Page 29

There was no way Wilson hadn’t seen my headlights, so there was no point in trying for stealth; he knew I was coming anyway. So instead of sneaking up the front steps, I mustered the shreds of courage I had left and stomped up them like I was in charge of the situation.

The front door was unlocked, so I barged right in uninvited to a rather unnerving scene. A living room that hadn’t changed since the ‘80s greeted me, empty except for the single wooden dining room chair in the center of it—and the woman tied and gagged sitting in it. Mascara stains marred her face, along with bruises, and her eyes were filled with terror at the sight of me. Probably because Wilson was standing right behind her, gun in hand.

“First things first, young lady. Toss your firearm on the floor and kick it to me. We wouldn’t want to have to end this right here and now because you tried something reckless, would we?”

“Reckless seems to work pretty well for me.”

He raised his gun high and aimed it at me. “ Seemed to,” he said, overemphasizing the word. “Past tense. Now do it, or I’ll give you a wound to match Agent Dawson’s.” Quickly weighing my options, I realized he wasn’t bluffing and did as he’d asked. The gun fell to the floor with a clatter and scraped across the wood when I kicked it his way.

“So what’s your big plan now, Wilson?” I asked, drawing on my waning confidence. “Is this when you launch into your lengthy bad guy monologue about how clever you are and how close I came to shutting you down, et cetera, et cetera? That’s usually how it goes.”

“You’d know, wouldn’t you? You narrowly escaped a few of them.”

“Which means my track record is solid.”

He smiled like the devil he was as he gripped my mother’s shoulder. “So is mine. But I like your idea. I feel like an explanation would be sporting of me.”

“And you’re just a sporting kinda guy, aren’t you?” His fingertips bit into my mothers bare flesh before he released her to step around the chair toward me. Her eyes went wild with panic as she wrestled against her bindings in a futile attempt to stop the killer heading my way.

“You’re still alive, aren’t you? That feels rather sporting.”

“No thanks to you.”

“If you’re looking for someone to blame, try your father. He’s the one who was sniffing around where he didn’t belong when he stumbled upon what he thought was a mob connection in Columbus. I discouraged him from following up on it due to limited resources, but like a dog with a bone, he couldn’t let it go. I realized he was investigating on his own time, but what could I do? Any attempt I made to dissuade him might have aroused suspicion of some sort, so that was out of the question. All I could do was track his movements.”

“Through Reider.”

He nodded. “I had him do ‘random’ sweeps of agents’ computer histories and report them back to me. It didn’t take long to see that he was snooping through the Vollero arrests a decade earlier. I was contemplating taking him out before he got too close, but it turned out I didn’t need to. Agent Reider began acting very cagey around me—nervous. One bug in the men’s room gave me all the confirmation I needed. It’s hard to believe that a pencil-pushing desk jockey like Reider almost outed me.”

“Never underestimate a nerd with hyperfocus.”

“Indeed. So I dealt with him and your father in one fell swoop. Their little meeting could never happen as they’d planned it, of course, so I called in reinforcements. Striker was a variable I hadn’t planned for, but he was handled in the short term,” he said with a wicked smile. “And the long, so it seems.” I cringed at the images of Striker falling lifeless to the ground, then shook them from my mind.

“What were my father and Reider getting too close to that you had to silence them?”

“The truth about the Vollero boss. I told you I’d worked in New Jersey long before I became the head of the Ohio Bureau.” The smug look on his face practically begged me to see the connection I couldn’t. “I was there twelve years ago…”

Ice slid down my spine. “You were there when Marco—I mean Bellucci—was arrested.”

“He told me everything he knew about Vollero.”

“But his testimony never led to his capture.”

