G-Men: The Series (80 page)

Once everyone was in position, the warrants were to be executed simultaneously to make sure no one else was tipped off. Kim was monitoring all of the vehicles on GPS from our field office in D.C.

The SWAT agent driving was Agent Hardesty. He was well-versed in the winding, narrow, rural roads we were traveling to reach our warrant destination. Agent Evans was in the back.

Kim’s voice came over my walkie-talkie. She was patched in from the D.C. office.

“Agent Matthews, I’m synchronizing your vehicle’s GPS with that on unit serial number 10978233 that I’ve been tracking per your request at 11:45 a.m. EST. That vehicle is within a five-mile radius of your current location. Stand by.”

Shit! That’s Kyzer’s Benz. Keep on coming, baby.

“That’s clear,” I radioed back. “It’s on the screen now. Over.”

“Agent Hardesty, the vehicle approaching right here,” I said, putting my finger on the GPS screen and showing him the moving pink dot, “is Kyzer Stanfield’s dark blue, Mercedes Benz, C300. If he continues on his current route, we should be coming up on him in about three minutes. We need to apprehend this individual.”

“Not a problem, Agent Matthews. There are no turn-offs between here and there.”

“Keep in mind, he may have passengers.”

“Not a problem.”

“Keep in mind, there is not a warrant issued for this individual.”

“Still, not a problem. Get ready, Evans.”

Good. We are on the same page.

I could feel my adrenaline pumping; the bastard was almost in our sights. The seconds ticked by like minutes.

Finally, up on the horizon, we could see his dark blue Benz coming closer. We couldn’t afford to get tangled up in a car chase…not out here on these twisted, narrow, hilly roads.

Hardesty pushed a button and the sunroof opened on the top of our SUV. Just as the two vehicles prepared to pass, Evans raised himself up quickly, clearing the roof of the vehicle, and fired two shots from his high-powered, automatic rifle at the back tires of the Mercedes.

“You gotta love these bullets,” he said, smiling as he sat back down. “They do a nice job on steel-belted tires.”

Hardesty slowed the SUV and made a U-turn, coming up quickly beside the Mercedes, now limping along the graveled berm.

I was out of the vehicle like a shot. It was me and him, and he was going to tell me what I wanted to know. He cowered in his vehicle, trying to use his cell phone.

Oh, hell no!

I braced myself, grabbing my Glock from my waistband holster, and ordered him out of the vehicle.

He delayed. Not good.

I shot the glass out of the driver’s side window. Reaching inside, I hauled his skinny ass through the window with one arm. I threw him up against the side of his vehicle.

Hardesty had his weapon drawn and on him, while Evans frisked him, top to bottom.

“Clean,” Evans said, retreating back.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I said, walking closer. “You can turn around now, Kyzer. We were just on our way to see you. We have some questions.”

He looked up at me, his face full of haughty attitude. He was not going to make this easy, I could tell. We didn’t have a lot of time to lose either.

“I’m not saying a thing. I want a lawyer.”

“Did you hear that guys? He wants a lawyer and we haven’t even questioned him yet.” I heard the other two agents scoff in response.

I held the cold, steel barrel of my Glock up next to his temple, pressing it into the skin.

“Where’d you get the nice, long scratch on your face, Poindexter?”

“My pussy cat,” he said, smiling.

The son-of-a-bitch is so close to dying. He’s just too fucking stupid to realize it.

“Are you resisting me?” I bellowed, causing him to jump. The barrel of the Glock left a mark on his skin.

“Hardesty, is this mother-fucker resisting me?”

“Looks that way, Special Agent Matthews, sir!”

“Evans!” I shouted, not taking my eyes off of Kyzer’s now frightened ones. “Is the suspect armed and threatening our safety and our lives?”

“Yes, sir, Special Agent Matthews! I plainly see the gun in his hand, sir. The suspect has drawn a weapon on an agent of the F.B.I. and has threatened to shoot!”

