Grave Consequences (28 page)

Rand smiled and Charlie chuckled. If anything, Rand was an inch taller. “Okay, as soon as the ladies come out of the bedroom,” Rand said. “I've already laid out something that should fit you. The good news is that I wear my shirt tail out when around the house, so it'll be easier to hide your pistol.”

“While we're waiting, let's go over your part in this,” Charlie said.

“Okay. Jayne and I drive Sergeant Medina's Jeep north out of Corrales instead of south so we won't pass by anyone coming over from Albuquerque who might be looking for us. We continue on to the town of Bernalillo, head east, then return to Albuquerque via the interstate. We go straight to your friend Gina's town house. We stay there with Gina until we get the all-clear from you.”

“Exactly, and don't go or stop anywhere else or contact anyone except for Gina, Sergeant Medina, or me until we say you're out of danger,” Charlie said. “Got that?”

“Yes. What about Al's family and your parents?” Rand asked.

“They know the danger and are going to be somewhere else until this is over,” Charlie answered.

Just then, Nancy and Jayne came out of the bedroom. Nancy had applied heavy, darker makeup to give her Jayne's skin tones, which would work at a distance or in low light. Jayne's long black hair was tucked into a cap and she was wearing glasses and a bulky sweatshirt and skirt.

“Didn't know you had a skirt,” Rand commented immediately. “You look so…”

“Sixties,” Gordon suggested. “And you, Nancy, look more like Jayne than she does at the moment.”

“Okay, now go and put on your Rand disguise, Gordon,” Charlie said, motioning toward the bedroom. Rand led the way.

Nancy walked to the window and closed the curtains halfway before stepping to the side and taking a look down the road. “It'll be dark soon.”

Jayne came over and touched Charlie's arm gently. “Sorry I was so … resentful last time you were here. It was like you thought I was a fool or something.”

Charlie shrugged. “What can I say, Jayne? I'm the kind of guy who insists on taking a position when it comes to people I care about. Either way, it looks like you're on a good path right now,” he said, nodding toward the bedroom door. “Do you remember that President Reagan quote Dad used to repeat when we were in high school—every time we caught him checking up on us?”

Jayne laughed. “Trust, but verify. You know he was right?”

“Ronald Reagan?”

“No, smartass, Dad. And yes, I'm not closing my eyes around anyone in my life—until they're family. And even then…”

The bedroom door opened, and Rand came out wearing a hoodie, jeans, and cross trainers. Gordon followed, dressed in a red knit work shirt with a company label and tan slacks. He wore his own brown deck shoes. Charlie noted the bulge of the Beretta at his waist beneath the shirt.

Nancy stepped over and looked Gordon up and down. “For a man, you'll do.”

They all laughed, then Nancy turned, shook Jayne's hand, then gave her the keys to the Jeep. “You kids get going and stay safe. If you get lost in Albuquerque, the GPS on the dash will lead you straight to Gina.”

“Be careful, guys,” Jayne said, smiling at Gordon, then Charlie before reaching out and touching him lightly above his heart.

“Always. Same to you two,” he added, walking toward the door.

Thirty seconds later the Jeep was heading toward Corrales Road.

Nancy turned to Charlie and Gordon. “It's six
PM
and we don't know how much time we have. Let's settle on a tactical plan, break out the hardware, then get Big Brother out of sight before the entertainment arrives.”

Nancy flipped on the porch light, turned the TV to the local news, then went into the kitchen. “There's a pizza in the freezer, so that'll be dinner tonight. You keep watch, Gordon, and, Charlie, grab the shotgun from the case then get into the bathroom.”

“Can't I hide in the closet?” Charlie joked. He walked into the bedroom and opened the gun case, lifting out the weapon. It was fully loaded with buckshot, but he took the extra bandoleer of shells with him as he crossed the hall and stepped into the bathroom.

Here he could remain with the light on, sitting at least, and be instantly ready. The window above the tub was frosted, with a dark shower curtain that further concealed his presence.

