Stolen Lives: A Detective Mystery Series SuperBoxset (65 page)

“You’re fucking crazy, you know that?” The light turned green and McKaffee accelerated, staying quiet for a moment before he spoke. “He has four locations, at least four that I know about. But either way, they traffic a lot of cash through them. He keeps a mix of both officers and contract guys to watch them at all times. And the people that count the money are armed as well.”

“Good thing I know a probation officer who can help me out with a few weapon and ammunition problems I have.”

“They have fucking video recorders, Cooper!” McKaffee whipped around, trying to frighten her into submission. “Even if you make it out of there, he’ll fucking see you! He’ll know who you are! This isn’t something you’ll be able to sweep under the rug.”

Cooper adjusted her grip on the revolver. “I’m counting on it.”

***

McKaffee parked his sedan down the street from the convenience store that acted as a front for the governor’s dirty money. Cooper made him circle the area once so she could get a good look at the exits and any men they had positioned outside, but from what she could tell there was only the cashier, the sentry guarding the door to the money laundering room, and the three men believed to be inside that room.

Cooper checked the stash of weapons she’d forced McKaffee to bring. She sifted through the Tasers and flash bombs, prepared to take the guards by surprise. Shots would be fired. And if it came to it, she wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger. But if she could help it, all she wanted was the money, not their lives.

“You know this is fucking crazy, right?” McKaffee asked, the fear in his voice just as apparent as the trembling of his body as she duct taped his hands to the steering wheel. “The moment you walk through that door, you’re not coming back.”

Cooper tore off the last bit of the roll with her teeth and then removed the keys from the ignition, stuffing them into her back pocket. She flicked the chamber of her revolver open, checking the rounds inside, then snapped it shut. “I’ve led more raids on drug houses, arms dealers, and murderers than any other active detective on the Baltimore PD.” She tucked the revolver into her waistband and adjusted the flash grenades and Taser on her belt. “The last thing I’m worried about is what a few off-duty and retired cops are capable of handling when they have no idea I’m coming.”

“Did you really do it?” McKaffee asked, raising his eyebrows, his voice quiet like a child’s. “Did you really kill Farnes?” He looked her up and down. “I didn’t think I’d ever see the day when the Devil Detective crossed that line.”

“Well, that’s the thing about the devil, McKaffee.” Cooper placed one last piece of duct tape over his mouth to keep him from screaming for help while she was inside. “He’s never what you expect him to be.”

Cooper approached the store carefully, her mind mapping the place out from McKaffee’s description. She saw the clerk that worked the counter and kept a shotgun close to the cash register and out of sight, along with the armed guard in the back.

Behind that door were three workers, all of whom were armed with a handgun and a silent alarm in case of an intruder like herself. Once the alarm was sounded, the other locations were notified, which meant she’d have to act fast to get to the next spot. The closest was three miles down the road. She figured she’d be able to hit at least one more before the cavalry arrived. Then, when all was said and done, all she had to do was call up Quentin Farnes and arrange a meet and greet, knowing he wouldn’t turn her down.

Cooper paused before entering the store. She gritted her teeth and pulled the Taser from her belt, drew in a breath, and felt the steady rush of adrenaline flood her veins. The first step inside didn’t trigger either the clerk or the guard. But on the second step, she watched the clerk’s eyes fall to the Taser, and his right arm jerked for the shotgun.

Years of firearms training and practice kicked in, and the adrenaline rush only sharpened Cooper’s senses as she squeezed the Taser’s trigger and the metal prongs latched into the clerk’s skin, sending tens of thousands of volts through his body as he hit the floor.

With the clerk neutralized, Cooper ejected the cartridge and aimed toward the guard, his hand around the grip of his 9mm pistol. A half second too slow, Cooper was forced to jump left into one of the aisles for cover. Gunshots erupted and chip bags and candy wrappers exploded, raining snacks and chocolate over Cooper’s head as she crawled to the back of the aisle.

“You dumb bitch!” The guard stopped shooting, and Cooper heard him on the other end of the aisle. “Don’t you know whose place this is?”

