the cruiser.

“Do you have anything?” Special Agent Sanchez asked as Ramon’s men piled out of the car.

“I was told not to engage, only…” The officer jerked his hand in the direction of a small home across the highway.

“Witness came over. Said they had seen another cruiser head down the road and then a black SUV speeding away shortly after.
They also think they heard gunshots.”

After he finished, a loud
pop
sounded in the cold air, but the officer didn’t react.

“Like that?” Ramon asked, arching a brow.

The officer shrugged. “People hunt in the woods nearby at this time of year. It could be hunters.”

“Except that sounded like a handgun,” Sanchez said and stared down the road.

“Are you sure?” Ramon asked, placing his hands on his hips and gazing into the woods.

“Can we take a chance that I’m right?” Sanchez replied and tracked Ramon’s line of sight.

“No, we can’t,” Ramon advised and then said to the officer, “Can you stay here? We’re waiting for two other FBI agents to
join us.”

“I’ll check with you before sending them in.” The officer shot them a small salute.

His face grim, Ramon faced Sanchez and then his men.

“Ready?” he asked.

They all nodded.

J
esse grabbed the bars and pulled himself to his feet.

If he was going to die, he was going to die like a man.

Jack’s hand wavered, the tip of the gun bobbing before he whipped the gun down. “You know what. I’m going to save the best
for last.”

He spun around and hurried to the cage farthest away—the young camouflaged woman Liliana and he had been about to examine
less than an hour earlier.

As she had done with their approach, she huddled in a corner and pulled the sheets up to hide her body when Jack came close.
But as he raised the gun and took aim, she started screaming.

The other patients, sensing her agitation, responded, chiming in with an assortment of cries and yelling. Some ran to the
walls of their cages to watch. Grabbed hold of the bars and rattled them, slowly increasing the noise level until Jack fired.

Silence immediately took hold as the young woman in the cage collapsed onto her bed and then rolled to the floor.

For good measure, Jack strode to the cage, stuck the gun through the bars, and fired into her head, delivering the coup de
grâce.

Jack walked to the next cage and took aim but then seemed to have a moment of conscience. He strode away, back into the center
of the room, and paced again, mumbling to himself.

Jesse heard only part of those mumbled words.

“Didn’t sign up for this,” Jack seemed to be saying. Jesse hoped that meant Jack was reconsidering his obvious instructions—to
eliminate everyone in the lab.

“You don’t have to do what they say, Jack. You can be your own man,” Jesse called out, and Jack whirled in his direction.

Pointing the gun at him, Jack strode over, screaming as he did so. “Shut the fuck up, Bradford.
I
say what I do. Just me.”

With another abrupt whirl, Jack stalked to another cage.

Again the noise built, this time to almost deafening levels as the inhabitants of the various cages understood what he planned
to do.

As Jack raised the gun and took aim, the building nearly shook from the volume of the noise.

But it wasn’t loud enough to silence the unforgiving burst of sound from the gun as Jack fired.

As before, Jack walked to the cage, jammed his hand between the bars, and discharged a follow-up shot.

That was enough to quiet the other patients, who either shifted to the farthest corners of their cages or tried to hide beneath
their cots.

It was also enough for Jesse, especially as Jack walked back to his desk and reloaded the weapon.

He wasn’t going to let Jack shoot him down like a dog, and he wasn’t going to let Jack shoot anyone else, either.

*     *     *

A faint pulse registered beneath her fingers as Liliana pressed them to the officer’s neck.

She laid him out on the ground, tore open his coat and shirt, then located the bullet wounds.

One high up on his shoulder, bleeding more profusely than the one in his chest.

The officer had a small knife on his gun belt. She pulled it out of its sheath and used it to cut off a large piece of his
shirt and make a few strips. Wadding a piece against his shoulder, she applied pressure and then bound the wound with the
makeshift bandages.

She was about to treat the chest injury when she heard the noise leaking out of the warehouse.

She stared at the building, wondering what was going on inside when a loud
bang
brought silence and made her jump.

A gunshot? she worried. Anxious about Jesse.

Hurrying to finish caring for the officer’s injuries, she was about to head back to the warehouse when she spotted Ramon hurrying
down the road, flanked by several other officers carrying weapons and wearing bulletproof vests.