Then she turned and was gone.
“You missed!” Jerry said, rushing out of the open door and darting up the hallway.
Jack started to follow but quickly stopped.
Jerry, almost out of the hallway, glanced back. “You coming?”
“Walter,” Jack said.
“Right,” Jerry said, and turned around and kept going.
Jack hurried back to the second guest bedroom.
As soon as he stepped inside, he expected to find Walter making a play for Jones’s shotgun leaning in the corner and was mentally prepared to wound him with a shot, but instead the man hadn’t moved from his spot behind the desk. Jack wasn’t quite sure if he was impressed with Walter’s lack of aggression or disgusted by it.
Walter seemed to know what Jack was thinking — or maybe he just read it on his face — and lowered his head to avoid Jack’s gaze.
Jack pulled the zip cuffs from one of his pockets and walked across the room. “Looks like we have a bit of a situation, Walter. Sorry, but I’m going to have to make sure you don’t try to run off while I deal with it.”
Two bangs! rang out from outside the house. Gunshots.
It had to be Jones’s stolen Glock, because Jerry had his suppressed MP5SD.
Another shot—bang! — and then silence.
Walter, sitting on the floor, was listening closely to the chaos outside, too.
“That’s one hell of a woman you got there, Walter,” Jack said.
“Don’t hurt them,” Walter said.
“Hurt them?” He shook his head and grunted. “Right now, it’s not them I’m worried about…”
Jones’s body was still fresh and lying in a wide pool of blood that had spread liberally underneath his large form. He had thrashed around before succumbing to his wound and had attempted to stanch the bleeding, if the position of both hands were any indication. To no avail, as it turned out.
Jack was careful not to get blood on or underneath his boots. To accomplish that, he’d had to tiptoe around the room until he could get close enough to see where the dog had clamped down on the side of Jones’s neck. The teeth marks were easy to spot under the bright ceiling lights; they had dug deep and one (maybe two, or three) of those sharp fangs had punctured the carotid artery. Poor Jones hadn’t had much of a chance after that.
The woman had taken the big man’s Glock 41, which meant she had thirteen bullets when the night started. She’d fired twice at him (missing both, thankfully), and he’d heard her letting loose with three more rounds as Jerry chased them outside the house. Which left her with eight shots.
Wait, no. His count was off, because someone had squeezed off a round earlier. That was probably Jones, likely trying to shoot the dog. Was that before or after the beast mauled him? Not that it mattered. Since Jack had seen the dog racing away on all fours like the Devil was on its tail, it meant Jones hadn’t connected.
Seven, then. The woman had seven more shots left in the Glock.
Jack stood up and looked toward the barred window, but it was difficult to see anything with the curtains pulled. After the three shots he’d heard outside, there hadn’t been any follow-up. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
But he had other problems right now, because Allie had fired those shots.
Three very loud shots.
What were the chances some of Walter’s neighbors might have heard? It was night, which meant the world was very quiet, so the gunshots would travel a pretty good distance. How much would the woods, and the army of trees, dampen the noise, if any?
And things were going so well, too. Done by morning. Rich by afternoon. A first-class plane ticket to the Caribbean by evening.
Yeah, right.
He sighed and keyed his radio, then said into his mic, “Jerry, come in.”
“Yeah,” Jerry said through the earbud, breathing a little too hard. “What’s the word?”
“You tell me.”
“They’re in the woods.”
“No shit. Where?”
“I don’t have a clue, but I’m tracking them. Unlike with the dog earlier, the girls aren’t nearly as good at hiding their trail.”
“Those gunshots were loud. Someone might have heard them.”
“I figured that,” Jerry said. “You think we should bail?”
Jack didn’t answer right away.
“Hey,” Jerry said. “You think we should bail?”
“No,” Jack said.
“You sure?”
“We’re in the boondocks, and Walter’s neighbors are at least half a mile away. If we’re lucky…” He paused.
If I’m lucky. When has that ever happened?
“We’ll play it by ear,” he finished instead.
“Shit, why not,” Jerry said, “we’ve come this far. Besides, what kind of law enforcement could they have out here? A couple of country bumpkins?”
“Hopefully we won’t have to find out. Until then, keep me apprised.”
“What about Walter?”
“What about him?”
“It’s still all about him, isn’t it?” Jerry said. “I know we wanted to keep him in one piece for this, but maybe we don’t have a choice anymore.”
Jerry had a point. Jack wanted to avoid it, because a bleeding worker was a slow worker. He’d learned that lesson in another shitty part of the world a few years back, too.
“You get me?” Jerry was saying through the radio.
“I’ll handle it,” Jack said.
Walter was where Jack left him — sitting in the corner next to the window, his hands zip-tied in front of him, ankles similarly bound. Jack had placed duct tape over his mouth, realizing later that it was probably overkill with all the gunfire.
Walter immediately started to say something when Jack returned, his voice muffled against the tape.
“I can’t hear you,” Jack said. “But you don’t need to say anything anyway, because it doesn’t matter.”
Jack crouched in front of Walter, then reached down and pulled the Ka-Bar out of its sheath. Walter’s eyes widened at the sight of the large combat knife.
“Here’s the deal,” Jack began. “Things have…gotten complicated. Your daughter and girlfriend are running around out there with a handgun, and Jones is dead. I would have liked to do this the easy way, but things have gotten a lot more difficult, and we’re running out of time.”
Walter’s eyes got bigger.
“Yeah, shocked me, too. Anyways, that dog. Yours?”
Walter shook his head.
“The woman. Allie.”
A nod.
“Why am I not surprised?”
He turned the knife over in his hand. Walter’s eyes predictably followed its rotating motion, as if entranced by it.
“So we’re running out of time,” Jack continued. “Your neighbors may or may not have heard those gunshots. I don’t know. Either way, the timetable’s been sped up and I really, really need you to start working on those files I gave you.”
He sighed for effect.
“Let me ask you a question,” Jack said, looking Walter in the eyes. “Do you really need all ten fingers to type?”
Chapter 7
“Go with Apollo!” she shouted after Lucy. “Stay with him! Don’t leave his side!”
To her credit, Lucy did exactly as she was instructed, and the girl and dog vanished into the trees. Allie’s last glimpse of them was Lucy’s jeans being swallowed up by the darkness. Then she was turning, looking back toward the house.