Hunter (30 page)

Chapter 82

Officer Michael Connelly pulled the SPD squad car to a screeching halt diagonally opposite the Clancy house. Blocking off the street so he could divert traffic approaching from the east or west, he left just enough room for SWAT to gain access. He shut off the siren but left the lights on. A police emergency was now in progress and he was the first responding officer.

Connelly called in his position from the squad car then, switching to the Motorola portable police radio on his belt, he stepped out, zipped up his fleece-lined jacket and pulled his cap on.

Moving across the street, Connelly observed the black Chevrolet Tahoe SUV sitting in the driveway. He'd been advised it belonged to the US Marshals Service, although he couldn't see anybody behind the wheel like he was told there would be. Connelly approached the house with caution. Technically, he wasn't supposed to. But the direction was to link up with the US marshals, establish a perimeter and await SWAT. So, to do that, he had to find the marshals. Strange that no one had even waved him over yet.

As he reached the path where the Wolf had walked along earlier whistling "Bok pravde", instinct and training told Connelly that something wasn't right.

His right hand moved straight to the handgrips of the .40 caliber Glock duty weapon on his hip.

Inside the house, the urgent red and blue flashes from the lights of the squad car pulsed like a manic strobe across the Wolf's malignant features. He needed to resolve this fast and get away before the cops came through the door. It wouldn't take them long to stumble over the bodies of the other two. He was holding Charly down, below the level of the front windows, threatening her with the gun, but she wasn't giving in. The Wolf was losing patience. The unexpected absence of her mother and the sudden appearance of the squad car had scuttled his plan completely.

He needed to know where the bitch Clancy was. And he needed to know now.

His movements became jerky, tinged with desperation. He crouched down upon her, his face almost touching hers. The warmth of his stagnant breath fell heavily upon her fair skin. Charly cringed, trying to turn away as he grabbed her chin.

"Listen," he demanded, his deep voice full of malice, his position absolutely clear. "I'm going to start counting and if you haven't told me where she is by three, you'll be without a pulse by four. Understand?"

Eyes clasped shut, Charly nodded her acknowledgment against the sinewy grip of his deadly fingers.

"One." The voice was a snarl. He checked the window, craning his neck to see if there was any activity going on out in the street. Nothing yet.

"Two." The spit from his tongue sprayed her. Charly's breathing labored under his weight upon her arms and chest. She recoiled, tossing and squirming against him but she couldn't budge; fear, anger, exasperation all strove for first place. She had to do something.

"Three!"

"OK! OK!" Charly said. "But, I'll take you there myself. If you're going to kill us both, then I want to be with her. Otherwise, go fuck yourself."

In the darkness, the Wolf eyed her suspiciously, wary of this woman he might have underestimated. Her blue eyes blazed up at him defiantly, despite her struggle to breathe. He squeezed her face harder in annoyance and frustration, sizing her up, weighing up the pros and cons of what it would mean to escape with her and get to the mother.

"Where is she?" he whispered hurriedly. "Tell me!"

"Bellingham. Eighty miles due north of here," Charly answered under his grip, deliberately misleading him - Ellensburg was to the south-east. "You'll never find her without me."

"OK,' he said, reluctantly. "But make a sound when I release you, and I'll kill you and hunt her down on my own. Make no mistake, her final moments will be more terrible than you can possibly imagine if you fuck with me. Understand me, bitch?"

Charly nodded.

"On your feet, not a sound." Charly obeyed. He shoved her toward the back of the house. "Downstairs, move!"

Charly had him right where she wanted him.

Now she had a chance.

Chapter 84

Officer Connelly crossed the path, edging closer toward the house. The light of the sun was fading, yet no lights were on inside. Looking around he saw the burgeoning glow within the other houses on the street. Strange.

He reached the marshals' Chevrolet Tahoe. Touching the wide, flat metal surface of the hood with a tentative hand, he discovered it was cold and there wasn't anyone behind the wheel. Why was the driver's window down and the vehicle left unsecured, he wondered, a dark pit forming in his stomach. With the Glock in its holster but his right hand still resting warily on it, he inched slowly along the front of the vehicle. Avoiding the large wing mirror, he saw the keys were still in the ignition.
What the fuck?
A dark, wet shine on the upholstery caught his eye. Connelly released the weapon retention device on his holster and gave the gun a twist, hearing the creak within the hardened plastic sheath, feeling the gun loosen, ready to be drawn. He reached in through the open window with his left hand, fingers outstretched. The moment he made contact with the seat, he knew what he'd found. The thick, red goo of congealing blood was unmistakable and sickening.

Instantly, Connelly's Glock came out and was aimed into the SUV.

Quietly, he opened the driver's door. The cabin light came on. Bullet hole through the driver's seat. Damn! Connelly checked the vehicle for any sign of a victim. Not a thing. Then, backing up, he almost tripped down a set of brick steps behind him. Turning to check his footing, his heart began racing as his eyes fell upon the crumpled body of a US marshal. Connelly jumped down to the man, a colleague but unknown to him, a fellow law enforcement officer. He checked for a pulse. Dead.
Sweet Jesus.

