Jeff Abbott - Fear

‘I’ll come back with Frost,’ he said.

‘Yeah, great,’ she said as he shut the door.

Celeste stood at the window and watched him go. Then she went back inside and stood over Nathan, curled in quiet sleep. Gently she touched his cheek, as if to reassure herself that he was still there. Then she found Edward Wallace’s address in the phone book and wrote a note for Nathan. She put it by his bedside and he opened his eyes and reached out and grabbed her arm.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

‘I’m going to help Miles.’

‘No, Celeste. Stay.’ His voice was quiet; not jagged.

‘Let go of my arm, Nathan.’

He didn’t. ‘You need to stay. This is over now, Celeste, and you’ll be safe.’

‘What do you mean?’ She tried to free her arm; Nathan tightened his grip.

‘I did it for all of us. He’ll be here soon.’

‘What have you done-’ She wrenched free from him, hit him in the chest, spun for the door. She opened it and saw Groote – the man from Santa Fe – running toward the room from the motel office, his eyes lasered on hers. She slammed the door, fumbled to engage the chain lock, missing, and then Groote powered against the door with all his muscle and fury and she landed hard on the worn carpet.

He leveled a gun at Celeste’s head.

Nathan threw himself at Groote, and Groote whipped the pistol hard across Nathan’s face, cutting his cheek. He kicked Nathan, pile-driving him onto Celeste.

Groote closed the door, threw the dead bolt, aimed the gun at them.

‘Hi, Nathan. Don’t light any fires. Nice to see you again, Mrs. Brent. Don’t scream.’ His smile chilled Celeste’s skin. ‘We need to talk.’

Edward Wallace’s windows needed a scrubbing. The sides of the bungalow cried for a fresh coat of paint. But a gleaming Mercedes stood in the driveway, at odds with the tumbledown air of the home. Not a home; just a house where someone lived.

Miles remembered Allison’s neat tidiness; he couldn’t picture her at this house. But then, she’d lived a lie; he didn’t know the real Allison at all.

Miles went up to the porch, knocked. He heard a shuffle of footsteps; the door opened a crack. Miles saw a sliver of face: blue eye, blond hair, unshaven cheek.

‘Mr. Wallace?’

‘It’s Doctor.’

‘My apologies. Doctor Wallace. We need to talk.’

‘I don’t believe in God or fund raisers.’ He shut the door.

Miles leaned forward, spoke low against the door frame. ‘Allison sent me. Or I guess you call her Renee.’

Four beats of silence. Then the door opened.

Edward Wallace matched the picture of the man in the wedding photo; tall with a thin, intellectual face and the lean build of a marathon runner. He held a sleek automatic pistol in his hand, aimed at Miles’s stomach. It trembled in his grip.

‘Who are you?’

‘Miles Kendrick. I knew your wife. At least, I thought I did.’

Edward Wallace bit his lip. ‘You’re the federal witness.’

Miles kept his surprise off his face. ‘Allison told you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Would you mind pointing your friend away from me, Doctor Wallace?’

Wallace lowered the gun. ‘I would have missed. I don’t know anything about guns.’

‘I have about a thousand questions for you,’ Miles said.

‘Well, I have only one answer. You and I are both dead men,’ Wallace said, ‘unless we help each other.’

‘You gave me a chase, man.’ Groote knelt down near Nathan, keeping the gun firmly aimed at Celeste’s head. ‘Now. No more fighting, okay? It only hurts us both.’

Nathan’s mouth trembled. ‘No. No.’

‘Thinking about the time we spent together?’ Groote said. ‘I don’t enjoy hurting people. But no pain for you, no gain for me. Talk to me, and I won’t get out Mr. Screwdriver again. At least not on you.’ He grabbed Celeste, who had wriggled free from under Nathan.

‘Don’t,’ Nathan said. ‘Don’t hurt her.’

‘Then help me, Nathan.’ He ran the gun barrel along the top of Celeste’s new haircut. ‘But I want to know where Frost and Miles Kendrick are.’

‘Miles is gone,’ Celeste said before Nathan could answer.

‘Where?’

‘To get Frost,’ Celeste said.

‘You’re cooperative, Mrs. Brent,’ Groote said.

Celeste swallowed. ‘I don’t want you to shoot us.’

‘When will he be back?’

‘An hour. Not sure,’ Celeste said.

‘You were in a tear-ass hurry to leave when you came out of the door,’ Groote said. ‘I heard you loved the great indoors.’

‘Nathan works my last nerve,’ she said.

‘He has that effect,’ Groote said. ‘But you’re working my nerve. You people chose the wrong guy to screw with-’

The phone rang.

‘Let it be,’ Groote ordered.

‘If it’s Miles,’ she said quietly, ‘he’ll expect me to answer. He’ll wonder where we are. I don’t answer, he’ll be on his guard.’

Groote shoved her toward the phone. ‘Answer it. You warn him, I put a bullet in Tin Soldier.’ He grabbed Nathan’s hair, jerked the young man close to him, jabbed the gun hard against Nathan’s temple.

She picked up the phone. ‘Yes?’ She could not believe how calm her voice was.

No answer. She could hear breathing on the opposite end of the line.

‘Yes, we’re fine,’ she said, not wanting to say, Yes? again, wondering, Why doesn’t Miles speak?

‘Is Groote there?’ a voice she didn’t recognize said. A man’s voice, with the barest hint of a Boston accent.

‘Yes,’ she said again.

The line ended. ‘All right, Miles, good-bye.’ She hung up.

‘What did he say?’ Groote said.

‘Letting me know how the search is going.’

‘For Edward Wallace.’

‘Yes. But Wallace isn’t at home. Miles is going to wait for him, bring back food when he’s done.’ She sat down on the bed. Her skin prickled. What the hell was that call, who was that man? ‘We haven’t eaten for hours.’

‘Poor you.’ Groote scratched at the bandage covering his broken nose. ‘I saw you on Castaway. My wife loved that show. I know you can be a tricky bitch.’

‘I played fair and square.’ She couldn’t believe the sudden anger in her voice.

‘Whatever. Your face is known. You’re going to be a problem for me.’

Terror filled her. Now that Groote believed Miles would soon return with the precious Frost, he would have no use for her or Nathan. He wasn’t going to let her out of this room. His gun wore a silencer and his hands were big enough to crush her throat. His eyes, smudged with exhaustion, over the grimy nose bandage, regarded her without mercy.

She could not sit in this grubby room and wait to die, not again, waiting, choked with fear, for a man to walk through those doors and watch him be murdered. Not again.

‘Why are you doing this?’ Nathan asked Groote.

‘My boss wants his property back,’ Groote said. He prodded Celeste with the gun. ‘You. Tell me. Does it work?’

‘What?’ She looked up from her lap.

‘Frost. Does it work?’

‘Why would you care?’

‘Just curious.’ His voice was flat but she saw heat fire his eyes at her question.

‘You mean does Frost work, so is it worth it to kill us? Well, I’m too scared to tell you.’ She put a waver in her voice. ‘If the panic hits me, I start screaming.’

‘No screaming,’ Groote said in a harsh bark. ‘You scream, you die.’

She shoved her palms against her mouth, pretending to stifle a shriek. Two deep breaths and she lowered her hands. ‘I need… my medicine. Please.’

Groote said, ‘Forget it. Just shut up and sit there.’