That fucking smile grew wider. “Oh, but it did,” he countered, “just not on record. The more I spoke to Bellucci, the more I realized just how easy it would be for me to take out Vollero and assume his identity, and my plan was solidified. By the time I actually killed Vollero, it looked like he’d already gone to ground anyway, so it was simple to take his place without exposure. I knew the inner workings of his whole operation through the interrogations—who the major players were and whose loyalty could be bought. With a little work, I knew I could keep my identity a mystery to the world, including the FBI. It was shockingly easy. I’m surprised no one ever thought of doing it before.”

“Maybe because no one else is an unscrupulous murderer in charge of the FBI?”

“Oh, I think you’d find that not to be the case, Kylene. People in power—especially men—have a lot in common with the criminals they condemn.” He leaned in close enough for me to see how empty and hollow his eyes truly were. There was no soul to be found in his bottomless stare; just a dark, morally bankrupt abyss. “They just hide the monster better.”

“Jamieson didn’t do a good enough job,” I said, summoning some bravery, “and he’s dead now.”

“Jamieson was never meant to make it. He was disposable from the drop. If he’d succeeded in killing you, he wouldn’t have made it far afterward.”

“You just have a plan for everything, don’t you?”

His gaze drifted to my mother and he smiled. “Yes, I do.”

My blood boiled at the way he looked at her. “If you’re so willing to get your hands dirty, then why did you send Luke to kill me? Manny, too? Why not do it yourself? I’d never have seen it coming.”

“That seemed too unsporting,” he replied in a condescending tone. “Besides, I enjoyed seeing what you’re made of. I have to say, I was rather impressed that you were able to survive as long as you did—especially against Grant Matthew.” He winced for effect. “That one was wily, with a real twisted side. And Manny…Manny was a true professional. I really did not expect to see you standing on that rooftop when I arrived.”

“I’m used to being underestimated.”

“And I have to admit that I did. But now I realize that you have a killer inside of you. It’s a shame to have to snuff that out like I did Manny.” He stepped closer, and I took one in retreat. “Their blood is on your hands. Striker’s, too, really. If you’d just died like you were supposed to, none of that would ever have happened.”

“I didn’t kill them, you sick bastard. You did!”

“How does it feel to be a killer, Kylene?” he asked as he grew nearer. “Did you enjoy it as much as I do? Holding a man’s fate in your hands and then snuffing it out?”

“No, because I’m not a monster, unlike you. You do it for fun—and for personal gain.”

“And to punish,” he said, pointing an accusatory finger at me. “But not everyone deserves death. Some need to suffer—like your father. He needed to be taught a lesson. Your mother, too,” he said in a wistful, romantic tone as he gazed at her tethered to the chair; a tone completely at odds with the horror show we were in. “I had to tame her once, too, but she proved too difficult for my abilities back then. I’m far more experienced now.”

It took only a moment for his words to register. “You’re the one…the creep she dated her senior year.” I wanted to think he couldn’t be serious—that he hadn’t waited decades to punish my mother for leaving him—but then I remembered that women had been shot outside bars for turning down a drink, or followed home and butchered for saying no to some random asking for her phone number. The male ego was a fragile thing for some; throw in a heap of psychopathy, and his motives suddenly made far more sense.

“Your mother didn’t appreciate my affections like she should have back then. I’d hoped she’d be more receptive a second time when she arrived in Columbus with her traumatized daughter and a husband that worked far too many hours, but it seemed she loved him far too much for that.” My mind was reeling with the depths of crazy I was up against as I tried to make it all make sense. “But not enough to tell him about our past—an oversight I used to my advantage in the end.”

“You made her leave,” I said as the anger I’d felt for her roiled in my belly.

“It felt like a nice touch, forcing her away from her husband and child—not directly, of course. Wouldn't want her to figure out it was me.”

“Are you saying you’re torturing us because she wised up and dumped you a million years ago? Do you even hear yourself right now? You’re pathetic.” The back of his hand shot out to strike me so fast I barely had time to dodge it. Anger blazed in his glare as I laughed. “You’re going to have to do better than that, Wilson.”

