Bad Guys Don't Win (Janet Maple Series Book 4) (18 page)

“We need to get help ASAP,” Dennis
grunted under Anton’s weight. “Can you carry her?” he asked Mila.

“I got it.” Mila bent down to heave Jess
up on her shoulder.

“You snake,” Jess whispered.

“Oh, shut up.” Mila pulled her up. “Save
your strength—you’ll need it.”

Dennis opened the door and moved as
quickly as he could into the dark hallway—Anton’s heavy body was slowing him
down. Mila followed him, dragging Jess on her shoulder. Baxter tiptoed behind
them.

“Which way do you think is out—left or
right?” Dennis whispered to Mila.

“I have no idea,” she panted back under
Jess’s weight.

“Let’s try right,” Dennis decided.

Just as they started to move, Baxter
barked and Dennis stopped, signaling to Mila to do the same. He listened
intently. There was a distant sound of footsteps heading in their direction.
Dennis propped Anton’s body against the wall and firmly grabbed the gun from
his back pocket.

With Anton back on his shoulder, Dennis started
to slowly move ahead. If there was going to be an ambush, he’d use Anton as a
shield, just as he’d done before. “Keep behind me,” he whispered to Mila over
his shoulder.

The footsteps grew louder and Dennis
tensed up. He wasn’t going to go down easily.

“Dennis Walker, Mila Brabec,” a male
voice called out, “we’re with Philip Barrett—we’re here to get you out.”

Dennis felt a wave of relief flood over
him and lowered his gun. The bearing and the voices of the silhouettes in the
hallway were nothing like those of the thugs who worked for the Kovars. These
were private contractors and they were there to get them out.

Within seconds the team had reached them
and started helping Dennis and Mila to their feet.

Dennis pointed at Jess. “This woman
needs urgent medical care. Her wound is serious.”

“You bastard,” Anton woke up from his
slumber, “you shot my Jessy. Let go of me,” Anton bellowed, as two muscled guys
picked him up as though he weighed less than a feather. “I’m not going to tell
you nothing.”

“You’re going to tell us everything,”
Dennis said. “And you’ll do it with a smile.”

Dennis could see the sunlight coming
through the open door. Maybe his eyes were playing a trick on him, but he
thought he saw a familiar outline. Once he saw that Mila was being taken care
of, he picked up Baxter from the ground and rushed toward the light, eager to
get to the familiar figure he thought he saw waiting for him.

“Janet,” he murmured, his legs almost
giving way beneath him.

“Dennis!” Her face lit up, as she flew
toward him.

“Ma’am, please stay back till we’ve
secured the area,” one of the contractors tried to stop her, but she ignored
him and moments later she was in Dennis’s arms.

“Dennis, you’re all right,” she
whispered, touching his face as though to make sure.

“I am,” he whispered. “Thanks to you.”

“And thanks to Baxter.”

Baxter barked, eager to receive credit.

Janet scratched Baxter’s ear. “You can
chew up as many toys as you’d like, buddy.”

“I’ll make sure he has a never-ending
supply.” Dennis laughed, tears of joy in his eyes. He held Janet tight,
inhaling the smell of her hair.

“Kiss me already,” she murmured.

“You forget—I was locked away for over
twenty four hours without any conveniences. I have a case of pretty bad
breath.”

“I don’t care,” she retorted, pressing
her lips against his.

“Now that’s real love,” he murmured.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

Dennis drew Janet close to him and did
as he was told. All his stupid doubts had vanished, and he knew he wanted
nothing more than to marry Janet and spend the rest of his life with her.

Anton Kovar straightened his jacket as
he walked toward Ed Pierce’s building. The FBI had provided him with a designer
suit made of shiny black cloth that only a kingpin or a pimp would wear. It was
too late to find another outfit, so Anton was stuck with the monkey suit. He
just hoped it wasn’t going to give him away. He’d been pumped full of drugs,
and while the pain in his shoulder had been temporarily put into submission,
his head felt heavy and groggy. The pin in his tie held a camera and a
microphone, both the size of a pencil eraser, camouflaged behind a fake
sapphire stone. He’d been told that Pierce would never spot it. In fact, there
was no reason for Pierce to get suspicious unless Anton gave himself away. He’d
been told to act naturally—easy for the FBI bureaucrats to say—they weren’t the
ones facing the prospect of being boiled alive or some other sick death Pierce
might envision if Anton was discovered. As scared as he was, Anton had taken
the deal. In exchange for a reduced sentence for him and complete immunity for
Jess, he’d promised to provide incriminating evidence on Pierce. The FBI agents
were on standby, listening in through the bug planted in Anton’s tie pin, ready
to move in at a moment’s notice and arrest Pierce once they had the evidence
they needed. At least that’s what they had promised and Anton sincerely hoped
it was the truth.

Anton waited for the door to open and
was greeted by his cousin, Vladimir, as servile as ever.

“Are you feeling all right, Anton?
You’re looking a little pale,” Vladimir noticed. “I have a wonderful herbal
potion my mother gave me—”

“I’m fine,” Anton cut him off. “I got a
lot on my mind, that’s all.”

