Face to Face (31 page)

"Neither does she. Not unless we help her." King peeled off down the street and around the corner, searching for an alternative route to the Stackhouse. He glanced over at Drake. "You want out? I'll go alone. But Cassandra has a better chance with both of us."

King might be crazy, but Drake couldn't argue with that.

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Tony drove them to the Stackhouse. There were Rippers gathered on street corners everywhere, but they ignored the van. 

"Gangstas are coming. It's going to be war," Tony said. His tone was one of glee. Or maybe it was fear of getting caught in the crossfire. "We need to hurry."

He screeched to a halt at the front door of the Stackhouse. "She's upstairs."

Cassie followed him in through the foyer and up the partially burnt staircase. They had to climb it with their backs pressed against the supporting wall and jump over several missing steps, but thankfully, it held. 

Once they made it to the landing, he stepped aside, allowing her to duck under a fallen beam and enter the room. She aimed her flashlight into every corner. No Athena. Only a rolled up piece of carpet thrown in the corner and a tremendous stink that gagged her even worse than the smell downstairs.

"Where is she?"

Tony came up behind her and reached for her arm to direct her flashlight beam. Suddenly he snapped a handcuff onto her wrist. 

She pivoted away, but he cranked her wrist behind her, bending it so she had to move in whatever direction he wanted. The pain was excruciating, firing up her nerves into her shoulder joint.

"Tony—"

"Shut up and move." He forced her into the room and down on her knees where he handcuffed her wrist to a radiator.

"I don't understand," Cassie said. Only she did understand, all too well. Drake had been right all along. Fear threatened to engulf her but she thought of Drake and forced it down.

Drake was meeting her at the Center, Tammy knew she'd left with Tony, surely someone would come, if she could just buy some time.

"You and Drake. Such idiots. You think the whole world revolves around you and your little love fest, don't you? You never stop to think there are other people out there. People whose lives you ruined."

"This is about Pamela and Drake?"

"No. It's about me. I was with Pamela the night before she died—before Drake. She tells me all about the HIV, doesn't give a shit that we just fucked and that maybe I'm fucked. No, all she cares about is how is she gonna tell Drake and what will he think of her and now she's never gonna get him back. A load of crap. But I listen. And I tell her she's right. There's only one way she can be sure she'll always have Drake, that he'll never ever let her go.

"I even showed her how to use a gun and where to aim to make sure she didn't screw it up. Dumb bitch."

"You convinced Pamela to kill herself? Why? To get back at Drake?"

"Drake's a fuck up. Always has been. I don't know why Miller kept him on long as she has, unless he's screwing her, too. I thought with him gone I might have a chance at plainclothes, show Miller I had what it took. Who knew Drake would land on his feet the way he did, son of a bitch." He paused. "And then you came along. Little miss perfect. You humiliated me.I try to do the right thing, warn you about Drake, and you humiliated me. In front of my guys. Then I lost my job because of you. The only thing in this whole goddamn world I give a shit about and you take it away from me."

It wasn't her fault he lost his nerve during a hostage situation—except she'd been the hostage. "But—"

"Shut the fuck up! I'm talking here. Did you really think it was a coincidence you were having such a bad week, Cassie? It was so easy. Once Reynolds was on board, I hooked her up with Alan King. Slipped him the info on the Brickner case, let him think he was using me to spy on you. He figured there was more going on but he didn't care as long as he could destroy you, restore the family honor. Of course, I never figured Drake would run off. Plan was he'd be here to watch me kill you, nice and slow. Reynolds would take the fall and I could get the one thing I love more than anything—my job back. As usual, you screwed things up. Now we have to do it the hard way."

"You killed Elizabeth Reynolds?"

He laughed. "Bitch was crazier than her sister. Guess brain cancer will do that to you. She loved seeing Drake squirm. Came this close to getting him into bed with her. She didn't even give a shit about dying as long as Drake paid for what he did to her sister. Should've worked. Would've worked, if it wasn't for you."

Cassie doubted Elizabeth Reynolds went voluntarily to her death. Like all of Tony's accusations, it was what his warped brain needed to believe. He was the victim here, it wasn't his fault—how many times had she heard that from patients in the ER?

