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John and Dallas were in a rental car at a crossroad a half a mile away. They were waiting for Preston to call them. The longer they waited, the more anxious and trigger-happy they became. What the hell were Monk and Preston doing?
John opened a bottle of water and took a drink. “No matter what, we do this tonight. I don’t care who gets in the way. If we have to kill everyone in that bar, then, by God, that’s what we’ll do. We’ve got the firepower, and I want this finished. Why hasn’t Preston called?”
“You saw the cars in the lot. He’s waiting for his opportunity,” Dallas said.
At almost nine o’clock, the bar was still teeming. The jukebox was blaring — Elvis was singing about his blue suede shoes — and the customers had to raise their voices to be heard over the music. Had Michelle not been at the end of the bar by the phone serving customers, she wouldn’t have heard it ringing.
She put the receiver against one ear and held her hand over her other ear so she could hear the caller. She still had trouble understanding and walked into the storage room. Cherry Waterson was on the line, calling from the hospital. The woman was hysterical. Michelle couldn’t make any sense out of what she was saying and finally demanded that she put a nurse on the line.
Thirty seconds later, after giving the nurse orders, Michelle hung up the phone and ran to Noah. “We have to go to the hospital now.”
Noah didn’t need to hear the details. The look on Michelle’s face told him it was serious. He dropped the bar towel, whistled, and motioned to John Paul. They followed Michelle into the kitchen.
“What’s the problem?” her brother asked.
“I need your car keys,” Noah said.
“John Patrick got in the way of a dart. It’s imbedded in his chest,” she blurted as she unlocked the back door and opened it. “Gotta go.”
John Paul tossed Noah the keys.
Michelle grabbed Noah’s phone and was calling radiology as she walked. Noah shouted to John Paul just as he closed the door, “Call Theo. He’s on his way here. Tell him where we’re going.”
Preston had pushed his way through the throng and was now hovering close to Jake Renard, pretending to study the sign-up sheet tacked to the wall. He strained to hear every word as John Paul told his father what had happened. The second he heard that Michelle was on her way to the hospital and that John Paul was going to call Theo and tell him to meet Michelle there, Preston set his glass down on the bar and headed for the door.
Across the room, one of the old men was telling Monk a fishing story. He’d invited Monk to join him and his friends at the table, but Monk stayed where he was so that he could watch the parking lot through the front window.
“I sit all day at a computer,” he said. “What were you saying about that speckled trout?”
The old man shook his head because Monk obviously hadn’t been listening, and then once again launched into his story from the beginning. Monk nodded a couple of times so that he would appear interested. When he saw Noah and Michelle get into an old pickup, he immediately headed for the door. The old man shouted something to him, but Monk ignored him and kept going. His hand was in his vest pocket.
Out in the parking lot, Preston was walking to his car with his head down in case Michelle or the FBI agent happened to be looking back. Monk caught up with him.
“Where are they going in such a hurry?”
“To the hospital,” Preston answered. “And Buchanan’s on his way. If Clayborne drops the doctor off, then we can get Buchanan and her there. It shouldn’t be crowded this time of night. Most surgeons operate early in the morning.”
John changed the plan. When Preston called him and told him the news, he said, “Dallas and I will wait in the car in the hospital parking lot and grab Buchanan when he arrives. If he gets there ahead of us, Dallas will go in and lure him out. You and Monk go in and keep tabs on the doctor. When she’s alone, you grab her and meet us like we planned.”
“Screw that,” Preston shouted. “I heard her brother say she’s going to operate on some kid. I think we should do her there. We’ll get the FBI agent too if he hangs around.”
John gritted his teeth. “Are you out of your mind? Do you know how many people will be in there with her? For God’s sake, use your head. We want to make this look like a professional hit on Buchanan, remember? And we want the police and the FBI to think the doctor got hit because she was with him.”
“What about Clayborne?”
John considered the question for several seconds and then said, “If the agent gets in the way, you’re going to have to kill him too.”
