Three To Get Deadly (63 page)

"Daddy buy him out of it?"

"I don't know. But it puts him in the right place at the right time. Carlo D'lessandro runs the skin trade and the dope in and out of Chicago. He might have hooked up with someone in D'lessandro's organization and the contact followed him home to Kansas City."

"So now what?"

"I'm going to Chicago in the morning."

"Why? The money laundering isn't part of your case. Leave that to the feds. I thought you wanted to find Sullivan's killer."

"We both know they're tied together. I want to get a look at Junior's file."

"That's it?"

"No. I've still got sources in Chicago. I may be able to find out if D'lessandro is running this operation. If he is, I might come up with some way to pressure him to back off."

"How are you going to do that? Go see him and ask him nicely not to let Camaya kill the poor schmuck who wandered into this mess?"

"Lou, sometimes you make it hard to care about you."

"Well, that's just part of my charm."

"Really? If that's as good as it gets, I may bring him back here to meet you in person."

The grill was going up in flames and the steaks were sizzling on the edge of incineration. Mason rescued their dinner just in time. Later, she joined him in the love seat and surprised him by leaning her head against his shoulder. He put his arm around her, and she didn't resist when he pulled her closer. Blues came outside and wisely announced he was going for another walk.

"My dad and I built this cabin," she said, nestling against him. They were a natural fit. "It was just before he died. He could build anything—do anything. I helped him trim the trees and notch the logs so they'd fit together. Making it together made it really special."

"It is special."

"It's always been my hideout. I come here to heal my wounds."

The air was clear, the sky a starlit panorama. The love seat rocked them gently as he pulled her face to his. Finally, she breathed his name.

"Do you want to see my trapdoor?"

"I always knew you were a hopeless romantic."

He fumbled with her belt. She held his hands in check.

"No, you dope. I really do have a trapdoor. I made my dad build it in the cabin. I thought it would be fun to have a secret way out."

"Oh. Sure, I'd love to see it." Mason said, slumping against the love seat. "Where is it?"

"In the bedroom."

She giggled and spun out of his grasp, clinging to his fingertips. They made it to the bedroom, but Mason never saw the trapdoor. They began to undress each other as the moonlight cast their shadows against the wall. The bed was soft and they rolled to the center, entangled, consumed by the exquisite sense of discovery when two people make love for the first time. Part shyness, part adventure.

Mason traced the freckles on her chest with his fingertips, an abstract pattern caressing her breasts. She stroked the side of his face in a soft gesture that slid past his chest and ended with a grasp both firm and delicate. They paused for a moment, eavesdropping on the night sounds rolling through the woods, catching the sounds that didn't belong.

Soft but certain footsteps, a discreet tap at the bedroom door, Blues's cautious whisper as it opened a crack. "We've got company."

"How many?" Kelly asked.

She dressed with an economy of movements, ignoring Blues's presence. He kept his back to her, but Mason couldn't. Watching her put her shirt back on was nearly as mesmerizing as taking it off. The sound of shells rattling into shotgun magazines finally got him moving.

"There's a black Escalade blocking the road right where it comes into the clearing. Four guys got out, one short and heavy. He was giving orders to the other three. I figure we've got a couple of minutes, tops."

Kelly snapped her service pistol around her waist. Blues dumped extra shells into three ammunition bags, slinging one over his shoulder, handing them the other two along with their shotguns as the woods came alive with animal sounds telegraphing news of the advancing party.

The air in the cabin thickened. Beads of sweat dripped from Blues's neck. Kelly's hair was matted along the edge of her cheeks. They were wired but under control. Mason's stomach churned as he picked up his shotgun and ammo pouch.

Kelly slipped into the front room and peered out the edge of a window. The moonlight illuminated the clearing enough to make out shapes but not faces.

"That's got to be Camaya standing next to the Escalade. I don't recognize the others," she whispered over her shoulder. "They're at the edge of the clearing. There's about a hundred feet of open space between them and the cabin." She crouched below the window line and scooted back into the bedroom. "They'll see us if we climb out the windows. We'll go out the back way," she said, opening the closet door. Blues started to roll his eyes until Mason explained.

