Page 68 of The Grave Artist (Sanchez & Heron #2)

The three of them sped along the highway, Carmen at the wheel of her bulky but powerful Suburban.

Two passengers: one in person, one present virtually.

“You didn’t really ...” The voice coming through the FaceTime app was Frank Tandy’s.

Heron, in the shotgun seat, said, “No. I just threatened. Tickled him a little with the tip of the knife. He didn’t laugh.”

She glanced his way and noticed his jaw tightened slightly, and she guessed he was feeling some regret that Tristan Kane had spilled Garr’s location before the first phalange was snipped off. He’d misjudged her. Maybe he could have told her what he was up to.

She, of course, would never have sanctioned actual bloodletting.

But scaring the asshole?

Fair game.

Then Carmen lost interest, and she concentrated on driving. A natural behind the wheel, she liked rough roads. Trails and mountain paths.

And, as always, speed.

She hit 110 miles per hour and swerved into the left lane, slipped past a slow-moving camper and segued fast into the right once more, as the driver of the oncoming tractor-trailer yanked the air horn.

“Jesus,” Tandy muttered from the device in Heron’s hand. Then asked, “Where is she? Selina?”

Heron said, “Damon Garr had a governess. He didn’t tell Kane much about her and I didn’t have time to get the whole sordid story of their relationship. Garr uses her place as a safe house, Kane said. That’s where he’s got her.”

It was now Carmen’s turn to blare her vehicle’s horn. This time the oncoming pickups pulled to the shoulder. Only two gave her the finger as she streaked past.

“Sanchez,” Heron said through gritted teeth.

She grimaced and eased off the gas, remembering the motto her driver-training instructors had drilled into her when she was a new agent. “Arrive alive.”

“Odds that he warned Damon?” Tandy asked.

Heron replied, “Claimed he didn’t and there was no Sigint on his phone or computer telling me he had. Might have been lying, but ...” He shrugged.

In any event, they had done all they could—notifying local police about the Spalding house the instant Heron scored the address.

This was so very hard. Her sister’s life was in jeopardy. It took every ounce of self-control she possessed to keep the speedometer below a hundred.

If anything happened to her little sister, Carmen would never forgive herself.

She’d berated Ryan Hall for assuming Selina would stay home and wait for him, but hadn’t she made the same mistake?

If anything, her fault was far greater because they’d grown up together.

Selina was smart, tough, fierce and determined.

Never the type to wring her hands and let others handle problems.

In truth, it was one of many things she admired about her only sibling—and only remaining immediate family member. The thought brought another wave of dread.

She veered down a private road and announced, “We’re here.”

Heron said goodbye to Tandy and pocketed his phone.

Carmen skidded to a stop behind two local squad cars in front of the house that had been owned by Ms. Hattie Spalding, a former teacher and governess who had died a few years ago in a freak accident involving a defective electrical circuit.

Damon Garr’s Mercedes was here too, parked beside the house on the driveway.

The cruisers belonged to two local LA County Sheriff’s deputies. They had exited their vehicles and were crouching behind them for cover.

WTF?

“Who’s shooting?” Carmen called out. There’d been no reports of gunfire.

“No one, ma’am,” one of them said. “But we heard the subject is a bad actor and figured he was barricaded inside because his car’s still here. We were waiting for backup so we can secure the perimeter before going in.”

The officers were following procedure. But neither of them had a sister trapped inside with a killer.

Without another word, Carmen drew her Glock and charged toward the house, calling over her shoulder, “Heron, you stay here!”

The first officer stood from his crouched position and shouted for her to wait. Then, a moment later, she heard their boots thudding up the steps of the old, shabby wood-frame structure.

Inside, she scanned the musty place, shelves filled with porcelain figurines, souvenir plates on stands, doilies and, inexplicably, old slasher movies on DVD.

A lot of them. The deputies had decided to forgo protocol to back her up and were clearing the rooms as they made their way through the house, as Carmen did the same.

She broke from the kitchen into a study, called, “Clear. Main floor study.” She turned and was not surprised to see that Heron had, yet again, disobeyed her orders. “We’re not secure. Wait outside like I told you. Call Mouse. I want more backup.”

He had just turned when a man’s voice called out from a doorway in the kitchen. One of the deputies. “Found her! She’s in the basement.” A pause. “And you better hurry. There’s a problem.”

Carmen barreled down the stairs so fast she lost her footing and nearly fell on the bare cement floor. She fought to regain balance as her mind conjured horrific images of her sister on the brink of death.

Finally steadying herself, she saw Selina bound to a rickety office chair that tilted at a bizarre angle—one wheel was missing.

Selina lifted her head and blinked. She was alive. And without any apparent cuts or contusions.

Carmen lurched forward, desperate to free her sister from the duct tape securing her wrists to the arms of the chair. Carmen grabbed the SOG tactical knife clipped inside her waistband and flicked out the blade one handed.

“Hold still, mija,” she said, and began slicing through the thick silver tape with the serrated steel edge.

As she worked to free her sister, an offensive—and unmistakable—odor drew her attention. Suddenly she grasped the nature of the “problem” the officer had mentioned.

