L. Sellers - The Gauntlet Assassin

Sanders dropped like a rock and his son screamed. Behind Sanders, coming in the back door was a uniform officer, his neck bright with blood. He started to speak, then collapsed. Her bullet had passed through the suspect and killed a cop.

Sat., May 13, 10:20 a.m.

Paul parked at the end of the block, not wanting his car to be spotted at Morton’s house. Grabbing his gun, he strode down the quiet suburban street, noticing not a single child was outside on a Saturday morning. If he’d had a neighborhood like this as a kid, he’d have been outside all the time. He didn’t blame them for staying inside though. The constant wind and extreme temperatures ruined most outdoor activities.

He reached the edge of Morton’s yard, trotted up the neighbor’s property line, and climbed over the hedge as he’d done before. The memory of finding Camille here that night played in his mind, but it didn’t devastate him like it had then.

He’d developed a new resilience, almost a numbness. He and Camille would be okay, but the commissioner still had to die. Paul was angry with himself for running off the job last time without finishing it. He was angry that he’d killed the wrong woman at the hotel too. Stupid! He didn’t know how to fix that, so he shoved the whole episode into the new numbness. The other woman, the paramedic witness, was still here in Washington D.C., and Paul hadn’t decided what to do about her.

He rounded the corner of the house, strode across the stone patio, and grabbed the handle of the French doors. They were unlocked, and Paul charged in. He barely noticed the spacious family room. All he saw was Morton rising from his desk. Paul aimed at his face and fired twice. He wasn’t making the same mistake this time.

Blood flew from Morton’s head and he fell to the soft beige carpet. Paul kneeled next to him, but didn’t bother to check for a pulse. The employment commissioner’s job was officially open. He stood to leave, but camera images from the NetCom caught his eye.

What the hell?

Lara spotted the white car she’d seen Blondie driving. It was parked on the corner of Frontier. Fuck! The shooter was probably in the house. She turned to the cameraman, still following her.

“Get video of that white Toyota.”

She drew her Kel-Tec and ran down the sidewalk, grateful no civilians were out and about. Sweat dripped from her face as she sprinted. She remembered Morton had a gate on his driveway and she expected it to be closed. If Blondie was on the property, she couldn’t waste a second. Lara sprinted across the neighbor’s lawn and vaulted over the short hedge separating the yards. She stumbled as she hit the ground, then caught herself. Lara raced across the grass to the front door and found it locked. She turned and sprinted toward the back and saw the cameraman coming through a break in the hedge.

“Stay back!” She hoped he would listen. She didn’t want another innocent getting killed.

Lara rounded the back corner of the house and only slowed when she reached the door. She had to be careful now. Blondie was inside somewhere. She turned the knob, kicked the door open, and barged in with her weapon extended. To her left was a massive kitchen; the right side opened into a soft, beige family room. The space was eerily quiet.

Lara spotted the body on the floor. Fuck! She moved sideways toward the victim, keeping her eyes and weapon on the rest of house. Where the hell was Blondie? Still watching for the shooter, she kneeled, glanced at the victim’s head. It was Morton, and his brains were leaking on the floor. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! She’d failed to get here in time. She stood, not sure what to do next. Where the hell were the police?

A noise in the backyard made her jump. She spun around and through the picture window saw Nick. The camera was still on his shoulder and he was talking to someone on his iCom while he filmed. She motioned him to stay out.

Movement on the desk monitor caught her eye. She stared at the images in the square frame, seeing live footage of a large room with no windows. A basement. A teenaged boy and a girl sat on a bed with only a stained white sheet covering it. They were naked and chained to the wall by thick metal ankle brackets. Blondie kneeled next to the boy, examining his ankle lock. Lara drew in a breath so sharp it hurt. What kind of sickness was going on here?

Where was the room? It had to be somewhere in the house. She ran for the hall, looking for stairs going down. Dear god, Thaddeus Morton was a sexual predator! Was that why Blondie was after him? Lara felt ill. She’d given up the Gauntlet trying to save a piece of scum. The kids could still be in danger though. Blondie was a killer.

Lara charged into a bedroom, looking for a doorway and finding only a luxurious master bath. She ran into the second bedroom and found only exercise equipment. Rushing back into the main open area, she scanned the two living spaces. Nothing that looked like it could be a secret door.

Nick stood near the French doors, filming her and the house.

“Get out! The shooter is still here!”

She charged past him into the kitchen and spotted a swinging pantry entrance. At the back of the ten-foot room was a shelf the width of a door. The shelf had swung out, revealing stairs behind it. An overhead light illuminated the carpeted steps leading into the basement. Lara paused. Blondie was down there with a gun and two kids. She had to be careful. She stepped through the opening and started down the stairs. She turned at the landing and pressed her back to the inside wall. From there, she could see into the first half of the sparse room.

Moving slowly, Lara descended into the basement. The cement walls had been painted white and the light over the bed was stunningly bright. Better for the cameras, she realized. The scenario sickened her. Was the setup just for the commissioner’s sick pleasure or were perverts around the world watching this depravity?

Lara stepped into the room and aimed her weapon at the killer. With his back to her, he stood in front of the dark-haired boy. The girl-bone-thin with tiny breasts and long sandy hair-was on the other side of the mattress. Blondie’s gun lay on the bed next to the boy.

Lara took a step closer. She had no way to drop Blondie without hitting the boy. Oh fuck. How could she be in this situation again?

“Put your hands in the air and move away from the bed.”

Blondie snatched his gun from the mattress and whirled around, aiming it at Lara. “You again,” he said, giving her a creepy smile. “I’m kind of glad you’re here.”

Lara took that to mean he planned to kill her and she’d made it easy. She either had to pull the trigger now and take him down or talk him into surrendering. But she couldn’t risk killing the boy, which left only once choice. “What’s your name?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Blondie’s expression softened. “Can you help me get these kids free? I can’t leave them like this.”

Lara eased closer. “Why don’t you surrender? Morton deserved to die, so you’re not in much trouble there. But if you kill me, the whole world will know. There’s a cameraman upstairs who’ll soon be on his way down. The police are coming too.” Lara was certain of the former but not the latter.

Blondie’s eyes darted around the room, as if looking for an escape.

Lara willed him to move two feet in either direction, but he stood his ground, confused and shaky.

“I’ll let you go,” she promised. “Just get away from the kids, go up the stairs, and run for the front door. The camera guy is in the back and won’t see you.” She would keep her promise, not wanting to ever shoot anyone again. The police were coming and they would catch the guy.