Shades of Gray (29 page)

His head snapped up as a series of knocks rang out at the door—

hard against the wood, but something jaunty in the rhythm, as though the person on the other side was singing a tune with their fist.

“Wait here,” Miller breathed, starting to ease around Danny’s body in the direction of the door. Danny put a staying hand against his chest, stopping his forward progress.

“It’s all right,” Danny said. “I know who it is.”

“What? You told someone where we were? Who is it?” Miller demanded.

Danny stared at him for a moment, running one hand along Miller’s jaw. Then he turned away, flinging the door open before Miller could make a move to stop him.

“Hello, Danny.” The voice from the doorway cut like a cold blade, Miller’s stomach dropping through the floor at the sound. And then the face came into view, the dark hair slicked back, the pointy white teeth framed by a leering smile. Juan Madrigal. And he already had his hand on Danny’s arm, pulling him out of the room.

Miller lurched for his gun, snatched it off the dresser, thumbed the safety off, cocked it, and aimed in less than a second. “Freeze!” Miller yelled. “Don’t move!”

No one reacted the way he expected. Danny watched Miller with sad and sorry eyes, but he didn’t seem afraid or even surprised. And Madrigal only smiled wider at Miller’s gun, his own brought up against Danny’s side, the hand on Danny’s arm tightening as he looked from Danny to Miller and back again.

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“I thought you said no tricks, Danny,” Madrigal commented.

“Put the gun down, Miller,” Danny said, his voice even.

“What?” Miller barked, his fingers not moving from the trigger.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“It’s not loaded. I took the bullets out of the magazine.” Miller stared at Danny, not taking his eyes away even as Madrigal spoke. “You are one lucky man. You’re off my ‘to-do’ list, thanks to Danny here.” Madrigal thumped the side of Danny’s head hard with the butt of his gun. Danny stumbled sideways at the impact and Miller stepped forward to steady him.

“Uh-uh.” Madrigal swung the gun in Miller’s direction. “Back off.” Madrigal jerked hard on Danny’s arm, pulling him closer to pat him down with a rough hand, fingers sliding under his shirt to check for a wire. “Let’s go, asshole,” he said when he was satisfied Danny was clean.

“Danny!” Miller cried.

“Let me go, Miller,” Danny said, his voice low. “It’s all right.

You’re safe now. He won’t come after you. I promise.” His boots scraped over the threshold as Madrigal dragged him backward.

“Don’t think about following us,” Madrigal said. “I’ll start shooting him. Bullets are pretty good at removing body parts, one by one.” He winked at Miller, shoving his gun hard against the front of Danny’s jeans.

Miller was waiting for someone to jump out from behind the curtain, announce that this was all a joke; waiting for Danny’s hand on his shoulder in the dark hours of the night, reminding him it was just a dream, soothing him back to sleep. But the chill wind gusting in through the door, the black gun against Danny’s body, and the spicy scent of Madrigal’s cologne all told Miller this was reality.
This was
happening.
Danny had made it happen.

Miller’s body gave birth to a vast and impotent rage, none of his usual tricks retaining any of their remembered power. The gun in his hand was useless and silent, the strength of his limbs pointless with 222 | Brooke McKinley

nowhere to strike, and the hot fury in his brain not knowing which way to burn.

He followed them out into the parking lot, stumbling along behind, not close enough to touch but close enough to drown in the anguish spilling off Danny in great, swamping waves, his eyes begging Miller to go back, to let go… let go. Madrigal shoved Danny into the passenger seat of his car, the tinted windows swallowing him in a single gulp. Madrigal stepped around the front of the car to fold himself behind the wheel. He didn’t even look at Miller, the blond man shouting hoarsely in the parking lot of no more interest than a pebble under his foot or a leaf dancing in the wind.

“Danny!” Miller screamed. “Danny!” But there was no one to hear. Danny was gone, disappearing as if he had never been.

“SO, WHAT does FBI-boy have that Ortiz didn’t?” Madrigal asked around his cigarette. “Or is that a stupid question?” He snorted out a noseful of smoke, impressed with his own humor.

Danny didn’t respond, testing the side of his head with delicate fingers, wincing at the rising lump.

“I mean, you were happy enough to let Ortiz die. But not some guy you met a month ago?” Madrigal took his eyes off the road, glancing at Danny’s face. “Don’t worry about that knot on your head.

