Both Ends Burning (Whistleblower Trilogy Book 3) (16 page)

Dad held out a hand, pleading. “If you’d just let me explain-”

“Sir,” said one of the cops to Cross, “shouldn’t we be out on the street, looking for these individuals?”

“I’m going too,” I said. I don’t know why I said it. Maybe when Cross had called me stubborn and foolhardy, I was determined to prove him right.

“Stop!” shouted my dad. He walked over to me and Grace, then he eyed her baby bump. “Since you came in here yelling and throwing punches, I didn’t get a chance to tell you yet. Things have changed.”

I set my jaw. “What’s changed?”

His face softened into an expression I couldn’t ever remember seeing him wear before. Wistful or repentant, perhaps. “I’ve made a decision. I don’t want any of you to be in the middle of this chaos anymore. You’re going to be a dad, Tucker, and I’ve only just met your wife today. I can’t put you and your family in jeopardy any longer.”

I looked at Grace, and she nodded her approval.

“What do you mean?” I said.

“Heath is going to come with me back to Denver,” Cross said. “We’re going to go to the station as soon as this threat is taken care of. We need to get him on camera.”

“I’m going to confess everything,” Dad said. “I want it to be over, and I want you and your family to be safe. I’m sorry it took me this long to do the right thing.”

I studied his eyes, trying to determine if I could trust him. I didn’t know this man well enough to read the intention in his look.

But it didn’t matter. A window on one side of the condo shattered as something came flying in the room. The cops leaped into action. Cross drew his gun.

The object came to a stop at my feet. A baseball-sized rock with a piece of string tied around it. On the end of the string, a folded up piece of paper attached with a paperclip.

I picked up the paper. Opened it.

Come out, come out, wherever you are.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Cross opened the front door of the condo and leaned out. There was a sharp whistling
sound, and he spun, and I saw the hole the bullet had made in his forehead before he fell down the stairs.

Grace and Janine both yelped and ducked into the kitchen. Dog started barking.

“Backdoor,” I shouted.

“There isn’t one,” Susan said.

The two cops raced for the front door and out into the hallway. Their guns weren’t silenced, and when they pulled their triggers, they sounded like cracks of thunder.

One of the cops took a bullet in the chest. He bellowed, then raised his arm. I could see the bullet had hit him just to the side of his bulletproof vest. He staggered and fell forward. The other cop squeezed off a few shots, then ran down the stairs.

I could already hear people screaming outside.

The cop came back up the stairs and leaned in the doorway. “You folks stay here. Everything is under control. Go into the bathroom and lock the door. Do not open it, except for anyone with the code word. The code word is—”

Then his head jerked as a bullet passed through the side of his face, and he staggered into the apartment. His body quivered as blood leaked onto the carpet.

Janine screamed.

I dashed forward and picked up his gun. Leaned out into the hallway, and a bullet whiffed past my head.

“Tucker, no!” Grace yelled.

I stuck my arm out into the hall and fired off a few shots. Leaned out, there was no one there. I turned around as Susan was prying Cross’ gun out of his hand. “Let’s go,” she said.

I picked up the dead cop’s shotgun, ran back, and grabbed Rodrick by the shirt collar. “You need to protect her,” I said. “You need to stay here with her and protect her.” He nodded as I thrust the shotgun into his hands. “Can you do that? Can you keep Grace safe?”

“I can do that,” he said.

I threw one last look at Grace. The little niggling voice of doubt told me it would be the last time I would ever see her alive. But if there was one tiny chance that I was wrong and I could end this, I had to take it.

“I love you,” I said. “I’ll be right back. I promise.”

She mouthed the words to me as tears streamed down her reddened cheeks.

Susan and I jumped down the stairs, over strangers wearing bloodied suits, sprawled at odd angles. Dog came bounding down after us.

At the bottom of the stairs, I witnessed the pandemonium of the village outside. Hundreds of people running in all directions, shouting, screaming. A security guard in a blue jacket was standing on a bench, waving his arms and shouting for people to remain calm.