"Trapdoor. Every high-class cabin has one."

Kelly knelt and pressed down on a plank in the center of the closet floor with her right hand. The other end rose, revealing a steel ring that she grasped with her left and pulled up. A two-foot-square lid swung open on hidden hinges. She rested it against the wall of the closet. Holding her shotgun and ammo bag, she dropped into the crawl space below the cabin and disappeared. Blues went next, followed by Mason, who crouched and pulled the trapdoor closed over them.

Kelly was on all fours against the base of the rear wall, running her hands along the stones that formed the foundation for the cabin.

"Got it," she said, pushing open a square section of rock that swung outward. She slipped through the opening and, an instant later, stuck her head back in and motioned them to follow.

Running close to the ground, Kelly led Blues and Mason across the open field behind the cabin, not stopping until the woods camouflaged them. They turned around in time to hear automatic fire ripping through the inside of the cabin.

"Bastards!" Kelly said.

"What now?" Mason asked.

"My Trans-Am and Kelly's pickup are out front, so they know we're here somewhere. Once they clear the cabin, they'll come looking for us."

Blues was calm, somehow satisfied with their predicament. His eyes shone as he shifted his weight lightly from right to left like a boxer keeping loose before the first bell, sweat trickling off his face. He was ready.

Kelly put a soothing hand around Blues's arm as she drew both men near her, focused on the fight they were about to have.

"Lou and I will circle around to the north. Blues, you take the south side. They won't find the trapdoor, so they've got to come out the front. If we can catch them in the open, we can take them. Don't shoot unless they don't give us a choice."

Moving slowly to make as little noise as possible, Mason and Kelly threaded their way through the trees, watching the open space around the cabin for signs of company. There was no path to follow. The moonlight couldn't penetrate the tangled vines and thorny bushes hidden in the dark that grabbed at their legs and feet. The few minutes it took to reach the front of the cabin could have been an hour.

Through the trees, Mason could see the yard in front of the cabin and imagined its oval shape to be a clock, the cabin at twelve o'clock. He and Kelly were hiding at three o'clock. The Escalade was parked in the mouth of the drive at the six-o'clock mark, engine still running.

Camaya leaned against the back, taillights lighting his face with a red glow. Blues's Trans-Am and Kelly's pickup were parallel parked at the edge of the grass, clockwise from the Escalade. Mason guessed Blues was somewhere between nine o'clock and midnight.

From inside the cabin came the sounds of reckless searching. Cursing followed the crash of furniture upended and glass broken. Mason knew they were looking for both him and the disks. He was glad that he was outside and that the disks were safe with Riley and Sandra.

"The angrier they get, the better off we are. It'll make them careless," Kelly whispered.

When they were through kicking the front door off its hinges and stepped outside, Mason and Kelly eased to within a few feet of the clearing and crouched behind a mound of limestone boulders.

"Are you going to invite them to surrender?" Mason asked.

"I doubt if they'll RSVP. If they start shooting, I'll return fire first. That way, I can reload when it's your turn."

Mason's throat was dry and tight, but his grip on the shotgun was slippery and wet. He marveled at the odds that he would be waiting to kill someone who was waiting to kill him for the second time in two nights. He was no more skilled with a shotgun than he was with a toilet-tank lid. Only this time, he was ready; willing to level the gun, squeeze the trigger, and watch a man die. That was the true marvel, he realized. The night before, he hadn't thought about killing, only surviving. Now all he thought about was killing.

Three men stood on the porch. Camaya raised his arms, directing one of them to return to the Escalade and the other two toward the woods on either side of the cabin. Kelly steadied the barrel of her shotgun on the rocks. He matched her movements from his spot two feet away.

"Shit!" Mason hissed as one of the killers started toward them.

"Shut up and watch the other side of the woods. I've got this."

