J. Black - The Shop

He went quietly into the dark house. The rain was loud, even from inside.

The operative almost blundered right into him. Landry saw his bulk, slightly darker in the half-light of the hallway, and stepped into the doorway of the room off the hall. The man sensed movement and crouched, pulling his knife and plunging it into Landry’s side.

By that time Landry had his hands around the man’s throat and broke his neck.

The man slumped, legs spread out in front of him. Landry’s wrist hurt so badly he sank to his knees afterward, seeing little yellow dots against a sea of darkness.

The knife’s blade had bounced off his Kevlar vest but grazed his armpit, and he could feel the blood leaking. Not serious, but it stung. He tore off his assailant’s watch cap and shoved it hard against the flesh under his arm, holding it there for what seemed like an eternity.

The man’s portable comm crackled. It was Cardamone. Landry thought about asking Cardamone’s position, but he didn’t think he could fake the voice. If the other op was near, he sure as hell didn’t want to give away his location.

Two down, he thought. Five to go? Five, or maybe just three. He hoped it was three.

He was getting tired of the carnage.

He was getting just plain tired.

Landry hoped Jolie had taken the family down into the tunnels. Although Cardamone knew about the tunnels, and he surely knew about the three entrances, it was still their best chance. Like trying to kill a gopher in that old arcade game. Whac-A-Mole. Hit him here, he pops up there. Mole or a gopher? He realized his mind was wandering, he was getting a little off-kilter. It was the pain. He cradled his wrist against his other elbow, realized he needed to clear his head. Had to move this guy, now.

He dragged the man through the doorway into the small bedroom and into the closet. Closed the door quietly. Listened. Nothing but the rain drumming on the roof. Could hear his heart beating, the quickening inside him as he got closer to his goal.

What he wanted was Cardamone.

His eyes adjusting more to the light, he now concentrated on another sense: his hearing. Try as he might, Landry could not hear the helo.

He guessed that Cardamone had touched down somewhere, met up with the SUV. Or maybe a boat. He guessed this was the endgame.

He made his way slowly through the house—no one inside. Came out by the pool. The rain was coming in gusts now, blowing into his face. Sharp as needles. It seemed to wake him up, and he realized his mind had started to wander again. It was the wrist. The wrist was driving him crazy.

Landry had to discipline himself, remember his training. He made his way to the pool house, to the closet and down the steps into the tunnel.

61

Feeling her way through the tunnel, Jolie kept the H & K semiauto at her side. She would have to allow for the long sound suppressor screwed onto the barrel. Fortunately, the sights on the USP were raised to go with a silencer.

Abruptly, she was aware of cool air blowing in her way.

From a door opening and closing?

She waited, listening for something—anything. Footsteps, breathing, the sound of rubbing clothing. Nothing.

But with her eyes adjusted, she could see a mass of darkness inside the larger darkness. Familiar—at least she thought it was familiar. The shape. She held up her flashlight—left hand—and pointed the H & K with her right. “Who’s there?”

“It’s me, Cyril.”

Her legs were rubbery. “Cyril.”

“Don’t whisper,” he said. “Talk. But keep it low.”

“Are they out there?”

“Yes. Pretty soon they’ll look in the tunnel. You might be able to get them on the Hinckley.”

“What about the helicopter? Wouldn’t they shoot at us?”

“I can divert them.”

Jolie said nothing. He would help her or he wouldn’t. As glad as she was that he was here, she reminded herself that they had different goals. He wanted to kill Mike Cardamone. He also wanted to kill her uncle, Franklin. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about the rest of the people here. She needed to keep that in mind.

They straggled up to the boathouse.

Cyril left them.

“What’s he doing?” demanded Riley.

“Making sure it’s safe for us to go,” Jolie said.

Riley leaned against her father, and Franklin gently ran his fingers through her hair. He looked beaten down. He mourned Grace, but it was even more than that. Jolie sensed he knew he was not getting out of this alive.

She wanted to tell him she would get them all out of here. But the words stuck in her throat. She wasn’t so sure. She felt—it was a very strong feeling—that Franklin was doomed.

You don’t know that .

Jolie looked at Frank, the way he kept running his hand over his daughter’s hair. The way he stared into space, seeing nothing. As if the only thing holding him to earth was the repetitive movement of his hand on his daughter’s hair.

Jolie had never really given much credence to blood ties. In fact, she’d despised her mother’s side of the family. But now she realized that the Haddoxes, for all their wealth, all their power, all their connections, were just people who made mistakes. They were a mixture of good and bad and smart and stupid like everybody else. Like her, they were trapped by their own circumstances. Wealthy, yes, but unhappy. She was surprised at how unhappy they were.

Her studious avoidance of the Haddoxes, her attempts to render them insignificant, had in fact yielded the opposite effect. Instead of reducing their influence on her life, she’d made them loom large. The Haddoxes defined her view of wealth and power and set her on the path of outsider. She had made them larger than they really were.

Their absence had shaped her—

Until she met Kay.

She looked at Kay, at Zoe. They too were silent, but they hadn’t disconnected. Behind Zoe’s eyes was a lively intelligence. The two of them were still here, still hopeful. Jolie felt a surge of pride. Kay would be that way.

“I’m sorry,” Franklin said to his daughter. “I’m so sorry for all of this.”

“I miss her so much!” Riley said.

Jolie had thought he didn’t really love his daughter, but now she saw otherwise. She thought Frank was stroking his daughter’s hair because he wanted that to be the memory he took with him. If he didn’t come out of this alive, he wanted his last moments to be real. He’d lost a wife today, but he still had Riley.

“Jolie,” Kay said.

“Yes?”

“Do you think we’re going to get out of here?”

Jolie lied. “Yes, I think we will.”

Their chances got a whole lot worse in the next few minutes. Cyril reached her by walkie-talkie with the news. “They disabled the Hinckley’s engine. There’s no way to fix it here.”

Jolie wondered if he was lying. She knew he wanted to keep control of them, particularly Franklin. But he’d likely tape them up and leave them—not play mind games.

“What now? You said they have a boat. Can’t we take that?”

“It’s possible.”

He sounded distracted. This bothered her even more, because she realized how much she depended on him. She had no way of understanding his motives, but she’d come to respect his ability.

She walked deeper into the tunnel so the others wouldn’t overhear. “What’s going on? Just what are we dealing with?”

He told her there could be as few as three left or as many as eight. This shocked her.

“Two of them are dead.”

Just two?

For perhaps the hundredth time, Jolie felt the same odd feeling that they were all disconnected from reality. “What now?”