Susan ran past me, but I grabbed her arm.

“Susan, wait. You need to stay here.”

“What?”

“Please. Grace and Janine are in that apartment, and they need protection. Rodrick’s not going to be much help against men with guns. Please, go back up there with them.”

I looked through the chaos of the crowd to find two men in suits at the opposite edge, near a pizza place. One of them met my eye.

“You need me,” Susan said. “I have combat training. I can help.”

The man across the street raised what looked like a submachine gun and spit a half dozen shots. Screams filled my ears as I saw a man fall to his knees. Susan whirled, a jet of blood spraying from her chest. She hit the ground and gazed up at me as blood darkened the snow around her.

Her mouth moved, but no words came out.

What should I do? Go back upstairs and be with Grace? Or chase after these attackers? Cross had only brought two cops with him, so he could keep this mission quiet. But the gunshots would bring more cops. Real cops. Maybe if I went back upstairs, we could wait it out. Or maybe these IntelliCraft men would circle back, toss a couple grenades, and kill the only people left in the world I cared about.

I knew what I had to do.

Kill them both. Add two more notches on my bedpost.

Head down, I raced through the crowd after the two men.

They took off down an alley, and I shoved several frantic people out of the way to clear a path. I bumped into crazed skiers and boarders unsure which direction they should flee. Had to leap over people huddled on the ground with their hands protecting their heads like the nuclear drills from back in grade school.

The alley between the two buildings led out into a vast snowy field littered with a collection of hulking Snowcat trail grooming machines. Rows of them, like tanks with their treaded tires, but with glass-enclosed driver cabs atop the treads.

Above, the cloudy sky shifted from gray to white, threatening snow. I could hear some classic rock echoing from a faraway sound system. My gloveless hands stung from the cold.

One of the men ducked into a row of the Snowcats. I followed, knees bent and staying low, pistol out and pointed at the ground. I counted four rows, four of the giant machines in each row. When I reached the first row, I poked my head around the edge of a Snowcat. A bullet whistled past, just a few inches from my head.

“You missed,” I shouted, my breath puffing out like fog.

No reply. I was hoping they’d say something and give away their location. Backtracking, I creeped to the middle of the line. I ducked down, keeping my body shielded by the giant tread of the tires. Reached the end of the machine, and peeked just to the side of the cab. Saw two sets of arms.

I leveled the gun, took a breath, and pulled the trigger. Hit him right in the stomach. As he wailed, the other man retreated around the Snowcat, and I jumped out of cover. Fired off another shot, but I was a little too late as he disappeared behind the machine.

The man I’d shot was bleeding in the snow, writhing and cursing.

Another blast of a gun rang out, but I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. I waited, listening, trying to hear him, but there was too much noise coming from all sides.

An idea struck me. I stepped onto the Snowcat tire, then hoisted myself up to the cab. Threw my legs over the top of the thing, then pulled myself up.

I was now above all of them and could see all four rows at once. I kneeled as the metal roof of the cab dimpled under my weight. Couldn’t see anything at first, then a hint of motion between the second and third rows revealed the last gunman. I raised my own weapon, but I couldn’t get a clear shot at him from back here. I needed to move to the next row. It was a ten foot jump to the roof of the next Snowcat, so I stashed the gun in the waistband of my jeans and readied myself to jump.

I’d hop, then hop again, landing on top of him.

Ducking down and gathering all my energy, I pressed through my thighs and envisioned myself landing on top of the next Snowcat. But halfway through the air, the man stepped out into full view. He whirled, raised his gun, and squeezed the trigger. I heard the shot squealing through the air, then felt the strangest pinching sensation in my left hand. Like I’d slapped it against something icy.

My hand jerked, and my angle of descent changed. I toppled through the air, my body twisting and out of control. I bounced on the roof of the Snowcat and then fell over the other side, colliding with the man.

Our eyes met as we hit the ground, and I noticed the strangest thing. I knew this guy. I’d seen him in the kitchen at the IntelliCraft office in Dallas one morning when I was there for a training boot camp, and he’d told me where the coffee filters were.