Charlie checked out the shotgun. It was a short, tactical semiauto model good for providing close-in firepower without penetrating thin walls and hitting his own people. He'd looked over the adobe walls when first arriving and was very familiar with the ballistic protection the thick mud and straw offered. Most of the civilian structures he'd encountered in Iraq and Afghanistan were made of mud and stone. These walls were thick enough to stop or slow down anything smaller than a fifty cal.

The doors and the windows were the exception, and Nancy didn't want any rounds to reach one of the neighborhood homes. They all realized that if they were right, when Sheila finally walked through that door she'd be coming to kill someone. She and Clarence had a violent history, at least in the past few months. If Sheila had been the one who pulled the trigger on Cordell Buck and set off the bomb that killed the men hired to take out Bitsillie, there was no reason to expect anything different tonight.

Charlie sat there, waiting and listening to the low conversation taking place outside in the living room and kitchen. Gordon and Nancy were trying to decide when Sheila would arrive tonight—if at all. If the woman was planning on biding her time, how long would Jayne have to hide out?

He heard footsteps. “Yo, Charlie. Want some pizza?” Gordon whispered.

Looking around at the shower, the sink, the tiny medicine cabinet, then the porcelain throne he was seated upon, he decided that in spite of all this, he'd had dinner in a lot less appropriate places. There were no deceased people or animals within sight, and besides, the tiny room looked spotless. It even smelled like lavender.

“Sure,” he said. “Just give me a minute to wash my hands.”

A half hour later, sitting in the dark and already cursing the slow but consistent
drip, drip
coming from the mineral-encrusted shower head, he heard the low rumble of a vehicle and the crunch of tires in gravel.

“Vehicle outside,” Nancy called. “White Nissan cargo van wearing a FedEx sign.”

Charlie opened the bathroom door halfway, then reached over and picked up the shotgun he'd leaned against the sink. After verifying he'd already chambered a shell, Charlie inched out so he could see down the hall into the living room. When the front door opened, he'd be able to see whoever came into the small foyer. “Copy,” he whispered, his hands shaking just a little.

“Same here,” Gordon said. “Remember. Make her come inside before you expose yourself,” he added softly.

“Copy,” Nancy responded.

Once he'd lowered the shotgun barrel to a forty-five-degree angle, Charlie's hands stopped shaking. He'd always been nervous and on edge before and after a mission when the tension had no real outlet, but never during the actual event. His training was that good—and he'd always been too busy to get emotional during a firefight. He looked down at the relatively unfamiliar weapon to make sure the safety was off. His gut told him that shots would be fired within a few minutes, and at this range with the buckshot all he had to do was point and squeeze the trigger.

 

Chapter Twenty-three

There was a firm double knock on the front door. “FedEx. I have a package for Ms. Henry,” an unfamiliar woman's voice called out clearly.

That's not Sheila Mae Ben,
Charlie realized instantly.
Then who the hell was it? Really FedEx?

“Coming,” Nancy replied, then nodded to Gordon, who was crouched behind the sofa, looking out at armrest level. Then she glanced over at Charlie, who was angled so all she could see was the shotgun, his right arm and shoulder, and half of his face. Her pistol was still holstered, on her right hip but within reach.

“Can you get the door for me, please? My hands are full,” the woman outside asked.

“Just a second,” Nancy said, her voice as casual as possible as she reached for the knob, her right side protected somewhat by the door.

A young woman wearing a cap, dark blue shirt, and matching pants stepped in, holding a labeled cardboard box against her chest. Her hands supported the box from beneath—and she was carrying something in her hand.

Charlie saw the hidden gun at the same time he recognized the woman's face. Her long black hair was tucked up into the cap, but it was Melinda Foy!

“Gun!” Gordon yelled, rising to his knees as Nancy reached for her weapon.

Melinda dropped the box to one side and fired two shots into Nancy's torso at nearly point-blank range, the long-barreled, silenced .22 emitting mere pops. Almost at the same time, Melinda grunted, staggering from the impact from the buckshot from Charlie's shotgun. Grimacing in pain and bouncing off the open door, she still managed to shift her aim and squeeze off two more rounds down the hall.

Charlie was in the middle of a sidestep across the hall, but felt the heat of a bullet ripping skin on his neck. He fired another load of double 'ought, his ears still ringing from the roar from his first shot. He overcompensated this time, not wanting to hit Nancy, and it was a clean miss, punching a big hole in the open door. Melinda was already stepping back onto the porch, out of his view.

