“Keep going,” he said. “Something is wrong.”
Chapter Thirty-four
Without warning, Mother Nature threw a switch, and fall turned to winter. Keith Evans and Maggie Sparks were a block away from a small, two-story Cape Cod in an unmarked car. The wind-chill factor had pushed the temperature into the thirties, but Keith had cranked up the car’s heater, and he was sweating under his Kevlar vest.
A low chain-link fence surrounded the Cape Cod’s unmowed, weed-infested lawn, and the paint on the front of the house was peeling. The rental agreement was made out to Stephen Reynolds, the name on the registration for the 2008 Volvo station wagon with the license plate number Ali Bashar had given up during his interrogation.
Keith had been sitting in front of his television eating a TV dinner and watching a college football game when Harold Johnson called him back to the office. Johnson gave Keith an arrest warrant for Reynolds, told him the suspect was armed and dangerous, and informed him that he’d have a SWAT team for backup.
A little after midnight, a pickup truck pulled into the driveway and a man fitting Reynolds’s description got out, accompanied by a woman. Lights went on in the house. A half hour later, the house went dark. Keith gave the couple an hour to get to sleep before radioing the commander of the SWAT team to tell him that they were going in.
The moon was a cold sliver hiding behind thick clouds, and the only light came from the streetlights. A stiff wind smacked Keith in the face as soon as he got out of the car, and he ducked his head as he raced across the street. Even with SWAT to back him up, his nerves were getting to him. They always did before a raid, but he knew he’d be okay once the action started.
Keith and Maggie followed six members of the SWAT team up the driveway. More men were covering the back and sides of the house. The SWAT team and Maggie vaulted the low fence easily. Keith struggled and vowed to definitely put in some time at the gym.
Keith positioned himself on one side of the front door while Maggie ducked low and peeked through a gap between the windowsill and the curtain that draped the front window. She could see a sagging sofa, a television, and a cheap coffee table in the living room. A counter separated the living room from a small kitchen. There were doorways on either side of the living room, but it was too dark to see into the rooms. The team had procured a blueprint for the house when they were planning the raid, and the rental agent had identified the two darkened rooms as bedrooms.
Maggie relayed her information to the commander of the SWAT team, and he signaled two men who were holding a battering ram. Just as the ram swung back, a light came on in one of the bedrooms, and Steve Reynolds walked toward the kitchen. The ram smashed into the door before Maggie could warn anyone, and the team rushed in shouting “FBI” with Maggie and Keith following.
Keith saw a skinny woman dressed in a T-shirt and panties step into the darkened doorway to his left, but he also saw a man speeding toward the other bedroom. Keith turned toward the man just as a body crashed into him, sending him to the floor. Before he could react, a shotgun blast whistled over his head, hitting the man in front of him. The officer pitched forward as several guns fired behind him. The weight on Keith’s back eased as Maggie rolled onto the floor.
Keith pushed up and turned. The woman was sprawled on the floor, her body riddled with bullets, a shotgun inches from her hand. A SWAT team member kicked the gun out of reach. Another checked to make sure the woman was dead. Then some of the officers went to their downed comrade while others spread out to search the rest of the house.
“Holy shit,” Keith whispered when he realized how close he’d come to being dead. Maggie stood unsteadily, adrenaline still coursing through her.
“Thanks,” Keith said.
“Don’t mention it,” Maggie gasped as she bent forward and rested her hands on her knees.
Keith heard raised voices in Reynolds’s bedroom, and he and Maggie walked in. A blond man clad in boxer shorts and a T-shirt was lying facedown on the floor with his hands cuffed behind him.
Keith had his boss on speed dial, and Johnson picked up after the first ring. Keith was still shaken from his close encounter with death, and he had to fight to keep his voice steady.
“We got him, Harold. There was a woman with Reynolds. She killed an officer and was killed by return fire. There are no other casualties.”
“Where is Reynolds?”
“They’re just taking him out.”
“Stop them. I want him brought to the Department of Justice and not booked into any jail. Drive him into the basement garage.”
“Okay. Hold on.”
Keith was a little surprised by the change of plans, but he was sure Johnson had a good reason for having Reynolds transported to the DOJ. He pulled the SWAT team commander aside and relayed Johnson’s instructions.
“Someone will be there to take custody of the prisoner. Maggie and I will wait for the morgue wagon and the team from the crime lab. And I’m sorry about your man.”
While they were talking, a hood was slapped over the prisoner’s head, and he was hustled out of the house. When the members of the SWAT team were gone, Keith and Maggie stepped outside into the cold night air. They stood without speaking for a while. Then Keith turned to Maggie.
“I’d be dead if it wasn’t for you.”
“I didn’t even see the broad,” Maggie joked to ease the tension. “I just thought this was a great opportunity to knock you on your butt.”
Keith smiled. “You did that, all right.”
Maggie returned the smile. “Think of this as payback for Webster’s Corner.”
During the Farrington affair, Keith had saved Maggie’s life during a shoot-out at a West Virginia motel.
The couple’s banter was interrupted by the arrival of the forensic experts. Keith briefed them, then he and Maggie headed downtown.
“D o you want to come in for a drink?” Maggie asked when Keith parked in front of her duplex three hours later.
Keith hesitated. The thought of being alone with Maggie made him nervous.
“Come on, Keith,” Maggie insisted. “I’m too wound up to sleep and I can use the company.”
“Sure. Thanks. I don’t think I’d get much sleep, either.”
Keith followed Maggie upstairs, his heart beating almost as wildly as it had just before he had rushed into Steve Reynolds’s house. Maggie turned on the lights. It dawned on Keith that this was the first time he had been in Maggie’s place.
Keith’s apartment looked as though it belonged to someone who had just moved in, even though he had lived there for years. Maggie’s looked like a home. It was neat and clean, with none of the pizza boxes and carry-out cartons that were scattered around Keith’s living room and kitchen. The walls of Maggie’s living room were decorated with abstract art. Some were lithographs, but Keith spotted two oils. The furniture was modern, and a few large pillows lay in front of a fireplace.
“This is nice,” Keith said.
“It’s convenient for work, and there’s a park, a movie theater, and a lot of shopping nearby. What’s your poison?”
“Scotch, neat,” Keith said.
Maggie walked into the kitchen and Keith realized that he was terrified. He was drawn to Maggie, but they worked together, and no good could come from a relationship with a partner.
Maggie returned with Keith’s drink. She stopped in front of him, but she didn’t hold out the glass. They looked at each other. There were only inches between them. Maggie put down the glass and leaned in to kiss Keith. He put