I was on my back, and he was struggling to get to his feet. I reached out and grabbed the leg of his pants, gave it a firm yank, and pulled him back to the ground.

Gripping his pant leg sent my hand into agony. I screamed, then looked down at my hand. There was a piece of skin missing. I could see snow on the ground through a hole in my hand.

A hole in my hand.

For a second, the world went grainy, and I thought I was going to pass out. Pain swirled up through my fingers and into my forearm.

The man, who’d landed on his stomach, spun around to face me, and I elbowed him in the nose with my good arm. Could feel warmth on my injured hand as blood made my fingers slippery. I pressed it against my side, told myself I had to leave it there and use only my right hand from now on.

Blood spouted from his nose, but he was still trying to scoot away from me and get to his feet.

I reached back to my waistband. The gun was missing.

I looked around. Must have fallen out when I was jumping.

I jabbed him in the face again, and he pushed himself to his knees.

Then I saw his gun, a couple feet to his left. He saw it too, and lunged. Instead of going for the weapon I opted to grab at him, my hands landing on his belt. I growled as I pulled him back and away from the gun, then I leapfrogged over him. I dug the gun out of a pile of snow.

He smacked me in the back, and I fell in the snow, landing on my face. I spun onto my back just as he fell on top of me. He reared back, preparing to punch me in the nose.

I pointed the gun at his chest and pulled the trigger.

His eyes, red with rage, suddenly went blank. He grunted, then landed on top of me. I remembered that he’d introduced himself to me, that day in the kitchen. I think his name was Dave. Had seemed like a nice guy, actually.

The air rushed out of my lungs, and I struggled to breathe. Using my good hand and the elbow of my injured hand, I pushed to the side until I’d heaved the dead man’s body off mine.

Got to my feet, then stumbled back to where I’d left the man I’d shot in the stomach, to make sure he was still there. He was dead, resting on a bank of bloody snow. He was gripping his tie in one hand as if he’d been trying to take it off.

I looked down at my left hand, which was coated burgundy with my blood. I went woozy again. Aching, throbbing, pain like I’d never experienced before.

I snatched the tie from the dead man’s neck and wrapped it around the hole in my wrist. Agony. Pulsing, screeching anguish shot up through my hand and stabbed at my arm. I hit my knees and vomited for the second time today, but only a little bit of sour yellow liquid dribbled out.

I stumbled out from the Snowcat row, into the open. I was in a flat, snowy field, the Keystone parking lot to my left and the ski resort to my right. I felt dazed, unable to think straight.

And that’s when I saw my dad. He was running for me, his hands out. “Tucker! Get out of here! He’s coming! You need to get out of here!”

Dog was at his heels, jumping and yipping.

I wanted to open my mouth and shout at him, tell him I was fine, please go back and stay with Grace, but my mouth didn’t work.

And then Thomason stepped out from between two Snowcats, just behind my dad. He was holding a small black object in his hands, like a flashlight. He flicked his wrist, and the object telescoped out to about two feet long.

Dad didn’t see it coming. Thomason cracked the object on top of his head. Dad fell to his knees, and Thomason smacked him again.

He fell face-forward into the snow.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The clouds above parted, and a blast of sunlight filled my eyes. It reflected off the field of snow, and since I wasn’t wearing sunglasses, my eyes burned with snow blindness.

I yelped and buried my face in the crook of my arm.

But Thomason was still out there. Squinting, eyes on fire, I tried to find him. I could see his dark shape advancing on me. I raised the pistol and fired off a shot, but he didn’t fall. I squeezed the trigger again.

Empty.

Empty empty empty.

I dropped the gun in the snow. My vision returned as my eyes adjusted to the brightness of my surroundings. I blinked a few times and my eyes fell on the shape in the snow. My dad, brutalized by Thomason. A small patch of red snow in front of his head. Thomason was standing ten feet from me, holding the baton. Grinning at me.

Police sirens echoed in the distance.

Blood soaked the tie covering the bullet wound in my hand. I felt my heartbeat pulse in the wound.