The Depth of Darkness (Mitch Tanner #1) (32 page)

“Just answer it,” he said.

I relented. “How’s Denver?” I said.

“How soon can you get down to St. Croix?”

“St. Croix? I just had two weeks of
vacationing, Bridget. I’m thinking I’m good.”

“We just found the body of Brad McCree.”

“The body?”

Sam looked up and leaned forward, setting his
beer bottle down on the table.

“Yes, Mitch. He was killed, neck slit, body
dumped in a trash receptacle.”

“Fitting.”

“Isn’t it?” she said. “We think Ben is hiding
out down here. If you want to be a part of this, get down here
now.”

“Okay,” I said, and then I hung up. Looking
at Sam, I asked, “Want to go to the Virgin Islands with me?”

I quickly filled Sam in on what Bridget had
told me. The timing was perfect, as he had a couple days off for a
wedding that he was only mildly disappointed he wouldn’t have to
attend now. At least, that’s the way he made it seem. I had the
feeling he was elated. His family, maybe not so much.

We caught a red eye to Miami and a non-stop
on a 737 from Miami to St. Croix. We both buzzed the entire trip,
hardly sleeping. Bridget Dinapoli met us outside the airport. She
had a government issued sedan that looked like it had been built in
the early ‘90s. I let Sam take the front seat and I got in
back.

“Glad you could make it,” Bridget said.

“No problem,” I said. “Aren’t we breaking a
few laws here, though?”

She shrugged. “I’m responsible. That’s all
that matters. Okay?”

Sam and I nodded.

“Okay, guys, here’s the deal. We tracked Ben
McCree down. He slipped up and made a call to a known forger, some
guy who’s an expert at making fakes. He’s trying to get a fake ID,
passport, documents, and so forth. He’s also trying to exchange
over five million dollars to rands.”

“Rands?” I said. “South Africa?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Not sure what his plans
are from there. Maybe lay low for a while, then move on. To where,
who knows. I can’t imagine him staying there, though, unless there
is some kind of family connection.”

“What about the rest of the money?” My
thoughts turned to Lana for a second or two.

“We don’t know. Hopefully we’ll find that
out.”

“So what’s the plan?”

She didn’t answer, and any further attempts
to find out were met with silence. We drove for another ten minutes
and pulled into a hotel parking lot. Bridget kept going until we
were behind the building. She pulled out her cell and made a quick
call during which she said nothing more than yes or no. My stomach
fluttered and I wondered if this were an elaborate set up not for
McCree, but for us. What if Bridget had been involved the whole
time? She subsequently put my mind at ease.

“Okay, we’re going to go in and observe. Once
the exchange goes down, we move in and bust him.” She looked over
her shoulder and smiled at me. “We’re going to put an end to this,
Mitch.”

I relaxed momentarily while contemplating
whether or not her words had double meaning. Earlier I couldn’t
help but think that her inviting me down here meant she wanted to
also discuss our possible future. Maybe it was all meant to end
here, though.

The opening of the car doors brought me back
to reality. I got out, and the three of us entered the hotel from
the rear. We stopped at room 127. Special Agents Vinson and Braden
greeted us. They’d ditched their suits and ties and were both
dressed in t-shirts and cargo shorts. Sam and I were dressed the
same. We looked like a beach bum quartet. A third man sat on the
edge of the bed. He held a controller in his hand and a keyboard on
his lap. He fixed his gaze on the television screen.

Bridget joined him in front of the TV. She
pointed at the screen. “That’s him. He just entered the lobby.
Follow him, Darrel.”

The guy on the bed hunched over his keyboard.
His fingers struck at the individual keys delicately. He
straightened up and grabbed the controller. With narrow eyes and a
half-opened mouth, the guy tracked Ben McCree’s every movement.

“That’s great,” Bridget said. “He’s seated
now. Can you zoom in?”

The four of us joined her in front of the
television. It was cramped. I found myself pressed up against her.
She smelled good, like tanning lotion. The picture on the screen
changed. The focus was on the man wearing a hat, seated alone at a
table near the front windows.

“Do we have any other angles?” Sam asked.

