Twisted Innocence (Moonlighters Series Book 3) (29 page)

Michael showed them the pictures of the house and the blueprint he’d drawn, and he quickly went over the terrain and layout with them.

Max added, “You can count on these people being armed. We have no idea how many are in the house.”

“The three-car garage is closed,” Michael said, “and there aren’t any cars in the driveway out front. I’m hoping that
means there aren’t a lot of people inside. Miller likes to keep himself separated from others in his operation so they can’t identify him. Occasionally, he screws up, like with Creed, but for the most part, he’s got a small inner circle. So the place is probably not full of people, but the ones who are there will be dangerous.”

The SWAT team, outfitted in all their gear, loaded into the van, and the van pulled onto the street and headed to Gulfmoor Avenue.

It pulled to a quick stop just out of sight of the house, in case Miller or his men looked out the window, and the SWAT members unloaded like Navy Seals at war. Michael waited in the van. A few of the lead men had cameras on their weapons, and he watched their progress on the video screen with Dex.

They entered with no trouble, and from what Michael could see on the monitor, the foyer was empty as they crisscrossed inside. He heard what sounded like a door closing, footsteps running.

They cleared the living room just past the foyer, the kitchen and pantry, the dining room. There was a smoking bong pipe lying on its side.

Someone motioned for them to go down the hall toward the right. They found an office with a computer, and when the SWAT team’s camera was pointed at the display, there was Creed live on the screen, drenched with sweat and still holding that gun. Miller was nowhere in sight.

Michael heard screaming, and Dex pointed to the square that showed the video feed of another room. Michael saw a woman on the bed being handcuffed. They pulled her up, and she staggered. “I didn’t do anything. It’s him you want. Not me!”

“Where is Leonard Miller?” someone asked.

“He left me here. I don’t know where he is.”

“How long ago did he leave?”

“I don’t know,” she cried. “Half an hour, maybe.”

Michael glanced at the other squares, feeds from the other cameras moving through the house. There didn’t seem to be anyone else anywhere in the house.

“I’m on probation,” she said. “I can’t go back to jail. I didn’t do anything. I was just sleeping here.”

“Tell us where he is.”

“I told you, I don’t know. He’s with Jack.”

“Jack who?”

“Jack, the attorney. I don’t know his last name.”

Michael got on the radio. “That would be Jack Humphrey, guys. I’m getting his address now.”

He waited as Dex typed in Humphrey’s name, and the address came up. It was a house about six blocks away. “Got it,” he said into the radio. “Let’s leave someone to take care of her, but we need to get over there.”

Satisfied that the house was empty, the SWAT team filed back into the van and raced toward the new address. As they drove, Max called the DA. “I need a search warrant at Jack Humphrey’s house,” he said, and gave the address. “Leonard Miller is with him. We think they went there.”

The DA, who wanted Miller almost as badly as the Hogans did, texted him a file with the warrant. Dex quickly printed it out. Humphrey’s house turned out to be a swanky modern home also on the beach. Clearly, representing criminals of this caliber paid well.

As the SWAT team filed out again, Michael waited in the van. He watched on the monitor as the doors were rammed in, and the team called out, “Police! Search warrant!”

He heard a staccato roar overhead and looked out the van’s window. There was a helicopter overhead, circling the house. Then he saw Leonard Miller, waiting on the roof. Michael grabbed the radio mike. “He’s on the roof. Repeat, he’s on the roof, and a helicopter is about to land.”

He grabbed his rifle and jumped out of the van, aiming at the roof. Gunfire shattered the air, and one of the SWAT men guarding the front windows dropped.

Michael saw Miller, rifle in his arms, darting across the peak of the roof to the side of the house. “Man down!” Michael shouted into the radio. “Subject still on the roof!”

The downed man—a buff ex-marine who’d been shot in the knee—dragged himself closer to the house, out of range of the shooter.

“Hang on, help is coming,” Michael said.

Michael got behind the SUV in the driveway and scanned the roof again. He couldn’t see Miller now, but he must still be up there. The helicopter had circled south. Michael might be able to find a way onto the roof through the house, but by then Miller might be able to get away. Rifle butt against his shoulder, his eye focusing through the gun scope, Michael slowly scanned the roof. No sign of Miller now.

When another SWAT member came out of the house to cover the front, Michael slowly made his way around the house, watching the roof.

There was nothing to climb on the side of the house, but in the back was a deck several feet off the sand, and an open arbor over it. Michael quietly climbed the steps to the deck, then stood on the rail to reach the top of the arbor and pull himself up. He found a foothold that allowed him to see over the edge of the roof.

There he was. Miller crouched next to the chimney, his back to Michael. Michael heard the hum of the helicopter returning, hovering over the flatter part of the roof on the back of the house. Miller went toward it, hair whipping in the helicopter’s wind.

Michael fired but missed. Miller dropped, then came back up firing. Michael crouched as bullets whizzed over his head, from both Miller and the helicopter. The bird lifted and fled south again, leaving the roof quiet.

Michael heard footsteps across the roof. He peered over the edge again; Miller had vanished.

Michael pulled himself onto the roof, got his footing, and headed for the chimney in the center of the roof. Across from it was the door through which Miller had come to the roof. He saw Max stick his head out, nod that he saw Michael, and then step onto the roof, followed by another team member. Quietly, deftly, they crouched, rifles poised. Michael pointed to the area behind them, and they turned and separated. Michael made sure his side of the roof was clear, then followed his brother.

