Chasing Shadows (28 page)

Lucky opened the door, thankful Deacon hadn't bothered to lock it behind him, and shifted the car into neutral, releasing the parking brake.  He hoped there weren't any motion sensitive mercury switches.  If so, this was going to be the shortest trip on record.

"Someone help me move this," he shouted.  

He struggled against the weight of the car, unable to use his left arm to push.  Several people raised their faces to him, but ran in the other direction.  Including a man wearing a police uniform, Lucky noted.  

Refusing to give up, he kept pushing and straining and abruptly the car began to move.  He looked across the hood and saw Neil there, pushing in tandem with him.

"Thanks, kid," he said.  "Let's get this thing away from people."

He didn't have to mention that it could blow at any second, the look of terror on Neil's face told him that the kid already figured that one out for himself.

CHAPTER 44

KC met Chase's eyes, hoped he understood her unspoken message.  She tapped a finger against her collar, watched as he responded by tapping his sleeve.  

God, she could look into those eyes of his for a lifetime.  She jerked her head to Deacon, and he nodded in reply.  Too bad that lifetime was going to end in a few seconds, but as long as one of them got to Deacon before he triggered the bomb, it was worth it.

If only one of them made it out alive, she prayed it would be Chase.  

Then she focused on Redman's drooling countenance.  "What's wrong, Redman?  Scared you won't be able to get it up when it counts?  Have to resort to a bullet in the head—kind of cliché, don't you think?"

Redman twitched, his eyes narrowing with fury.  "Bitch, you're going get everything you deserve." 

He slammed the gun across her face.  KC saw the blow coming and was able to roll with it, deflecting most of the force.  Still her vision blurred for a moment, and her nose began to bleed.

The diversion had the effect she was aiming for, Chase's guards had pretty much forgotten about him and were focused on her, and most importantly, she was able to slide her knife hilt into her fingers, ready to use.

Redman returned the gun to her forehead, his finger caressing the trigger.

"Now!" she called out as she drew her knife and thrust it deep within Redman's throat, burying it in his windpipe.  

He pulled the trigger on the Glock.  The shot went wild as he crumbled to the ground, still holding the gun in a death grip.

She saw the flash of a knife fly past her, heard Deacon cry out and looked over.  

Deacon was holding his arm, blood seeping between his fingers, but was still standing.  She glanced at Chase who'd grabbed one guard's gun and turned it on its previous owner.  

The second guard was sprawled on the floor, she hadn't seen how he'd gotten there, probably a kick from Chase, but he was now raising his gun at Chase.

"Look out!" Chase called out a warning to her, but she was already raising the Glock, still wrapped in Redman's dead hand, targeting the man aiming at Chase.  

The sound of gunfire screamed and echoed through the room, and the man beside Redman fell on her.

KC pushed the corpse away, thankful for Chase's quick shooting.   Her own aim had been true, the man trying to kill Chase lay gasping, blood staining his shirt on the floor.  

Chase was running across the gymnasium, a gun clutched in his hand, following Deacon.

Lucky huffed and puffed as he and Neil struggled with the heavy car.  Finally they got it going fast enough that all he needed to do was steer.  

"Get out of here," he said.  

The kid ran back to the churches.  As Lucky passed the school, he saw a familiar figure slipping into the gymnasium.  What the hell?  It was the Preacher.

He could catch him, put an end to it all.  But he couldn't leave the car—it was a juggernaut now, heading down Main Street, crowds of people streaming the opposite direction.  Several burly looking SWAT guys appeared, trying to block his way.

Were they nuts?  Did they think he wanted to stay with this Death Star on wheels?

"I'm ATF," he shouted at them, wrestling with the steering wheel with his one good hand.  "There's a bomb in this car, we need to get it out of here."

They looked doubtful at first, disarmed by his brilliant disguise, no doubt, but then two of them took up positions on either side, one of them replacing Lucky at the steering wheel.

"The football field!" one of the cops shouted, and the two men began aiming the car toward the empty expanse of snow beside the school.

"Hold it!" Chase shouted to Deacon. The other man skidded to a stop beneath the basketball hoop.  "Give it up," he continued.