“That’s what I thought,” I sneered, snatching him up. I moved the barrel of my gun and ran it across his lips.

“Do you like the taste of gun metal, Poindexter? You’re going to taste a whole lot more of it if you don’t tell me in the next five seconds where Lindsey is, you sorry-ass, mother-fucker.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, his eyes now panicked. “She’s back at the old factory on Fraley Road. There’s a locked room up on the mezzanine, overlooking the factory floor. If you release me, I’ll give you the keys.”

“Who else is there?”

“No one. Just her. I swear.”

I released him, and he audibly sighed with relief. Our weapons remained drawn, as he reached into the pocket of his Polo jacket, and pulled out a set of keys.

“This one’s to the main factory door, and this one’s to the locked room on the mezzanine.”

“You better hope she’s alright,” I hissed, putting my Glock away.

“Evans, Mirandize this piece of shit. I want you to stay with him until the locals get here to haul him in. By the way, Poindexter, it appears you’ve pissed yourself.”

Kyzer Stanfield lowered his head, as if he hadn’t realized throughout the ordeal that he’d urinated in his drawers. A large wet spot covered his whole crotch area, and halfway down each thigh.

Hardesty and I returned to the SUV and took off. I radioed the others that Kyzer Stanfield was in custody. Kim was contacting the locals to dispatch deputies to pick him up with Agent Evans.

We were going to proceed with the warrants, as authorized, to see what other evidence could be uncovered. I relayed to Slate that Stanfield had said Lindsey was locked up in the deserted factory, and that I would radio back once we had her in our protection.

Slate was tense. I could hear it in his voice. I was not as tense, knowing that we would be there within minutes to get her into our custody and protection. My protection. My Lindsey.

Within minutes, all the teams were in place to execute the warrants. Kyzer had been honest about the factory. It was deserted. There wasn’t a vehicle or a soul around.

It was fairly large on what seemed to be more than a hundred acres. There were no homes, farms or businesses around.

Hardesty and I let ourselves in, looking around to make sure it was just as deserted as it appeared. It was cold and damp inside. There was no shortage of rodent droppings, either. We located the factory floor, and to the west end of it, there were metal steps leading up to the mezzanine he described.

We used flashlights to guide us. Some portions of the building seemed to have electricity, others did not. I climbed the metal steps and went through a swinging door down a long, tiled hallway.

It looked as if, at one time when the factory had been operational, the mezzanine might’ve been where the lunch room, supply room and rest rooms were located. At the end of the hallway, there was a door that was shut. It had placard over the door that read “Infirmary.”

I inserted the key into the lock, it turned. I opened the door to the room, not the least bit prepared for what I was about to find when I switched on the light.

Slate’s voice came over the walkie-talkie, just as I flipped the light switch.

“We’ve got Sue Ellen Stanfield, a.k.a. Susan Reynard in custody, boys. Taz, what’s goin’ on at your end?”

I couldn’t speak. I felt something wet running down my cheeks. It was foreign to me, and for the first time ever, I froze. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. My heart had died inside of me.

“Taz? Did you copy that?”

I heard a voice next to me on the walkie-talkie.

“This is Agent Hardesty. We’re going to need an ambulance here, stat. Do you copy?”

“Copy that, Agent Hardesty.”

^{chapter 45}

There had been so much pain, so much agony, and so much fear. My throat had burned with its own fire, my muscles ached, and my bones ached, my skin felt as if it had been ripped from me in several places.

I remembered why I was in pain, and who had inflicted the pain. I remembered thinking that death might just be a blessing, if it truly meant the pain would be gone.

I had lain in this bed hour after hour, and thought about what death might mean for me.

It would mean never seeing my mother again. I couldn’t imagine that, but mostly I worried about how my death would make her feel. She’d been angry and disappointed in me because of my relationship with Taz. If I died, the guilt of that would haunt her. I didn’t wish her that.

