Cold As Ice: Novel (A Kristen Conner Mystery Book 3) (41 page)

Don had already told Vanessa he was leaving right after practice to see Debbie. Rodney pulled some strings and got her in a nice place in Oak Lawn. It was Don’s job to get her to sign the papers that basically waived her legal rights to leave the premises. She was in a comfortable but secure wing for patients that had the habit of running off.

The thing was, you can’t leave your partner in harm’s way. Paperwork would have to wait for morning. He kissed Vanessa and the kids. He didn’t want to say anything. They’d had a tough stretch the last few months of their marriage.

“I’m going to be later than planned.”

“What’s up?” Vanessa asked.

Better to just be upfront.

“Conner is not answering her phone and we’re having to amp up security. I’m checking in at her mom’s.”

He could tell she wanted to argue. Instead she gave him a hug.

“I don’t care how late you are. Just be careful and give me a call when you know what’s going on.”

“I will. Love you baby.”

“I love you, too, Donald.”

Now the wind was howling and blew his SUV from side to side as he slid in the direction of Mrs. Conner’s home.

LA sounds good about right now. Maybe we can get Debbie transferred to a place out there. She needs a fresh start. We all do.

Conner, how do you get yourself in so much trouble?

Delta stole to the front of the house from the opposite direction of the squad car. He liked Vladimir. They had a lot in common. Both had combat experience. The man kept it bold and simple. He gave clear orders and expected them to be followed. He didn’t shy away from the action. A good combination of traits. A good man.

He looked at his watch. Five seconds until show time. He took two deep breaths, stood, threw the brick as hard as he could through the front plate window. It shattered immediately. He was already moving up the steps with his gun aimed at the doorjamb. He didn’t want to switch out clips unless necessary. He unloaded three rounds and kicked the door open effortlessly.

The female FBI agent had a gun pointed at his chest but seemed frozen. Their surprise attack was apparently not a surprise. Nothing to do but move forward. He raised his gun and pulled the trigger as she fired back. He felt a fireball erupt in his stomach. He staggered back to the threshold. This was bad. But she was down and he was up, so he forced his feet to move forward.

A man looked around the corner of the hall and shot him between the eyes.

84

WAS IT SOMETHING Bradley said in our first interview? Was it something Leslie Levin or Nancy Keltto said? What’s bothering me? Maybe I’m just bothered by the thought of a fourteen-year-old killing his volunteer mentor. Except Nancy told us Ed wasn’t actively serving as mentor because Bradley didn’t like him. I’m beginning to feel tingles. I walk into the Keltto’s backyard. I look at the back windows. I walk back out front and look at the windows there too. I circle back to the backyard and over to where the Keltto and Starks yards meet at the fence. I look between the two houses.

Despite some drama and tears, Nancy was feeling better today . . . until Don asked her about Levin being there the morning of the murder. That threw her for a loop. What does that mean?

I think of the garage and what Nancy said. I look at the two houses side by side. Another click registers in my brain. I think I know what’s . . . no . . . I
know
what’s bothering me about her story. It’s all suddenly clear.

Then I hear a crash. Maybe a window being broken in. I move toward the side of the house and hear a gun blast, followed by another at almost the same instant. Then a third, fourth, and fifth gunshot shatters the thin, wintery night air—I stop counting.

Everything is coming from my mom’s house. I pull out the Glock 9mm I was issued earlier today. I was given two full clips. I pop one in and start sprinting. I start to slip at the corner of the house but I keep my footing and pound forward. I don’t know how the mind processes things so quickly, but I remember a Bible verse from when I was a kid. “He will not let your foot slip.” No idea where that is in the Bible. But I know what it means now. Dear God, you are going to have to keep me on my feet. I run as fast as I can on snow and ice. I can’t slip. I can’t slip.

The two uniforms leaped from the car, slammed the doors shut, and headed for the front door, weapons up.

Beta smiled. Just like Alpha said. He shot for the center of the body with both shots, using a Desert Eagle 50-caliber handgun that hit the targets like a bazooka.

He stepped from the shrubbery. If they were wearing body armor they might conceivably be alive but would probably still be out of commission. Alpha said to play it safe and verify. If necessary finish them off. Then go back for the car.

Forget what you saw the living room. Nothing more you can do to help. She’s dead or alive. Reynolds’ head was on a swivel, eyes to backdoor, basement door, backdoor, basement door continuously. Thankfully they were lined up in the hall that ran the length of the house.

He heard crying from the bedroom. Keep focused and maybe you’ll keep them alive—and get out of this with your own life.

He heard pounding coming up the basement steps at the same time he heard shots splinter the back door. This is going to be close.

Conner almost fell as she slid to a stop. She watched in horror as her two body guards from CPD were gunned down. She saw the shooter emerge from the bushes. He didn’t see her . . . yet.

I don’t care what your range scores are. You gotta drop him and get to the house.

She crept forward. Suddenly his head snapped up and his eyes found her. He raised a huge gun as he pivoted her direction.

The basement door to the ground floor slammed open at the same time as the backdoor. Reynolds shot the man coming up the steps between the eyes and grabbed him before he could fall. The door had blocked the vision of whoever was charging down the hall from the backdoor, firing five rapid rounds through the two-inch wood shield he had ducked behind. All hits were too close for comfort.

Reynolds grabbed the dead man in a bear hug, face to face, with blood gurgling between the man’s lips. Reynolds turned him into the hall and rushed forward, slamming the door into the wall and throwing the man into the attacker. All three men hit the floor in a heap, guns skittering across the oak planks. Reynolds was halfway to his feet as a snarling Vladimir Zheglov lunged at him, launching a lightning fast judo punch for his trachea.

I dive sideways at the same instant a fireball bursts from the muzzle of the shooter’s gun. I feel a concussion of air pass by. Despite a flood of pain coursing to my bandaged side, I roll to my knee and get the Glock up in firing position.

Reynolds ducked his head forward and to the side while firing a flat palm at the man’s wide-open torso. Vladimir’s punch landed hard enough on his jaw to maybe break it, sending waves of pain that threatened to blind him. But Reynolds’ counter move kept it from being a disabling blow. His shot to the solar plexus took the air from Zheglov’s lungs.

Austin pounced on top of him like a puma, one hand going for the Russian’s eyes, the other for his throat. But Zheglov was an expert grappler—and a survivor. He pried at Austin’s hands as he arched his back and twisted his head free. He quickly let go and maneuvered his hands to Reynolds’ throat.

The man was drawing a bead on her as Kristen pulled the trigger and rolled before another explosion sounded from the Desert Eagle. She made it to one knee, her gun back in the ready position. Her shot had hit him and he stumbled backwards and fell, but he turned over, popped to his knees, and dove for the shrubbery. If he got there, Kristen realized he would have cover and she would be a sitting duck. She fired another shot and saw his body spasm. She leaped forward to finish him.

Two men trying to protect her were dead or dying. Her family was trapped inside a war zone. She had to get inside the house.