“Yup,” Darrel said, punching at keys with his
fingertips. The screen went blank for a second before returning
with a dead on shot of Ben McCree.

“Got you,” Bridget said.

“Why don’t we just take him down?” I
asked.

“Because if we catch him in the act,” Bridget
said, “we’ll have something that we know we can make stick. We’ve
got nothing linking him to the kidnappings. The others are dead. He
can say he was down here because he got a call from his brother
saying he needed help, and then he can walk.”

“That’s a load of garbage,” I said. “He’s not
going to walk.”

“There’s our guy,” Braden said.

On the screen, a man with bushy hair and a
long beard took a seat on the other side of the table. The guy had
on a tank top and tufts of hair stuck out on his chest and
shoulders. He had a bag slung over his back. He removed it and set
it down on the seat next to him.

“Let’s go,” Bridget said. She stopped Sam and
I. “You two wait here with Darrel.”

“Like hell we will,” I said.

Sam grabbed my shoulder. “Mitch, let them
take care of this. I’m sure once they have him in custody, Bridget
won’t object to us coming out there. Isn’t that right?”

“That’s correct. We have to take him down,
Mitch. If you’re out there, it could compromise the operation.”

“Fine,” I said, knowing she was right.
“Go.”

She did, followed by Vinson and Braden. Sam
and I remained behind, watching the television with Darrel. A tense
few minutes passed. McCree stood up suddenly. The man opposite him
leaned back and raised his arms in the air. I noticed McCree had a
gun aimed at the guy. He reached across the table with his free
hand, grabbed the bag and began to back away.

“You gotta let her know,” I said to
Darrel.

He tapped at the side of his head, then the
com box on his waist. “It’s dead.”

I sprinted to the door, pulled it open, then
raced down the hall. Only problem was I had no idea where it led to
or how to get to the lobby and the entrance to the dining room. I
did the only thing one could do in that situation and followed the
numbers down. We were on the first floor, so I only needed to find
the elevators to lead me to the lobby.

From my position in the hall, I heard a
collective scream erupt following a gunshot. Who’d fired the gun,
and had anyone been hit? I ran faster. Sam called for me from
behind. I glanced over my shoulder and saw him running toward me. I
didn’t slow down for him. I reached an intersection in the hallway.
I glanced to the left and saw more rooms. When I looked to the
right, it was obvious that was the direction I needed to go. A
throng of people headed toward me, and another group went in the
opposite direction, toward the front doors.

I kept going until I stood in the lobby. The
entrance to the hotel’s dining room was to my left. Vinson and
Braden stood outside it with their guns drawn. McCree came through
the open doorway a few minutes later. He held Bridget hostage,
using her as a bullet shield, pressing his gun tight to the side of
her head.

It only occurred to me at that moment that
Sam and I were unarmed.

Sam cursed under his breath as he came to a
stop next to me.

McCree saw us and he smiled. He was missing
one of his top front teeth. “Hello, Detectives.”

“Let her go, McCree,” I said. “You don’t want
her.”

“I don’t?” he said.

“No, you want me. You know it. Let her go and
take me with you.”

“Mitch,” Sam said. “What the hell are you
doing?”

I shook my head slightly and took a step
forward. “Come on, man, let her go.”

Ben McCree took a few steps backward,
dragging Bridget along with him. I mirrored his movements, moving
forward at a slightly faster and longer clip. He shook his head and
aimed his pistol at me for a second. “Stop right there.”

I lifted my shirt, turned in a circle, then
held out my arms. “I’m unarmed.” Two more steps forward. “Just let
her go and take me.”

He looked from me to Vinson and Braden.
“Place your guns on the ground and then back away.”

They didn’t move.

“Do what he says,” I said.

“No,” Bridget said.

“Let me handle this, Bridget,” I said. I
looked at the two agents. “Drop them.” Sam placed his hand on my
shoulder. I wriggled free from his grasp and took a few more steps
toward McCree.

“Far enough, Detective,” he said. Then he
removed his arm from Bridget’s neck. In one fluid motion, he kicked
her to the ground and swung his weapon toward me. “Don’t move!”

