Rogue Justice (41 page)

No response.

Zora raised the pistol again, her hands steady, elbows locked. Then she squeezed the trigger. The bullet tore through the air just inches from Chandler's right ear.

"Jesus," he screamed. "What the—"

"Start singing, Chandler, or the next one burns a hole in your forehead."

"Look, be reasonable here. We can make a deal, okay? I've got plenty of money, more than enough to set you up for life. I'll have the cash deposited in a Swiss bank account. Access it whenever you like. No strings. How does a million sound? Two?"

"I didn't want your goddamn money before, and I sure as hell don't want it now."

"C'mon, captain. Think of what you could do with that kind of cash."

Zora cut him dead, her voice taking on a dangerous tone. "I don't believe in third chances, so spare me the hat dance." She then moved the gun six inches to her right, squeezed the trigger again. This round zinged by his other ear.

Chandler took several quick breaths, his eyes a mix of rage and fear. "Yeah, okay, that's him. The name's Preston Tradd. He worked for a consulting firm we keep on retainer."

"So I heard," Zora replied. "You know what that fucking moron said to me, Chandler? He said, 'The people I represent do not play by the rules. They
are
the rules.' Sound familiar?"

Chandler shot Zora a contemptuous look. "The world's a tough place, okay? It's either hunt or be hunted. I prefer to be the hunter. Besides those were his words, not mine."

"Either way, it's sick. And look where it got
him
. I call that Karma. What about you?"

No answer, which was an answer itself.

Zora took another step closer, the pistol held high. "Now talk to me about my friend's sister."

"A terrible accident," Chandler whispered. "Most regrettable. I mean that."

Zora pounced, her gaze now bordering on murderous. "Regrettable! What about my mother? Is
her
death regrettable, too? She's dead, Chandler. Dead! You got that?"

Chandler shifted nervously and said, "Look, I—"

"You think the rules only apply to the little guy, don't you? You see right as wrong and wrong as right. When do the ends stop justifying the means, Chandler? How many fucking mansions do you need? How much goddamn
money
do you need? Twenty billion not enough? You need forty billion, a hundred? I just don't get you people."

"And you never will," Chandler said, a smug look creeping over his face. "It's not about the mansions, or the money, captain. It's about
respect
. It's about winning the game, beating the other guy, coming out on top. Nobody remembers who came in
second
, captain. Nobody!"

"Is that right? Yeah, well, if you listen real good, Chandler, you'll hear the Fat Lady singing because
this
game is over. I'm making up the rules now and I say it's payback time."

"C'mon, take it easy here."

Zora picked up the phone, dropped it in her jacket pocket. "And it's all right here on this tiny device. Does that nail it for you, Sherlock?"

"Yeah, I suppose it does," Chandler said sarcastically. "And I assume you got the part about holding a gun to my head, too. The authorities will love that. It's called a forced confession, captain, and it will
never
stand up in court."

Zora shot him a sharp look. "Well, damn, guess you got me there. So I'll tell you what, Chandler. Why don't we settle this thing the old fashioned way, just you and me?"

Chandler said nothing, his face a mask of confusion and contempt.

Zora moved slowly to Chandler's side then slipped in behind him, the gun still pointed at his head. "You are one-hundred-fucking-percent screwed." She then removed the zip tie, stuffed it in her jeans pocket. Backing away, she bent down and carefully set the gun on the ground.

Chandler wiped the sweat from his brow, steadied himself, and smiled. An instant later he made his move. He lunged at Zora, spun her around, and delivered a direct blow to the kidneys. A razor of pain sliced through her body. She staggered backwards, stunned by the power and suddenness of the punch.

"Brown belt, tae kwon do. Pity nobody told you, captain."

Chandler lashed out again, this blow aimed at the bridge of her nose. Zora ducked, suddenly overcome with an uncontrollable rage. She didn't have to think about her next move. It was all instinct, the three fundamental points of counter-attack part of her muscle-memory: strike hard and fast; strike through the target; be prepared to strike more than once.

The ultimate goal: submission.

With dizzying speed, Zora tagged Chandler with a backhand chop to the neck. Next she delivered a lightning-quick stab to the ribs and two piston-like punches to the abdomen. He shrieked and keeled over.

She gazed down at him, breathing fire. "
Black
belt, Aiki-jujutsu. Pity nobody told
you
."

Chandler recovered quickly, dug in his heels. He countered with a surprisingly swift right cross. Zora saw it coming. She dropped to one knee, grabbed his wrist, and flipped him onto his side. She then pancaked on the ground, whipsawing in behind him. Before he could react, she wrapped her legs around his midsection in a scissor hold. Locking her wrists firmly under his chin, she squeezed tight, like a boa constrictor subduing its prey. Chandler lost consciousness less than fifteen seconds later. As soon as he went limp, Zora untangled her arms and legs. She slowly stood up and waited for the lifeless mass to move.

It took under a minute.

"What the hell just happened?" Chandler groaned, stirring slightly.

"Rear naked choke hold," Zora replied. She now held the gun again. "A little above your pay grade, I'd say."

Zora was about to shift into the next phase of her plan when something moved, something behind her. She spun around and froze.

Shit!

A black Chevy Tahoe came barreling over the hill with a burst of acceleration, moving so fast its wheels nearly left the road. Some thirty yards from the water, the big SUV bit hard on the gravel, did a one-hundred-eighty-degree spin, and skidded to a fierce halt.