"Get down there and don't make a fucking sound."

The Wolf had Charly by the very roots of her thick red hair. On his orders, she'd taken him downstairs, out of sight and away from the front porch, heading to a side door that opened onto the driveway. The US marshals' Chevrolet was there.

"You're hurting me, you bastard," Charly cried, her eyes raw with tears, her face taut with tension.

"Shut the fuck up and move."

Charly squealed in protest and pain as he yanked on her hair. But despite the outward fear and submission, Charly was resolute. She had made up her mind to act and the moment was upon her.

*

Alex Morgan wrenched the Charger's steering wheel left then right, tearing through the final streets on approach to the house. He'd only been to the house once before, with Davenport, so he was relying on the GPS 
to get him there. Throughout his high-speed race to Sunset Hill there'd been no time for him to be guided by the infuriatingly calm narration of the GPS module and he couldn't find the button to mute the fucking thing. By the time one instruction had been issued, he was already moving onto the next.

He checked the screen for the hundredth time. He was so close.

"Come on. Come on!"

*

With both hands gripped to the weapon, breathing deeply to control the inevitable shaking, and with his mouth open to counter the thumping of his heart in his ears, Officer Michael Connelly's training kicked in. Calling the situation in to the police operations room via the Motorola on his well-worn belt, he whispered every detail as calmly and clearly as possible, while continuing to scan the front of the house. An officer was down and he needed back up, pronto. He found an access door from the driveway that led into the house and tried it. Locked. Damn! He needed to assess what was going on inside and he couldn't do that from down here in the driveway. There was a short flight of stairs that led up to the front porch. If he could get up there, he'd have a better chance of seeing inside.

"How far away is that SWAT team, over?" Connelly asked, making his way to the stairs.

"ETA four minutes. Withdraw back to the squad car and await SWAT. Acknowledge, over."

"Roger." Then Connelly heard something from deep within the house. "Wait!"

What the fuck was that?

It had to be Charly. Was it a scream? He couldn't be sure. Fuck!

A combination of adrenalin overload and the rapid onset of dusk channeled his attention straight to the most obvious entry point, the front door. His heavy patrol boots thundered upon the three flat wooden steps that led to the porch and, with his face set in stony determination, he charged at the door.

*

20 feet away, the door in the driveway opened and Charly was thrust into the half light of the early evening, tears streaming from her eyes. The Wolf still had her by the hair and was pushing her toward the marshals' SUV. As the cool air hit, she knew her only opportunity had arrived. If he got her into that car she didn't know what chance she'd have. This was it.

*

Now upstairs on the porch, Connelly threw himself behind the cover of the wall next the front door. With a deep breath, he pounded a fist on the woodwork.

"Seattle PD. Open up!"

"What the fuck?" hissed the Wolf, drawn to the demand from the policeman upstairs.

His attention distracted, Charly made her move; the self-defense sessions she'd been having with the marshals flooding back. Keep it simple. Nothing fancy. That's what they'd said; just get it done, fast and hard.

Charly stopped dead in her tracks and the Wolf, with the gun in his right hand and her hair in his left, stumbled into her.

Without hesitation, Charly threw her arms behind her head and locked both hands around the Wolf's left wrist. Holding tight, Charly stamped her heel down hard, as hard as she possibly could, on the top of his right foot. His grip in her hair loosened immediately and this time he cried out in pain. With her hands firmly clasped around his wrist, she pulled his arm over her left shoulder, as far forward as she could until his feet left the ground. Then, with a twist of his arm and all the strength she could muster, she thrust her hips backward, flipping him straight over her shoulder in a textbook judo maneuver. It took less than three seconds.

The Wolf hit the driveway in a crumpled mess at her feet. His head cracked on the paved brick surface and the wind whooshed from his lungs as his back slammed down hard.

Charly ran to the porch.

A blue flashing light appeared down the street and the engine beneath it roared toward them. Charly could hear tires squealing as she ran.

*

Connelly was sure it was SWAT, but out of the corner of his eye he saw a man standing in the driveway.

"Charly," Connelly yelled from the porch, moving to her. "Get down!"

The Wolf had already recovered himself and his gun was up.

Connelly saw it but Charly was in the middle, running up the stairs toward him. The Wolf's Accu-Tek HC-380 semi-automatic was pointing straight at Charly's back as she fled to the police officer for safety.

Michael Connelly didn't flinch. He took the three steps he needed to get to her and threw himself between her and the Wolf.

Morgan's Charger screeched into the street, right next to the squad car as Charly hit the deck.

Connelly opened fire.

As Morgan flew into the middle of the scene, within the beam of his own headlights and the crazy red and blue flashes of the squad car emergency lights, a man with a shaved head, dressed in a sports coat and jeans, sprinted across the front of Madeline Clancy's house firing wildly up at the front porch; a policeman bravely returned fire, only to be struck in the chest and tumble down the stairs. There was Charly, cowering helplessly in the midst of it all.

