Where Evil Waits (31 page)

T
HE BIG LIGHTS CAME
in and the FBI cleared a path to the well. In all, Sasha had only planted seven of his homemade explosives around the property. Not an arsenal, but enough to keep the forces back when it counted.

Not anymore. The place was flooded with emergency personnel. Reporters were not far behind.

Luke showered in the stable’s bathroom while EMTs tended to Dmitri Rodin. Luke had left him lying naked on the balcony floor when he took his place in the plaid pajamas and chair. Dmitri would live, such as his life was now. Luke hoped the man somehow knew that his presence in the balcony had made it possible for Luke to be there when it counted.

He tossed Dmitri’s clothes in an evidence bag and pulled his own pants back over his hips, then limped out to the lobby with his shirt hanging open. The stable had been taped off into sections and little tents had sprouted up, marking evidence here and there. He walked the property. The digging would start tomorrow, and identification of the bodies was expected to be easy.

They were labeled.

Luke headed back to the elementary school where Kara and Seth had been taken.

She stood when he came through the door and Luke’s heart turned to mush. He swept her into his arms, kissing her with everything he’d never given to anyone else, wanting to be no one but himself and hoping it would be enough for her and Aidan.

“Boys?” Kara said, when he finally let her go. Aidan and Seth had watched from the corner. Seth was still wrapped in a blanket, though it had been more than an hour since they pulled him out of the well. Luke figured he’d have some healing to do—and some thinking. Having an agent bring Aidan to be with him was intended to help.

The boys walked over and Luke shook both their hands. He looked at Seth. “I wasn’t smelling so nice when we pulled you up,” Luke said. “Glad to meet you now.”

“Yeah. Uh, thanks.”

“Have you talked to your mom?”

He nodded. “She’s pretty confused,” he said, and Kara actually laughed.

“We’re going to have a heck of a story to tell her, aren’t we?”

Seth nodded. He had a few scrapes and bruises, but otherwise, he was okay. Aidan studied his toes.

Luke jerked his chin to the door. “I’d like to talk to you two a minute. In private.”

They looked at each other, paled a bit, then followed. Luke led them to the classroom next door and sat down, pulling a couple of munchkin-sized chairs out for the two of them. He sat down on the edge of a table and crossed his arms.

“I don’t want either of you to speak,” he said, “I just want you to listen.” The boys swallowed. “What happened
here tonight happened because a killer designed it to happen. It doesn’t have anything to do with you. It didn’t happen because of anything you did.”

Aidan sat straighter. He looked miserable. “But I’m the reason my dad got with the cartel. I delivered a load for Raul and they blackmailed Dad with it.”

“I know. But what you don’t know is that you’re also the reason your dad got
out
of it. He was already in cahoots with me and the FBI when he died. He was turning things around.”

Aidan’s shoulders slumped.

“Look at me, son,” he said. Luke held his eyes. “I’m telling you, you aren’t to blame for what Sasha Rodin did and you should never, ever feel responsible for that. But I’m also telling you this and you listen hard: If I ever catch either one of you trying to earn a little money or be a little cool or whatever the fuck you thought you were doing when you agreed to make a delivery for Raul Valesquez, I’ll come down on you so hard you won’t know what hit you. Is that clear?”

They nodded and Luke stood.

“I’m glad we understand each other.”

There was a tap at the door and Kara stepped inside. “Am I interrupting?”

“No,” Luke said, “we’re finished.”

“Okay,” she said, clearly not believing him. “Because Sally’s here to take the boys home.”

Luke frowned. “What about you?”

“I made an appointment for you and I. Aidan, I’ll be about an hour behind you, and I’ll pick you up at Seth’s.”

The boys left—anxious to be away from Luke, he thought—and he cocked his head at Kara. “Do you mind telling me where we’re going?”

“Yes, I mind,” she said. “You’ll see when we get there.”

She pulled up to the Federal Building at one in the morning. Luke frowned, then saw Knutson standing at a side door. Luke cocked a brow to Kara.

“Just come,” she said, and they walked over to Knutson.

They accompanied him down the hall and into the elevator, Knutson and Kara both smug, and by the time they got to the wing of interrogation rooms, Luke had put it together.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he whispered to Kara.

“I have resources,” she said, and winked at Knutson.

Knutson opened a door and gestured them into a small corridor. A half dozen Federal agents stood inside, looking through one or the other of the thick, one-way mirrors. Some wore headphones, listening in on the conversations going on in the interrogation rooms, and some milled quietly with one another. The atmosphere was light, almost celebratory. Important work going on; a landmark bust concluded.

On the right, in a room with bright lights and one table, sat Frank Collado.

Luke’s muscles hardened. Collado was alone, no one talking to him. He shivered—they would have the temperature turned down low in the room—and he kept putting his head down on his forearms, then lifting it up again. Heavy chains weighted his wrists.

Knutson turned to Luke. “He’s talking. He thinks he’s going to deal his way out of this. Keeps laying the blame on some dude named Luke Varón.” He made a dismissive little sound. “Kara thought you might want to talk to him.”

Luke looked at Collado—remembered all the months he’d spent in prison at this man’s hands and all the months he’d dreamed of this day. He looked down at Kara, a thousand degrees of tenderness warming his blood at the realization that she had wanted to give this to him. He cupped her cheeks and kissed her, and when he came up he said, “Naw, fuck him. Let him see me on the news.”

They left, and just outside the front door, Kara stiffened.

“What is it?” he asked.

She tipped her head toward two men getting in a car. “Isn’t that Montiel?”

Luke looked. “Yup. And Keith Burke.”

She pulled back and looked at him. “Why aren’t they—” Then she stopped. Figured it out.

“Really?” she asked. “Montiel was with you?”

“His daughter died of a drug overdose when she was twenty-two. This is something he’s pretty passionate about.”

She let that settle, then bristled again. “I still didn’t like the way Burke looked at me.”

“Well, why don’t I let you take that up with his wife? She’s a police officer in Roswell. And as I recall, they’re about due for their second child so she’ll probably be happy to give him what-for.”

She shook her head and looked up at him. “How long will it be until you run out of surprises?” she asked.

Luke shrugged. “Fifty years or so, I imagine.” He sobered. “Will you be around that long?”

She gazed up at him. “I’ll take it under advisement. Will you stay with me while I decide?”

“How long will it take?”

“Fifty years or so.”

As a full-time choral conductor and professor of music education, I didn’t consider going public with my writing for years. Then when my kids went off to school, the characters in my head came out to play—murderers, cops, victims, lovers. I wrote down everything they did and said, and eventually decided to see if anyone but me wanted to read it. Now I lead a double life—some days in the university classroom or at rehearsal, and other days at the computer. With a husband, two kids, and an array of furry, feathery, and scaly pets, there isn’t much free time. I’m always just hoping no one on my laptop gets murdered while I’m trying to keep up with everything else! I am happy to hear from readers.

You can learn more at:

KateBrady.net

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One Scream Away

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