“How's this, then: when I’m done here, I’m going to find your sweet old Gramps and slit his throat right before I go visit your little friends…what are their names, again?” he mused aloud. “Oh, yes, Tabby and Garrett. And then there’s Agent Dawson, of course—”

“He’ll kill you before you have the chance to do anything.”

“Let’s not kid ourselves, Kylene. He’s in rough shape and fading quickly. Would you really like his odds if I showed up there right now?” The look of terror I couldn’t hide was all the answer he needed. “That’s what I thought.”

“So tell me, then, what’s your endgame?”

He smiled like the raving lunatic he was. “Your parents’ suffering—especially your mother. That’s why you’re here…to pay for her sins.” My mother struggled against her restraints, mumbling incoherent but undoubtedly horrible things into her gag. Wilson reached his hand around her face and stroked down her cheek until his palm rested on her throat. She stilled in an instant. “Now come say goodbye to your mother.”

Panic coursed through my veins, burning like a flood of lava as time ran out. I eyed the gun in his hand as I slowly walked over to where my mother sat and wondered how many bullets he could get off before I could take it from him—and how many I could survive before that happened. But one look at the desperation in my mother’s eyes and I didn’t dare. I’d find another way out of this. I had to.

“I love you, Mom,” I whispered before I kissed her forehead. Then I turned my anguish and anger on Wilson.

“Very touching. Really.” The gun gripped tightly in his hand raised once again. “Now get on your knees.” I hesitated for a moment, and he turned the weapon toward my mother. “I will not say it again.”

“Okay,” I said, stepping far enough to her left that she couldn’t see me. Wilson followed, gun leveled at my head as I slowly lowered down to my knees. I took a breath, knowing that this was the pivotal moment; my only shot at taking him down. If I succeeded, I’d live. If not, it was all over—for everyone I loved.

With that thought in the back of my head, I looked past the barrel aimed at my forehead and took one final deep breath as I curled my toes under me, preparing to launch myself at his waist.

“Any last words, Miss Danners?”

I opened my mouth to reply, but something flashed in the window beyond Wilson—a blur of pale that grew clearer as it neared the dust-covered pane. For a moment, I thought it was a ghost. Then the sharp sound of glass exploding filled my ears, and Wilson staggered forward a step, a red stain blossoming on his crisp white shirt. His face twisted with shock, and I used that moment to knock his gun away and spring to my feet. I dove to the side as he lunged to grab me and scrambled toward the door. I was only halfway there when it flew open and Dawson stormed through it like a man possessed, gun trained on where Wilson stood clutching the wound in his abdomen. He stalked directly toward me and didn’t stop until he pulled me tight into his side, out of harm’s reach.

And I held on to him like he might slip through my fingers if I didn’t.

“You should have killed me when you had the chance,” he said, staring Wilson down. “I won’t make that same mistake.”

“No, Dawson,” I said, pulling away just enough to see the determination on his face. “Reider wouldn’t want you to do this. And neither would my dad. What was it you said to me about the point of no return?” He dared a quick glance down at me, and I thought I was getting through to him. “Wilson needs to pay for what he’s done.”

“And that’s exactly what he’s going to do.”

His arm shook with anger or exhaustion or the moral dilemma I knew he was fighting despite his bravado, and I slowly placed my hand on it and eased it down.

“Not like this,” I whispered. “That’s not who you are.” Those endless hazel eyes drifted from Wilson to me and locked on to my face, searching for the truth in my words. “Don’t become the thing you hate. That’s what you would tell me.” I looked over my shoulder to where Wilson lay bleeding, his glare full of rage as he stared at us. “He doesn’t deserve death, anyway—that’s too easy.”

Confident that Dawson wasn’t going to mow Wilson down the second I walked away, I made my way over to where my mom sat and worked to free her. The second her arms were unbound, she pulled out her gag and hugged me tightly.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she cried as I untied her legs. “I’m so sorry this hap—”

Another gunshot rang out, and my head whipped around to find Wilson laid out flat, groaning as more blood spilled from his arm.

