He was looking at the floor, where drops of his blood were gathering in a small pool. “They were in the cemetery with me. When I left you and Pritchard and went out to smoke a cigarette, I called them, and they parked near your office and waited. They took the shot from the hill in the cemetery and left. I killed a few minutes and then went over the fence when I heard you shouting for me.”
“Who made the shot?”
“Krashakov. He’s had sniper training.”
“Why’d he only take Hartwick out?” I asked. “Why leave Joe and me alive?”
“I told them about the progress you were making, and I said if they gave me a few days to work with you, I might be able to find the Westons and the tape. Hartwick was too dangerous to . . .” His voice trailed off, but I knew how that sentence was going to end. Too dangerous to leave alive.
“And when I did find Julie, then you called Krashakov and told him where to find us?” I thought of Betsy Weston alone in the hotel room just minutes before Krashakov and his thugs had arrived, and I was filled with a surge of anger unlike any I’d felt before. Kinkaid had called them and told them where to find us, then let them fly down to finish the killing.
I took three steps back toward him, ready to grab him and slam him against the wall until I put him all the way through it, but before I could get my hands on him the door opened and Julie Weston stepped inside.
“Lincoln,” she said, staring at Kinkaid’s bloody face, “what’s going on?”
“Get out,” I said. “I’m not through here.”
She started to object, then looked at the blood on the floor and turned quickly, closing the door behind her. I turned back to Kinkaid. He was staring at the door.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said.
“No shit, Aaron. There were a lot of things you needed to tell me.”
“It’s more important. Krashakov knows where we are.”
“What?”
“I called him when I found out you’d gone to the prosecutor’s office. He went crazy about it, and he made me tell him where the girl was staying.”
“You son ofa bitch. How long ago was this?”
“Maybe an hour. I tried to calm him down, but he was threatening to kill me. I didn’t want him to refocus that anger on me, but now that I’ve seen the little girl . . .”He looked up at me.“You’ve got to get her out of here, Perry. Krashakov will kill her. He’ll kill all of you.”
I stepped away from him, hearing Thad Cody’s voice in my head when he’d told Joe and me about the Russian mob’s thirst for revenge. “We Italians will kill you,” he’d quoted from the wiretap, “but the Russians are crazy—they’ll kill your whole family.” If Krashakov knew that we’d gone to the prosecutor, it meant he’d be coming to kill, and only to kill.
“Shit, we don’t have much time,” I said.
I threw open the door and stepped out of the bedroom, holding Kinkaid’s gun in my hand. Betsy saw it and ducked behind her mother. “Put Betsy in my truck,” I said. “We’re leaving.”
Even as I spoke, I heard the crunch of tires on the gravel drive. I ran back into the bedroom, ignoring Kinkaid, who was cowering on the floor, expecting me to strike him again, and went to the window that looked out up the drive. At the top of the drive a shiny black SUV had come into view through the pines.
There was no time to think, only time to react. We could not drive away, and the little cottage would not offer protection for the fire-power the Russians would bring. We could flee into the woods, but they’d see us, and eventually they would catch us.
I stepped into the living room and pressed Kinkaid’s gun into Julie’s palm. “They’re here. Take Betsy and go down the back steps and into the crawl space where she hid before. Keep Betsy absolutely quiet. If anyone tries to come inside, use the gun, but don’t waste bullets.”
She stared at me, her mouth open, jaw slack, but I spun her and shoved her forward, out the door and onto the deck. She grabbed Betsy and ran down the steps and around the corner of the cottage. The cottage would screen them from view from the drive, but if they ran away from it they’d be seen. Now I was left alone inside with Kinkaid and no weapon. My gun was still locked in the center console of the truck, and I’d never make it there.
“What should we do?” Kinkaid said, stepping out of the bedroom, looking as scared as Julie. I knew he was scared, and because of that, I also knew he’d tell Krashakov exactly where I’d sent Julie and Betsy. I took one quick step toward him and threw an uppercut at his jaw, dropping my shoulder and using my legs as a source of power for the punch, the way it’s supposed to be done. I hit him flush on the chin. His head snapped back and he sagged to the ground. I clubbed him once on the back of the skull for good measure as he dropped. At least he’d be quiet now.
I stepped away from Kinkaid and into the kitchen, pulling open drawers in search of a knife. Before I found anything more useful than a corkscrew, Alexei Krashakov stepped inside from the deck and pointed a 9-millimeter Beretta pistol at my chest.
CHAPTER 26
I STOOD where I was and watched as Krashakov walked into the room, followed by Rakic and Malaknik. Great. The whole gang was here.
Krashakov kept the gun pointed at my chest. It was the first time I’d seen him face-to-face since we’d stood on the porch of his house.
He smiled. “You owe me twenty dollars.”
“I’ll give you fifty and send you on your way.”
He shook his head slowly. “I’m afraid it will not be so easy.”
“One hundred, then.”
He slapped me on the side of the head with the Beretta, and a band of bright light like heat lightning passed over my eyes. When I could see clearly again, I was on my hands and knees on the cheap linoleum floor. The man was strong. There weren’t too many people who could bring me to my knees with a single blow. I’d hardly seen his hand move.
He laid the barrel of the gun against the back of my head as Rakic went from room to room in the cottage. He came back out and shook his head.
“No one is here except for him.” He gestured at Kinkaid’s inert form.
“You are pretty good,” Krashakov said to me. “That was very nice work at the hotel.”
“Glad you approve.”
“No. I do not approve. You killed a friend of mine.” He slammed the butt of the gun into my upper back, sending a spasm of pain through my back and shoulders.
“Where are they?” Krashakov said.
I didn’t answer, and Rakic said, “It will be best to tell us quickly. The longer you wait, the more pain you will feel.” He had a thick, wet voice, like someone suffering from chronic bronchitis. “Where is Mrs. Weston?”
“Mrs. who?”
Bad idea. Krashakov slapped my head with the Beretta again, setting off a few more flashes of heat lightning. This time it took longer for my eyes to refocus. My field of vision was beginning to seem like a Texas sky during a nighttime thunderstorm.
“Where is the woman?” Krashakov said.
“It’s over, boys,” I said. “The prosecutor knows what happened, and the media knows what happened. It’s time for you to run. Killing me will only make it worse.” I didn’t tell them that Belov knew what had happened. They’d kill me for sure then.
“He’s lying,” Rakic said.
“Where is she?” Krashakov repeated.
“With the police. She’s at the prosecutor’s office telling them the whole damn story. You can go down there and ask for her, if you’d like.”
“You lie,” Krashakov said. He jabbed the barrel of his gun at Kinkaid. “Not long ago, the woman and girl were here, and they were with him. Now he is unconscious, and you are alone. Your truck is still outside.”