Cooper peered around the aisle’s corner and caught a glimpse of the guard’s right leg, but the distance between her and the target was too long for an accurate shot. She picked up a can of beans and threw it over the aisle that separated her from the guard. The goon turned at the sound of the can landing, and in the same instant Cooper sprinted down the opposite side.

When she turned the corner, Cooper discharged the second Taser cartridge. She quickly darted behind the counter to check on the clerk, who was unconscious. Cooper bound his wrists, ankles, and mouth with duct tape and did the same to the guard, pulling both their bodies behind the counter. She picked up the shotgun and crunched over the exploded chip bags and candy wrappers. She aimed the twelve gauge at the door and fired, blasting the lock to pieces along with a chunk of the door frame.

The moment she squeezed the trigger, the workers inside opened fire, turning the door and wall into Swiss cheese and forcing her back into the cover of the aisles. When they were done, Cooper slowly crept back to the door, shotgun still in hand.

“You should leave, now!” The voice was faint, though Cooper wasn’t sure if that was because of the loss of hearing from the gunfire or if the back room was larger than she’d anticipated. “This is Quentin Farnes’s money.”

Cooper slowly reached for the door handle, keeping the shotgun aimed inside. She paused and listened for a second longer, then kicked the door in, the remaining pieces of the frame splintering apart. She processed the scene inside in less than a second. In one sweeping motion, she located all three shooters before they managed to squeeze off a single round.

Bullets ricocheted off the floor and walls, and Cooper dove behind a filing cabinet in the corner. She waited until she heard the click of firing pins to jump from the safety of cover, aiming for the worker on the far left, and fired close enough to scare him without killing him. After that, the other two quickly laid down their weapons, shoving their hands into the air as they kicked their pistols toward her across the concrete. “Look, we don’t want any trouble, all right?”

Cooper kept the shotgun aimed between the three of them, each man more accountant than body guard. Cash covered the tables, and what had fallen to the floor was more than she could ever hope to accumulate from her annual salary as a detective in her lifetime. Giant bins were overflowing with stacks of more money than she’d ever seen. “Bag it up. All of it.”

The second man, balding with thick coke-bottle glasses, lowered his hands. “You won’t be able to escape with all of this.”

Cooper squeezed the trigger and fired the shotgun into one of the bins, which sent the bills flying into the air, cash raining on all of them. “That should make it easier.”

The goons exchanged a look and reluctantly complied with her request, dumping all of the cash into sacks that they piled into an old laundry cart. Once they were done, Cooper tied the three of them up and checked the time, knowing the cops wouldn’t be far behind.

“Wait,” one of the goons said. “I know you. You’re that cop that shot Johnny Farnes! What the fuck are you doing here?” Cooper ignored him, and he just shook his head. “Damn, you are some special kind of stupid, aren’t you, bitch?”

Cooper punched him in the nose and felt the crunch of cartilage and splash of blood as the goon’s head was flung backward. He landed on his side, wailing in pain. “I could say the same for you.” She grabbed another one by the collar and pulled him close. “When your boss comes, tell him that if he doesn’t want more of his money gone, then he should change his business model.” She removed McKaffee’s cell phone from her pocket and tossed it into his lap. “Tell him I’ll be in touch.”

Cooper shoved the cartful of money past the guard and clerk still bound behind the counter and grabbed two bottles of lighter fluid off the shelf on her way outside. She shoved the money bin into the alleyway and emptied one of the bottles over it. She struck a match and tossed it onto the pile. Flames took light instantly and danced high into the sky. Her eyes glowed and reflected the fire as she felt the intensity of the heat.

Sirens wailed in the distance, and Cooper returned to McKaffee’s sedan. She started the engine for him but kept his hands taped to the steering wheel. When she ripped the tape off his mouth, he screamed and floored the accelerator. He stared at the flames climbing higher into the sky when they passed the alley. “Are you fucking insane?! I thought you were going to use the cash as a bargaining chip! Do you know what you’ve done?”

Cooper glanced back at the glow of the fire that lit up the night. “Yeah. I’m getting his attention.”

***

Cooper remained hidden in the shadows outside the bar. McKaffee was parked two blocks down, tucked away out of sight. The neon signs of refulgent pinks and blues glowed in the windows, and what patrons had lingered after last call were thrust from the establishment earlier than they would have liked and stumbled drunkenly into the streets.

