Hunting April (20 page)

April touched a pair of nunchucks draped over the top mat. Abigail's voice again:
use what you have
. Carefully, she lifted the sticks, pulled them into her lap. She hadn't successfully acquired the talent to use them to advantage as a weapon. However

. . . . Using only slow movements in absolute stealth mode, she rolled the sticks in their chain.
Oh God, Daniel, I love you. I love you so much. Why didn't I tell you? If this brute takes
me out, you'll never know
. She pulled in a deep, silent breath, pitched the chain-wrapped fighting sticks toward the far end of the room with her best overhand throw. She crouched, ready. The instant the nunchucks clattered to the floor, she racked the slide on the Glock.

It sounded like the shooter tripped over the nunchucks as he broke the silence with a guttural curse.

Remember,
Daniel had drilled into her brain
, use
all
your senses. If you lose one, even
two, nature provides backup
. Pushing aside the panic that threatened to take over again, she took another deep breath, exhaled, resumed normal breathing. Over and over, Daniel had insisted on lesson after lesson with the blindfold covering her eyes.
April,
you're not as blind as you think
.
Use the senses you have available.

Keeping his instruction at the forefront in her mind, she closed her eyes.

Extended both arms over the top mat roll. Held the Glock steady in a solid two-handed grip. The memory of his voice.
Take your time. Wait for your opponent to give himself away.

Wait for it. Be patient—your chance will come.

Yes!
There it is!
The barest sound, the tiniest squeak—a rubber-soled shoe on the linoleum tile floor, the shooter turning without lifting his foot. Keeping her eyes closed to enhance her hearing, she took a deep, calming breath. Daniel, coaxing:
Don't rush.

You have the time. Use the time
. She adjusted the muzzle aim toward the direction of the sound—and fired.

Steadily, mechanically, April pulled the trigger. Half a dozen thunderous reports echoed through the basement, pounded her eardrums. Deafened, she opened her eyes and slid down the wall behind the mats, folded herself into the smallest possible target.

If she'd missed, the shooter would lock onto her position. She felt her hands and arms tremble, her shoulders ache, bone-deep. By sheer willpower, she refused to relax her grip, even though the Glock seemed to weigh a ton.

Momentarily blinded by the sudden blaze of overhead lights, she knew enough not to bolt from her hidey hole.
You'll need to work for it, you bastard, you'll need to work
your sorry ass off to take me out. No way I'm gonna make it easy for you. I have rounds left in
the clip
. She'd do her best to make every shot count.

A shadow appeared, moved closer, but her ears were still ringing. She couldn’t track any sound. She steadied the Glock, aimed—

Abigail leaned over the bulkhead of mats, her hand extended. Her mouth moved, but April couldn't make out the words. Abigail took possession of the Glock, thumbed the safety, then helped April to her feet.

"Daniel?" April's own voice echoed in her skull, as if her head was stuffed inside a round, glass, goldfish bowl. "Glennon?"

Abigail's mouth moved, but no sound reached April. April pointed to her own ear, shook her head.

Abigail then mouthed "okay" to April, followed by the thumbs-up gesture.

April nodded. "Shooter?"

Abigail responded with a throat-slicing motion, the universal sign.

Abigail gave April a moment to work the kinks out of her legs. She turned April to face her and spoke slowly. "Why didn't you use the back door?"

"What back door?"

"The exit door behind the archery lane. Fire code requirement. The basement has its own outlet from the building."

April couldn't quite catch all the words, but she got the gist of it. "Now's a nice time to find out."

Arm in arm, the two women walked toward the far lanes of the shooting range.

Daniel crouched, Sig in hand, next to what appeared to be a pile of blood-soaked laundry. He straightened as the two women approached. Another weapon lay on the floor.

"Six entry holes. Heart and lungs. Deader than a politician's promise."

Abigail whistled. "She can't hear too well yet. Who is it?"

Daniel shrugged. "Best guess? Martone shelled out the big bucks. Valentino Rugakoff. Demented offspring of a Russian mobster and a Roman
capo's
daughter. A true crime against nature. Interpol's favorite psychopath. And our girl took him out.

Alone. In the dark."

"Valentino? Like
the
Valentino?"

