Where Evil Waits (11 page)

A
IDAN STORMED FROM THE
room. They thought he was giving in and would go along. No way, though. No way was he going to hang here and let Luke Varón tear apart his father.
Your father was part of a cocaine ring.
A wave of emotion washed in and while he wasn’t sure what it was, it felt as dark and heavy as when his dad died. He hadn’t known how to shake it off then, either. He’d been powerless.

And he’d be that way again if he let Varón take charge. Varón was evil. And he had it wrong about his dad. Dad wasn’t the one dealing coke.

Aidan was.

Jesus God.
Please don’t let that be why Dad died.

Aidan made giant loops around the room for two minutes, then knew what he had to do. He couldn’t let his mom learn the truth—he’d promised. Besides, he had some contacts, too—people who were part of Varón’s precious drug ring. Hell, that’s how he’d gotten into this mess in the first place. Aidan hadn’t talked to Raul Valesquez in over a year but he knew where to find him. Knew that if anyone might be able to tell him who was pulling the strings, it would be Raul.

He stopped, hesitating to leave his mom behind. But hadn’t she taught him to act when you were in trouble? She didn’t know about Valesquez. And she dealt with lowlifes like Varón all the time; she could handle herself until Aidan found help.

From who? Uncle Louie? His dad?

For a moment, the sense of loss was so overwhelming Aidan almost sank back onto the bed, but then he thought of Varón and his accusations. He had to go, and the sooner he left the sooner he’d find help. Seth would help him. Tomorrow was his dad’s funeral and he’d died because of what he knew. Together, they’d figure something out and find Raul.

So, go. Get out of here. Varón didn’t think Aidan had brought his cell phone, but he had. Now, he could use the GPS to get through these woods and back to Atlanta. The way he looked, no one would spot him as Aidan Chandler. Hell, he barely recognized himself when he looked in a mirror.

Aidan headed back to the spare room where he’d changed his clothes and napped. He padded his pocket to make sure he had the phone and its charger, then walked through to the other side of the bath and out into a hall, down a half flight of stairs. Saw a triple set of French doors out to one of the decks and swallowed a giant knot in his throat.

He had to go. He had to find Seth and Raul.

He pushed open the door before he could reconsider, whispering words behind him:
Bye, Mom. I love you.

Kara watched Aidan leave the room. Her heart was in pieces. He had to be scared out of his mind and here she was on the verge of letting Luke Varón call the shots.
Varón had better reason to protect her and Aidan than she’d ever suspected and she needed him. She needed him to kill this bastard for her. Was that the same as hiring him as a hit man herself? Maybe. But so be it. This killer had murdered Andrew and Louie, Penny and John. And maybe all the other people whose personal items had come to Kara in little boxes.

So go ahead
,
Varón
, she thought to herself.
Kill the son of a bitch for me. Protect your goddamned drug ring. Just keep my son safe.

She picked up the cell phone Aidan had knocked from Varón’s hands and looked at the photo of the safe house. A rec room in a chic, modern condo. Pool table, widescreen TV, foosball. She thumbed through a few more photos, then slid the phone onto the island. “How far away is this pla—”

“Shh,” Varón said. He cocked his head, listening, then groaned. “Goddamn it,” he said. He started from the room and Kara saw his hand touch the small of his back. For the first time, she realized there was a gun beneath the loose tail of his shirt.

Her heartbeat kicked up. She followed Varón down the hall and into the spare room where she and Aidan had slept, then out the other door and down a half flight of stairs. At the other end of a room, a set of French doors stood open.

No.

“Aidan!” Kara screamed, but Varón was already outside, on the deck. He threw a long leg over the rail and dropped to the pine straw a story below, rolling and coming back up, and starting to run. Kara caught a glimpse of Aidan in the woods. He, too, had gone over the railing. He was running, humped over, dashing into the trees.

Oh, God.

“Stay there,” Varón yelled behind him. “I’ll get him.”

Kara searched the trees. Aidan had disappeared. Panic seized her heart. She couldn’t just stand here, but going over the railing would be crazy. She couldn’t move as fast as either of them. “Damn you, Aidan,” she shouted through tears in her throat. She couldn’t catch her breath. Dear God, Aidan had run off and a hit man was chasing after him while another killer had scared them into faking their deaths and—

A gunshot pierced the air.