Pretty soon it’s going to seem like a hangnail.” Danny looked out the window at bare trees whipping by and lawns turned brown and dormant. He wished he could have died in the spring, when everything was green.

They didn’t drive far, pulling into a cracked driveway less than ten minutes later. The asphalt heaved upward in ragged chunks, giving way to weeds and dirt. “Get out,” Madrigal instructed, stopping the car next to a house with plywood-covered windows, its once-white paint reduced to gray flakes that dotted the grass like dandruff.

The block was quiet, most of the houses abandoned—the kind of Shades of Gray | 223

neighborhood where people kept their eyes straight ahead when they drove by, not wanting to see. Madrigal marched Danny up the back steps and shoved him through the boarded-up door that had already been kicked open, sharp splinters of wood littering the stoop.

Danny stopped in the gutted kitchen, empty squares visible on the filthy linoleum where a refrigerator and stove had once stood. The walls were pockmarked at irregular intervals with gaping holes, as though a giant had passed through, smashing in plaster with his fisted hands. Two metal folding chairs were the only furniture in the room and Danny coughed out a startled laugh, unable to help himself. “You carry those around in your trunk just for times like this?” Madrigal popped him in the face with the gun and blood gushed out of Danny’s temple, hot and slick. “You know me, smartass, always prepared,” Madrigal said. “A regular Boy Scout. Now take off your jacket and sit the fuck down.”

Danny tossed his jacket onto the floor and sat, blinking back the blood clinging to his lashes. “What’s the other chair for? I thought you liked to move around while you worked.” Madrigal didn’t answer. He removed a cord from a black bag on the counter and tied Danny’s torso to the chair.

“The chair’s for me, Danny,” came a voice from the doorway, a voice Danny would know anywhere, the sound as familiar as his own breathing. Danny looked up, finding Hinestroza’s coal black eyes from behind a sea of red.

MILLER stood frozen in the parking lot. He wanted to move but didn’t know how. It reminded him of when he’d been stunned by a Taser gun at the academy, his brain issuing commands his body simply could not follow.

He’s going to die, Miller. He’s going to die if you don’t get your
ass in gear.

He sprinted back to the motel room, his feet sliding out from 224 | Brooke McKinley

under him as he charged inside, his hands pawing frantically across the dresser top, fingers clutching at his cell phone. Colin answered on the second ring, his voice cut off by Miller’s harsh words. “Madrigal has Danny. They’re gone.”

“What?”

“We need an APB out on a black Honda Accord, Missouri license number GHT 4783.”

“Got it,” Colin said, not wasting time with pointless questions.

“Call Patterson. Find out who her source was on Madrigal. We need to find out if they know anything more. Where Madrigal’s been staying, where he’s planning on going. Anything.”

“I’ll call you back. Stay where you are, Miller. I’m on my way.” Miller slid his phone into his back pocket, catching a glimpse of his white, strained face in the mirror. How could Danny have done it?

How could he have thought that this was ever what Miller wanted?

How could he not understand that his death wouldn’t free Miller but would be a weight Miller could never shoulder, a burden that would crush him?

Without wanting to, Miller’s mind skipped to the police report on Ortiz, the details of how he’d died, how he’d suffered. “Fuck!” Miller sobbed out, his terror translating into destruction. His arms swept across the dresser, sending the TV crashing to the floor with a sharp pop of glass; the mirror was wrenched off the wall and smashed against the dresser top; chairs were heaved sideways, curtains were ripped halfway off their rods. And still Miller had a surplus of grief and anger left to spend.

Get it together. You can’t help him like this. You have to be
smart. You have to be calm. Help him, goddamn it!

Miller gasped in breaths, his head hanging low. He felt untethered, as if the strings connecting him to Danny were being snipped one by one. The phone in his pocket broke the silence.

“What?”

“Patterson’s contact doesn’t know much.” Colin’s voice was Shades of Gray | 225

strained, high with tension. “Just that Madrigal was scoping out abandoned houses earlier this week.”

“Where?”

There was a too-long pause. “He didn’t know, Miller. The most he could guess was somewhere on the East side.”
Last time he was here he used an abandoned house on the Paseo,
Danny’s voice whispered in his ear. “I’m going,” Miller said, already moving out the door, grabbing his gun as he left.

