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“What are you doing?” Dillon exclaimed.
Sean didn’t answer. His eyes glanced left and right, looking for any potential dangers. Kids. Animals. Bouncing balls. It was a weekday, near the time schools let out, which demanded caution.
He glanced at the map, made a hard right up a hill, cut through a dirt service road, then floored it when he hit the main street. He’d lost time on the dirt road, which had turned into a muddy slush from the weather. He suspected that Mallory had slowed, just a fraction, when Sean’s car was no longer in his rearview mirror, but he couldn’t count on it.
His back wheels slipped on a patch of ice, but Sean maintained control of his car. He slowed, looking up the street where he expected Mallory to emerge. No one was there.
“Shit!” Had he miscalculated? No—but he could have misjudged Mallory. The killer could have turned around or hidden somewhere—in a driveway, perhaps.
Then he saw the car turn and head toward him, slowing as soon as Mallory saw him. Was he surprised?
“You’d better be right about Mallory,” Sean said to Dillon.
“What do you mean?”
“Get out when I tell you.”
Sean turned the wheel hard to the right, using the ice in a controlled slide, relying on his intuitive knowledge and impeccable maintenance of his car to ensure he wasn’t going to hit a pole or jump the curb. He controlled his spin by keeping the tires in it, while his momentum kept the vehicle moving toward Mallory’s car. Because this was the main road into the neighborhood, it was wider than the side streets, giving Sean the room he needed to play chicken with Mallory.
Mallory had to slam on his brakes to avoid hitting them, and he skidded, going into his own short spin before heading back the way he’d come.
In one seamless move, Sean stopped the car, put it in park, pressed the seat-belt release, and opened the door. He had his gun out, using his door as a barrier. He fired two shots into each of Mallory’s rear tires. The car fish-tailed, turned, and stopped.
“Out!” he commanded Dillon. Mallory might shoot him, but according to Dillon, Mallory wouldn’t shoot at Kincaid. Sean was counting on that.
Mallory was out of his car, his gun drawn, and then glanced over as Dillon opened the passenger door. “Mick,” Dillon called out, “it’s over. We know about the parolee project. We know about your connection to Frances Buckley. The FBI is getting a search warrant for WCF and Buckley’s house right now.” Dillon crossed in front of the car, putting himself in the line of fire.
“Dillon!” Sean called out. What was he thinking? Sean wanted Mallory distracted. He didn’t want to give the guy an easy target.
Mallory shook his head. “You understand what we face, Kincaid.”
“I do understand. But this is not the way.”
“You have no proof.”
“We have more than you know. There’s only one thing I don’t understand. Why the elaborate game of luring Morton here? It would have been so much easier for you to kill him in Denver. Does it have something to do with Ralston going to Seattle? Morton had something you wanted, didn’t he? What was it?”
Mallory was thinking. Sean couldn’t give him time to think. He stood up, gun aimed at Mallory’s head, and approached the car.
“Don’t,” Mallory said, turning his gun toward Sean.
“You going to kill me in cold blood? Dillon, too? You fucking prick. You have a picture of Lucy in your house. How dare you!”
Mallory tossed his gun out and put his hands up. Sean hadn’t known what to expect, other than Dillon’s psych-out, but he hadn’t expected it to be this easy.
“I want to talk to Lucy.”
“Fuck no,” Sean said. “Assume the position. Dillon, search him and cuff him.” Sean tossed Dillon a set of handcuffs.
“You’re not a cop,” Mallory said.
“I think you know exactly who I am,” Sean said. “You did a background check on me. Someone tried to pull my data, now I know who.”
Mallory slowly turned around and put his hands on the car hood.
Sean said, “I’m still alive. Does that mean I passed your test?”
“The jury’s still out on you, Rogan,” Mallory said quietly.