Deacon's eyes cut over to the back doors of the gymnasium which now stood open.  Chase could have sworn they'd been closed a few moments ago, but he didn't see anyone nearby and had more important things to concentrate on.

"Looks like we have a stand off," Deacon said.  He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the remote.  "Don't make me call all those babies home to Jesus, Chase.  Don't you make me do that."

Chase stared at the other man.  Shoot him and he might still be able to activate the remote—all it would take is the wrong twitch of a muscle, one nerve ending firing.  He lowered his weapon.

"Deacon, think of Tanesha.  What would she want you to do?"  He furiously thought, trying to remember a bible verse that might sway the other man.  The Psalm on Diana's tombstone was the only one that he could think of.  "For
He will save the children, and precious shall their blood be in His sight
."  

Deacon jerked his head up at Chase's words.  

"You know that's true, Deacon.  You believe.  Just give me the remote—" Chase stepped forward.

Deacon raised the remote, held his thumb over it.  "Don't think so, Westin.  The Lord has more work for me to do. 
He will bring justice to the poor and break in pieces the oppressor."
 

His eyes narrowed as he gave Chase an appraising look.  "You too, maybe.  Drop the gun, kick it over."

Chase had no choice.  He had to end this now, before KC's back up arrived and came in guns blazing and Deacon pressed that button.  He placed the semi-automatic onto the floor and kicked it away from Deacon into the bleachers.

"Heard you were a wide out in high school," Deacon said, the same smile on his face he wore right before he won a round of poker.  "I'll give you a chance.  It's all up to you, Westin."  

He cocked his arm back and aimed the remote in a high spiral across the gym.

Chase swore, pivoting.  He sprinted as if it was his life that depended on the outcome.  

His body remembered the old moves, he could almost hear Nicky Gianotti cheering him on with their old warcry, "Gianotti to Westin, the one-two punch!", as he dove into the air.  

Bullets flew around Chase, but he paid them no heed, his entire being focused on one small black square of plastic.  If it hit too hard, would the bomb go off?  Chase had no idea, was taking no chances.

As he leapt for the remote, putting all his strength into the last ditch effort, he saw a dark suited figure silhouetted in the open gymnasium doors and heard a gunshot.  

He didn't feel anything except gratitude as the remote landed in his hand.  He hit the floor, crashed against the bleachers and everything went black for a moment.

"Are you hit?" KC collapsed to the ground beside Chase, her hands flying over his body, checking for injuries.

Chase pushed himself upright.  He opened his hand and revealed the remote cradled within his palm.

KC couldn't stop the small, choking laugh that emerged from her.  She stared at the carnage around her, the coppery acrid stench of cordite and blood filling her nostrils.  She shook her head, her ears were still ringing from the concussive weapons discharge.  

They were alive.  They were both alive.  The words echoed through her mind, shutting out everything else.

Chase sat back on his heels, his hands tugging at hers, squeezing so hard that her fingers went white.  She was surprised to see silent tears slip from his eyes.

"Chase, are you hurt?" KC pulled one of her hands from his, brushed a tear away from his face.

He laughed.  "It's the adrenalin, gets me every time, once the bullets stop flying.  Some guys barf, some get the shakes—I cry like a baby."  

Chase put an arm around her, pulled her tight as the rest of her team crashed through the door, weapons drawn.

"Stand down," KC ordered, her voice more steady now.  She stood up, caught herself as she wobbled a bit.  "Glenn, clear the weapons and tag them, Carson, check for survivors.  This is a crime scene now, people.  Let's do it by the book."  

Chase held her hand, standing beside her as her people moved to do their jobs.

"You shot Deacon?" Chase asked.  

KC looked past him, saw that a single bullet had torn through the center of Deacon's forehead.  Great shot, but it wasn't hers.

"That wasn't you?" she asked.  He shook his head.  "It wasn't me, either."

"One of your men?  I saw this guy come to the doorway," he nodded to the rear door.  

Before he could say anything more his friend with the goofy overalls appeared there.

"Chase, why'd you let him go?" Lucky called out.