Garr must have opened the valve to the natural gas line that fed the dryer or water heater. The unique stench of sulfur-tinged odorant filled the room.

Was she about to rescue her sister only to have the whole house blow them all to smithereens?

“Everyone, out,” she shouted to the others. No one else needed to die.

“Think I’ll stay.”

She glanced up to see Heron, who had disregarded her orders to wait outside. Again. He began using his knife—with which he’d nearly amputated Tristan Kane’s digits—to saw through the tape binding Selina’s legs.

Both officers stayed put as well, and were working to smash open the door to the backyard, using only wooden planks. The door was metal, and using iron or steel tools risked a spark that would set off the gas.

Carmen decided to submit the cops for a commendation and reserve the ass-chewing for Heron.

“You’ll be out in a second,” she muttered to her sister as she cut the last strip of tape on her arms as Heron did the same for her ankles. Together they helped Selina up and pushed out the back door moments after the deputies had managed to bash it open.

Selina was unsteady on her feet at first, gaining momentum as they ran across the yard to be sure they were out of the potential blast radius.

When they finally stopped, one of the cops bent over, hands on his knees, sucking wind. “That asshole was going to gas her to death.”

“Or blow the place,” his partner said. “There’s probably a pilot light on the water heater. When the gas got to that ... kaboom!”

His final word reverberated through Carmen’s mind like a death knell.

Kaboom.

The end of her little sister’s life. The end of their family. The end of her world.

She locked eyes with Selina and saw the raw emotion that mirrored her own. It was a combination of anticipated grief. Mourning the loss of a lifetime of sisterly love that would never come to be.

Wordlessly, she and Selina flung their arms around each other and embraced for a moment before Carmen backed away and held her sister at arm’s length, examining her for injuries.

Selina must have realized she needed to reassure her big sister. “I’m fine. But you need to get people to Christopher Fisher’s place right away.”

“They’re there,” Carmen said.

“He’s the one who killed Dad.” Selina paused. “Well, the one who paid that guy Sweeney to kill him. Fisher was the money-laundering client. And there’s proof.”

“Proof?” Carmen couldn’t hide her shock.

“You know that fighting technique you taught me?”

Unsure where this was going, she said, “Systema.”

Selina’s expression was both fierce and triumphant. “I made a move on Sweeney. Knew he’d win eventually. He had a gun, after all.”

Carmen struggled to keep the ice from her voice. “You fought a man with a gun?”

“Yeah, well, I figured if he wanted to shoot me, he would’ve done it right up front. So, I grabbed this ugly-ass statue and pretended to throw it at him. Only I made sure to hit the window. It cracked the glass.”

Carmen grasped the significance of Selina’s actions. “You activated the security system. It recorded everything.”

“And I got Sweeney to tell me what happened with Dad and why Fisher wanted him dead.”

Carmen stifled comments about how her little sister had put herself at risk. Like their father, Selina must have assumed she wouldn’t survive and found a way to send a message to Carmen.

Unable to say any of this, she gave her a quick hug. Then she broke away to call Grange and request that he have his team secure the security hard drive at Fisher’s.

She turned back to Selina, refocusing her attention on the fleeing suspect. “Now, Damon Garr, your kidnapper. Any idea where he went?”

“He made a call,” Selina said with an even voice. “He was speaking softly, but I heard him talking to somebody about an airplane. He said, ‘Executive airport, north of here.’ Then something about Canada, and a wire transfer. Then he turned on the gas and ran out the door.”

“Any idea which airport?”

“No.”

Heron, who had been listening to the exchange, shot a glance at the pair of patrol officers standing nearby. Carmen could see his eyes narrow in thought. “Either of you shut the gas line off?”

“Me,” reported the taller of the two.

Heron pursued, “How many twists of the valve did it take?”

“Not much.” The cop frowned. “Maybe half a turn, I guess.”

Carmen realized what her partner was getting at. This changed everything.

She turned to Selina. “Garr had no intention of killing you. He probably planned to until he heard we were onto him. Then it was all about escape.”

Selina nodded knowingly. “Sure! He wanted me to hear the conversation so I’d send you guys in the wrong direction. The gas was just window dressing.”

Carmen appreciated her sister’s quick grasp of the facts. “Exactly, he’s not going to an airport at all. He’s driving. Well, to be accurate, someone else is driving him since his car’s here.”

“Mexico?” one of the deputies asked.

“Most likely.” She gave Heron a meaningful look. He took the cue and pulled his tablet from his backpack, doubtless scanning for highway cams.

She said, “He won’t be on the interstate.”

“No,” Heron agreed and found a camera on a two-lane highway that connected to others leading to the nation’s southern border.

“Who the hell picked him up?”

Selina frowned. “There was something else. He got a call. I heard him answer it. Then he stepped away, outside, so I couldn’t eavesdrop. So that one wasn’t fake.”

Carmen said, “If you didn’t hear it, it won’t do us any good.”

“I didn’t say that.” Selina offered a smile.

“How do you mean?”

“The tone when he looked at caller ID and answered? And he said, ‘Hey.’”

Carmen glanced at Heron before turning back to her sister. “It was romantic.”

Selina nodded. “Exactly.”