Despite Kelly's order, Mason couldn't take his eyes off the killer moving toward them. As he got closer, Mason could see his gun. It had a triangle-shaped frame stock, a pistol handle, and a short barrel. It reminded Mason of the guns favored by bad guys in every action movie he'd ever seen.

He was close enough now that Mason could see his wide forehead, mushy nose, and hard-set mouth. There was no trace of fear, nerves, or regret.

Kelly jabbed Mason in the side, pointing to the south side, the gesture reminding him of her order. Mason watched Blues's target take his first steps into the trees before stopping and crumbling to the ground. Blues was good, but not good enough to smother the sound of the man's startled cry.

Mason glanced to his left to see if Camaya had heard his man go down. Camaya took a cautious step forward, now flanked by the third gunman. Kelly spoke in a voice loud enough for her man to hear but not loud enough for Camaya.

"Freeze, or I'll blow you in half!"

"Fuck you, bitch!"

The killer fired first, but Kelly made good on her promise, two blasts tearing into him, twisting his body and shredding his chest. His finger clung to the trigger of his gun as he fell, exhausting his clip.

One of the rounds found the propane tank mounted near the side of the cabin. The tank erupted in a blinding ball of fire, the shock wave knocking Mason and Kelly to the ground, the limestone boulders shielding them from the molten shrapnel.

Dazed, Mason raised his head. Kelly was sprawled facedown in the dirt. Mason crawled to her. She was conscious, her hands digging into the soil. He rolled her over, pulling her into his arms. Tears ran down her soiled cheeks as the flames swept through her cabin.

Above the roaring blaze, Mason heard more automatic fire. He looked in the direction of the shots and saw Camaya riddle the tires on the Trans-Am and the pickup from the open passenger window of the Escalade. As they sped away, Blues ran after them, emptying his magazine, his shotgun useless at that distance.

Kelly stiffened, clotting off her tears. She and Mason were stunned by the power of the blast but otherwise in one piece. The searing heat from the fire drove them from their rock pile. Once clear, she called out the rest of the Pope County Sheriff's Department, the fire department, and Doc Eddy.

Blues and Mason walked the quarter mile to the county road to wait for them. Kelly stayed behind, a lone silhouette framed by the inferno devouring her hiding place. Incandescent shadows swarmed through the trees like extras in a low-budget horror movie before evaporating into the black sky.

The rescuers and the rescued worked through the night stamping out the few burning embers that had drifted into the trees. By daylight, the fire had consumed itself.

Brilliant tracers of pink and orange crept into the morning sky as the last tendrils of black smoke drifted away.

Soot stained and weary, Blues, Mason, and Kelly poured themselves into a deputy's car and joined the procession back to town. Tow trucks dragging the Trans-Am and the pickup bounced along, bringing up the rear.

Riley and Sandra, their faces pinched with fatigue, were waiting in front of the courthouse when they pulled in. Sandra was stretched out on the wide stone handrail using her arms for a pillow. Riley lay across the stairs like the hypotenuse of a triangle. Mason had the feeling that the morning wasn't going to get any better.

"Hi, honey, I'm home!" he called out with more good cheer than was fair.

He figured the one who answered was probably still alive. Sandra rolled off her perch and reeled Riley to his feet.

"You folks okay? The deputy told us what happened when you called in," Riley said.

Kelly walked into Riley's waiting arms and he held her, rubbing her back. She pulled away a moment later.

"A little shell-shocked, Riley, that's all," she said. "Any luck?"

"Well, I've got an answer, but it's not the one you expected," Riley said. "There's nothing else on the porno disks."

"What do you mean?" Mason asked.

"The only thing on those DVDs is people doing the horizontal mambo and switching partners faster than you can say 'Swing your partner, do-si-do.'"

"That doesn't make any sense. There has to be something else. You'll just have to keep looking until you figure it out. It's been a long night. We'll all get some rest and start fresh this afternoon."

"I'm sorry, son. There's no point in it. I spent half the night looking, and there just isn't anything else there."