Dead Even (27 page)

“If you’re not FBI, and you’re not a cop, you must be private security or private investigation. Which is it?”

“Neither.”

“Who do you work for?”

“I don’t work for anyone.” The man started to turn and Jules jammed the butt of the gun into his back again.

“Then what are you doing here? The truth.”

“I’m watching the house next door.”

“Why?”

“Because I think there’s someone in there I want to see.”

“Who?”

“Woman named Miranda Cahill.”

“Never heard of her.” Jules frowned. Had he underestimated Mara? Had she sold the house in his absence?

“She live there?” he asked.

“I have no idea. I followed her here.” Burt paused. “If you’re looking for FBI, though, maybe you’re looking for her. She is an FBI agent. And I suspect the guy who came with her is FBI, too.”

“So you’re telling me there are two in there?” Jules nodded in the direction of Mara’s house.

“Two that I know of.”

“How about this other house? How many?” He tilted his head toward Mrs. West’s.

“I don’t know about that house. I don’t know who’s there.”

“Who else is over there? With the two agents?”

“Some blonde woman, pretty. Mid-thirties, maybe. Another woman, dark. Small. I saw them yesterday, but I didn’t see them today.”

Annie. Mara. No surprise there, Jules thought.

“A girl? Blonde girl, about twelve, maybe looks a little younger?” Jules asked.

“Didn’t see a kid.” Burt shook his head.

“She’s got to be in there,” Jules muttered, more to himself than to his unwanted companion. “Where else could she be?”

They stood in the same place for another few minutes, the gun still solid in the middle of Burt’s back. Finally, Burt said, “Look, my arms are really starting to hurt. I don’t know what you’re doing here, or what you want with those people, and frankly, I don’t give a fuck. Let me just turn and leave. I haven’t even seen your face; I can’t identify you even if I wanted to. Not that I want to. The last people I need to see right now are the cops. . . .”

“What do you want her for?” Jules asked. “The woman you followed here.”

Burt took too long to come up with a good answer.

“Don’t bother trying to think up a story. Just tell me the truth, goddamn it. What do you want with the woman? She your ex or something?”

“Someone paid me to follow her.”

“For what purpose?” Jules poked him again with the gun. “Turn around. I want to see your face.”

Reluctantly, Burt did as he was told. “I’m supposed to take her out.”

Jules stared at the man for a long moment.

“By take her out, I assume you don’t mean on a date,” Jules said dryly. “You mean, you’re supposed to—”

“Get rid of her, yeah.” Burt slumped back against the garage.

“Well, that would certainly create a lively diversion, wouldn’t it?” Jules said thoughtfully.

“What?”

“Maybe we could help each other.” Jules lowered the gun, but only slightly.

“Maybe. What is it you want?”

“I want my daughter. And my wife. They’re in that house.” He nodded in the direction of the house across the drive. “But you’re telling me there are two FBI agents in there. One is the woman you’re after. . . .” Jules scratched his head and continued to think through the situation.

“You know, maybe we can help each other.” The other man nodded. “I want the woman to come out; you want to get in.”

“We need to draw both agents outside,” Jules observed.

“Then you can slip inside, do whatever it is you came to do, and we both go on about our business.”

“There are two agents outside,” Jules told him. “We need to get rid of both of them. How are you with a knife?”

Burt shook his head. “Never used one. Gun is my weapon of choice, and right now, you’re holding mine.”

“So I am.” Jules pondered the situation, trying to figure out how best to utilize this strange turn of events.

When it came to him, he thought himself quite brilliant.

“I have an idea,” he whispered.

“Great.”

“We’re going to have to work together on this.”

“Whatever.” Burt’s eyes were still on the stranger’s gun.

“This is how I see it.” Jules leaned closer, and laid out his plan.

“Hey, that could work.” Burt nodded with a little more enthusiasm, now that he hadn’t been shot in the back. “I can see that working.”

“You get what you want; I get what I want. Then we both go on our way.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“The timing is important, though. We have to wait until the guy there by the end of the garage makes his move toward the front of the house. Should be in about another—” Jules looked at his watch and pushed in the pin on the side that illuminated the face. “—four minutes or so. He’ll start over to the house, keep to the shadows, walk all the way around to the front. I’m thinking he might go around to the other side before he starts back.”