I didn’t. My gaze shifted from him toward the
floor, where it settled in on Bridget. “You okay?”

Before she could respond, McCree fired at
her. She screamed and collapsed to the ground while a dark red spot
blossomed around her midsection. Vinson and Braden headed toward
their guns. McCree shot at the feet of the men and they froze in
place.

“Come with me, Detective,” McCree
shouted.

I walked toward him as calmly as I could. I
had to control the situation. That meant getting McCree out of the
hotel and onto the street. He’d be slightly disoriented and that
would be my opportunity to take him down. Of course, I realized at
that moment that Sam’s training would have made him a better choice
for this than me. Hindsight and all that. Nothing I could do.

McCree forced me to turn around. He placed
the barrel of his gun against the back of my head. It was hot and
singed my hair and my scalp. I clenched my jaw to keep from
yelling.

“You best get me out of here before the other
agents show up,” I said.

He nudged me in the back and we started
toward the doors. The crowd that had dispersed had knocked one of
the doors off its hinges. It lay on the ground, shattered. We
exited through the doorway. He pulled the gun away from my head and
adjusted his grip on my arm. An effort to draw himself closer to
me, I presumed. It was time for me to act. I whipped my torso to
the right and drew my left arm up. I planned on driving my left
elbow into his ribs, as close to his sternum as I could manage. I
couldn’t see to aim, but I had a good feel for where he was in
relation to me.

“What the hell?” McCree managed to get out as
I changed direction and started toward him. Gunfire erupted. My
eyelids reflexively clenched shut. I waited for the searing pain,
but never felt it. I did feel McCree sliding down my body. I heard
him smack against the ground.

“Are you okay, Mitch?” It was Bridget.

I opened my eyes and looked over my shoulder.
She stood ten feet away, clutching her pistol and holding herself
up by leaning into the wall. In his haste, McCree had failed to
disarm her.

“I had him,” I said.

“Yeah,” she said. “So did I until you came
along playing hero.”

I looked around at the faces staring back at
me. McCree bled out on the ground at my feet. I leaned over him and
watched as he drew in his last ragged breath. His skin turned ashen
and I knew life had left his body. Bridget came toward me. She
pressed against a blood soaked section of her shirt. I rushed
toward her and offered her my arms in support.

“Turns out you’re the hero today,” I
said.

She smiled. The color in her face started to
drain. Her eyelids fluttered.

“Are you okay?”

“Flesh wound,” she said, strained.

Behind her, an ambulance turned onto the
street. I adjusted my arms and fully supported her. There was no
doubt Bridget was a tough woman. She refused to go to the ground,
instead choosing to stand victoriously over her assailant.

The paramedics took her from me and assisted
her onto a gurney. She looked over at me and smiled. Before they
placed the oxygen mask on her face, she said, “Will you come see me
in Denver sometime soon?”

I smiled, nodded and lied. “Maybe,
Bridget.”

Sam and I caught a flight home the following
day. By six that evening we were back in Philly. Good thing, too,
because the Eagles played that night. We decided to watch the game
at my house, figuring it’d help Sam escape the ire of his family,
who were pissed off he’d missed the wedding. There was time for him
to get to the reception, but after what we’d been through, he had
little interest. Besides, we could drink at my place and not be
bombarded with the Hokey Pokey.

Ella greeted us on the porch after we pulled
up to the house. She had a big smile on her face, oblivious to what
her daddy had just gone through. I wanted to keep it that way, too.
My mother, on the other hand, looked concerned. She had no trouble
expressing it either.

“Saw a report on the TV that the FBI woman on
the case was shot down in the Virgin Islands.”

I nodded. Sam did the same.

“You two all right?” Momma asked.

“We’re fine,” I replied.

“All right, then,” she said. “We’ve got some
pizza inside.”

“That’s a first,” Sam whispered to me.

Ella turned and ran to her grandmother,
grabbing her hand and pulling her inside. She had on the custom
jersey I’d purchased for her last Christmas. It had “Ella Kate”
written across the top with double zeros for the number. She wore
it all the time.

I crossed the porch and stopped at the front
door. “Go on inside, Sam. I’ll be right there.”

He nodded as he passed by.