.38 Caliber Cover-Up

perfection. So…

He knows. Somehow. She’d messed up again by deleting the picture. Of course, he’d already seen himself in it and he would notice it was gone.

“Campbell,” she said, catching his eye in the mirror. With a frightened expression, she shook her head and pointed to Thrumburt.

Campbell slowly reached in his jacket, but the ADA pulled a gun. The marshal slowly replaced his hand on the steering wheel.

“Keep driving. Just get us to that location.” He kept the gun pointed at Campbell. “Nice try, Darby. Gently lift your purse over the seat to me.”

She did as he commanded. “What now, Brian? How are you going to cover this up?”

“Rhodes has taken care of that for me. It couldn’t be better if I’d planned it myself.”

“That was a stellar performance at the safe house. You really had me fooled. All your faked emotion, I would give you a round of applause if you didn’t disgust me.” He was responsible for her friend’s death and she wanted to tear the man limb from limb. “You put Michael in a coma and killed Pike, you little bastard.”

“You killed a cop?” Campbell chimed in, hands gripping the steering wheel tighter.

“You,” Brian said to the marshal, “should keep your mouth shut and take us in exactly the direction that little arrow on the screen is pointing.”

“We should be there in about ten minutes.”

Brian thrust his fist into the side of the marshal’s head. The car swerved out of their lane and quickly back in, resulting in surrounding horns and her loss of breath.

“I said no talking. Just drive.”

“You are a bastard of the first order,” she said.

“Darby, Darby, Darby.” Thrumburt shook his head as if he couldn’t understand why she was disgusted. “I didn’t pull the trigger, but I suppose you could give me credit for eliminating the threats to my operation.”

“Are you seriously going to compare yourself to a businessman? You’re a crook. A drug dealer. You’re responsible for several deaths and you’ll pay with your own life.”

“That’s a debt I’ll never pay, sweetheart.”

She could see the GPS arrow getting closer to her partner’s location. She didn’t know what to do. Whatever Erren was planning, these men were several steps ahead and confident their cover-up would succeed.

The only way it would work was if they were all dead. Dead DEA agent, dead U.S. Marshal, dead Dallas cop. How in the world would they pull something like that off?

Campbell’s questioning eyes met hers in the mirror. He pointed to the GPS and raised his finger like a gun. She understood. They had to do something before they reached their destination.

“Stop here.” Thrumburt opened his phone and sent a text. Within seconds he received a reply. “We’ll be meeting them at a more private location. Straight for three blocks and take a left at the stop sign.”

They pulled into a parking lot of an old warehouse building in South Dallas. They were running out of time. She made eye contact in the mirror with Campbell again, who cut his eyes toward the gun still pointing in his side.

Thrumburt wasn’t wearing his seat belt. Could Campbell speed up and slam the ADA’s head into the dashboard before the airbag exploded? The marshal’s arms stiffened on the wheel. Using slow, controlled movements, she pulled the middle seat belt across her lap and snapped it shut.

“Don’t get any heroic ideas, Campbell,” Thrumburt said.

The marshal punched the gas, heading toward the side of the building.

Darby braced herself for the impact.

“Stop!” their captor screamed.

She should cover her head and duck to the floor, but she couldn’t move. She was frozen by the barrel of the .45 yoyoing between her and the marshal. The side of the building grew larger in the front windshield.

She had to be prepared to take the gun from Thrumburt. Her hand was on her seat belt, ready to pull it open.

The crash jolted her body as the scream of the gun pierced her ears.

Chapter Sixteen

Another frickin’ dark alley. Another setup. Another double cross.

Erren drove past the meeting point, searching from the car for a possible ambush. Nothing in sight, but plenty of places for one to happen. The alley could have been a duplicate of where he’d met Beavis and Butthead. And Knighton, his not-so-trustworthy handler, had indisputable knowledge of first-rate betrayals.

Time to end this.

He parked half a block away, keeping the Sergeant Major’s car out of the line of fire. It was the least he could do for Darby’s family. If all went as planned he’d pick up the Cougar and return it soon. He walked back to the meet, prepared to follow through for Pike—no matter the outcome.

He caught sight of the men lurking at the edge of the shadows and lifted his hands in the air. Two were behind him with guns at his back before he made it twenty feet into the alley. Whoever was behind this operation wasn’t taking a chance this time. The men pushed him between his shoulders, tripping him up, making it difficult to walk into the darkness—much more thorough than Beavis and Butthead.

One man he recognized from Darby’s house. It was the cop who’d shot at them, now walking with a limp. He wasn’t gentle about searching Erren for weapons or a wire. “He’s clean.”

Erren watched a tall form walk into the low light of the alley.

“Well, well, well, if it ain’t Agent Rhodes,” said a familiar voice, confirming his suspicions.

“Knighton,” he acknowledged.

Erren’s long-term portrayal of the San Antonio drug dealer came easily to his mind and actions. He purposefully changed the way he stood, talked and didn’t meet the DEA handler’s eyes. Then an image of sitting across Darby’s legs jumped into his head.

Fantastic. She’s going to get me killed and she isn’t even here.

“How’s the leg?” he asked the cop limping by him.

“As far as the legit cops are concerned,” he answered, “you kidnapped one of Dallas’s finest at gunpoint. We could shoot now and never ask questions.”

Knighton circled him. He hadn’t been surprised to see him. They’d been waiting to take care of the problem. No curiosity about what Erren had to offer. They didn’t act anxious or apprehensive. Damn.

Made sense to have cops pointing the weapons. Limpy Cop had Erren’s cell and tossed it to the DEA handler.

“Did you wonder why a dead guy called?” Erren asked.

“Naw. Not a problem. You brought the evidence to me and we’ll get rid of the problem child and his sister later.” He took a step toward Erren and hit him hard in the chest.

The force of Knighton’s fist caused Erren to move backwards. The filthy scumbag turned his back and Erren balled his fingers into fists to stop himself from retaliating. “So you figured out O’Malley’s not dead yet. Okay. But you still might have a problem.”

Knighton turned on a dime and Erren couldn’t avoid the backhand that came along with it. He didn’t fake the pained moan that escaped before he had control. The staggering blow was meant to knock him to his knees, but he managed to stay on his feet.

“My problem will end when I get rid of you.”

“Like I came here, unarmed, with my only bargaining chip on a cell phone?” Erren shook his head and pointed his thumb to his bruising chest area. “Not dumb, man.”

He hoped he was driving Knighton nuts. Erren needed him angry and thinking unclearly. He wanted answers.

“If you emailed the pictures somewhere. If you got someone to believe you. If you could make all that happen in an hour. A lot of ifs for a