Page 137 of The Right to Remain

The gun was shaking, but there was no crack of a gunshot. Elliott held his pistol with both hands, trying to steady his aim at CJ.

“You can’t do this,” said Jack. “I’m your lawyer, but I’m still a witness who will testify against you. Revenge is not self-defense. If you shoot him, you’ll have to shoot me too.”

“Shoothim!” said CJ. “Your lawyer and your mother are the only ones who know the secret of that night. Shoot him and let him take it to the grave. You and your mother can name your price.”

Elliott’s eyes darted from CJ to Jack and back again. Jack could hardly believe what he was seeing, but the pistol was slowly moving in Jack’s direction.

“Elliott, this is crazy,” said Jack.

“Any price!” said CJ. “Millions, if you want. I’m a Vandermeer. You know I’m good for it.”

“I’m sorry, Jack,” said Elliott.

“Elliott, don’t.”

“But I have to do this.”

The gun jerked in CJ’s direction, and a single shot rang out.

“No!”

CJ was on the floor—but only because he’d dived for cover. A lone bullet hole marred the face of the white kitchen cabinet behind him.

Elliott lowered the gun. “You’re not worth it, CJ.”

Before CJ could grasp what had happened, Jack was on top of him. CJ was too impaired to put up much of a fight. Jack easily pinned him on his belly and jerked CJ’s arm behind his back, controlling him.

“Call 911!” Jack shouted, struggling to keep CJ still.

Elliott laid the gun on the table and took his cell phone from his pocket. “Sure,” he said, dialing. “This time I will.”

Chapter 52

It wasn’t Andie’s first time speeding through the warehouse district after dark, but it was her first time with ASAC Tidwell behind the wheel. The buildings all looked alike, row after row of flat-roofed boxes, the only distinguishing feature being a large letter and number painted in red on the garage door. Tidwell cut his speed as they passed Warehouse P-65, then made a hard turn into a poorly lit parking lot and brought the car to a hard stop outside Warehouse P-72. He and Andie jumped out and sprinted down the alley to the side entrance. Tidwell entered the passcode to the digital lock. Andie rushed inside first and came face-to-face with Special Agent Kyle Crawford.

“Careful!” he shouted, stopping Andie stopped in her tracks.

Crawford was the go-to agent when it came to delivering tactical support and off-site platforms for SWAT and undercover planning and communications. For Operation P-P-P, he and his team had transformed Warehouse P-72 into a remote command center. A tangle of thick black electrical cords and cables stretched across the concrete floor. Computers and audio equipment were stacked on one side of the room. Flat-panel monitors were arranged in U-shape fashion along the remaining three walls. Each monitor displayed a different view of the warehouse district.

“Aronberg is hit in the knee but okay,” said Tidwell.

Andie’s heart leapt to her throat. She knew Agent Aronberg from another undercover operation.

“Has SWAT launched?” asked Tidwell.

“They’re surrounding the building,” said Crawford. “They’re at yellow.”

Yellow was the SWAT code for the final position of cover and concealment. Green was the assault, the moment of life and death, literally.

Andie’s gaze fixed on the monitor displaying a broad view of Warehouse Q-75.

“That’s Theo Knight’s space,” said Crawford. “Three buildings down on the next row. We rerigged security cameras on rows P and Q to get these feeds.”

“Nice work,” said Tidwell, speaking to the tech agents in the room.

Andie looked more closely at the monitor. “Where’s SWAT now?”

Crawford adjusted video feed. Dressed all in black, their faces covered with greasepaint, the SWAT agents were virtually invisible in the darkness.