Then he saw him—Miller moving behind a ridgeline, his automatic rifle aimed at Max. Michael fired. The impact of the bullets bounced Miller, and he dropped his weapon.

“Got him!” Michael headed for Miller to get the rifle and restrain him, but Miller grabbed the rifle again, pointed it toward Michael . . .

Michael pulled the trigger again, spraying bullets at the man who had brought so much terror and grief to his family . . . the man who had terrorized Cathy and Juliet and Holly . . . the man who had put the baby and Juliet’s kids in so much danger. Miller convulsed again as the bullets relieved him of any further
chance to kill. He dropped the rifle, and his body jerked and twisted until he stopped moving, facedown on the hot roof.

The helicopter came back, rocking from side to side as it lowered. Someone inside began firing. Max ducked behind the chimney and returned fire. The pilot banked and flew away, trailing black smoke.

Max moved closer to Miller, his weapon ready. Careful not to slip on the incline, he stooped next to him and checked for a pulse.

“Maggot meat,” he said, breathless. “He can rot in hell.”

“What about the others?” Michael asked.

“We got the maid and Jack Humphrey downstairs,” Max said. “I think one or both of them might talk if we make their lives miserable enough.”

“Can I question him about the bomb?”

“Go ahead.”

Michael went down the staircase into the house and found Humphrey lying facedown on the hardwood floor, hands and feet bound. Michael pulled him up and shoved him into a chair. “Your buddy’s dead, and things aren’t looking good for you. There’s a bomb on a baby’s car seat. If it goes off, you’ll be a co-conspirator in the murder of an infant. I don’t have to tell you how a jury will feel about that.”

Humphrey closed his eyes. “There’s no detonator. The guy who set it didn’t have enough time to get everything connected. If you don’t believe me, check my cell phone. Barker texted me that he didn’t have time to get it right.”

Michael looked around. “Who has his phone?”

The cop who had taken Humphrey’s phone pulled it out of the evidence bag. Michael slipped on rubber gloves and checked the messages. Around the time that the bomb on Lily’s
seat was discovered, someone had texted:
Task completed. No time to connect things. Made it look convincing.

He made a few quick calls to check the source of the message, and when they concluded that it was, indeed, Barker, he called the bomb squad and told them. He hoped Holly would soon be free.

The next call he made was to Creed.

Michael’s call didn’t completely convince the bomb squad, who were trained to expect tricks from those who meant to do harm. As Lily began to fuss and cry again, they gently pulled on the wires entangled with the latch across her rib cage, and the wires moved freely. They continued pulling until they saw the end of the wire, which had been simply wrapped around the wire at the underside of the car seat.

Saginaw unlatched the belt holding Lily, slipped the straps from her shoulders, and pulled the crying baby out. Holly took her quickly, holding her tight and weeping with gratitude.

“We need you to get out of the radius. It’s still a live bomb, even though there’s no detonator.”

Holly did what she was told this time and ran through the house and out the front door with her baby, across the yard to her sisters and brother who waited in Juliet’s van on the other side of the barricade. She got into the backseat and held her baby close, rocking back and forth. “Thank you, God. Thank you for my baby . . .”

When Lily had calmed and Holly could think, she called Creed. “She’s all right. We got Lily out, and we’re safe.”

She could hear the emotion in his voice. “Michael told me. Thank God. I thought . . .”

“Me too. But Miller’s dead. It’s really over.”

She heard Creed’s rush of breath, sob-like sounds . . .

“Lily will grow up knowing her daddy is a hero.”

CHAPTER 58

C
reed put the gun on the floor and slid it away from him across the tarp as the sound of sirens came from the distance. He knelt on the blue plastic. He would have been wrapped up in the tarp and dragged out like a discarded rug.

But God had come through. Trembling, he covered his face and wept.

The door flew open, and police moved inside, weapons drawn, making sure it wasn’t a trap. “Creed Kershaw?”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Are you able to stand?”

Creed didn’t know why they would think that he wasn’t capable of standing. He got to his feet, cradling his casted arm. “I’m fine. I just want to see my baby.”

“We need a statement from you at the police department. Your daughter and her mother will meet you there.”

In the backseat of the police car, Creed leaned his head
against the seat. He could handle anything, he thought. If he had to go to jail for his crimes, he would. If he still had to face a murder charge, he would survive. Whatever happened now, he knew that God wasn’t finished with him. God had heard his prayers, acted on his behalf. The poignancy in that fact brought him to tears again.

As he entered the police station, he saw Holly across the room, holding Lily to her shoulder under a blanket. His heart almost burst. He crossed the room and hugged her fiercely. She kissed his neck.

He bent and kissed Lily’s sweet face. She was calm now, sleeping, content and unharmed. It was a miracle.

Smiling softly, Holly handed Lily to him, and he took his daughter in his arms and held her against his heart, nuzzling her feathery little head. When Holly slid her arms around his neck and kissed his stubbled cheek, Creed began to weep again.

Michael found Cathy later that night, sitting on the beach across the street from her house. He sat down beside her in the sand and kissed her cheek. Her face was wet, and strands of hair blew into her face and stuck to her skin. He stroked them away.