A Moment in Time (59 page)

Mike chuckled, ignoring his partner's indignant grunt as he turned to face the warehouse again. "I don't know, Barney. I think Carrie'd prefer he take after his Uncle Mike."

"In your dreams."

They laughed quietly, nervously, continuing to stare in silence at the building.

Nothing happened. Minutes turned into hours. Well after midnight Mike was ready to call their shift another waste of time when a van, headlights off, pulled into the alley adjacent to the warehouse. "Hot damn." A few minutes later, light filled an upstairs window.

"It's about time," Barney whispered, drawing his gun from his shoulder holster and releasing the safety.

Mike mimicked his partner's actions, sharing Barney's obvious excitement. "This is one crack shipment that isn't going to find its way to the streets." Barney didn't have to respond—Mike knew they both felt the same way. Group think became automatic after all the years they'd worked together.

"Milton's mine."

"Don't be an ass." Mike reached for his partner's arm. "That kid's overdose wasn't your fault and you know it."

Barney sat quietly for several seconds, then released a sigh. "I know, but if my last collar had stuck, Milton would've been locked up...and that kid would be getting ready for his frigging prom about now."

Mike nodded, knowing this wasn't the time to press. "I'll call for backup."

"Do that." Barney turned toward the warehouse again.

Mike reached for the radio and wasted precious seconds waiting for the frequency to clear, then he called for backup. Every time they were on the brink of busting Milton's operation, something always interfered. The drug lord had more than his share of luck, but he was pure pond scum.

"Ready?"

"Yeah," Mike whispered, climbing from the dark car. Barney'd permanently disabled the dome light to allow them to get out of the car without tipping off the bad guys. He and Barney were the white hats now, out to see justice done, to preserve the American way. But this wasn't a game like the cops and robbers they'd played together as children.

This was for keeps.

"Cover me, Mike," Barney whispered over his shoulder, breaking silently for the open alley before his partner could stop him.

"Barney, damn you. Wait for backup," Mike whispered fiercely—futilely—then darted from the sidewalk, adrenalin pumping through his body. He flattened himself against the cold brick building across the alley, squinting to get his bearings through the thick fog. Barney had always been the brave one—foolishly so, on more than one occasion.

But now Barney was an expectant father. Mike couldn't let anything happen to his brother-in-law. That would devastate Carrie, especially now.

One of them had to keep his head, and it sure as hell wouldn't be Barney. History'd proven that. Mike's brother-in-law hadn't earned the status of most-decorated cop in the department from practicing common sense. Mike had to be the voice of reason.

Scary thought.

Barney—the horse's ass—was walking right through the side entrance as if he paid the mortgage, the taxes, and had the only key. Mike clenched his teeth, feeling his jaw twitch as he watched the slight shifting of light near the doorway where Barney slipped stealthily inside.

With the bad guys.

Cautiously, Mike scanned the street. Nothing. Where was their backup?
Damn.
Releasing the breath he'd been holding, he darted across the alley, thankful for his black athletic shoes, dark jeans and denim jacket. He was quiet and invisible in the night.

Quiet and invisible was the only way to be on a night like this.

There was an edge to the evening that Mike had felt before, and he didn't like it. Instincts became lifelines to cops over the years, and separated the veterans from the rookies.

Tonight, for some insane reason, Mike felt like a rookie.

Pausing outside the door Barney'd slipped through, Mike waited for his breathing to slow, listening for sounds from inside. What the hell was Barney doing in there?

Panic wasn't Mike's way, but tonight he had to struggle against it. The stakes had gone up, and suddenly he almost wished Barney hadn't shared his good news.

Why couldn't he shake the cold sense of dread that had crawled inside him like a deadly snake?

I hate this.

The door was open, allowing Mike to squeeze through noiselessly. He had to find Barney. Some deep feeling of urgency coursed through him, driving him to seek out his partner before...

A cold sweat popped out on his forehead as he eased his way along a dark hall toward the stairs. Weapon drawn, Mike kept his back against the wall to guide him until he reached the metal stair railing, then he gripped it with one hand, continuing to clutch his gun in the other.

"You son of a bitch!" The shout echoed down the dark stairwell.

Mike took the steps two at a time, reaching the top as a gun exploded on the other side of the door. His blood turned to ice. He froze, his free hand clutching the doorknob.

Always wait for backup.

Swallowing his fear, he ignored all the standard rules of precaution as he turned the knob and opened the door. More darkness greeted him on the other side, but he knew he was no longer alone. A subtle alteration in the blackness divulged another's presence.

Barney?

"Stupid cop," the raspy voice—definitely not Barney's—taunted from across the hallway. "Dead cop."

Mike dropped to a low crouch, taking aim on the shifting silhouette. What dead cop? Did the thug mean him?

Or Barney?

A flash from the man's gun pinpointed his location as a spray of bullets blasted into the wall just above Mike's head. Splintered plaster showered him as he scooted to his left, hoping to confuse the gunman.

Where's Barney?
Mike couldn't risk accidentally shooting his partner. He took careful aim and waited for the man to fire another round, praying his adversary would miss again.

Both guns discharged almost simultaneously, followed by the welcome thud of a falling body. Mike lurched to the right, coming into contact with something warm and solid on the floor.

Mike's heart hammered dangerously loud as he remained alert to a possible counter attack from his enemy. He felt the shape on the floor with his free hand.

A body.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Mike moved his hand along the supine form, finding warm, sticky blood where there should have been a neck. He struggled against exploding panic, glancing once toward the area where his opponent had fallen. There was no movement, no sound.