“My God, if anyone could hear us . . .” Dallas raged.
“Shut up,” John snarled. Then he continued his conversation with Preston. “What kind of car is the doctor driving?”
“An old red pickup truck.”
John punched the end button and dropped the phone in his lap as Dallas muttered, “Slow down. The hospital is right around the corner.”
He realized he was speeding and slowed the rental car. “What was Preston arguing with you about?” Dallas asked.
“He wanted to go in shooting.”
“How did this get so screwed up? You’re talking about killing two, maybe three people, and I’m going along with it.”
“We don’t have any choice.”
“The hell we don’t. We could pack our bags and fly to the Caymans. We could get the money now, split it three ways, and then disappear.”
“We have to have Cameron’s death certificate to get the money.”
“Monk could get it to us.”
“How come you’re feeling guilty about killing strangers, but you aren’t having any trouble with killing Cameron?”
“He became a dangerous liability.”
“Exactly,” John said. “And so have Buchanan and his friends. Let’s finish this tonight.”
“I think we should call the whole thing off.”
“No,” John shouted.
“It’s out of control,” Dallas shouted back. “And it’s all your fault, you bastard.”
John’s hand gripped his gun. He had the nearly overwhelming urge to put the barrel against Dallas’s temple and pull the trigger. He took a deep breath instead.
“Don’t you dare fall apart on me,” he said. “Look, there’s Preston’s car. He and Monk must already be inside.”
“The parking lot’s almost empty. That’s good.”
John was craning his neck to see the doctors’ lot. Then he smiled. “There’s the pickup truck.”
“Clayborne obviously didn’t drop her off and go back to The Swan. He’s inside with her.”
“Then he’s in the game.”
“Pull in next to that purple van behind the line of trees.”
John swung the car into the spot, pushed the button to bring the window down, and turned the motor off.
Dallas reached into the backseat for a black windbreaker and put it on. The pocket contained a small semiautomatic.
“I’m trying to go over every possibility in my head,” Dallas said. “Buchanan and the doctor shouldn’t be difficult. Clayborne’s going to be the tough one. He’s trained, and he’ll be looking for trouble. If it goes bad and Preston and Monk and I have to hit them inside, he’ll go down shooting, and he’ll try to take us with him.”
“Then you’ll take him out first. Remember, the element of surprise will be on your side. He won’t see it coming.”
“But he’ll . . . anticipate.”
“You’re going to be able to lure Buchanan outside.”
“I’m just saying that if something goes wrong then —”
“Look,” John said impatiently. “Monk will be thinking the same thing you are. You and he can maybe get Clayborne between you. Preston can get Buchanan.”
“You prick. You should go in with us.”
“The doctor knows who I am. It’s too risky. She could be standing in the hallway and spot me right away. No, I’ll wait here.” Dallas reached over and snatched the key out of the ignition. John was highly insulted. “Do you think I’m going to run out on you?”
“If you hear shooting, you just might.”
John put his hands up. “Fine. Take the keys, but keep them where you can get to them quickly.”
John saw a car coming down the drive, and even though the trees hid them from view, he still ducked down. The car drove on. They had a perfect vantage point. The ER entrance was right in front of them. Buchanan would either park his car in the visitors’ lot or pull in and park next to the doctor’s truck in the adjacent lot. Either way, he wouldn’t see Dallas or John.
“If I have to go in after him . . . it could blow up in my face,” Dallas worried.
“Think about the money,” John whispered, his voice as smooth as satin. “Just think about the money.”
Slumping down in their seats, they silently waited.
CHAPTER FORTY
Theo had made one more detour before he drove to the hospital.
He stopped at a Pak Mail store, made copies of the papers Rosa had given him, and then, using the store phone, he called his superior in Boston and told him what had happened. As he was talking to him, he had one of the store’s employees fax the papers to his boss.
Then he called the local FBI branch, got their fax number, and sent copies to their office as well. And because he was tired and feeling a little paranoid, he faxed a set to his home.
