John Hart - Iron House

“Everybody has a price, Michael. Jimmy will have one, too.”

“How can you know that?”

“I’m a senator’s wife.”

She was right about Jimmy. He would do anything for that kind of money: kill his own mother, put personal vendettas aside. He would take the money and come back for Michael later. No question. No doubt. “Do you propose to write him a check?”

Her mouth tilted. “Do you still have that bag of cash?”

“Yes.”

“All we have to do is give him a taste.” She let the words sink in. “Human nature will do the rest.”

“I can’t guarantee your safety. You understand? This man is not like other men. There’s no balance in him, no limits.”

“If you don’t take me, Elena will die and so will you. It’s a setup, Michael. It’s why he called you in the first place.”

“Then I’ll take the cash. I’ll arrange it.”

“The cash is just the start. We’ll need to settle on the price, then it’ll take a wire transfer that only I can authorize. I have to be there. It’s not optional.”

Michael looked away, torn. “It’s not your fight.”

“I lost you once.”

He shook his head. “I was a child. You were there for a reason.”

“I’m a big girl, Michael. I want to do this.”

He studied her face, which had become very familiar. “Someone is liable to die,” he said.

“Then let’s make damn sure it’s Jimmy.”

Abigail’s false confidence melted off as she turned for the Land Rover. She felt disconnected, the sky too blue, the metal too hot when she put her fingers on the truck. She swallowed away a bitter taste, and realized she was afraid-not a little bit, not in theory, but truly frightened. She drove the feeling down, disgusted with herself, then slipped inside to retrieve Michael’s nine millimeter from under the seat. It was heavy and warm, the metal smooth as butter. For an instant she saw Jessup’s face, and wondered what he would think if she failed to come back. Would he think she’d left after all these years? Or would he know that something bad had happened? Would he feel anger or grief? Seek revenge if her body were found?

She studied Michael through dirty glass, then opened the glove compartment and took out Jessup’s gun. It was old with a nicked, wooden grip and a shine on the hammer. It was a nasty, ugly little weapon. Words stamped in the metal said COLT COBRA.38 SPECIAL. She fumbled open the cylinder, saw it was loaded, closed it. She took a deep breath, then slipped the gun into her waistband, covered it with the vest and joined Michael at the Mercedes’ trunk. The duffel bag was open inside, the cash visible. She handed Michael the nine millimeter, watched as he ejected the clip and worked the action. “You ready?”

“I think so.”

“You need to know so.”

She felt the thirty-eight, smooth and hard against her skin. “I know so,” she said.

He handed her the cash.

The road Michael followed took them around the south edge of town. Abigail sat beside him, the duffel bag heavy enough to drive metal against the bone of her hip. The taste was back in her mouth; pressure behind her eyes. She tried to blink it away.

“Are you okay?”

His voice sounded distant. She licked her lips, nodded. “Just warm.”

“You don’t have to do this,” he said.

“Just drive, please.”

“You sure?”

She touched her thudding chest, felt vibration at the back of her skull. “Just let me think.”

Michael found the turnoff exactly where Jimmy said it would be. A narrow, dirt drive three miles past the Exxon station. It was on the left, a gash in the trees next to a mailbox with blue reflectors.

He nosed in and stopped the car.

Took out his phone.

“What are we doing?”

Abigail didn’t look great. She was flushed and sweaty, her breath shallow. “The only way this works is if the guns don’t come out.” Michael spoke softly; he wanted her calm. “Jimmy’s good and he talks a big game, but he’s scared of me deep down. He’s got something to prove here, something that matters in ways you and I can’t fully appreciate. That makes him even more unpredictable.” Michael held up the phone. “I’m going to let him know we’re coming in.”

She flicked a glance down the long stretch of dirt road. Her eyes lingered on the forest wall, the places light cut in. “Are you sure that’s smart?”

“All I can do is go in there, hands open, and hope for the best. He either likes your idea or he doesn’t. He makes a mistake or not. Maybe he’s alone; maybe he’s got ten guys in there.” He gave her time because he thought she needed it. “I have two fine weapons and can use them better than most, but this will probably not end well.”

She looked skittish, got control. “How good are you?”

He showed steady eyes. “It doesn’t really matter.”

“Because he has Elena.”

Michael saw no need to answer.

He dialed the phone.

It was hot in the barn, and Elena hurt in ways she’d never imagined possible. Her foot. Her bones. Her soul. The wire at her throat cut deep, and breath came at a price. She looked for Jimmy, could not see him. She tasted gun oil and blood. Her mouth ached; she could not move. For long minutes, she wondered if she’d made the right choice. She thought of the baby, and of Michael’s dark eyes. She wept and thought of dying.

Behind her, a phone rang.

Jimmy answered, and there was a smile in his voice when he spoke. “Michael, my friend. Where are you?”

“I’m at the end of the drive.”

“Well, come on down. Someone here’s very eager to see you. Wait. Here. Say hello.” Michael heard muffled noises, then a muted scream. “Sorry.” Jimmy had the same smile in his voice. “She can’t talk right now. She has something large in her mouth.”

“I’m doing what you asked-”

“Well, you’re late!”

The smile was gone. Tight anger in his voice. Impatience. Michael forced himself to stay calm. “I’ve brought someone with me.”

“That wasn’t our deal.”

“It’s a better deal. More money. No trouble.”

“How much more money?”

“Another ten.”

“Million?”

“Plus what Otto had offshore. It’s a lot of money, Jimmy. Let me come down. We’ll work out the details.”

“Who’s with you?”

Michael told him.

“Ah, the good senator’s wife. I’ve seen her picture. Pretty lady. What does she hope to buy with her extra ten?”

“The lives of everyone involved.”

Silence for a full minute, then, “Why does she care about you?”

“She just does.”

“Anyone else with you?”

“No.”

“All right, Michael. We’ll talk about it. I’m in the barn with your lady-friend. No windows; one door in. So, let’s make this nice and simple. You both come in. I tell you what to do. I want your hands where I can see them.”

“I want to talk to Elena-”

The phone went dead.

Elena heard the phone click shut. Jimmy was right behind her; had been right behind her the whole time. How long? She’d not seen him in over an hour. He’d been behind her and dead silent.

Then the pain!

God…

Such terrible pain. She fought to control herself, felt breath on her ear, fingers where the wire cut into her throat. Her eyes settled on Stevan, spread on the tractor. She had no idea if he was dead or alive. No movement or sound.

Black flies buzzed the open wounds.

“Sorry about that.”

Jimmy’s voice was intimate; his mouth so close that if he stretched his lips he could kiss the shell of her ear. She sobbed around the metal lodged in her throat, choking, barely able to breathe. Wires cut her skin in a dozen places. His hand slid down her shoulder, traced the edge of her breast, then ran down her arm to the finger he’d just broken. He touched it lightly, and her whole body locked in anticipation. But he didn’t hurt her further; he took her palm in his hand and gently squeezed.