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Cinci
Wednesday 5 August, 10.28 P.M.
Ken drew a deep breath, keeping his cool despite the gun shoved in his back. His son’s gun. He’d been in far tenser situations, but Sean had taken him by surprise and had the upper hand. ‘I have to say,’ he said mildly, ‘that I always thought if either of you staged a coup, it would be your sister.’
‘Surprise, surprise,’ Sean said coldly, and shoved the barrel harder. ‘Start walking. Slowly. Any sudden moves and I’ll blow your fucking head off.’
Ken began walking, carefully evaluating his son’s stride, his balance, his hold on the weapon. Despite his bravado, Sean had never been in the field, had no experience in these matters. The hand that held the gun trembled, and Sean walked a little too close. Ken had no doubt that he could disarm him easily, but he wanted to know what he was up to first.
He also wanted a clear path away from his son should the disarming not go as pla
‘Why?’ Ken asked, putting a tremor in his voice.
‘Just walk.’
‘If it’s the money, we can discuss this.’
Sean laughed. ‘It’s not the money. I’ve already taken it all back. Your offshore account has a zero balance.’
Ken stumbled a step, genuinely startled. No one knew about the account in the name of the alias he’d kept secret for years. ‘You’re lying.’
‘Fine,’ Sean said easily. ‘I’m lying. Mr William J. Bosley.’
Shit, Ken thought, still holding on to his calm. Then Sean rattled off the number of Ken’s bank account with a quiet chuckle and his gut turned to water. ‘How?’ he asked softly, waiting for Sean to make a wrong move or step.
‘The same way I found out you were tracking us through our phones. I’m the IT guy. I control all the software, all the devices. Even the ones you believe are private.’
Ken had trusted him completely. Obviously he’d been very wrong. ‘Why?’
‘Why?’ Sean sounded incredulous. ‘Really?’
‘I rarely ask questions to which I don’t want answers,’ Ken said sharply. ‘Don’t play games with me. I asked you why.’
‘Because my mother did not run off with her yoga instructor,’ Sean said, his voice harsh with venom. ‘Because she did not abandon me, even though that’s what you’ve told me for years. She didn’t leave me voluntarily. You killed her.’
Well, fuck. ‘How did you find out?’ Ken asked, keeping his voice mildly curious.
‘Reuben. He told me that you killed her and . . . disposed of her. That she was in that pit along with all of the others you’ve had killed over the years.’ Sean’s voice shook, but his hand clenched on the gun, steadying himself. ‘You put my mother through that damn woodchipper.’
Sonofabitch. ‘That’s a lie,’ Ken lied. ‘Why would Reuben tell you such a thing?’
‘Because I caught him on video with underage girls. More than two dozen times, all different girls,’ he added bitterly. ‘He was unwilling to go to jail for his perversions so he offered me a trade. The videos I’d taken for the video he’d taken. Of you, killing my mother.’
Shit. Goddamn that Reuben.
They were almost to the garage. He’d overpower Sean and . . . He considered his options. He would kill the kid. Once he’d gotten back the money Sean had stolen from him. But he needed Sean physically able to communicate with his voice or a pencil, either would do. Bottom line, he needed Sean to be able to give him passwords and account numbers.
He had a little time before O’Ba
‘Reuben told me that she’d been working with the cops to turn us in,’ Ken lied. Sean’s mother had hated cops. She’d actually been pla
‘No they didn’t,’ Sean said. ‘I moved that money around. Took Joel forever to find the discrepancy. Joel lied to you too, by the way. There was money in his account too. He moved it elsewhere and is keeping it for himself.’
Ken looked over his shoulder, surprised again. ‘You wanted me to kill Demetrius.’
Sean gave him a duh look. ‘I sure as hell didn’t want to have to do it myself. Demetrius was insane, especially when he was on the steroids.’
I tortured and killed Demetrius. Because of a lie. Well, no, he corrected himself. He’d killed him because he kept botching up the elimination of Marcus O’Ba
‘That I don’t know. I thought maybe you’d killed him too.’
‘I didn’t.’
‘Too bad. Reuben needed killing. He was a train wreck.’
They were approaching the entrance to the garage. There were two steps down between the laundry room and the garage interior. That would be Ken’s chance. If he fucked it up, he believed Sean would be capable of shooting him in the back.
Ken descended the first step, then . . . He whipped around, grabbing Sean’s hand and jerking the barrel of the gun toward the concrete floor. At the same time he twisted Sean’s wrist hard.
Sean grunted in pain and drove his elbow into Ken’s throat. Ken gasped, but used the height difference against his son. Sean was still a step above him, so he grabbed at Sean’s elbow as he fell backward, and both men went down.
Ken hit the concrete floor with a back-cracking thud, Sean falling on top of him. But while Ken’s back hurt, he’d had far worse pain. Sean had not, and was now a quivering, shaking mess. In a split second, Ken had his son rolled to his back and had wrested the gun from his grip.
Taking no chances, he fired twice, shooting Sean in the knee and in the side. He’d hit none of his important organs, but had robbed him of his mobility. Sean screamed and clutched at empty air, because Ken was already on his feet, the gun pointed at those more vital organs.
‘All right, son,’ he said coldly. ‘Let’s talk passwords.’
Thirty-six
Cinci
Wednesday 5 August, 10.45 P.M.
‘Almost there,’ Scarlett said quietly. They were less than ten minutes from the site where Marcus would walk into a certain trap. She wanted to talk him out of it, but knew that she couldn’t. If he left Gayle with that monster to save his own skin, he’d never forgive himself.
It was who he was and she accepted that.
‘Would you have really done it?’ he asked. ‘Given up your badge?’
‘I told my dad that if I were forced to choose, I’d choose you. I never said I’d give up my badge, but that’s what it translates to. But you know, if it came down to that, I wouldn’t want to stay, anyway. I’m a good cop. I have integrity. If I didn’t believe in it, I wouldn’t do it. If the department and I came to an impasse, I wouldn’t be the one to yield.’
‘I’m . . .’ He stammered, flustered. ‘Thank you.’
She smiled at him. ‘If you want to thank me, call Deacon. He’s late checking in. If I call, he’ll yell at me.’
‘Thirty seconds late,’ Marcus said, ‘but I’ll call. For you.’ He dialed Deacon’s number and put him on speaker.
‘Thirty seconds, people,’ Deacon growled. ‘That’s all the late I was. But’ – his voice became lighter – ‘we have what you asked for. You want me to read it or send it?’
‘Both. Send it to my phone,’ Scarlett said. ‘I’ll pull over to look at it.’
‘You’re welcome, Detective Mea
Scarlett gri