“Of course, I understand. Uncle Petr and
Mr. Pierce are already here. I’ll take you over to them.”

Anton followed Vladimir down the
corridor, doing his best to act naturally. Despite the painkillers, the pain in
his shoulder started to return, but he forced himself to ignore it and
soldiered on.

“Here we are,” said Vladimir, opening
the door to the same room where Pierce had held court the day before. As
before, Pierce’s bodyguards flanked the room entrance, but weren’t allowed
inside. Pierce considered matters discussed with the Kovars to be too private
for their ears—an omission that was going to play into Anton’s hands. At least
he’d have a few extra seconds before Pierce’s bodyguard gorillas would burst
through the door and dismember him should things go south.

After closing the door behind him,
Vladimir humbly took a seat on a chair in the far corner of the room.

Anton slowly walked inside and took
stock of the surroundings. This time there was no bottle of Becherovka or
herring on the large wooden table and the faces were much more somber. Anton
was somewhat relieved by the absence of Becherovka—he wasn’t sure it would’ve
agreed with all the painkillers he’d consumed and the thought of herring was
enough to turn his stomach. The somber faces, however, instantly set off an
internal alarm.

Edward Pierce was seated behind the
table with Petr to his right. Anton’s brother Roman sat next to Uncle Petr.
Marshal Burke was there also, seated to Pierce’s left.

“Anton, finally! We were starting to get
worried,” his Uncle Petr greeted him and kissed him on both cheeks.

Anton smiled and didn’t say a thing—he
wasn’t even late, but he knew better than to contradict his uncle.

“Have a seat.” Petr motioned to a seat
next to Roman—it wasn’t Anton’s regular seat, which had always been next to
Uncle Petr, but again Anton didn’t argue.

He nodded and took the seat he was
given, feeling all eyes focused on him. Anton took a long last look at his
family—what he was about to do would be considered a great betrayal and would
dishonor his name forever, but he didn’t have a choice. His options were to
either sell out his uncle and brother or face Ed Pierce’s rage and Anton had
already made his decision. He doubted his uncle or his brother would’ve chosen
differently—when it came to it, everyone was out to save their own skin. He
could only think of one person who would’ve chosen differently—Jess. She’d been
ready to kill for him—her bullet had accidently hit Anton, but Anton knew Jess
had been aiming for Dennis Walker. While Anton’s wound was only a flesh wound,
Jess had been nearly killed because of him. He couldn’t abandon her now.

Ed Pierce rapped his knuckles against
the table. “Now that everyone is here, we can begin. I have good news. I was
able to call upon my contacts and the investigation into this alleged
kidnapping nonsense has been put on hold.”

Uncle Petr exhaled loudly. “That’s
wonderful news, Ed. I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am to you.”

“It’s not me you should be thanking,
Petr. It’s Tom here,” Pierce motioned at Burke. “We’re most grateful for your
assistance in this matter.”

“I’m glad I could take care of this for
you, Ed,” Burke’s voice rang with self-importance. “There was some paperwork irregularity,
so now it will take a few extra days to get the necessary resources. Hopefully
by then there won’t be much left to find.”

“You’ll get to the bottom of this,
Tommy?” Pierce asked, looking concerned. “I don’t like idle rumors. Where
there’s smoke, there’s fire.”

“Of course Ed. I’m looking into this
matter personally. I have another questioning session set up with Janet
Maple—she’s the primary witness. She appears to be cooperative, but I believe
she’s hiding something. I’ll get to the bottom of this. I’ll knock it out of
her if I have to.”

Pierce nodded. “That’s the kind of
dedication I hold very dear. Thank you, Tom.”

Despite the increasing pain in his
shoulder, Anton struggled to keep a grin off his face. He could hardly believe
his luck. He hadn’t even said a word, and already he’d gotten Burke’s admission
of guilt on tape.

“I believe this meeting can be
adjourned.” Pierce started to get to his feet.

Anton hesitated—if he was going to keep
his deal with the feds, he had to act now. But suddenly the prospect of
betraying his family didn’t seem so easy. He shot a quick glance at his uncle
and brother. What if the three of them were to flee? Forget Pierce, forget the
FBI. They could go back to the old country and hide out in the countryside. The
only thing stopping him was the image of Jess. He’d seen her being lifted into
the ambulance, IV bags hanging off of her; her face paler than death itself.
The bullet had pierced her lung. He’d been told her chances were good, but how
could he be sure? For all he knew, Jess could be dead already.

“Ed, Anton has something to tell you,”
Petr spoke quickly. “It won’t take long.”

Anton shot a quick glance at his uncle,
shocked by his betrayal. Any reservations he might have had until this moment
had vanished completely.

“I believe I should be going,” Burke
said uneasily, “this sounds like a personal matter.”

“Stay,” Pierce stopped him. “There are
no secrets here, especially when we’ve got the FBI on our tail. What is it
you’d like to tell me, Anton?” Pierce asked in a voice that was soft as silk.