"Confidence is high. It looks like his signature piece for up close and personal wet work. Rumor has it that his personal favorite is—was—the old Russian Dragonov sniper rifle, for long range hits. Find out where he stashed his vehicle, and you'll no doubt find the Dragonov." He looked closer at the man's face. "Nasty scratches. April?"

April shrugged. "I think he landed on the cat in the great room," she said.

Abigail peered over Daniel's shoulder. "Calli got her pound of flesh, apparently. I may need to change my opinion of ol' Mouse Breath."

After he wrapped the handgun in his handkerchief, Daniel handed the custom-made Ruger .357 Magnum to Abigail, who still held April’s Glock. Abigail's Smith & Wesson remained holstered.

Abigail hefted the weapon, inspected it, careful not to leave prints. "Heavy sucker, isn't it?"

She checked out the assassin's ornately scrolled initials engraved on each side of the gun's frame. "Ooh, sparkly!" Squatting next to the body, she said, "Doesn't look much like his Most Wanted posters, does he? A bit soft and pudgy around the middle.

Then again, he is dead."

Daniel glanced toward April, but didn't make eye contact."Are you all right?"

April barely heard his voice, all soft and cottony, muffled—she didn't respond.

He faced her squarely and mouthed the words. "Are you all right?"

A nod.

"Did he hurt you?"

April shook her head. Avoiding what remained of Rugakoff, she reached for Daniel—he abruptly turned away, headed for the stairs.

"Daniel?"

He didn't stop.

Daniel, come back. Please don't leave.
April couldn't breathe, couldn't form the words. She experienced firsthand the palpable pain of separation, as her heart tried to pound its way out of her rib cage and crawl up her throat. Numbness claimed the rest of her body; her arms hung limply, her chin dropped.

Abigail cleared her throat, then faced April. "Look, I hate to intrude," she spoke slowly and clearly, "but this may not be the time or place. I left Glennon upstairs in the com center. He's probably having the grandmother of all hissy fits, no doubt trying to crack open his cast with an office stapler. The
po
-lice should be here any time now to take out the trash."

She toed the body. "I was hanging over the balcony to keep an eye on the fire, trying to convince Mr. Blockhead Garrett to leave the com center and wait downstairs, y'know, in case we needed to make a hasty exit. Daniel must have had the fire nearly out, but I caught something of the chase outlined in the glow. Thought it was Black Crow come to visit again. Called Brian back to upgrade the 9-1-1. Dispatcher said that Bobby boy had been in custody since early this morning. Imagine that! Blew a tire, wrecked his truck, got caught red-handed with the goods in a refrigerated box. Prime venison. The kicker is, he wasn't sellin' it. Black Crow's been supplying the school and the poor families on the rez. Ain't that some shit?"

April heard the words, but found it difficult to track on what Abigail was saying.

"Daniel put the fire out?"

"Yes, Daniel put the fire out. I told him what I saw, joined him for back-up, then we headed for the basement. He flew in here, hit the lights. It all happened so damned fast. I thought he was gonna lose his grip when we heard the shots. You know the rest."

Abigail finally stopped long enough to take another breath. "Look, Daniel is probably outside, waiting for the posse to arrive. You start the coffee. I'll check on Glennon."

She touched April's arm. "We'll get through this."

Saturday morning, early

After arriving behind Sheriff MacBride, State Trooper Officer in Charge Captain No-jokes-about-rum Morgan returned from checking the scene in the basement, and just shook his head.

"All this commotion, and Special Agent Randall isn't even here."

His gaze swung to April, who had just finished giving her statement to a deputy.

"Are you stepping into her sexy sandals, Ms. Hall?"

"No, sir." Heat rushed to her cheeks. "Truth be told, I haven't had the pleasure of meeting Lorelei Randall. She's apparently in North Carolina at the moment. Visiting."

"Thank all the gods for small favors. The two of you in the same place? There would be constellations colliding throughout the universe. Life as we know it would come to a screeching halt. I don't indulge in gossip, of course, but word has it that our Agent Randall has those two Marines fair wrapped around her pinky finger." He shook his head in wonderment. "I can't wait to hear what you did to piss off the late Mr.

Rugakoff."

After April had regained full use of her hearing, Abigail repeated what Daniel revealed about the shooter, shortly before the cavalry arrived. Then, April was told that the hit man's identity had been immediately verified through a high tech digital fingerprint scanner. To be certain, samples were taken for DNA testing. Apparently, nobody wanted to be the one to make a mistake in the identification of one of Interpol's top Most Wanted.