The early closing hour was no doubt due to Cooper’s escapades at the convenience store, and if the news had reached here, then the remaining locations would have been notified as well. With the shotgun still in hand, Cooper shouldered the twelve gauge and pulled one of the flash grenades from her belt. She cautiously approached the rear of the building, keeping quiet and listening to the arguments inside.

Windows lined the top of the wall just below the roof, and when she reached the paint of glass that rested right above the back door, she aimed the shotgun and squeezed the trigger. Shouts echoed from inside, and Cooper pulled the pin on the grenade and chucked it through the broken window. The loud pop rumbled through the walls, and Cooper blasted another slug into the door’s lock as she burst inside.

Four men rolled on the floor, squinting and cradling their heads, all of them defenseless, their weapons cast aside on the dirtied bar floor. Cooper kicked the rifles away into the corner and picked up the smaller handguns, tucking them into her belt. She flipped her shotgun around and used the butt to crack the foreheads of the first two men, still dazed on the ground, which knocked them unconscious.

The third man stumbled to his feet before Cooper could strike and unsheathed a knife. He slashed wildly, cutting the air between the two of them as Cooper jerked backward. The Taser didn’t have any charges left in it, but she gripped the shotgun like a baseball bat and cracked it against the goon’s hand. He screamed. The knife clanked to the floor. He charged Cooper, barreling head first, but Cooper swung the shotgun like a golf club and knocked the guard square on the chin.

The crack from the contact between metal and bone thundered and left the guard motionless on the floor. The fourth man flung one of the tables over and crawled behind it. He removed a pistol from his ankle holster and fired wildly in nearly every direction, still blind from the flash grenade.

Bullets splintered the wood floors and barstools, shattered beer and whiskey glasses. Cooper reciprocated the gunman’s move and flipped one of the tables over for cover, reloading the shotgun. A lull in the gunfire offered Cooper retaliation and one squeeze of the trigger sent metal balls through the flimsy wooden table with ease. The gunman scrambled from cover, leaving the pistol, and stumbled blindly into another table, where he collapsed on his stomach. Cooper sprinted from behind him and smacked the butt of her rifle against the back of his skull, his face bouncing off the table as his body went limp.

Smoke wafted from the tip of the shotgun’s barrel, and Cooper wiped away the drop of sweat clinging to the tip of her nose. She reached for the duct tape on her belt and saw that it was nearly gone. With all four assailants on the floor knocked out cold, she limped toward the back room, the burn in her calf suddenly returning.

When Cooper examined her pant leg, she saw blood had soaked through both the bandage and the cloth of her pants. She grimaced and pushed her way into the back of the bar, where the rest of Quentin Farnes’s money was, and piled everything into the biggest bins she could find.

After scraping the last few bills into the pile, Cooper carried them out into the alleyway, past the still-unconscious bodies on the floor. With the rest of the lighter fluid she’d stolen from the store, she soaked the cash and tossed another match that set the entire bin aflame. Stacks of twenties, fifties, and hundreds popped and crinkled in the fire. The colors of the flames shifted, turning the green bills a charcoal black. Cooper tossed the empty lighter fluid bottle in with the rest of the burning cash and started her way back to the car.

A gunshot thundered in the alleyway and Cooper watched the ricochet of the bullet spark against the brick of the building to her right. The rest was instinct. She reached for her revolver, positioning her grip on the handle as she turned, her motions fluid and natural despite the fatigue and injuries. Training took over, and Cooper squeezed the trigger. The bullet entered the man’s chest, and he collapsed to the pavement.

Through the crackling of the fire, Cooper heard the man’s last dying moans. She lowered her gun and found herself drawn to his pain. He wallowed in a puddle of runoff water, blood mixing with the fluid on his back and some dripping from the corner of his mouth. “You’re dead, Cooper. You know that? Fucking dead.”

At first she didn’t recognize him. The chaos of her entrance had not allowed her mind the time to process anyone’s face. But in the light of the fire from the burning cash, she saw him perfectly clearly. “You picked the wrong side, Hall.” Unsure of why, she felt her arm aim the pistol at his head, her finger pressing against the curve of the trigger. “Does Diaz know about this?”