“It’s a small matter—an omission,” Anton
began. “I apologize in advance for not bringing it up to you earlier and hope
for your generosity and understanding.”

“In my experience, small matters are the
most serious ones. Let’s hear it.” Pierce’s blank gaze burrowed into Anton.

“I just discovered that I still own two
warehouses in Williamsburg. The properties are in horrible condition and are
nothing to speak of—”

“You have an interesting definition for
‘a small omission’,” Pierce said in a voice that was terrifying with its
calmness.

“The title isn’t even in my name. Until
today, I wasn’t even sure I still had claim. As I’ve said, the buildings
themselves aren’t worth much. The land is the only thing of value there— I
would’ve brought this up sooner, but I didn’t know if the titles would hold. I
bought them in my ex-girlfriend’s name.”

The room grew icy with silence, as
Pierce stared at Anton with fish-like eyes.

“I’d never lie to you, Mr. Pierce,”
Anton said humbly.

“You already have,” Pierce pointed out.
“Omission is as bad as lying.”

“I swear,” Anton squealed, “I didn’t say
anything because I didn’t think the titles were good. Of course those buildings
are yours, Mr. Pierce.”

“How do I know you’re telling me the
truth?” Pierce asked. “Suppose you’re hiding something in those buildings?
Suppose that kidnapping business Tommy’s had to cover up for us is true after
all?”

“No, it isn’t. I don’t have anything to
do with it. Those buildings are empty. There’s nothing there but junk. I swear
it,” Anton begged.

“You’re going to give me the address and
I’ll be the judge of that. And if something did go on in there, I’ll know and
you will answer to me,” Pierce said in a voice that made the hairs on Anton’s
back stand up. “I’ll take care of this, Tommy,” Pierce added, looking at Burke.
“Don’t you worry about a thing.”

Anton’s voice and hands started to
shake—this wasn’t acting—he was scared to death. He hoped the FBI was listening.
“You have my word—you won’t find anything there. My uncle and I are so grateful
to you for getting us out of jail, and of course to you, Marshal Burke—”

Burke grimaced. “Please, no need for
formalities.”

“My apologies. Please allow me to
express my sincere gratitude. The way you staged the car accident and arranged
for the ambulance with a hidden floor compartment for us to hide in was pure
genius. Pure genius.”

“Yes, we all know that, Anton,” Uncle
Petr cut him off. “It hardly bears repeating. Apologize to Mr. Pierce!”

Pierce narrowed his eyes, his gaze
suddenly glued to Anton’s shoulder. “You shoulder is bleeding,” he said slowly.

“Boys, check him. Quick!” Petr Kovar
waved his hand, and Vladimir and Roman rushed over to Anton.

Anton gulped, hurt by his uncle’s
betrayal—at least now he knew he’d made the right decision by making the deal
with the feds. The moment’s hesitation was enough for Vladimir to tumble him,
smashing his back against the table and pinning him down, spread-eagle. Anton
was unable to move under Vladimir’s steely grip—all that goat herding must’ve
given him extraordinary strength—but then Anton was all dizzy from the drugs
and the pain.

Roman ripped off Anton’s jacket. “He’s
been shot,” Roman said. “Why didn’t you tell us you got shot, Anton?”

By now Anton was panting, his vision
blurry and his head woozy. He’d done what he needed to do and now he hoped the
feds would deliver their end of the bargain.

Pierce drew his gun and pointed it at
Anton. “Sweep him for bugs.”

Roman tore open Anton’s shirt. “No wire.
He’s clean.”

Pierce pursed his lips. “What are you,
daft? They make them microscopic these days.” He walked over to Anton and
ripped the tie off his neck. “What have we here?” he asked, twirling the tie
pin in his hand.

Now
, Anton thought,
move in now.
What are the damn feds waiting for?

Pierce banged the pin against the table
edge and the fake stone flew off. He took a pen from his pocket and drove it
inside the pin. “Now this, this here, is a bug,” he announced, exposing the
hidden wire mechanism.

An icy smile appeared on Pierce’s face.
“You’re dead, Anton. And so are you, Petr. You and your boys are all dead—”

Pierce’s threat got drowned out by the
sound of combat boots outside the door. After several gunshots, the front door
was knocked down.

So much for Pierce’s fearful bodyguards
. Anton exhaled
with relief—the feds had come through.

“FBI, you’re all under arrest.”

“You’re dead, Petr. You’re dead!” Pierce
yelled, as two FBI agents cuffed him. “I’ll be out within a week and you’ll all
be dead.”

“We’ll see about that,” one of the
agents muttered.

“I’m with the U.S. Marshal Service. I’m
here undercover!” Marshal Burke squealed like a pig, as one of the agents
cuffed him. “This is an official investigation!”

“Save it.” The agent grunted. “We got
you on tape and on camera.”

Anton felt the cold steel on his wrists
and let the wooziness take over. He’d done what he could. What lay ahead of him
was no picnic, but it sure as hell beat being made into soup by Edward Pierce.