April avoided looking the captain in the face."More like what I did to piss off Mr.

Martone, sir."

Morgan's jaw dropped. "Martone? You tangled with Tony M?"

"No sir. His nephew. Angelo."

"Ma'am, let me go on record by saying you appear to run with a hard and fast crowd."

"Yeah, well, thanks for sharing. I didn't find out about Angelo's uncle—and his family—until later."

"That must have been a hoot."

Daniel came up behind April. "Angelo Martone is Ms. Hall's fiancé."

She shot him an unkind look.

"To be accurate, her former fiancé."

Both of Morgan's eyebrows arched. "Holy shit! Sorry, ma'am."

"
Merde sainte,
indeed," Daniel said. "She escaped with her life, but not much else.

You might consider investigating that angle. Martone's men have been scouring New York City and metro Jersey for April." Daniel cleared this throat. "For Miss Hall."

Sheriff MacBride approached, heard the exchange, took one look at Daniel and April, shook his head. "It must be something about this lodge," he said, then kept going.

"And you, Mr. Wyndsor, what's your stake in all this?"

"I gave a statement to your investigator, Captain. I am . . . an acquaintance of Miss Hall." Daniel maintained his distance. Refused to look at her."Formerly head of security for Angelo Martone. Presently working in cooperation with GMG Security as part of its protection detail."

April felt his anger as if Poseidon's trident had pierced her gut.

"Let me get this straight." Morgan glanced at his notes. "An Army Ranger bodyguard who worked security for a mobster. A Marine Recon surveillance expert. An armed Park Service Ranger. The sheriff, a former SEAL. A former Army scout sneaking around. All acquaintances of yours, Ms. Hall?"

Her gaze shifted to the floor. "Yessir. I guess so. Except for the scout. Mr. Black Crow and I don't actually know each other. We only met once, when he scared the crap out of me in the woods."

Captain Morgan shook his head. "Oh yeah, this report is going to be a
real
beauty to write up."

* * * * *

After the preliminary reports were finished, a female trooper intercepted April as she took off to follow Daniel.

"Ms. Hall, ma'am, do you mind if we talk?"

April tried to move past the woman."I already gave my statement. Now's not really a good time."

The trooper stepped in front of her again, blocking her progress."Yes, ma'am. Just a few more questions. I understand you shot and killed your attacker. Is that correct?"

Over the trooper's shoulder, April watched Daniel disappear into the kitchen.

She plunked down on a wide, leather wing chair in the great room. She felt like she had no bones left in her body.

"Yeah, I guess so." She massaged her temple."Yes, I did."

"Are you all right?"

"I'm not sure I know exactly what you're asking, Trooper"—April read the brass nametag—"Browning."

"Ms. Hall, our report indicates that you were hunted from New Jersey, attacked here, then you shot and killed an alleged assassin—these aren't everyday occurrences, even for law enforcement professionals. Captain Morgan is concerned for your well-being, ma'am. If you wish, we have an experienced psychologist on staff to help you through this."

More concerned about where Daniel had gone, April tried to track on her words.

"I'm sorry?"

Then she caught on. "
Ah
. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Is that it? You're worried that I'm going to flip out, or do something weird?"

The trooper smiled. "Ma'am, I'm not sure that
flip out
and
weird
are the proper technical terms, but yes. Sometimes it takes a while, even as long as years in some instances, for the reality of the situation to settle in." Browning handed April a card.

"Call me at any time if you feel the need to talk, or if you wish to set up an appointment to see our guy. I promise you, he's very good."

April thanked the woman, remained seated after the trooper left. After the excitement died down, Callie came out of hiding. She strolled over and plopped onto April's lap, rubbing her head under April's hand for petting. April obliged without conscious thought. "Cat, you have a real racket going on here."

The last thing I want to do is talk to another man, professional or otherwise, about what's
happened to my freakin' mind
. She hadn't really considered the state of affairs, hadn't had time to dissect all that had happened in the last few weeks of her life. As far as she could tell, relief was the only emotion she felt when she saw the assassin's lifeless body on the training room floor. She'd worked hard with Abigail and Daniel so she
could
respond appropriately if necessary—and she had done exactly that
.