The beef had arrived in full, splendid force.

Zora whipped back around, but Chandler had already made a run for it. She caught a glimpse of him crouching behind a stack of driftwood, his hands pressed hard against his face. Two seabirds streaked overhead, cursing at all the commotion, forcing her to drop to her knees.

"You're an idiot, captain," Chandler roared. "An idiot!"

"Fuck!" Zora shouted. She jumped to her feet, saw Mickey out of the corner of her eye. He was crouched behind the passenger side door of his truck, weapon in hand.

"Run, Zora, run," he hollered, holding his gaze on the three thugs who had scrambled out of the SUV. They were wearing bulletproof vests and armed with one of the most powerful submachine guns ever made: the Colt M4 Commando. Moving fast and sure, the goons took up positions at the rear of their vehicle.

Exposed and vulnerable, Zora dashed across thirty feet of no man's land, zigzagging as she ran, her boots crunching hard on the gravel. She dived past the front bumper of Mickey's truck and did a roll, coming up into the squat position. "Holy shit!" she shouted, gasping for air. "They're armed to the teeth."

"Yeah, enough goddamn firepower to blow us to Shanghai."

There was a rumble of distant thunder, the sky flashed white, and then the bullets started coming. They tore through the side of the truck in waves, shattering windows, sending glass flying everywhere. A few pinpoint shards ripped into Zora's cheek. She ducked instinctively, crouching low, blood dripping onto her torn jacket.

"Fuck them," Mickey roared, a murderous rage in his eyes. He came up firing, first at the tires then the windshield. He emptied the semiautomatic pistol, dropped back down, and slapped in a fresh mag.

The attackers answered with another shelling, the bullets so close Zora could feel them whiz over the top of her head. The noise was deafening. She wiped off the blood with her coat sleeve, pulled out her cell, and hammered 911 on the keypad. A calm female voice answered at the other end, but before Zora could speak the phone exploded, hit by a ricocheting shell. A burning pain tore up her arm. She cursed.

"You okay?" Mickey said.

Zora grabbed her wrist, seething. "Yeah, I think so. It's only a flesh wound."

He yanked a red bandana from his neck, wrapped it around her wrist and tied it off.

Abby flinched a little. "That works, thanks."

Mickey then leaned forward, fired off several more rounds. The report of the pistol was so close to Zora's head it knocked her backwards.

"How the hell did they find us?" she shouted.

"No idea," Mickey replied.

"What about ammo?"

"One more mag, that's it."

"Dammit, Mickey, I guess this would be a good time then."

He stared at her blankly. "For what?"

"The cavalry to show up."

Chapter 44

4 April, 2:25 PM PDT

Port Townsend, Washington

Minutes after word reached the Courthouse of a mob-style shootout at North Beach, Rosekrans and Steiger stepped out the front door of the historic old building. The parking lot was swarming with cops. Chandler's driver was slouched low in the back seat of a squad car, his wrists cuffed behind his back. His battered face looked like the face of a heavyweight fighter who'd gone the distance with the champ and lost every round. He was plastered with dirt.

The young paramedic attending to him kept glancing nervously over her shoulder, as if to say,
stuff like this isn't supposed to happen in places like Port Townsend.

Steiger watched it all unfold with a certain level of detachment. There were lots of questions that needed answers, but at times like these tactical strategies trumped the investigative process. He wasn't officially involved in the case, of course, that's just how his mind worked. Even so, procedure called for him to notify Jake Towers at SIU. He'd decided against it, and convinced Rosekrans to hold off as well. Towers would find out soon enough. Instead, Steiger had asked the sergeant in charge of the SWAT team to pack an extra suit of body armor and have the chopper swing by the Courthouse to pick him up. It wasn't exactly SOP, but his buddy had agreed. He was old school, went to the mat for his men. He did the same for his friends.

The DA checked his watch for the umpteenth time, glanced up at the graying skies. "Over half hour since you called, Cloyd."

"They'll be here any minute."

"You sure this is a good idea for you to go? How many years since your SWAT days?"

"Too many to count, counselor. I piloted a chopper in my former life. Still do from time to time when they let me. We trained with the Army Rangers down in Ft. Lewis, south of Tacoma, mostly blew stuff up. There was a Bavarian village right on the grounds. We'd blast our way in with stun grenades then open up with Uzis, take down the bad guys and rescue hostages. We were ten feet tall and bullet proof."

"Sounds intense."

"It was, but I'm too old for that shit now. You better believe I'll let the big guns out first today."

"Smart move, Cloyd. Look, there could be a lot of lives on the line out there. Ever since those monster whales showed up, we've been bursting at the seams. Hotels and B&Bs are booked solid, lots of people camping out in the park, hordes of media. The sheriff has cleared the area and blocked all the roads coming in and out. But you never know. The last thing we need is some idiot playing cowboy and getting himself all shot up."

Steiger fidgeted with his badge. "No argument there, Scott. I'm more worried about Zora Flynn, to tell you the truth. I've dealt with some tough characters in my day, from gun-toting drug dealers to homicidal cop killers, and I was never afraid, not once. And you know why? Because I can read the streets, I know how the game is played out there. But I swear this woman's in a league by herself. And she scares the hell out of me."

"You think she plans to kill Chandler then?"

Steiger nodded. "Put it this way, Scott. If I'm in her shoes, lost my mother like that, I'd probably burn his ass, too. And I'm no momma's boy. So, the answer is... yes, I do."