“He does.” Burt nodded. “At least, he did last night. There’s that hedge over there, he walks along it as far as the back fence, then he comes back around again. Sometimes he stands in the doorway and just watches the street. There’s a small porch out there, and it’s dark without the lights on. He sometimes hangs out there a little. I was behind the hedge last night and watched him.”

“Good, good to know.” Jules smiled. “Now, all we need is for the agent in this house to come out. I don’t know what’s taking him so long. . . .”

“Oh, him? Last night he was mostly out by the front. There are some shrubs around the front steps.”

“Yes, yes, I know them.”

“Well, he stays mostly around the shrubs. Sits on the step, sometimes smokes a cigarette.”

“Great. I’ve got that covered. Give me five minutes.” Jules slipped out through the vines. “Then watch for me to come back around the corner of the house. We’ll give the guy there by the garage about three minutes, then you’ll make your move.”

“And you’ll take care of him?”

“I’ll take care of everything.”

“Great. Great.” Burt nodded. “It could work. It could be dicey, there’s some room for error, but not bad for impromptu.”

“Thanks.” Jules patted Burt on the back and started out of the shelter. “Good luck.”

Burt grabbed him by the back of the shirt and held him motionless.

“My gun,” Burt reminded him. “You’ve still got my gun.”

Jules pulled it from inside his belt and handed it over.

“Sorry.”

“No harm, no foul,” Burt assured him.

What a rube.
Jules shook his head as he slipped through the shadows toward the back of Mrs. West’s house and around the far side.
But that rube is the best shot I have to make this work. . . .

Jules stood in the midst of the shrubs that Helene West had long ago planted along the front of her house. There was just enough cover for him to blend in long enough for him to get his bearings and to plan his course. The agent he stalked was leaning on the opposite corner of the house, well in the shadows himself. Jules watched him for a full ten minutes, but the man never seemed to have moved a muscle. He unsnapped the sheath, then slowly removed the knife. Keeping to the mulched beds, he crept along the porch, then around it. Knowing he must keep the element of surprise on his side, he made a sudden rush and slammed the knife into the back of his unsuspecting target. A whoosh of surprise escaped the lips of his victim, and Jules pulled the knife out, then reached over the slumping figure to slice the man’s throat from one side to the other. He let the body down easy, the rest of the way to the ground, and watched the mulch grow soggy and red. Wiping first the knife, then his hands, on the back of the dying man’s shirt, he dropped the knife back into its holder and stepped around the corner of the house, searching in the dark for his new best buddy.

He spotted him there, at the arbor, gesturing for Jules to stay put. Sinking back into the shrubs, Jules watched for the agent across the way to make his move. After a long seven minutes, he finally did. As soon as the agent disappeared around the side of the house, Jules’s new friend emerged from the shadows. Burt ran toward the back gate of the house next door, waving in Jules’s direction so that he would know it was clear for him, too, to move.

But instead of following the agent to the front of the house, where he was expected to surprise and overtake him, Jules kept to the shadows that surrounded Mrs. West’s house and, standing in the middle of the driveway, fired two shots straight through Burt Connolly’s back.

The shots echoed through the backyard, and just as Jules had anticipated, the back door of Mara’s house flew open. He watched a woman emerge and fly off the deck as two men ran from the front. As they gathered around the fallen stranger, Jules ducked behind the cars and made his move toward the open front door. He figured he’d have, at best, a scant few minutes before his window of opportunity closed. He couldn’t afford to be on the wrong side of it when it did.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX

Miranda was the first to reach the fallen man. After checking and determining there was no pulse, she looked up at Aidan and Will, who’d run down the drive from the front after hearing the shot.

“Nice aim, Cahill,” Will noted. “But we need to talk about the fact that you left the house alone and without telling me you were going.”

“I didn’t shoot him.” She frowned. “I thought Aidan got him.”

“I was on the other side of the house,” Aidan told them.