“He went for the gun,” Dawson said, voice like ice.

My mother rose and walked over to the writhing man, looming over him like lady justice herself. “And he’ll never stop,” she said, her tone distant and resigned to a fate I didn’t yet understand. “We can’t trust the police, the feds, or the courts to do what needs to be done. There’s no way to know just how deep his hold penetrates.”

“Your mother is right,” Dawson agreed. “We can’t take that chance.”

My mother turned to Dawson, and a silent conversation passed between them as I looked on, disbelief permeating every fiber of my being. “Take her outside,” she finally said aloud.

“Mom…Mom, no—”

“Take her outside,” she repeated before turning toward the stray gun on the floor.

Dawson’s arm snaked around my waist, and he pulled me away from the scene about to play out.

“Mom, please—”

“It’s okay, baby girl,” she said in the soft, sweet voice she used to use to comfort me. “I’m just going to make the monster go away. He will never hurt our family again.”

Dawson pulled me through the door and across the porch, hurrying me away from the scene as fast as his weakened body could. As he rushed us across the yard, red and blue lights danced through the thick trees of the street, growing nearer by the second. Sheriff Higgins and an army of deputies skidded to a halt as gunshots peppered the otherwise silent night. He jumped out of his SUV as my mother stumbled out the door, blood staining her clothes. One look at the state of the three of us and he seemed to already understand the status of things.

“There’s a body inside,” Dawson said calmly. “Special Agent in Charge Wilson is dead.”

“He was the AD,” I added. “He shot Agents Striker and Dawson, then put out the APB on us.”

Sheriff Higgins nodded tightly. “I see. I guess I’ll need to take your statements, then, after I call off the manhunt,” he said. “But first, let’s get you over to the medics.”

For once in Dawson’s life, he didn’t argue with the sheriff.

“I’m fine,” my mom said. “I can give my statement now.”

“Then let’s get this over with—”

“It was self-defense,” I blurted out as a deputy led us toward the ambulance.

Sheriff Higgins pinned me with a knowing look. “I know it was, Kylene. Don’t you worry about that. But you should worry about Agent Dawson,” he said looking at the fed’s arm and the way he wavered on his feet. “Ambulance is over there.”

With Dawson’s arm still slung around my shoulders, we walked over to the gurney sitting next to the rig. “Who wants a gunshot victim?”

The two younger male EMTs ushered him up onto the gurney with ease and strapped him down as they wheeled him around the back. “We need to get him to the hospital.”

“You sure do,” I replied as I moved aside to let them load the gurney.

But Dawson’s good arm shot out and caught mine. “You and I need to have a little conversation first,” he said. “You’re not getting out of it that easily.”

“What’s that? You’re having trouble breathing? You need some oxygen?” I grabbed the mask they’d rested in his lap and put it to his face.

He batted it away before I could secure it. “Get in the ambulance, Danners.”

“Pretend that message never happened and I will.” His narrowed eyes told me had no intention of doing that. “Look, I was under duress. I can't be held accountable for the things that come out of my mouth when I think I’m about to die.”

“Or maybe you should. Maybe that’s when you’re able to face the truths you normally run from.”

Maybe he was right.

“Listen, we need to move,” the young EMT said as he rounded the rig. “Are you in or out?”

In or out … What a loaded question that was. I looked at Dawson, watching me like a hawk, as though he, too, had realized the weighty subtext in that otherwise benign query.

I’d been running from so much since the day of my father’s arrest in the effort to free him that I’d lost parts of myself along the way. Who I was. What I wanted, beyond his exoneration. And how I felt. Standing there at Dawson’s side, I could see it all so clearly. Who I’d become. What my future held. The feelings I had for the hotshot fed still holding my arm hostage—the same way he held my heart.

I smiled at him, then turned to the EMT and spoke the two words that would eventually change my path forever.

“I’m in.”