"It's okay guys," KC called when one of the Staties challenged the newcomer.  "Let him through."

Chase held her hand as he made formal introductions.  Lucky looked like he'd had a rough time of it, his left arm dragged at his side and his face was bruised and swollen.  Of course she didn't look her best at the moment either.

"You let him go," Lucky repeated, collapsing onto the bleachers, tugging at his hair in frustration.  "All that work for nothing."

"What are you talking about?" Chase asked.  "We tried to take Deacon alive."

"Not Deacon.  The other guy, the one in the suit.  He shot Deacon, cool as you please.  Then walked out again.  He's the real Crusade leader.  They call him Preacher."

Chase looked at the door.  "Someone get out there, see if you can find anything," he ordered.

"I really blew it," KC said, echoes of gunfire still ringing in her head.  "We lost Gianotti, we lost Deacon, I'm out of leads and these guys are planning something big."  

She turned to Chase, her mind spinning with recriminations.  "You going to fill me in now?  Who are you really working for?  What was The Crusade going to use those weapons for?" 

Chase looked down at her, and she realized she was shaking uncontrollably.  

"It's the adrenalin," he repeated.  "Are you going to be sick?  Best not to compromise any evidence."

Damn him, how could he be so calm?  She'd just killed four men, of course she felt sick.  

"Before today I never even fired my weapon in the line.  Never.  My ops don't go south like this.  I plan for every contingency—except you.  You owe me an explanation, Westin."

He frowned at her, ignored her glare.  "It's on a need to know basis."

"Bull.  If people are shooting at me, then I'd say I need to know, wouldn't you?"  Her voice was trembling.  

Adrenalin, he'd said.  Did that explain the nausea and the sweat pouring down her back?  She felt like she might faint.

KC put a hand out to steady herself and Chase caught her, his arm circling around her waist as he helped her to a seat on the bleachers beside his friend.

"Just put your head between your knees and breathe, it will pass," he coached her.  

She slumped forward, but the dizziness only grew worse.  

"Chase—" she didn't have the energy to say more.  

All she could do was look up to see him staring at his hand that had rested on her back.

Blood dripped from his fingers onto the gym floor.  Then everything went black.

CHAPTER 45

God, she looked so vulnerable lying on the gurney, naked from the waist up.  The doctor had her lying on her stomach, and Chase couldn't take his eyes from the bloody furrow plowed through her flesh from her left shoulder blade angling toward her spine.  

His hand tightened on the leather jacket KC had worn. Damn thing saved her life.  The bullet had ricocheted off one of the metal rings so that it only grazed her.  If she'd been wearing ordinary clothes instead of her Hollywood hype costume she would be dead now.

Chase clenched his teeth against the sucker punch of fear that came with that thought.  The doctor adjusted KC's IV, then began flushing the angry looking wound.

"Can't stitch it.  It'll heal like a partial thickness burn.  She'll have a scar of course, but she's lucky, a slightly different trajectory and—"

Chase closed his eyes, blocking out the doctor's words, remembering the muzzle flare of Redman's gun firing as KC stabbed him.  

God Almighty, if she'd been a second slower or moved an inch the wrong way, that bullet would have torn through her neck.

He opened his eyes, forcing the vision of KC's lifeless body from his mind.  KC moaned, and he squatted down so that he was at her eye level.

"What's wrong?  Something's wrong," he shouted to the doctor.

"Let the man do his job."  Her voice sounded muffled, distant.  "Sooner he finishes, sooner I can kick your butt for getting me into this mess."

"She'll be fine," the doctor said with a smile.  "A little woozy from the blood loss and the morphine, but once I'm finished and we get more fluids into her, she'll be good to go."

"Go where?  You're keeping her here, aren't you?"

"No need, a few more hours and some antibiotics and she can go home."

Chase was relieved KC would be all right but the last thing he wanted was for her chasing after The Crusade on her own.  And he had a good idea that was exactly what she would do.

"There," the doctor said.  "I'm all done, I'll give you folks some privacy."

Chase began to follow the doctor, hoping to convince him to keep KC overnight at least.  The door to the treatment room opened and Hollywood entered.