“Which leaves Rob,” Will said. He cupped his hands and called across the drive. “Hey, Rob. Great shot. You got him.”

When there was no answer, Aidan called out, “Rob? You out there, man?”

Aidan and Will exchanged a worried glance.

“Something is not right,” Aidan said under his breath. “Rob should be out there. . . .”

Aidan crept along the garage and headed for the West house next door.

Moments later, he’d made his way around to the front, where he found what he’d feared.

“Will,” he called across the drive.

“You found him?” Will called back.

“Yeah. Yeah, I found him.”

“He hurt? Need an ambulance?”

“Too late for an ambulance. But put a call in for the local police. We’re going to need them. . . .”

“My God, what happened?” Miranda asked anxiously as Aidan trotted back toward them. “What’s happened to Rob?”

Before he could answer, Annie ran onto the deck and down the steps.

“What’s going on?” She grabbed Miranda’s arm. “We heard a shot.”

“Looks like your ex-brother-in-law showed up right on schedule. We think Rob Flynn took him out,” Miranda said.

“Good thing I made Mara stay inside. I told her if Julianne woke up, she needed to be in there with her, in case she had heard the shot, too.” Annie bent down and peered at the body. She stared for a long minute, then looked up at Miranda and asked, “Who is this?”

“Isn’t it Jules?”

“No.” Annie shook her head.

“Are you certain?” Miranda bent down next to Annie to get a closer look.

“Positive. I don’t know who it is, but it isn’t Jules Douglas.”

“You’re kidding.” Will leaned forward as well, but the face wasn’t familiar to him, either. He reached down and patted the man’s pockets until he found a wallet, then carefully removed it, opened it, and took out the driver’s license.

“Burton J. Connolly,” Miranda read over Will’s shoulder. “Who is he? I don’t know that name.”

“I do,” Will told her. “Burton Connolly is the name of the owner of the black pickup that followed us from the prison.”

“What black pickup? What are you talking about?” Miranda stared at him.

“When we were leaving the prison—after we spoke with Vince the other day—there was a black pickup parked in the lot. Whoever was behind the wheel picked up a map and held it in front of his face just as we were walking past. Well, naturally, it drew my attention.”

“Naturally,” Miranda said dryly. “I don’t remember seeing him or the truck.”

“Well, it was there. I didn’t catch the plate at the time, but I did notice some dings on the rear fender. The day we arrived here, when I went to move the car, the same truck passed by.”

“How did you know it was the same truck?” she asked.

“The dings in the back fender. Too much of a coincidence. So I called Evan Crosby and asked him to run the tags for me. The truck is registered to Burton Connolly. How likely do you think it is that there’s another Burton Connolly in the neighborhood this week?”

“So what do you think happened here?” Annie asked. “You think he knifed Rob, left him for dead, then Rob got a shot or two off before he died?”

“No way.” Aidan shook his head. “Rob was dead before he hit the ground.”

He bent over Burt’s body, inspected it, then stood up and said, “I can tell you this much, our friend here didn’t kill Rob.” Aidan stood with his hands on his hips. “Rob’s throat was cut, one fast clean cut, side to side. Whoever killed him would have been sprayed with blood. Even if he’d come at Rob from behind, there’s going to be blood on his hands and arms, at the very least. This guy’s hands, shirt, they’re clean.”

“Then he was working with someone else,” Annie said, and at that moment, the three agents turned to look at the house.

“Dear God, Mara . . .” Miranda took off toward the front of the house. “Will . . . the back . . .”

When Aidan started behind them, Annie grabbed his shirt and held on.

“No, no,” she told him fiercely. “If Jules is in there, you cannot be a part of this. If you’re planning on marrying my sister, you cannot be the man who brings down her daughter’s father, understand? If Miranda or Will needs help, that will be a different situation. But right now, leave it to them. Get on the phone and get the Lyndon police on their way, but stay out of the house unless they need you in there. If you plan on being that girl’s stepfather, you cannot be involved in Jules’s arrest. . . .”