Morgan was out of the car before it even stopped, the SIG in his hand. The man in the sports coat sprinted toward the far end of the street. The Wolf? It had to be!

Morgan's first instinct was to respond to the man down. It was a given. He bolted from the car straight for the cop lying in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs, hands clutching at his chest. Up on the porch, Charly was collecting herself, terrified out of her mind, but something that looked like recognition came over her as her eyes fell upon the cop.

"Michael?" Morgan heard her call, just as he arrived at the cop's side.

"How bad are you hit?" Morgan asked urgently, tearing the zip down on Connelly's jacket, checking for entry wounds. He called out, "Charly, you OK up there?" Morgan didn't have time for any of this, he had to get the Wolf, fast, but his immediate priority 
was to make sure they were both stable. The cop was gasping for air, but his eyes were open and he was responsive. "Talk to me, mate."

"Alex?" Charly sniffed, barely believing what she was seeing. "Is that you?"

"Yeah," Morgan replied urgently. "Get down here."

"Vest," Connelly wheezed. "He hit my vest. I'm OK."

Morgan realized the Wolf had failed the moment he had the cop's jacket open and saw the Kevlar ballistic vest: two definite impact sites sat right above the guy's heart.

"You're a lucky man," Morgan said. "Sit up and settle your breathing. Emergency Medical Services are en route with SWAT. I can hear them now. Hang in there. Charly?"

She was already by his side, shaking with the distress of it all. She knew the cop, Morgan realized. Locals. Morgan grabbed her by the shoulders. He wished he had time to console her but he didn't. He'd already lost precious seconds.

"Charly, listen. Is that him? Is that the Wolf?" "Yes," she said meekly, nodding. "That's him. That's Raoul."

"OK, stay here and look after Michael;' he said. "When SWAT arrives, give them a detailed description of the bastard. Tell them I'm going after him."

With that Morgan was gone.

*

Up ahead, the Wolf was already at the end of the cul-de-sac, racing from the scene. He could hear the sirens of a dozen cop cars heading into the area - 
it sounded like it was reaching saturation point. He had to get away. He got the cop, saw him go down. He just didn't know if he'd managed to shoot the bitch or not. But he couldn't hang around to find out. It was all too close; the closest he'd ever been to getting caught. The Wolf reached the house he'd snuck through earlier that morning in the darkness and clambered over the six-foot-high fence into the backyard.

The moment his feet hit the ground on the other side of the fence he heard the deep growl of a big dog somewhere in the backyard. Fuck! The dog hadn't been in the yard this morning. It was dark alongside the house, but suddenly a light blazed ahead, illuminating the backyard. Motion activated, no doubt, by the fucking dog. Before he'd even reached the open end of the strip of land between the side of the house on his right and the property boundary fence on his left, the dog appeared.

Positioned like a mythological sentinel with golden light streaming behind in ethereal menace, a big-shouldered Rottweiler defiantly blocked his path. Facing down the Wolf, its booming bark ricocheted down the confined space of the strip with a crazed bloodlust that only intensified with every step the Wolf took toward the snapping, salivating jaws.

The Wolf slowed but didn't stop, instead raising his gun. Once within the final 10 feet, he howled back at the wretched mutt in a twisted parody of his predatory canine namesake and began firing relentlessly.

Morgan saw a light-colored sports coat disappear into a yard at the far end of the street and heard the cavernous salvo of a big dog's bark, followed by a howl and, immediately, rapid gunfire. He ran straight for it. Lights came on in every house along both sides of the street as curtains were pulled open and snatched shut by residents who did and didn't need to see what was going on outside. Thankfully, no-one dared step out into the middle of it. Most importantly, the dazzling red and blue explosion of light behind him that heralded the arrival of SWAT and EMS couldn't have been better timed.

Morgan ran on. The firing had stopped and so had the barking. Christ, to finally be this close to the guy who'd been behind everything, ever since Morgan first set foot in the Greek Islands to take down Seri-fovic; however long ago that was now. The SIG was ready, his finger was lined up along the trigger guard, the moment he had a clear shot at the Wolf he was ready to fire. But it wasn't going to be that easy. He knew that. This animal needed to be in shackles for the rest of his days. Dead was just the easy way out.

Morgan reached the house where he'd seen the Wolf disappear.

In a perfectly executed vault he launched upward, waist on top of the fence, right arm thrown down to counterbalance his momentum on the opposite side, and legs flipping over behind him. He sprang forward from the maneuver and down to the ground without skipping a beat. After all these years, the basics he'd learned as a new soldier flashed back without even thinking about it. Closing the gap on the Wolf, he saw the Rottweiler in the light, whimpering on its side, 
blood gushing from the wounds inflicted on it by the 
Wolf's gun.

This guy had to go down.