Cautiously, he reached into his pocket and withdrew the penlight hooked to his key ring. After flipping it on, he shined the small light on the body.

Barney.

"Oh, God." Mike sucked in a breath to kill his rising nausea as he searched his brother-in-law's face above the wound. Sightless eyes stared up at the ceiling.

Lowering the beam, Mike confirmed that CPR would be pointless. Barney's throat and neck were blown wide open—no chance that his heart would beat again.

You dumb son of a bitch. I told you to wait for backup.
He sucked in a breath and struggled for control.
How the hell am I going to tell...Carrie?

Barney—his childhood playmate. His partner. Carrie's husband. Mike's kid sister was a widow because of Milton and his apes.

A gaping wound in his own throat would've been easier—better—than this.
God, not Barney.

The sound of running feet came from the far end of the hall, then a door burst open. Three men carrying large flashlights—and even bigger guns—emerged, stopping to take in the carnage.

"Holy shit. Somebody got Joe," a man said, sweeping the floor with his flashlight. "Milton said we wouldn't have no trouble tonight."

"Looks like plenty trouble to me," another man said.

This wasn't his backup.

Mike eased back against the door, reminding himself that Barney was beyond help. Besides, Carrie sure as hell didn't need to lose her husband and brother on the same night.

"There!"

Knowing he'd been spotted, Mike leapt to his feet. Forcing the image of Barney's lifeless eyes from his mind, he sailed down the metal staircase, just ahead of the bullets fired by his pursuers. He sprinted out the side door and out into the alley. He had to get to the car. Hell, Barney had the only set of keys.

Men thundered down the metal stairs inside the building as Mike started to run. They wouldn't stop until they had him.

Just like Barney.

Barney.

He ran down the street with his pistol still clutched in his fist, sweat and tears streaming down his face.
Calm down Mike. Need to find a phone. Need to think. Let somebody know what happened. Barney, you bastard. Milton, I'll get you, I swear.

He didn't know or care where he ran—it didn't matter.

They were getting closer.

Mike rounded a corner on the rain-slick street, desperately searching for a place to hide. To think he and Barney'd planned to put the biggest crime boss in the state of Mississippi behind bars for the rest of his natural days.

Now all that mattered was survival.

 
His lungs felt as if they would burst. His heart battered the walls of his chest. This pace was killing him.

But to stop meant
certain
death.

No matter how far he ran in the misty streets, the footsteps were never far behind. A car joined in the chase, careening after him through the fog. Even the cover of darkness couldn't protect him.

Mike paused at the corner, recognizing the huge old house across the street. No one ever went inside the antebellum mansion on the outskirts of town. Everyone in Mississippi knew—thought—it was haunted.

The second story windows stared back at him like harbingers of disaster.

Get a grip, Mike.

Barney wouldn't have been afraid. Besides, Mike didn't believe in ghosts. He'd seen too much real life—and death—to start believing in nonsense at this late date.

Clenching his teeth, he looked over his shoulder. He couldn't see his pursuers, but he heard them. In only a matter of minutes they'd have him, unless he could manage to become invisible.

Picturing his sister's smiling face when she and Barney'd told him their good news, he knew what he had to do. In desperation, he ducked beneath the board which had been nailed to the broken gate, then darted across the overgrown lawn. When he reached the porch of the run-down mansion, he dropped to his knees and waited in the shadows.

The gang members congregated on the walk just outside the gate. Mike's lungs burned for air, but he denied them the luxury awhile longer. He had to make sure his enemies were gone before he dared make too much noise. High humidity and cool temperatures turned the air into a conduit for sound. His oxygen-starved senses would have to wait awhile longer.

Because if they caught him, he wouldn't need to concern himself with trivial matters like oxygen.

He listened while the threesome compared notes with the driver of the Thunderbird that had stopped beside them. "Where the hell'd he go?" one voice demanded.

"Man, Milton's gonna have our asses for this."

"More'n our asses."

"Shit! We gotta find this dude."

"We gotta go back and get rid of the other one."

"Yeah, get in. The fish are hungry."

Barney.
Mike closed his eyes. Even if he managed to escape from Milton's goons tonight, they'd catch up with him sooner or later. Every thug in town knew Faricy and Sloane. As soon as the killers figured out Barney's identity, they'd know exactly where to look for Mike.

He was as good as dead right now.

Fish fodder.

"One of us has gotta hang around here," the driver said. "Just in case he's hidin' out, waiting for us to leave."

Great.

"I ain't stayin' here by myself, man. Everybody knows that old house is haunted."

"Haunted?" The driver chuckled, a menacing sound on the night air. "You're full of shit, Billy. Now stay here and keep your eyes open. We gotta take out that piece of shit or we'll be feedin' the fish. Got it?"

"Yeah." The man ordered to remain grumbled incoherently as the others climbed into the car and it sped away.

Mike glanced behind him at the dilapidated house. He had to get inside and rest for a while. The guy thought the house was haunted. Perfect. For tonight, it would be haunted.

By Mike Faricy.

Once the sun came up, he'd find his way to Carrie.

He watched until the man crossed the street and vanished into the alley, then Mike crept quietly around to the side of the house. He passed by a few boarded windows, hesitating to jiggle a couple of doorknobs. No luck. Everything was locked up tight, though he couldn't imagine why. It wasn't as if the place was on the hit list of any local burglars. In fact, no one ever went near the place.

Except maybe on Halloween.