Iris Johansen - Dead Aim

Like the shadowy figure Alex had not been able to confirm.

He shinnied up the tree and went hand over hand up the branches until he reached the window.

The glass had been cut neatly out of the pane.

He swung silently from the branch to the windowsill and into the bedroom. The door was open. He drew his gun, moved to press against the wall beside the doorway, and waited.

No sound.

No, that wasn't true.

A groan?

He moved out into the hall.

No, more like a whimper.

He looked over the stair railing into the hall below.

He could dimly see a man lying on his back at the bottom of the stairs. Powers? A woman in a red blouse was crumpled at the end of the hall.

And maybe someone else waiting in the shadows for

Morgan to come down and be slaughtered? He hesitated. Only one way to find out. Throw some light on the subject. He hit the light switch on the wall and at the same time dropped to the floor, his gun aimed at the hall below.

Nothing. No movement. No sound.

He cautiously rose to his knees, his gaze on the end of the hall. He was a target. Not a good one, but enough to draw fire.

Nothing.

Powers whimpered again.

Take a chance. He had to get to Powers before the bastard died on him.

He jumped over the rail into the hall below and hit the ground running. No one in the kitchen. He turned and ran past the woman, toward the living room.

Empty.

He checked the woman as he passed her on the way back to Powers. Dead. Her throat had been cut. Messy. It had been hacked as if in a blind frenzy. He knelt beside Powers. There was a deep knife wound in his chest. "Save… me." Blood was bubbling out of his mouth.

"Don't let me die."

"Why should I?" Morgan asked. "What good are you to me?"

Powers looked up at him. "Morgan?"

He nodded. "Who did this to you?"

"Betworth… dirty fucking bastard. Sent Runne. Got him, though. Shot him in the head."

"If you got him, his body would be here."

"Shot him. I'm hurting… Call a doctor."

"When you tell me what I need to know. Where's Z-2?" "You son of a bitch, I'm dying."

"Then you'd better talk fast so that I can call 911. Where's Z-2?"

"Fuckin' bastard…" "Where is it?"

"West… Virginia. Not important… Z-3. Z-3…"

"And Z-3 is important? Not Z-2?"

"Z-2… It's all bunk-" He arched upward as agony struck him. "Son of a bitch. Screw him." Powers's eyes were glazing. "Screw Z-3."

Powers was rambling. Morgan went in another direction.

"What was happening in Fairfax?" "Vents… Fucking waste of time. Couldn't get… it right after we lost Lontana. Get… me… an ambulance."

"Who's Lontana?"

"Brazilian… Betworth gave all that money. Couldn't get it right." "Who's-" Powers was drifting off again. "What happened at Arapahoe Junction?" "Wrong side. Couldn't get it right. Lost Lontana." His hand was clenching. "Please… I don't want to die." "None of us does. Z-3. Listen to me. Tell me about Z-3 and

I'll call an ambulance."

"They'll get him there. No choice. Z-3…"

"What's happening?" Alex was standing at the front door, gun in hand. She moved into the room until she was beside Morgan.

"Powers…" she whispered.

Morgan ignored her, his gaze on Powers. "Where's Z-3?" He didn't answer. He was almost gone, dammit. Morgan's hand closed on his shirt. "Answer me. Where's Z-3?" "Kettle…" Powers's body stiffened and then convulsed. His mouth opened wide in a silent scream. It stayed open as life fled.

"He's dead…" Alex murmured. "Who-"

"Not me. Believe me, I'd have found out what I needed before I stuck a knife in him." He was going through Powers's pockets. "He was almost useless to me."

"I heard you tell him you'd call an ambulance if he told you about Z-3."

"I lied. He was a dead man the minute that knife entered his chest. But it gave me a hold to squeeze information out of him." He saw her expression and his lips twisted. "What else would you expect from me?"

"I don't know. He was… dying."

"Does that make him holy? He was bad news, and if he'd recovered he'd still be bad news. He deserved what Runne did to him. I was lucky Runne didn't do his usual excellent job and left me a little to work with."

"Runne. Is that who he said did this?"

He nodded as he jammed Powers's wallet in his jacket pocket and rose to his feet. "Let's get out of here. I don't think we have much time." He grabbed her arm and ran toward the kitchen door. "And why the hell are you here?"

"I told you I'd stay unless I saw something I didn't like. I saw someone run out the front door, blood all over his face. I didn't like that at all."

"I can see why you'd be disturbed. Where did he go?" "He ran down the street and around the corner. Runne?"

"Almost certainly."

"Well, you'll be able to be very certain after I get my film developed."

"You took his photo?"

"Hell, yes. I've regretted every minute that I didn't take Powers's picture at the dam instead of screaming like an id iot. I guarantee I didn't scream this time." She raced beside him across the yard and out into the alley. "Why don't we have much time?"

"Because the setup is too neat not to have a backup." He jerked open the car door. "We'll go back to the motel and grab our stuff. I'll call Galen and tell him to get us out of here. I don't believe the highways are going to be safe for us any where near this town." "And where do we go?"

He thought about it, quickly going over the few coherent bits Powers had given him. "West Virginia."

Christ.

Runne patted his bloody cheek with the T-shirt he'd taken off when he reached the car. He couldn't stop the blood. He could feel the hole… He'd ducked back and turned his head, or Powers's bullet would have blown his head off. Instead, the bullet had gone through his cheek and taken out part of his lip.

Damn squeaky stair. He'd tossed a slipper he'd found in the upstairs bedroom into the kitchen to draw Powers. Everything would have been fine if that stair had been

Excuses. He'd learned in training as a boy to never make excuses. The unexpected happened, and one had to make adjustments.

He'd made adjustments. He'd kept his deal with Betworth.

Powers couldn't have lived for more than a few minutes.

Morgan.

Anguish tore through him. He'd meant to remove Powers and his wife and be there in the house when Morgan found a way to get to Powers.

It might not be too late.

Find a doctor. Get the bleeding stopped. Then go back and wait until Morgan walked into the house.

Find a doctor…

"Powers and his wife are dead. We found Decker's body in the alley across the street," Jurgens said when Betworth picked up the phone. "No Morgan. No Graham. Runne must have screwed up."

"Runne did it?"

"Probably. You said he liked to work with a knife at close quarters. Decker's throat was slit, Powers had a knife wound in his chest, and his wife was pretty much butchered."

"Then there must have been a good reason why Runne didn't stick around to get Morgan. Maybe he's gone after him. How long has Powers been dead?"

"Not long. We sent a car by when he didn't call for his two hour check-in. What do you want us to do?" "Clean up the crime scene and get rid of Decker, Powers, and his wife. Then have a team stake out the house in case Morgan shows up."

"And?"

"Do I have to tell you everything? Make sure every car that leaves Terre Haute is stopped by the police."

"What do I tell them?"

"Anything. Just make sure they're stopped."

On the way back to the motel, the adrenaline was draining out of Alex and she had to clasp her hands tightly in her lap to keep from shaking. She'd been bombarded by too many sensations tonight. She couldn't forget the vision of Powers with his chest torn by that hideous knife wound and Morgan kneeling above him, tense, relentless, completely without pity.