John Miller - Smoke and Mirrors

Okay, Alexa thought, as she watched Hamp in his pajamas and magician’s cape slip from the bed, cross the floor carefully, kneel behind her, and start untying the cord knots on the cuffs. Seconds later, she brought her hands through and looked gleefully at the cuffs as she untied her ankles. Hamp reached to the lowest shelf, put something in the pocket of his pajama shirt, and released his sister. She slowly sat up.

Alexa managed to untie the cord around her ankles and stood. Hamp reached out, touched her wrists, took a bent paper clip from his pocket, and in three or four seconds, opened her handcuffs. He bowed again and tossed the impromptu key onto the bed.

Alexa motioned to the children to stay in their places and moved to the window. She heard a door close downstairs and looked out the window, which she unlocked and slowly opened. Looking out through the sleet, she saw headlights approaching from about half a mile away. She knew she had to move fast. The porch roof angled gently away from the house, and she decided that it hadn’t yet collected enough ice to prevent an escape down the trellis, which she believed would support their weight. She turned to the children and beckoned them to move toward her. She turned back, slipped out of the window, and found herself face-to-face with a dark figure standing on the porch roof. A firm, wet hand covered her mouth to keep her from screaming.

“It’s okay, Lex,” Winter whispered.

She saw the headlights of the Jeep that was stopped beside the cruiser.

Alexa climbed outside and Winter handed her his coat. As he climbed carefully and silently into the room, gun in hand, Alexa saw the aluminum bat in Hamp’s hands. When he realized there was no danger, he lowered it from a striking position and set it on the bed. He handed his sister a parka that had been hung on his bedpost by its hood.

She whispered to Winter, “Styer killed Roy and the other deputy. And he said there’s a remotely triggered bomb planted downstairs in the basement.” The children climbed out carefully to join her in the freezing rain.

Winter grabbed the bat and told her, “Be careful, it’s slippery. Get the kids down the road to the cruiser. Tell Leigh not to stop until she gets them to Brad’s office. Help’s on the way out. I’ll throw the bat downstairs when I find Styer.”

“He’s disguised as Dr. Barnett.”

“We know,” Winter said. “Brad figured his father knew Ruger is a she.”

After Winter made sure Alexa and the Gardner children were on the ground, he slipped rapidly down the rear service steps and peered into the kitchen, where the tip of a silencer was visible under an open tabloid on the table. He saw what appeared to be a wide blood smear leading to a utility room, but he couldn’t take time to look further. Roy Bishop and the other deputy were dead, and most likely Estelle was too.

With the cocked Reeder.45 in hand, safety off and armed with hollow-points, Winter looked down the hallway and moved back out of sight behind the door to the den. By looking at the mirror on a coat tree, Winter could see down the hallway to Styer standing near the front door. Although he knew Styer’s gun was in the kitchen, he figured the professional was armed and that the smaller gun was a backup.

Winter took his cell phone out and waited to press SEND until he was ready. Brad had given him his cell phone with the doctor’s number already keyed in as a way to talk to Styer if it became necessary.

When Styer took out the phone, Winter stepped out thirty feet behind him and aimed at Styer’s head. He assumed since Styer was wearing a coat inside the house he was wearing a ballistic vest under it.

Winter had a clean shot, and a bullet fired from the Reeder would blow a large hole in the mass murderer’s head. He had pictured this moment for years, and he knew he should kill Styer now like the mad dog he was. Winter, standing there, with Styer unaware and empty-handed, could not squeeze the trigger, the reality was so abhorrent.

“Hands behind your head, Styer!” Winter yelled out. “Now!”

“You going to arrest me, Deputy Massey?” Styer asked calmly. “Or shoot me in the back?”

Styer sprang through the living room door, leaving Winter wondering if he’d just made the last mistake of his life.

From behind a tree, a scoped AR-15 at the ready, Brad watched the figures of Alexa, Cyn, and Hamp leave the cover of the bushes and run down toward the cruiser and the Jeep. The young deputy sheriff who’d been at the roadblock was behind another tree on the opposite side of the yard, armed with a riot gun.

Brad used a flashlight to set the deputy in motion, and then ran to cover the rear of the house from the southwest corner as Winter had said he should. Winter had told them not to enter until he signaled that it was safe to do so, and to shoot Styer down if he left the house. Winter had wanted a clean area of operation where the only other person moving around inside the house would be Styer.

Help was on the way, but the cruisers and EMS were to keep their blue lights off until Brad told them to move up to the house. All he told them was that a killer was impersonating his father.

The deputy outside with the shotgun had been certain that the man in the truck was Dr. Barnett. Now, with Alexa and the children out successfully and all four sides of the house covered from opposite corners, all they had to do was sit tight and wait.

If Brad got a shot at Styer, he would take it, but firing at his father’s image, even if the man had probably killed his father, wasn’t going to be easy. He sincerely hoped Winter would make that unnecessary.

Brad heard a series of shots fired rapidly inside the house, and clicked off his safety. Watching the kitchen window, he saw a shadow move quickly past the glass. A few seconds later, the interior of the house was plunged into darkness. Styer had thrown the main breaker.

Winter knew styer could be anywhere in the rooms that extended along the north side of the house. He had positioned himself at the end of the main hallway where he could see from the front door to the back and down the service hall. With his back to the den door at the base of the service stairs leading up to the second floor, he had Styer hemmed into the north side of the house. If Styer went out through a window to flank his adversary, Brad or the deputy would be positioned at the house’s corners to get a clean shot at him.

With his.45 ready, Winter waited, listening for a floorboard to creak, a shadow from the lighted butler’s pantry, or Styer’s entry into the service hall. Styer suddenly appeared there, faced Winter with a gun in each of his hands, and began firing both at Winter as he moved into the kitchen. Reflexively, Winter rolled back out of the line of sight, but too late, he felt a dull push on his left thigh.

After Styer went in the kitchen, Winter reached down and brought up fingers slicked with his own blood. He could stand, because Styer’s bullet had made a through-and-through wound. Aside from the bleeding, the shot wouldn’t do anything but slow him down and leave a trail of large red drops.

He was about to change position to cover the back and the kitchen doors when he heard a sharp snap and the lights went out.

Winter slipped off his shoes, and with warm blood running down a leg that didn’t want to bear his weight, he started slowly up the rear service steps, holding on to the railing to steady himself.

An explosion followed by the sound of falling glass told him Styer had opened up with one of the handguns, firing at Brad through a window.

If Brad was down, Styer could get away, but Winter knew that fleeing while his arch enemy was alive was the last thing that Paulus Styer would do. Now he had an escape route, which he would use only after he was finished. Winter was going to make him work hard for a kill.