William Bernhardt - Double Jeopardy

Curran was still fighting. Travis ran to help, but saw that Curran had things under control. He had managed to reverse positions with his attacker and was slamming the upper half of his head repeatedly against the brick fireplace. Even Curran was startled, though, when the next gunshot rang out. The bullet caught the man in the neck; he was dead instantly.

“What the—” Curran whirled around, trying to figure out what had happened. “Henderson!”

He was standing by the front door, a smoking gun in his hand.

“You killed them!” Travis said.

“Yeah, before they killed you.”

“Curran would’ve taken his man out soon.”

“Maybe. We couldn’t afford the risk. Or the delay.”

“Couldn’t you have … winged them or something?”

He ran the gun muzzle down the scar on his face. “The situation was getting out of control.”

“But surely—”

“Don’t give me a lot of crap, Byrne. Another second and you and the girl would’ve been dead meat.”

Travis bit his tongue. The man probably had saved his life. And this would be a poor time to spread dissension in the ranks. “How are you, Cavanaugh?”

Cavanaugh rubbed her neck. The imprint of her attacker’s boot was still visible, outlined in red. “Better than I was a few moments ago. Thanks, Henderson.”

“At least someone approves,” he grumbled.

“I didn’t say that,” Cavanaugh replied. “Don’t they show you how to throw a punch at Quantico?”

“My evaluation of the situation was—”

“I’m surprised the FBI allows you to just summarily execute people.”

“I’m authorized to take all necessary action in emergency situations.”

“Still, that was just cold-blooded—”

“Cut him some slack!” Curran barked. “It was a tense situation. He did the best he could. He saved your butts.”

“Yeah, although—”

“We don’t have time for this. Jack and Moroconi could be crawling out the fire escape. Let’s go upstairs.”

Travis still didn’t like it. Now a few more unnecessary deaths would be tallied under his name. But Curran was right—they had other tasks that took immediate precedence. Still, he didn’t want this loose cannon near Moroconi. At least not until Travis had a chance to talk to him.

“Look, Henderson,” Travis said, “we need someone to guard our rear. More thugs could show up at any moment. Reinforcements. Why don’t you take a position behind the trees outside the front door? If anyone else shows up, you can come in behind them.”

He frowned, obviously displeased.

“Not a bad idea,” Curran echoed. “We don’t all need to be upstairs with Moroconi. Do you mind?”

He took a long time before answering. “If that’s what you want me to do, that’s what I’ll do.”

“Good.”

Grudgingly, he walked out the door to find a safe position among the trees.

Travis recovered his multistrike weapon from where he had dropped it on the carpet. “All right, team. Let’s go meet the master of the house.”

Kramer chuckled as he lit a cigarette and pressed it between his lips. Who would’ve thought that shit-for-brains Curran would be the one to come to his defense? He was the only one who had acted remotely suspicious of him before, and now he’d bailed him out of a tight spot.

It pained Kramer to be associated with such bleeding-heart amateurs, even if he was just waiting for a chance to rub them all out. What fucking idiots. Bursting into a room they knew would be guarded and then trying to slug it out with a bunch of professional bodyguards. If it had been up to him, he would’ve used firebombs, would’ve blown the entire house sky high. And he would’ve been safely tucked away in the forest, watching the beautiful billows of fire illuminate the hillside.

Christ—he had come with them hoping to kill Byrne and he had ended up saving the man’s life! But it was too soon. He wanted Moroconi, and he couldn’t blow away Byrne until he was certain he had him. Besides, he had the persistent feeling that Curran was watching him, even as he fought.

He wasn’t thrilled about drawing guard duty, but if he had protested too much, they would’ve become suspicious. Actually, he reflected, this might work out for the best. Let those idiots find Moroconi, do all the risky stuff—and then deliver Moroconi into his hands. Yes, he realized, that was by far the most sensible plan of action.

After all, he could kill them anytime.

71

9:20 P.M.

TRAVIS AND CAVANAUGH STOOD outside the closed door at the top of the stairs. Curran made a quick sweep of the other upstairs rooms and found nothing. Unless their targets had somehow escaped, they were behind that door.

Travis pointed toward the hallway corner, just below the ceiling. “Security camera.”

Curran ignored it. “After a rollicking brawl and three gunshots, I have a hunch they know we’re here.” He gestured toward the door. “Shall we?”

Travis blanched. “What? Just open the door and stroll in?”

“What did you want to do? Sneak in through a ventilation shaft? You watch too much TV.” Curran placed his hand on the doorknob. “Ready?”

Travis braced himself. He glanced at Cavanaugh, who was standing just to his side. She crossed her fingers and smiled. What a trooper. At least he had his police experience to fall back on. She was untrained but unafraid, steeling herself to plunge into almost certain danger. Hard not to feel strongly about someone like that.

The door swung open and they rushed inside. Travis had half expected to be greeted with gunfire. Instead he heard nothing.

The room was totally dark. Travis literally could not see his hand when he held it before his face.

He sensed movement beside him. Curran was pushing forward, exploring the darkness.

“Freeze,” he heard a familiar voice say.

“Moroconi,” Travis said. “Is that you?”

“Guilty as charged. For once. Nice to see you again, counselor.”

See? Travis couldn’t see a thing.

“That’s right. I can see all three of you. You’re outlined in the doorway, in the light from downstairs. But you can’t see me, can you? What a goddamn pity.” He laughed in his customary revolting manner. “I guess that gives me kind of an advantage.”

“What’s this all about, Moroconi? Why did you attack those people at the West End? Why did you set me up?”

“Because you’re a self-righteous turd, Byrne. My mistake was leaving you eating gravel after I shook you off the back of my truck. I should’ve turned around and run over you five or six times.”

Travis heard just the slightest shuffling noise on his immediate left. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what Curran was doing. He was sliding his infrared glasses off his belt. Evening the score.

Travis tried to keep Moroconi distracted. “What about the list? Why did you have to drag me into that?”

Moroconi chuckled contemptuously. “You still haven’t figured it out, have you, Byrne? What a fool.”

“I was trying to help you, Moroconi. I still am. I haven’t resigned from the case. Turn yourself in and we’ll finish the trial. I promise I’ll do the best job for you I can.”

“Goddamn mouthpiece. You’ll say anythin’, won’t you? What do you take me for?”

Travis took a tiny step forward. “I’m serious—”

“Don’t move another step,” Moroconi warned. “If you do, I’ll blow your fuckin’ head off.”

Travis didn’t doubt it. He had successfully managed to distract Moroconi, though. Even in the darkness, Travis could tell Curran was strapping the glasses over his eyes.

“Did you have anything to do with kidnapping Staci?”

“Staci? Who the hell is she? What am I bein’ framed for now?”