Jan Burke - Nine

“Look out!” Alex yelled.

Everett quickly ducked to avoid being hit. “God damn it! Don’t!” he screamed.

“What the fuck do you think I can do about it?” Alex shouted, already swinging back toward him.

Everett ducked again and then quickly stood and tucked the gun into a holster at his hip. He planted his feet a little apart, grabbed onto one of the bell ropes, and as Alex came by this time, grabbed onto him. Alex felt the impact and Everett’s loss of balance, felt the young man’s strength as he used his grip on the other rope and Alex’s body to both halt the sway and prevent himself from tumbling over. They tottered back and forth together for what seemed to Alex an eternity. When they finally came to a halt, he was so dizzy, the room still seemed to spin. He clamped down on an urge to vomit. Everett stepped away from him and looked into his reddened face.

“Have a headache yet? Maybe I should kick you in the face for almost knocking me over.” He glanced up.

Alex lifted his head and saw a camera. The red recording indicator light was on. He thought of the videotape from Oaxaca.

Everett pulled a knife from his military-style belt. Alex felt himself go cold. Terrified of the style of torture he had seen inflicted on Everett’s other victims, he considered trying to disarm Everett. Everett had been cautious until now, but he was now within range of Alex’s hands, and Alex might be able to do it. But unless he killed Everett with one blow, Everett was likely to be able to recover a weapon, and Spooky and Chase would remain in danger. Or he might knock Everett onto one of the pressure devices. He prayed that Kit, who had been smart enough to see the trap, would somehow set them free before Everett blew them all to hell. Or before Everett decided to play surgeon with him.

Everett grabbed hold of Alex’s jacket and cut it off of him in a few swift strokes. The knife was sharp. He did the same with his shirt. Alex tried to keep himself still, but when Everett grabbed hold of his belt, he brought his fists up hard toward Everett’s groin.

Everett anticipated it just in time, shoving Alex away from him so that the blow landed on his thigh. Still, he doubled over in pain, his face twisted in anger.

“You stupid asshole!” he shouted as Alex began to swing wildly again. “You stupid fucking asshole!”

Alex closed his eyes. Even if he managed, as he had hoped, to grab onto Everett before he fell onto any of the sandbags, what good would it have done? If Everett took his time killing him, maybe that would allow Kit to get reinforcements here to save Spooky and Chase. The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed that Kit would try to reach the former soldiers who guarded his house-genuine soldiers, not boys playing dress-up like Everett-to help them. He had to keep his head until then and not put Spooky and Chase at risk.

Everett grabbed him roughly and brought the swinging to a halt again. Alex tried to prepare himself for what was to come, to put himself mentally far away. He thought of his last climb, of conquering the hardest part of it, of clinging by his fingertips and nearly nonexistent toeholds. Then he heard a chime and the steady rolling of the next silver ball, and was back in the tower.

But instead of threatening him with the knife, Everett started to set up the stepladder, carefully placing it on marks that Alex could now see beneath him. Everett wiped his hands nervously and again glanced at his watch. He grabbed one of the bell ropes, then looked undecided. It occurred to Alex that he had not planned to be alone when he did this. “Cameron was the rock climber,” he said.

Everett frowned, then climbed down, folded the ladder, and set it on the floor. He stood behind Alex and took hold of Alex’s belt at the back, placed a booted foot on the chain of the handcuffs, and pressed down, so that Alex’s already strained joints felt an even harder pull. His shoulders and elbows were on fire. Alex opened his mouth and exhaled hard, trying not to groan or make a sound that would distress Chase or Spooky. He heard the knife leave the sheaf again, and sweat began stinging his eyes. He felt the prick of the blade between his shoulders, a small, burning cut.

“A little deeper and you could spend the last hour of your life being paralyzed-you understand?” Everett said. “So don’t go talking to me about what I can and cannot do. I can do what I want.”

Alex felt a trickle of blood dampening the hair on the back of his head. He stayed silent.

Everett lifted his foot away and released his hold. He quickly made his way back over the sandbags. Alex tried but couldn’t see the pattern of his steps.

Everett suddenly seemed distracted, as if he had heard a noise. He frowned and pulled the gun out again. He aimed it directly at Alex as he moved nearer to the door and opened it. He stood on the threshold, listening.

Alex heard the same sound Everett must have heard a moment before. Gunfire.

Malibu, California

Thursday, May 22, 9:09 P.M.

“Hold it,” Ciara said.

Meghan stood still. She had heard it, too. A faint sound near the baseball dugout. Ciara had decided not to walk out into the open space between the baseball diamond and the woods until she searched among the buildings for any sign of Kit. They watched Everett take Alex into the bell tower, but otherwise hadn’t seen or heard anything. Until now.

Kit, don’t come any closer, Meghan thought.

Ciara waited and listened. She pushed Meghan ahead a little, then shouted, “Kit Logan!”

They heard another sound-this one just to their left. Ciara turned toward it, pointing the gun. Meghan launched herself at the other woman, knocking her over. The gun went off. Meghan landed sprawled over the upper half of Ciara’s body-Ciara was pinned beneath her, her head beneath Meghan’s shoulder, but she still had the gun. She was trying to point it back at Meghan but seemed to realize she wouldn’t be able to get a clear shot.

Meghan, her hands still cuffed behind her, struggled to remain on top of Ciara, who began trying to roll over. If she did, Meghan knew, she’d be able to shoot the gun, and there wouldn’t be much of anything she could do about it.

She heard a loud thud, the sound of someone jumping down from somewhere, and then there was another combatant adding his weight to hers and grabbing Ciara’s gun hand. Meghan couldn’t make out much in the darkness, but she knew it was a man. She saw him take hold of Ciara’s wrist and try to peel her fingers away from the weapon with the other hand. Not like that! Meghan wanted to shout.

Ciara pushed hard, and Meghan felt herself rolling off. Ciara struggled to aim the gun at her despite being kicked by both Meghan and the man. Suddenly, Ciara was free of Meghan. Ciara launched herself toward her male attacker as Meghan kicked out again, her foot connecting hard with Ciara’s knee, causing her to lose her balance.

The gun went off again.

She heard Ciara moan, then fall still.

“Meghan?”

Gabe. Meghan tried to make the loudest sound she could with the gag on.

“Sorry. Forgot you were gagged.”

He pushed Ciara over, leaving the gun behind, and hurried to free Meghan from the gag.

“Gabe! Oh, Gabe-is she dead?”

He nodded.

“You’re sure?”

He went back to the still form and felt for a pulse.

“Yes, she’s dead. I guess I’m really in trouble now.”

“No, no-get the handcuff key from her pants pocket. Hurry! We’ve got to help Kit and those kids.”

“I thought they said Kit was dead.”

“You heard that?”

He was searching for the key. He paused. “Meggie, is it true?”

“I don’t know. I think Detective Brandon wanted Everett to think that, but I don’t know if it’s true.” She swallowed hard. “I don’t want it to be.”