Where the hell was Gabriel?
The garage door powered upward in sudden motion.
14
Evan knew he would be seen in a matter of seconds.
The Suburban was parked farthest from the house. As the garage door motored up, Evan slid over the hood of the SUV, putting the Suburban between him and the rest of the garage. He huddled down close to the front right wheel. He pulled the gun he’d taken from Gabriel from the back of his jeans.
Gabriel ran into the garage.
I have his keys, he went out the window, this must be his only way back in the house, Evan thought.
Either Gabriel had seen him or hadn’t and Evan would know in a moment.
Footsteps. Heading toward the door that led to the kitchen. Evan heard that door open. Then the garage door powering downward along its tracks. Gabriel cutting off his escape that way. He believed Evan was still inside the house.
Evan risked a peek above the Suburban’s hood. He’s probably got more guns in the house, and he’s heading for one, because he knows I’ve got one and now I’ll have heard the garage door, wherever I am in the house. Evan eased inside the Suburban from the passenger side, slid into the driver’s seat, inserted the key into the ignition. He found the garage door opener clipped to the sun visor and hit the button. The garage door stopped.
He hit the button instantly again and the door crept up as he started the Suburban. Evan thought, Please, let him have run upstairs already…
The door to the house flew open; Gabriel stood in the doorway, gun in hand. The garage door still motored upward.
Gabriel slammed his fist onto the door control; it stopped. He ran past the motorcycle. Heading right for the driver’s door.
Evan shifted into reverse and hit the accelerator. The Suburban roared backward, metal screeching as it scraped the lowered garage door.
Gabriel fired. The bullet pinged off the roof, his aim too high. Evan spun the wheel, slamming backward into metal in the wide stretch of driveway. In the rearview mirror he saw the stolen Malibu.
Gabriel sprinted toward the car’s front, aiming at the tires, bellowing, ‘Stop! Evan! Give it up!’
Evan wrenched the car into drive. The Suburban rocketed forward; Gabriel screamed as he went over the hood and off the side of the car.
Jesus, I hit him, Evan thought. He aimed the Suburban down the driveway, which cut down a sizable hill studded with cedars and live oaks. It looked like the Hill Country. Gabriel had mentioned Bandera. For once he’d told the truth.
The driveway snaked down to a closed metal gate that fenced the property off from a small country road. Evan pressed the other button on the garage door opener, hoping that the gate was electronic. The gate didn’t budge. Then he spotted a loop of chain locking the gate shut.
He searched in the dividing console of the Suburban, then hunted on the car key ring. No extra key.
Evan grabbed the gun from the passenger seat, got out of the Suburban, left the engine running. He aimed at the hefty lock on the chain, took two steps back, and fired.
The gunshot thundered across the silence of the hills. The lock rocked, a hole blasted in its edge. He tested the lock. It held.
He heard the whine of a motorcycle. The Ducati, revving down through the driveway.
Evan steadied his aim and fired again. The bullet chocked through the lock dead center. The lock fell open under his hands, and he unwound the chain, dropping the links onto the gravel at the road’s edge. His breath grew heavy and loud in his ears. He shoved the gate open.
The whine crescendoed. He saw the Ducati arrowing down the driveway through a break in the trees, then roaring toward him. Gabriel raised his pistol. The warning shot kicked up dust near Evan’s feet.
No place to hide. Evan, the chain in one hand, the gun in the other, slid under the Suburban at the passenger side, into the grit and gravel.
He had taken cover in panic. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
The Ducati stopped ten feet away. Limestone dust from the gravel coated the bottom of its wheels.
‘Evan.’ Gabriel sounded as if he were talking around broken teeth. ‘Toss the gun out. Now.’
‘No,’ Evan said.
‘Listen to me. Don’t be an idiot. Don’t run. They’ll kill you.’
‘Back off or I’ll shoot you.’
Gabriel’s voice lowered. ‘You shoot me, you’re completely alone in this world. No money. No place to go. The cops hand you right over to the FBI, and then you know what happens.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘FBI comes and collects you on behalf of the CIA. Takes you into federal custody. And then they lose you, Evan, because the government wants you and your family dead. You’ve become a hot potato ain’t nobody touching. I’m your only hope. Now come on out.’
‘I’m not talking to you. I’m counting. When I hit the magic number, I’m shooting you in the foot.’ He wanted out from under the hot, dusty car, the heat of the engine pressing against his back.
Gabriel kept his voice calm, as though trolling his options and seeing which one would lure Evan into sunlight. ‘Evan, I know what it’s like to have no place to go.’
Evan waited.
‘I know how these people work, Evan. How they’ll hunt you. I can hide you from them. Or get you to a place where you could negotiate a peace settlement with them.’ Slowly moving, slowly circling the Suburban. ‘Best of all, I have a plan to get your dad back.’ Gabriel’s voice was low, buddy-intimate.
Evan aimed at Gabriel’s feet. His heart hammered against the gravel.
‘Your mother trusted me, and I failed her. I feel responsible. But remember, I shot through the rope, I saved your life.’ Gabriel’s voice dropped lower. ‘I’m talking with you. I’m not dragging you out by your heels to fight you.’
Because I hit you with a car and because I have a gun, and you know it. You heard me shoot the lock. And you’re hurt, bad hurt from hitting the car, but you still chased me down here. You need me. Because you want Jargo so bad, and I’m the bait.
‘We need to go to Florida,’ Gabriel said. ‘That’s where I was taking your mother. That’s where she expected to find your dad.’ Tossing Evan a bone.
‘Where in Florida?’
‘We can talk about details when you come out. I’ve got a great idea on how to get your dad back for you.’
‘So let’s hear your plan,’ Evan said. Keep Gabriel talking. Let his voice give away any sudden effort, like rushing toward the Suburban.
‘Jargo wants your dad, to lure you in and ensure you can’t hurt him with the files. The CIA wants your dad or those files, to nab Jargo and whoever’s in the CIA that works with him. I suggest you offer deals to both sides, get them face-to-face. Then you threaten to expose both sides – Jargo as a freelance spy, the CIA as dealing with him, which is an embarrassment to them – and negotiate the return of your dad. Play them against each other. We can work out the details. But come out and let’s talk.’
And what does that plan buy you? Evan wondered. He could not figure out what Gabriel wanted – revenge, but against both Jargo and the CIA? It made no sense. Unless he really was ex-CIA and the disgruntled employee of the century. ‘All right,’ Evan said. ‘I’m coming out now. Don’t shoot me.’
‘Toss the gun out, Evan. Flick on the safety and toss the gun out.’
Evan, lying flat, aimed with care at Gabriel’s foot. His hand trembled and he willed it still. Make it count. But the surface of the road, all rough edges of gravel, made him worry the bullet might not fly straight into Gabriel’s