“Turn around, Mara, and go on back up the stairs.” Jules stood inside the open front door, his gun pointed at the heart of his ex-wife. “Quietly, but quickly, we’re going to get Julianne, and then the three of us are leaving. Together. That should make you happy.”

“No,” Mara said softly. “I’ve waited seven years for her to come back. I’m not giving her up. And neither of us is going with you.”

“She isn’t yours to give or to keep. She’s mine,” Jules sneered. “I’m out of time and well out of patience, Mara. Get her.
Now.
I don’t have time to discuss this, and I don’t have time to argue.”

“I can’t let you take her back there, Jules. Please. You’ve had her all these years. . . .”

“Don’t waste your time begging, Mara. And don’t bother to turn on the tears. It’s not going to make a damned bit of difference.”

“Jules, listen—”

“I’m out of time, you stupid cow. Move. Get her and bring her down here now, or I’ll shoot you where you stand. I should have done it years ago.”

“Daddy?” The small voice from the top of the steps floated uncertainly to the room below. “Daddy?”

“Get your things, and hurry, baby. Daddy’s come to take you back. You and Mommy are coming with me.”

Julianne, still in her nightgown, started down the steps, her eyes on her father.

“You said she was dead. You told me she died. Why did you lie to me?”

“I’ll explain it all later, honey. Just leave your things and come on now, Julianne, we’re out of time. Come with Daddy . . .” Jules held a hand out to her. “Mara, move.”

“She’s not a bad person. You lied about that, too. Why did you do that? Why did you have to lie?”

“Sweetheart, I’ll explain everything to you later.” Jules was starting to sweat profusely. “But right now,
we have to go.
”

“Why do you have a gun?” Julianne stood next to her mother.

“Julianne, we’re going now. Do you hear me? Now. Right now.” Jules’s voice rose shrilly. The gun waved shakily in his hand.

“Jules, put the gun away. You’re frightening Julianne,” Mara pleaded.

“Out the door. Now.” He reached out for his daughter with his free hand. Julianne took several more steps away from Jules, then her eyes widened with surprise.

Looking beyond him, an “Oh” escaped her lips.

Miranda Cahill had two more steps before she’d have reached Jules, but Julianne’s inadvertent warning had removed the element of surprise. He spun around, his finger on the trigger, and the best Miranda could do was to swing one leg in the direction of his gun hand. That one long leg was all it took.

Jules’s .38 flew across the room. He grabbed Miranda’s leg in midair and flipped her onto her back before diving for his gun at the same time Will came at him from the back hall. Even with his adrenaline in high gear, Jules was no match for Will. Within seconds, Jules was facedown on the living room floor, both hands held behind his back in Will’s strong grip.

“Cahill, you okay?”

“I will be in a minute.”

“Have you got a pair of handcuffs on you?”

“No.” She lay on her back, trying to regulate her breathing. “Guess you’re just going to have to sit on him until the police get here.”

“Are you going to arrest my father?” A shaken Julianne stood behind Mara, anxiously holding on to her mother.

“I’m afraid the police are going to have to take him in, yes,” Miranda told her. To Mara, she said, “Maybe you’ll want to take Julianne upstairs until we’re finished here.”

“Come on, sweetie.” Mara turned her daughter toward the steps.

“You won’t keep her, you know. They can’t hold me. I’ll be back, Mara,” Jules snarled as Mara and Julianne climbed the steps. “Don’t think for a minute that you’re going to keep her. Julianne! Come back here!”

Julianne stared straight ahead until she reached her bedroom door. She went in, still holding her mother’s hand, and closed the door.

“Bitch,” Jules spat. “You won’t be able to lock me up. I’ll be out by morning. Reverend Prescott will be on the next plane to bail me out.”

“I doubt it,” Will told him calmly. “There are two dead bodies out there, one of whom is a federal agent. I’m betting the bullet in the other matches that .38 of yours. Besides, something tells me Reverend Prescott has his hands full right now.”

“What are you talking about?” Jules looked up, his eyes red with fury.

“I’m talking about the fact that at eight o’clock tonight, a team of federal agents paid a visit to Reverend Prescott. Seems they have some questions for him to answer. I think he’s going to be way too busy to worry about you, Jules. I’m willing to bet he’s not going to give you a second thought. . . .”