“Miller, wait! I’m—”

But he couldn’t wait. Madrigal wasn’t going to stop and allow him time to catch up. If he wanted to save Danny, he would have to do it alone.

HINESTROZA took the chair directly across from Danny, crossing his legs to balance one ankle atop his knee, careful not to mar the crease in his dark gray slacks.

“What… what are you doing here? The FBI said they couldn’t get you into the country.”

Hinestroza laughed. “I go where I please, Danny, you should know that by now. The FBI doesn’t frighten me.” He pointed at Danny with his unlit cigar. “I had to come up. The big shipment arrived this week and you weren’t available to oversee it. You left me… how do they say it,” he twirled his cigar in a small circle, “in the lurch. And I had to make sure Madrigal didn’t fall down on the job for a third time.” They both turned their heads at the metallic clanking from the counter as Madrigal laid out his instruments. Danny could see the razor and a pair of pliers and—proof that an old dog can learn new tricks—a set of gleaming brass knuckles, all of it making Madrigal’s gun look so benign in comparison.

“Danny,” Hinestroza said softly, snagging his attention again. “I wish it hadn’t come to this.”

226 | Brooke McKinley

“Me too,” Danny whispered. Why did having Hinestroza sit across from him make this so much more difficult? It would be easier if it ended in a blaze of hatred, Madrigal’s golden eyes the sole focus for Danny’s anger. But Danny’s feelings for Hinestroza were too complicated for such single-minded emotion. Rage stewed in a melting-pot mix with respect and fear and the humiliating, aching need to be loved. Hinestroza’s presence made Danny feel weak when he so desperately needed to be strong—made him want to seek forgiveness and be granted absolution without even understanding the exact nature of his sin.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I never wanted to testify against you.”

“But you were going to do it.”

“They threatened me. I didn’t think I had a choice.”

“There are always choices.”

“Yes, there are.” Danny thought of Miller, breathing free and out in the world. Some choices were worth whatever price life demanded in payment.

“I always liked you, Danny,” Hinestroza said. “I understand the feeling is probably not mutual”—he flashed his icy smile—“but I wanted you to know.”

Danny nodded and Hinestroza nodded in return. “Let’s get this over with,” he said.

Madrigal stepped in front of Danny, blocking Hinestroza from view. He had the pliers in his hand. “When I used these on your wife, she screamed like a cat in heat. Let’s see how you do, Danny.” Danny cast his eyes up to the ceiling. He remembered how Miller had looked on the day they’d met, so hard and untouchable in the interrogation room… how scared he’d been when Danny had kissed him, his lips warm and soft… how Miller hadn’t hesitated when he’d come into Danny’s arms that snowy day in the apartment… how from the very beginning it had been about more than sex for both of them.

He remembered that Miller was alive.

And the end might not come quickly. But it would come.

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FORTY-SIX minutes. That’s the head start Madrigal had. Miller tried not to think about how much damage could be inflicted on a human body in that length of time. Maybe they’d argued first. Maybe it had taken Madrigal a while to get started. Maybe….

Yeah, Miller, and maybe they’re playing poker and having a beer.

Find him!

He’d driven up and down the entire length of the Paseo, slowing down in front of each abandoned house, craning his neck for a glimpse of the black Accord. He’d ignored his ringing phone, every bit of his attention focused on searching, on finding. He pulled his car over to the curb and took steadying breaths, his hands shaking against the wheel.

Forty-seven minutes. Now what?

Now you turn around and do it again, because what choice do
you have?

“Please,” he whispered, tears backing up thick and heavy in his throat, making it impossible to swallow. “Please, help me.” He didn’t even know who he was talking to, whether it was God or Danny or the indifferent winter air. Miller couldn’t remember the last time he’d prayed, but he wanted to get down on his knees and promise everything he had, offer up whatever sacrifice God demanded. He understood the desperation that led people to make deals with the devil.

Forty-eight minutes. Miller pulled the car into a squealing U-turn, steering with one hand as he leaned into the passenger seat to peer at each house. There was a row of five decrepit houses, all of them neglected for years. Miller slammed on his brakes as he passed the second one, as something peeking out from the back of the house caught his eye. There it was: a flash of black hiding where the driveway curved behind the house.