"This time I get to play hero. They'll give me a fucking medal after tonight. Too bad neither you or Drake will be alive to see it. He'll live long enough to see you buried and then he's mine."

"It's me you want, Tony. I'm the reason you lost your job. Please, leave Drake out of it. Let him live. I'm begging you."

"You know the hardest part of this whole damn thing?" he asked with a sneer. "Kissing you on the roof the other night. Playing at being your friend, infatuated. I wanted to puke after."

"Tony, please. There's no need—"

He slapped her hard. Just once, but once was enough for her to see he would never listen to reason. She thought back to every other encounter they'd had. Tony had always showed himself to be a bully, caring only about himself, but she'd ignored it, thought he'd changed. How could she have been such a fool?

"No going back now, Cassie." 

He turned to kick a rolled up carpet away from the wall. That's where the stink was coming from. Urine, vomit, blood, and…lighter fluid? Tony kicked it again and a muffled scream came from inside. He unrolled the top layer.

"Meet your favorite fire starter."

Ronald Brickner lay facing Cassie, face bruised and swollen, his body encased in the layers of carpeting. "Please—"

His pleas were cut short by another vicious kick. Tony crouched low, taking a squeeze bottle of lighter fluid from the floor and spraying it over Brickner's face and the carpet. 

"You've been a very naughty boy, Ronald. No one told you to set Cassie's house on fire. You almost ruined everything."

He picked up a plumber's blowtorch and lit it. "Time's up Cassie. No more second chances. For either of you." His grin was ghastly in the light of the flickering blue flame. 

"Tony, turn off the blowtorch," Cassie yelled, trying to break through to whatever reason was left in the ex-cop. "The fumes. They'll ignite."

"Shut up, Cassie. It's finally my turn to have fun." He lowered the plumber's torch, aiming at Brickner's eyes. 

Brickner screamed. His voice was hoarse, choked with blood and mucus. Before Tony's flame touched his skin, the air beyond Tony's hand caught fire. Brilliant blue and gold flames danced onto Tony's arm, racing up his sleeve.

Tony dropped the torch and fell to the ground, cursing. The torch hit the floor and the flames spread, one wave towards the carpet where Brickner struggled, trying to roll away and free himself simultaneously. The other towards Cassie.

Cassie struggled with her bonds. The handcuff held her tight to the radiator. She tried to rock it, pull it free, but it barely budged. A few streaks of fire came close but she was able to kick them out. Thank God none of the lighter fluid splashed over here.

Tony ran from the room, cursing, holding his arm to his chest. 

The room filled with smoke, choking her. She bent over double, keeping her face as close to the floor as possible. Brickner's screams filled her head but she couldn't see him through the smoke.

Flames crawled up the walls, eagerly feeding, then blossomed over the ceiling. Everywhere Cassie looked was black smoke and flames.

CHAPTER 35

To Drake's surprise, King maneuvered the minivan fairly well using the cruise control as accelerator and his left leg, the stronger one, for the pedals when needed. They sped down Ravenna and cut over to Ruby Avenue where the Stackhouse was located. 

The smoke Drake spotted wasn't coming from the Stackhouse. Instead, an abandoned row house was ablaze. Women and children ran down the streets while Rippers gathered in groups. Drake spotted one kid, maybe all of twelve, standing guard on a corner, holding a Mac-10, while his compatriots rolled a car onto its side and set it on fire, blocking another side street.

"Why are they torching their own territory?"

"You asking me?" King answered in a loud voice fueled by adrenalin. "I'm more concerned about how we're going to get past that."

He pointed through the windshield to the pickup truck pulling out in front of them, its bed filled with burning tires. It rolled to a stop across both lanes of the street, half a block from the Stackhouse.

"Got your seatbelt on?" 

King buckled up, grit his teeth, hunched forward, and shifted his good foot to the accelerator. "Hang on!"

The last thing Drake thought before they hit the truck was Denise was going to kill him if he made it out of this alive.

King aimed for the rear bumper of the truck. They rammed it at high enough speed that the truck flipped as it spun, spilling its fiery cargo. 