L
UKE DROPPED.
Rifle.
Jesus Christ. A rifle—a big one. Not a
pop
but a
boom
, and from the west.

Louie Guilford got picked off by a 7mm Rem Mag before a Braves game.

Luke yanked the gun from the back of his belt and picked up his head, listened. Caught the end of Kara’s scream of horror from the deck, then a rustling in the woods just a few yards away.

Aidan.
He wanted to yell to him but couldn’t risk giving his location to the shooter. Christ, the kid probably thought Luke was the one shooting at him. He’d run like hell.

Anger burned in Luke’s chest. A shooter—here. But how? The answer came to him on a wave of self-hatred:
stupid, stupid, stupid.
But there was no time for that now. The shooter had been waiting. Could have been perched in a tree for a while now, content to wait until they came out of the house.

The bushes rustled twenty yards away. Aidan was scrambling, zig-zagging like a disoriented animal.

Another rifle shot exploded through the sky.

Luke’s heartbeat slowed.
No way, fucker.
Varón, the hit man, surfaced and Luke wanted to hunt the bastard down and take him out with his bare hands. But he couldn’t leave Aidan out here, and couldn’t leave Kara. He checked the pistol—a .45 G.A.P.—and glanced back to the house. Kara was gone. A microsecond of terror flashed in his brain but then he saw that she wasn’t lying on the deck, hit by a rifle bullet, and he spared a thought to be grateful she had sense enough to run back inside and hide. Turned his attention back to Aidan.

Stay down, kid. Stay still and stay down.

He listened; the forest had gone silent. Birds, insects, ground creatures—everything utterly still in the aftermath of the rifle shots. If the shooter had seen Aidan, he’d probably seen Luke, too, and with a good rifle he could have a range of a thousand yards. In the forest, though, a bullet would only go as far as the closest trees, and the view was limited to what you could see through the foliage.

Which only meant the shooter was a helluva lot closer than a thousand yards. Not far at all, given the blast.

Luke shifted, moving slowly, cursing the light pink shirt. He tried to recall what Aidan had on: black t-shirt, jeans. Better than Luke, then.

He took small steps, staying low, putting the weight on the outside of his soles. Wished for a breeze to obscure the sound of his movements but the air was staid and silent. A creek gurgled about thirty yards away; if Aidan had any brains at all, he’d flatten himself into it, using the rise of the bank on either side as cover. If that’s where he was, the water would be in his ears and he wouldn’t hear the shrubs rustling over the gurgle of the creek. Good if your bodyguard is trying to sneak up on you; bad if it’s your killer.

But the killer wasn’t
that
close. The sound of the shot assured that. He was close enough to risk taking a shot through foliage, but not close enough to walk right up on a kid hiding in the creek bed, even if he’d started moving after that last shot.

Luke moved low and slow. Broad daylight, but the forest was uncut. Near enough to noon that the few shadows that did cut through came straight down, giving nothing away. Only his movement would draw fire.

The sound of the creek became audible; Luke inched closer and looked. Sure enough, Aidan had hunkered down in the water, head covered, but his eyes on Luke. He looked horrified.

“Get away from me—”

Luke shushed him with a hand. “I’m not the one who fired at you,” he said beneath a whisper. “Stay down and get behind me.”

Aidan blinked, glanced at the gun in Luke’s hand, and began shaking his head. He was a kid. A confused, terrified kid looking at the man who was supposed to have killed his father.

Luke pointed his gun to the ground and moved toward him. “Someone is shooting at you with a rifle,” he snapped. “For God’s sake, did it
sound
like it came from this pistol? Get behind me.”

Aidan frowned. A bullet smashed into a tree twenty feet away.

“God,” he said, and Luke hit the ground on top of him. Felt Aidan’s whole body trembling beneath him. But not fighting him.

“Stay. Stay,” Luke said in a hush. “He can’t see us unless we move. Too many trees.”

That much was true, Luke assured himself: too many
trees. The shot had been wild. The asshole was taking potshots now, just aiming in the general direction Aidan had run. Because he couldn’t see them or because he was having some fun? The answer brought a chill. This bastard had used one shot to take out Louie Guilford in a crowd of people. He was trained.