“I want a lawyer,” Jules growled. “You call the compound and tell them I want Robert Springer out here right now.”

“Springer, eh?” Will grinned and looked up at Miranda. “You hear that, Cahill? Nothing but the best for Prescott and his merry band of pedophiles, I guess.”

Jules bucked wildly.

“I’m not a pedophile,” he shouted. “I’ve never . . . I would never . . . you’re disgusting. . . .”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re pure as the driven snow. Only cooked the books, figured out how Prescott could hide the money he made off those poor young girls.” Will, who still sat astride Jules, leaned over and said, “You’re going to prison along with the rest of them, Douglas. I’m only sorry your daughter had to be here to see you go down like this.”

Flashing lights in the street heralded the arrival of several Lyndon police cruisers and an ambulance.

“Hey, Jules, looks like your ride is here.” Will stood as three uniformed police officers rushed through the front door. “Here’s your man, fellas. He’s all yours. . . .”

It was almost three in the morning by the time the last patrol car left Hillside Avenue in peace once again. Inside the house at 1733, Mara Douglas lay awake beside her sleeping daughter, praying that the nightmare was just about over.

Downstairs, Anne Marie McCall lay awake on the sofa in her sister’s living room and wept for yet another dead agent, wept for his wife, who had yet to be told that she was now a widow, and remembered what it had felt like to get the call that the man she’d loved—the man who held her heart and her dreams—was gone.

Downtown, in the morgue, Aidan Shields sat beside the body of his friend, and waited for Rob’s younger brother to arrive. The scene was achingly familiar to him, and he wondered if he would ever get used to the feeling of helplessness, of wasted life, useless loss. In the quiet antiseptic room, Aidan wondered if Mara was all right. It had damn near killed him to not rush into her house and take out that son of a bitch ex-husband of hers. But Annie had been right: If he and Mara were ever to build a life together, Aidan could not have been the one to have taken down Julianne’s father.

In the room next door, on another slab, lay the other body they’d brought in that night. The M.E. had arrived and had already taken fingerprints. The prints and the gun they’d found in his hand had been turned over to the Lyndon police, who would run the prints through NCIC. They’d fire the gun, then test the bullets against those on file. Aidan couldn’t help but wonder what they’d find.

In Helene West’s living room, Miranda Cahill all but collapsed on the sofa, and rubbed the heels of her hands against her eyes, hoping to rub away the fatigue.

“How’s your back?” Will asked from the doorway.

“Hurts.”

“Want me to rub it?”

“Uh-huh. Just don’t rub anything else, okay?” She turned over and fell facedown on the cushions. “I’m too tired to fight you off.”

“That would be good news, if I wasn’t too tired to take advantage of you.” He sat on the edge of the sofa and began to knead her shoulders.

“Ouch. Not so hard.”

“Better?” He eased up.

“Ummmm. Much better.”

He continued to massage her back.

“So what do you think about taking that little side trip to the inn tomorrow?” he asked.

“I think yes. We’re due for some R and R.” She tried to nod, but her head barely moved. “Fleming Inn,
si.
Mrs. West’s sofa, no.”

He laughed, moving his hands farther down her back.

“You’ve got great hands, Fletcher. I ever tell you that?”

Her words were slurred with fatigue.

“Yes, actually, you have told me that. On several occasions, as a matter of fact. Want me to remind you of specifics?”

“No need. I remember.” She fought the sleep that threatened to claim her.

“Maybe in the morning, I should call Mrs. Duffy and reserve her best suite.”

“Good idea. Reserve it for a couple of days, can you?”

“Whatever the lady wants.” He smiled in the dark, listening as her breath grew more and more shallow. He knew she was ready to drop off, overwhelmed by the lack of sleep over the past two days and the adrenaline rush of the evening’s events. He was tired enough to sleep standing up.

“We’ll have to stop at a store first,” she told him groggily, just when he thought she’d fallen asleep. “There’s a nice mall on the way out of town; I should be able to find what I want at one of the stores in there.”