The minivan sped through the flames but the airbags deployed on impact, obscuring their vision. King lost his grip on the steering wheel as they skid out of control. Sparks flew as they slid along the side of a car parked on the side of the street.

Finally they jumped the curb and stopped. Drake batted away the deflated air bags, squinting through the smoky haze they left in their wake. King was stunned, bleeding from his forehead, but otherwise looked okay.

What Drake didn't like the looks of was the crowd they'd attracted. Eight Rippers forming a circle around the front of the van. All armed. All smiling.

"Can you shoot?" Drake asked King.

King blinked and stared at him like he was having trouble hearing. Drake didn't waste time trying to explain. Instead he drew his backup Glock-27 and handed it to King. "If they get close, just point at the chest and pull the trigger."

"Don't you have to fire a warning shot? Or aim for their legs or something?"

"Only if you want to get killed. You aim that at them, it's warning enough. They don't back off, you shoot. Can you do that?"

King's Adam's apple bobbed up and down. "Yes. Go get Cassandra."

Drake did the math. The Baby Glock had nine bullets; there were eight Rippers. Hopefully if it came to shooting, they'd scatter fast. But if they returned with reinforcements…He took the smaller Glock from King and gave him his duty weapon, a Glock-22, and a spare clip instead. That more than tripled King's ammo, leaving Drake with one full magazine of fifteen and the nine bullets in the Glock-27.

Even as he made the switch, more Rippers arrived. Bullets weren't going to be the answer here, speed was. 

"I'll be as fast as I can. Backup is on the way."

"Don't worry about me. Save Cassandra." 

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Cassie coughed and choked, knowing that with each breath she sucked in poisons like cyanide and carbon monoxide. She slid her wrist down to the base of the cast iron radiator and put her shoulder as low to the floor as possible before trying to lift it up. The handcuffs were attached to the water inflow pipe, and if it had fared as well as the other plumbing she'd seen in the Stackhouse, there was a good chance it had been cut and scavenged. If she was lucky…

The radiator tilted and she spotted the bottom edge of the pipe peek up through the rotting floorboard. Just an inch more…The radiator rocked back into place before she had enough room to slid the handcuff free. She took as deep a breath as she could, adjusted her position to get the best leverage possible and tried again.

This time the handcuff was halfway free when she couldn't hold the weight any longer. But the third time was the charm. She yanked free just before the radiator landed. 

Cassie looked around, but was totally disoriented. Her first thought was to save Brickner, but she realized that was hopeless—not only could she never find him in the smoke, there was no way he could have survived that blaze. Instead she concentrated on finding the door.

The fire itself guided her as flames spread over the ceiling, down a short way then disappeared heading out of the room. She crawled in that direction. 

Flaming pieces of the ceiling dropped down but were small enough to knock aside before they did any damage. She made it through the doorway to the landing. There was less smoke here but the ceiling was roiling with flames, its surface bubbling black. It would only be a matter of moments before it came crashing down. 

"Cassie, help me!" Tony had fallen through the damaged flooring on the landing and was clawing at floorboards, fighting to keep from falling.

She hesitated. Part of her wanted to pretend she never heard him. But she had. He'd tried to kill her, killed two people; he didn't deserve to live.

But she wasn't a killer. Except she was. Memory flooded through her. When she first met Drake, when they were fighting for their lives, trapped, and she had no choice but to kill.

This time she had a choice.

She crawled towards a length of metal latticework that had torn loose from the railing. She couldn't risk falling through the floor by getting too close to Tony, so she extended the metal railing towards him. "Grab hold." 

A coughing fit overcame her and the world blurred as tears obscured her vision. The flames began eating their way down the walls. If she didn't move fast, the stairway would be blocked.

Tony took the end of the railing. It took all her strength to anchor it in place as he struggled to heave his body up and out of the hole in the floor. "Pull, damnit!"

She tried but couldn't. Red blotches floated through her vision and her head pounded. The world kept going in and out of focus and she couldn't catch her breath.

Tony managed to pull himself part of the way out. Just as he leveraged one knee up out of the hole, the ceiling collapsed between them, a shower of sparks and wood crashing onto the landing.