Kelley Armstrong - Exit Strategy

They hadn’t blamed him for the Chicago killing. That had been his free swing. Then he’d had his entire team on a train to California…and the killer took a victim in Nebraska. Strike one. So he’d pulled them back into the investigation, and sent a skeleton crew to organize security at the West Virginia parade. And the killer had not only shown up in West Virginia, but left an eyewitness who just up and walked away. Strike two. He had twenty-four hours to produce that witness. If not…strike three.

Now he had a shot at getting her. That would redeem him, for a while. But if he could go all the way? Bring down the Helter Skelter killer? That would hit the ball out of the park, home run, bases loaded…safe forever. He could ride the wave for a few more years in the bureau, retire with full pension, maybe even tour the lecture circuit.

The bell over the café door tinkled. He glanced up. In walked an older woman. White-haired, elegantly groomed, the country club type. He was about to look away when she caught his gaze…and headed straight for him.

Goddamn it. She’d recognized him. And now she was coming over to tell him what a horrible job he was doing, and someone had to catch this criminal and, in her day, by God, they would have nabbed him after the first murder, if not before-

The woman dropped something onto the table. The garrote wire. He looked up at her, his mouth open, but nothing coming out. She took the seat opposite his and shrugged out of her coat.

He looked down at the wire.

“It’s clean,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Yes, the boys wanted to leave the blood on it for you, but if you get blood in a silk pocket, it just never comes out.” She met his gaze. “You didn’t really think we’d leave our girl’s DNA all over it, did you?”

“Your girl?”

“Your witness?”

She was looking at him like he was an idiot. A twenty-year veteran, and he was gaping at a source like a rookie. He slapped down his mug hard enough to slosh coffee over the edge.

“Where’s my contact? If this is someone’s idea of a joke-”

“It’s someone’s idea of covering your ass, Dubois. You’re a public figure, in a public place…talking to a nice old lady. Probably calming her fears about this big bad killer. Even your boy in the corner is still busy watching the door for whomever you’re supposed to be meeting.”

He shifted in his seat. He had to take the upper hand-or at least find it.

“So who do you represent? I need to know who I’m-”

“A group of publicly minded individuals who’ve been chasing this madman for you. Protecting their…business interests.”

“What kind of business-?”

“What kind of business do you think your boy is in?”

“Who knows? Bunch of experts swear he’s-” Dubois stopped. “A professional kil-”

“Smart experts. And if he was a member of said profession, there would likely be other members of said profession more than a little annoyed with the heat he’s bringing down.” She looked at him. “Who better to stop a killer?”

“So who the hell are you?”

She smiled. “Their fairy godmother…and I just might be yours, too. Let me order a coffee and run a little business proposition past you.”

“So that’s it,” she said as she finished.

“And I somehow do all this without involving my team or my supervisors? This is the FBI, lady. I can’t wipe my ass without filling out a triplicate requisition for new toilet paper.”

She shrugged. “If it can’t be done, then we’ll find another way. Lure him in ourselves, take him down and notify the papers, telling them where to find the body-”

“Let me think about it.”

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something. No one said it would be easy, but the reward…” Another shrug. “Worth the cost, I’d say. If you need to involve someone else, one other person from your team, we understand that. Share the risk and share the glory-your decision.”

“You still haven’t told me the price. No, wait, let me guess. Prisoners. You want me to release some of your buddies we picked up while looking for this guy. Don’t bother asking, because I don’t have the kind of authority-”

“Keep them. If they’ve fucked up enough to get caught, that’s not our concern.”

He leaned back in his chair and studied her. “If it’s not prisoners, it must be amnesty. Your guys want a few ‘get out of jail free’ cards. Some old cases closed-”

“My boys don’t need free passes. Any cases you have on them have been shelved for lack of evidence and lack of interest. Let me save us both some time. We want one thing: this guy’s name removed from our ranks. Once he’s yours, he was never one of ours.”

He thought about that for a moment. “You mean you don’t want word of his former occupation getting out.”

“A simple request that will make things much tidier for us.”

He waited. She sipped her coffee.

“That’s it?”

An arched brow. “Well, I could ask for two hundred million, but I suspect the answer would be no. So that’s it. A fair and honest bargain, made in good faith. Do we have a deal?”

He hesitated, then nodded.

The press conference was scheduled for 4 p.m., and by two, the announcement was on every local radio and TV station, and probably half the stations across the country. If Wilkes wanted to know whether the Feds had found me yet, he’d be tuning in. If he hoped to make sure I wasn’t around for a police lineup or court case, he’d have stayed in town to take care of that…and would be at that press conference.

Evelyn, Felix and Quinn took off on their various tasks, making sure everything would run as smoothly as possible. Jack, Felix and I concentrated on the house. It was a row house in an area rife with student housing. As we’d seen with the Vegas condos, a row house limited access to the front and back, meaning Jack and Quinn could cover it. Student housing meant that it would either be near-vacant for homecoming, or there’d be parties nearby to cover any noise.

We searched the house from top to bottom and made a list of every possible entry point. Then we narrowed the list down to the most likely ones. The upstairs windows would be too difficult to get into, especially for a man approaching sixty. The basement one was too small. The best candidate was the patio door. The backyard was enclosed by a privacy fence, so once he was over that fence, he was out of sight.

We closed the vertical blinds so he could work on the patio door without being seen from inside. That also meant he couldn’t take a shot from outside-a bonus. We closed every blind in the house to solve that potential problem. Plus I’d be wearing body armor. That sounds a lot safer than it really is…a pro like Wilkes would know body armor was a possibility with a secured witness, and he’d aim for my head. But if he didn’t have a chance to aim, the armor would help.

We closed off every room that we didn’t need, and Jack applied something to the hinges so they’d squeak if the doors opened. With the shades drawn and doors all closed, the house was nearly dark, even at midday, and we moved furniture around, putting side tables in the halls, chairs just beyond doors, wrinkling area rugs, nothing that looked too out of place, but giving Wilkes things to bump into or trip over as he made his way through the house.

It would drive me crazy, having rumpled rugs and cock-eyed furniture, but if he stumbled or bumped something, it would be another way to let me know he was inside. We could have done more, rigged up an alert system of some sort, but if he found it, he’d know this was a trap.

Once the house was set, and I’d memorized the layout well enough to navigate in the dark, we ran through the plan, every variation of the plan, and every conceivable obstacle to the plan. Only when Jack was certain he’d left nothing unconsidered did he declare we were ready to bring in the others…and lunch.