He was having fun.

Luke shifted, just enough for Aidan to breathe.

“Where’s my mom?” Aidan asked, panting. “Where’s Mom?”

“At the house,” Luke said, speaking right against Aidan’s ear. Now or never. There wouldn’t be a better moment to make an impression on the kid. “She’s probably getting ready to run out here into the fray to save your sorry ass. Is that what you want? To get your mom killed?”

Aidan opened his mouth but Luke cut him off. Spoke fast and low. “That’s what you’re doing. Your little escapade delivering cocaine for Raul Valesquez will get you both killed if you don’t let me handle it.”

Aidan made a strangled sound. “How di—”

“It doesn’t matt—”
Shit.

Another shot. Luke hunkered down over Aidan. The rifle fired several shots, then paused, then started up again. Probably had ten bullets: The shooter had stopped to reload.

None of the bullets was close, but Aidan trembled in fear beneath him. Luke was pretty sure it was more than just the bullets scaring him at this point. The mention of Raul Valesquez had shaken him up even further.

Luke didn’t move, but continued speaking against the back of Aidan’s head. “It doesn’t matter how I know. What does matter is that your mother can help me catch the bastard who’s out there taking potshots at us right now, but
she can’t think straight when you’re not safe. You want me to get rid of him, before he kills both of you? I need your mom to do it.”

Aidan’s breaths came as short, half sobs. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t’ve—”

“But you did,” Luke said, knowing it was cruel. “How do you think your mom will feel when she finds out how this all started?”

“No. God, don’t tell her. Don’t—”

Ten more shots. Luke cursed. The bastard had a shitload of bullets. The rifle didn’t sound like it was coming any closer and they were protected by the creek bank, but they had to get out of here before the shooter got bored with the game and came after them for real. Luke had run out of the house with only the thirteen rounds already chambered in his gun. A sniper lying in wait could have hundreds.

“Give me your phone,” he said, and Aidan jerked.

“I don’t hav—”

“Don’t lie to me. How do you think this bastard found us? Give me your phone. I want to call your mom.”

Aidan squirmed, already dialing. Luke snatched it from his hand.

“Aidan?” Kara’s voice came on. Panicked, breathless.

“He’s okay,” Luke said. “I’m okay, too, thanks for asking. Listen to me. There’s a gun case downstairs in the stud—”

“I know. I found it. I have the Ruger in my hands already.”

He should have known.

“I just loaded it,” she said. “I’m looking for a place to fire. I’ll cover you.”

“Upstairs. There’s a window in the loft bedroom.” He
could hear her dashing through the house, puffing. “You know how to shoot?”

“Shut up. Where are you? Where’s Aidan?”

“I’ve got him. First thing is this: Go to the kitchen door by the stairs and push the garage door opener, and grab my phone off the island. Then go upstairs to the loft.”

He heard her footsteps and her breathing, could almost hear her heart beating like a wild thing.

Keep her calm. The only thing worse than seeing her kid get shot by a psycho would be for
her
to fire the bullet that killed him.

He heard her running up the stairs, then a pause. “Go to the window but stay to the left. Use the barrel of the gun to split the blinds.”

“Yes.” She was panting.

“Can you see outside?”

“Yes. But I don’t see you. Where’s Aidan?”

“We’re through the trees at eight o’clock. Past the fire pit.”

“Okay.”

“We’re not far. The shots came from the west. On my cue, start firing through the window toward two o’clock. Leave the blinds down so you don’t get glass in your face. Keep firing, every two seconds. You have fifteen shots.”

“That’s only thirty seconds. Can you make it back in thirty seconds?”

“I’ll pick up firing after you stop, and cover us the rest of the way.” He looked at Aidan, who nodded. Back to Kara. “Listen to me. As soon as you run out of bullets, get down to the garage. Get in the Porsche. I have the keys.”

“Okay.”

He shifted, getting his feet beneath him and waiting until Aidan had done the same. Ready.

“Kara,” he said, wondering just how much poise she was capable of under the circumstances. “We’re gonna run like hell. Can you do this?”

“Yes. Damn it, yes. Say when.”

Luke tossed Aidan’s phone to the ground ten feet away, gave Aidan a nod.

“When,” he said.