I thought about not seeing my baby brother again, of missing all of his “firsts” as he grew into a toddler, then adolescent. He wouldn’t remember me as he grew older. He wouldn’t remember that I’d changed his diaper, fed him, played with him, rocked him and loved him. I didn’t want him to forget me.

I thought about Slate, and how, even though he wasn’t a father-figure exactly, he was still someone that I cared about and respected. I thought about all that he’d gone through with my mother, and what he would be faced with if I died, dealing with her sadness and anguish. I didn’t wish that for him.

I thought about Taz and how important he’d become to me. I understood now why he’d gotten so upset when I continued to communicate in any fashion with Kyzer. He’d known somehow the monster Kyzer was.

I knew that he would blame himself, then me, then himself again. I knew if I died, he would be twisted up inside, that he would wonder about what might have been, that he would have a broken heart.

As much as I thought about the important people in my life, I knew that eventually, all of them would be okay with my passing…except Taz.

Maybe it’s because when one hovers between life and death, things suddenly become crystal clear in their minds, and the realization hits about what’s truly important to the ones you love, the ones you leave behind.

I wasn’t ready to part with Taz in this life. There were still things we hadn’t done, arguments we hadn’t had, laughter we hadn’t shared, tears we hadn’t cried, and the realization for both of us that we were meant to be together.

I realized if I died, then I would have left this earth not sharing with him one, vital piece of information, and that was that I loved him, and that my heart belonged to him.

Leaving this planet without letting Taz know that I loved him? I didn’t wish that for me.

I slept and felt pain. I felt pain and slept. I had dreams that made no sense, heard voices that I didn’t recognize, and prayed to a God that didn’t seem to be listening to me at the moment.

And then, one day the pain started to ebb, the sleep started to feel restful, and the voices were familiar to me. My skin didn’t burn, my bones and muscles no longer ached, the chills no longer racked my body and I did this very wonderful thing: I sneezed.

I felt the sneeze and I heard the sneeze. I also heard a familiar voice say, “Bless you.”

“Thank you,” I replied, my voice sounding almost foreign to me.

Someone was at my side immediately, taking my hand into his strong, warm one. I knew that hand. I knew that presence.

“Taz?” I opened an eye, squinting into the sunlight coming in from a window somewhere.

I looked up and there he was, the sunlight framing his beautiful face as if he were an angel. And I saw his smile, and he truly was my angel, and I thanked the God I presumed had been ignoring me.

“I’m alive?”

“Yes, baby girl, you’re alive and awake.”

I saw the IV tubes stuck in various places in my arms. There appeared to be a feeding tube in my stomach, as near as I could tell. It was obvious I was in the hospital, but how long had I been here?

“Do you remember what happened?”

“Of course I do. That son-of-a-bitch Kyzer tortured me beyond anything you could imagine.”

I saw his smile fade into a grim line. Apparently, Taz had been clued in as to the extent of the torture.

My voice was hoarse and raspy. Taz grabbed a Styrofoam cup from the bedside table and poured water from a pitcher into it. He placed a bendy straw in it, and held it to my lips.

I drank and drank and it tasted so good, so soothing to my throat. I stopped sipping, feeling quenched. He was staring at me so intently, so seriously. He looked so tired.

“Before you say anything, I know I need to apologize. You were right, I was wrong. He was a monster, pure and simple. If I’d listened to you—”

“Stop,” he all but shouted, causing me to jump. “Oh, I’m sorry, baby girl, I didn’t mean to raise my voice. I won’t have you blaming yourself or apologizing for anything. Do you understand?”

I nodded. He was strangely calm and quiet.

“If I’d been allowed to share with you the Intel that I had, you might have taken it all more seriously. I couldn’t, so you didn’t. You have no reason to apologize. I’m the one that needs to apologize, baby. I didn’t keep you safe.”

I wasn’t going to let this fight for blame continue. The bottom line was that monsters like Kyzer Stanfield needed to take responsibility for the things they did.