“Who is still missing,” Jack snapped back.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.” Perry paused. “But if your wife is still missing… why is it this is the place you come to?”
“Charlie,” Jack called out, ignoring the question and hoping to keep the conversation from devolving into a situation where Aaron would feel compelled to reach into his jacket again.
“Mr. Keeler,” Charlie said, “so glad you’re here-”
“Excuse me,” Perry interrupted. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Jack could see Aaron and Donal getting edgy, exchanging glances.
“I’m sorry,” Jack said. His mind was flying. Before a single threat was made, Jack knew that disaster was looming. Perry wasn’t going anywhere, and if Jack was to retrieve the case, something would have to give, and sadly, he knew what that was. “Perhaps we could speak in private.”
Cristos looked at Jack, his eyes void of communication but his thoughts clear.
Scott Myers had watched the entire exchange from where he stood by the glass window and, like everyone else, had that same reaction at seeing Jack Keeler come back to life. But when he saw the body language of Keeler’s escorts, his instincts took over, and he cautiously laid his hand upon the Glock 19 at his waist. Not a second later, a bullet caught him in the right cheek before his hand had a chance to draw his gun.
Donal, the barrel of his gun still smoking, turned it on Perry.
From behind the safety of the glass, Charlie grabbed the phone.
Aaron charged Reiner, whose hands were still in his pockets searching for his ID, grabbing him, smashing his face up against the glass as he jammed his pistol into the detective’s neck, twisting his head violently to the side. Aaron looked at Charlie and said, “Drop that phone if you want this man to live.”
Charlie hesitated, staring between Reiner’s desperate eyes and the face of his red-haired attacker.
“Now, open the door.”
Charlie and Reiner stared at each other, fear etched in the detective’s face as his eyes pleaded for help. Charlie was frozen, the phone still in his hand, poised to dial.
Cristos gave a subtle nod, and Aaron pulled the trigger. The blast of the 9mm echoed in the small vestibule as the side of Reiner’s head splattered the window.
Donal grabbed Perry by the back of his collar; his gun jammed into the FBI agent’s neck and shoved him toward the blood-covered window. Aaron released Reiner’s body and let it crumple to the floor. Donal took his place, shoving Perry against the glass.
“Care to have another go at that?” Donal said.
Charlie stared back through the blood-covered window at Jack, sharing a horrified look as they both stood there powerless.
But Aaron wasn’t waiting. He reached into the black bag on his shoulder and withdrew an egg-sized ball. A small LED device protruded from the malleable substance. He rolled it around in his hand, fingered two small buttons on the LED, and jammed it up onto the bloody glass.
“You are a stubborn one,” Donal said to Charlie. And without another word, Donal pulled the trigger, killing Perry.
Charlie, in shock from the sight of death close up, stared at the Silly Putty-like glob. The moment hung there as he finally realized what it was… and dived for cover.
The small explosion shattered the three-inch-thick window as if it was a wine glass thrown to the floor. The accompanying fireball rolled up to the ceiling and curled back down.
Without waiting for the smoke to clear, Aaron climbed through the three-by-three foot hole onto the reception desk and leaped down on top of Charlie, who rolled around on the ground with shards of bloody glass embedded in his skin. Aaron kicked him in the gut and quickly turned to the console, wiping the glass from the surface. He found and thumbed the red door button. The buzzer sounded, and Cristos, Donal, and Jack came charging in.
Donal shucked the bag off his shoulder and onto the counter as he looked around the room. He reached down to Charlie, taking his gun and handcuffs.
Cristos turned to Aaron. “There are three in there. Clear the room so Mr. Keeler can get what we came for.”
Jack raced to Charlie’s side, leaning over him, running his hands around his body, looking for serious injury.
“I’m so sorry,” Jack whispered before being violently snatched to his feet by Cristos.
“Time to save your wife.”
CHAPTER 30
Bracato and Stratton sat in the back of the evidence room at a makeshift desk, feeling like overqualified guards, as Holly whirred away at her computer, trying to locate the evidence case that might or might not be down there.
Stratton didn’t mind babysitting Holly. He had always liked blondes and had been partial to the more athletic types, a description that the twenty-five-year-old Holly easily fit. He hoped at least to get her phone number by the end of their shift.
Greg Stratton was the senior of the two agents. He and Carl Bracato were in their third year as partners and had developed a substantial and successful case history in the white-collar crime division. Stratton had thought it ironic; after all of the training they went through at Quantico, all of the weapons and hand-to-hand skills they had developed, they had never even drawn their Glock 23s from their holsters. Having met on the first day of class, they were always competitive, Stratton seeming to edge out Bracato in everything from target practice to exams to navigating city streets in mock car chases.
Stratton might have been the better shot, the smarter of the two, but Bracato was the one who wasted no time in seizing the day. He had already set up dinner with Holly for next week.
“What do you say I go pick up dinner?” Bracato said to Holly and Stratton.
Holly looked up from her computer amid the stacks of paper and smiled in the affirmative.
“Sure, how about-”
The sound was muted, a dull pop, but Stratton knew at once what it was.
“Shit,” Stratton said as he drew his pistol. “Holly, go to the back corner, and stay there until we come back for you.”
The second muted gunshot sounded. Bracato pulled his gun and was already on the run up the aisle.
“Who the hell would try and shoot their way down here?” Bracato said. “They’ll never get in.”
Then the sound of the muffled explosion reverberated through the evidence room, the tinkle of shattering glass trailing off.
“Holy shit,” Bracato whispered as Stratton arrived at his side. They bisected the main aisle, hiding between the twelve-foot-high rows of shelves twenty feet from the main entrance door. Sounds of commotion drifted out from the office.
Bracato looked to Stratton for direction.
“No question, they’re coming in here. Stay lost among the shelves. If you take one out, quickly move your position so they don’t find you.”
A skinny red-haired man in a sportcoat rolled into the room, spinning into the first row of shelves. Bracato watched as he looked back, signaling a second, taller man who came in gun held high, sweeping the room. Bracato could see from the way they held their guns, the positions they took, that they were law enforcement.
Bracato stayed low, two rows back from the two men, watching, thinking. The taller man was obscured by the shelves, but Bracato could see over the evidence boxes, through the open spaces, as the man took a few steps forward. Bracato could see his eyes focused. This man was not there to capture anyone. He was there to kill.
In that single moment, Bracato made his decision. He crouched low, creeping forward, his eyes fixed on the