Gordon had to aim around Nancy, but fired twice. “Shit, I missed. She ducked around the corner.”

Nancy took a big side-step, realizing she was in the way, meanwhile fumbling with her hand at the center of her chest where the bullets had struck. Her pistol was still in the holster.

“Check out Nancy,” Charlie yelled, running down the hall toward the door.

He reached the entrance, took a quick look out, and saw nothing but a shattered flowerpot on the porch rail. Turning his head, he looked down the sidewalk, which paralleled the front wall of the house and led to the driveway. Looking back over his shoulder at the rest of the yard, all he could see were a few shrubs too small to hide anyone.

“She's headed around back!” Charlie realized, suddenly noticing that the gate to the back of the yard, on the other side of the driveway, was now open. He ran down the wall to the gate. Crouching low, he stopped and took a quick look around the corner into the backyard. In the distance he heard a mechanical sound—the click of the latch on another gate—and saw a moving black shape.

Charlie ran along the sidewall of the house, zigzagging in case she was crouching low in the dark, setting a trap. He heard a door slam, whipped around his shotgun, and saw Gordon bolting out the back through the kitchen door.

“There she goes.” Gordon pointed. “She's headed for the
bosque
!” he added, meeting Charlie at the backyard gate.

“How's Nancy?” Charlie uttered, covering Gordon as he stepped out ahead of him into the alley.

“Her vest stopped both rounds. She's out of breath and pissed,” Gordon called as he raced down the road at the fleeing woman, who was barely visible in the moonlight. “She's calling for backup.”

Charlie caught up to him, his long strides nearly matching his friend's quicker but shorter steps. “I think she's slowing down. I know I hit her with the buckshot.”

“The impact knocked her back so she's gotta be wearing a vest. If you'd had an M-4…”

Charlie nodded. “It would have dropped her. From this point on, we take head shots.”

“Why didn't she just race to her van and take off?” Gordon asked between deep breaths.

“Couldn't leave without finishing the job, I guess,” Charlie speculated.

“Good help is hard to find.” Gordon gasped, picking up the pace. “I admire her work ethic.”

They were closing in, less than a hundred feet away, when the fleeing woman swerved and jumped off the ditch road down into the
bosque,
the wooded flood plain bordering the Rio Grande.

“
She's
been the killer all along,” Charlie reminded, slowing to a trot as he reached into his jacket pocket for the clamp-on flashlight for the shotgun barrel.

Gordon had a laser sight on his Beretta, but it wouldn't provide any search capability. Charlie saw him fumble for the LED flashlight in his pocket, nearly drop it, then shove it back inside before they slid down the fifteen-foot embankment at the spot where Melinda had dropped.

They were in a soldier's environment now, and the would-be assassin was in unfamiliar terrain carrying an underpowered weapon. Charlie knew he and Gordon had the advantage now.

“I'm the bait. I search, you shoot,” he whispered. “She'll need to get close, so expect to be stalked.”

“Copy.”

From that moment on, they moved silently, staying within each other's sight. They paused often, listening and watching for movement, signaling with practiced gestures. There was almost a full moon out, and that would help.

As they got farther into the willows, cottonwoods, and brush, they had to orient themselves by the moon and the faint outline of the Sandia Mountains to the east. Charlie crouched low, listening, but hearing nothing. She was in there somewhere, beside some brush, behind a tree, maybe below a fallen cottonwood, waiting. But he and Gordon could out-wait almost anyone. Once, he and Gordon had worked with a Marine sniper team. They'd remained almost immobile for over six hours waiting for an insurgent sniper to finally poke his head up for a look—and be neutralized.

Charlie was completely still, controlling his own breathing rate and listening for anything out of the ordinary. He'd presented himself as a target, now all he had to do was wait for Melinda to make her move. After about fifteen minutes he heard the faint crunch of dry leaves at ten o'clock, just to his left and ahead. Gordon was to his right, but Charlie knew there was no way his buddy would shoot him by mistake. They'd worked together so long they always knew where the other was.