By the time he reached the outskirts of St. Claire, the signal on his cell phone was fading. The battery was almost out of juice. He wanted to call Ben and ask him to meet him at the hospital so he could give him copies too, his intent to include the chief in the investigation. Theo decided he would have to wait and call him from the hospital. While he waited at a stoplight, he stacked the papers and put them into the glove compartment.
Now that he felt he had covered all the bases — his boss was going to fax a copy to a friend at the IRS — Theo once again went over the conversation he’d had with Rosa Vincetti. The poor woman was terrified of the police, and based on her past experience, he certainly didn’t blame her. They had broken down her door in the middle of the night and, with their guns drawn, had rushed through her home, dragged her son out of his bed, handcuffed him, and taken him away. Ever since that night, Rosa had been living in terror that it would happen again.
“Did Catherine know about your fear of the police?” he’d asked.
“Yes, she did,” she’d answered. “I told her everything. We were very close, like sisters. She depended on me.”
Then, as Theo was leaving, Rosa told him she kept expecting to read about John’s arrest in the papers because Catherine had told her that the copies she’d made of her husband’s secret files would put him in prison for the rest of his life.
“What were you supposed to do with your copies?” he asked.
“I don’t know. She told me to keep them in a safe place. I’ve been praying . . . and waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
“God to tell me what to do,” she answered.
After assuring her that the papers were safe with him, he’d thanked her and left.
He was just a couple of blocks away from the hospital when he glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard. Nine-fifteen. Time flies when you’re having fun, he thought. No wonder his stomach was growling, and he was yawning every other minute. He hadn’t had anything to eat or drink all day. He needed food and caffeine. Maybe after he checked on Michelle and talked to Noah, he could grab something in the hospital cafeteria.
He drove along the hospital drive, noticed there weren’t any cars under the canopy outside the emergency entrance, pulled up just beyond the No Parking sign, and parked the car in the slanted slots reserved for police.
A male nurse was coming out of the entrance as Theo was going in. “Hey, buddy, you can’t park your car there. You’ll get ticketed.”
“FBI vehicle,” Theo called back.
“Damn,” John muttered when he saw Buchanan park his car next to the building and go inside.
Dallas opened the car door. “Call Preston and Monk. Have them meet me in the stairwell, north side. I want to synchronize this just in case Buchanan gives me trouble.”
As Dallas slammed the door and took off running, John made the call. After he disconnected, he reached into the backseat and pulled his laptop into the front. Then he opened the glove compartment, got out the other set of keys he’d requested when he’d rented the car, and put the car key in the ignition.
Dallas was only just now beginning to distrust him. John smiled as he thought about that. All of them — even cynical, burned-out Cameron — for all their illegal wheeling and dealing, were naïve when it came to understanding John’s capabilities. They actually believed that he couldn’t get the money without them. What was even more amusing to him was the fact that his worker bees thought he would share the fortune. Ah, trust. What a wonderful weapon.
He leaned back and waited. It was a beautiful sultry night. Maybe it all would work out and he wouldn’t have to go to his contingency plan. Preston was acting like a hothead now, though. John was pretty sure Preston wouldn’t be able to stop himself from shooting someone. It would go bad then. Maybe all of them would die.
Wouldn’t that be a stroke of luck.
Theo was going to take the stairs to the second floor, but as he was crossing the hallway to get to the stairwell door, Elliott Waterson shouted at him.
“Coach? My parents are upstairs.”
The teenager was standing inside the elevator, holding the door open. He obviously thought that Theo had come to sit with Cherry and Daryl while John Patrick was in surgery.
Theo joined him. “How are you holding up, Elliott?”
The teenager began to cry. He looked like he’d been through a war. His eyes were swollen, his nose was red, and there was a sad and haunted look about him.
His head bowed, he whispered, “Did you hear what I did to my little brother?” He began to sob then. “I hurt him, Coach. I hurt him bad.”
“I’m sure it was an accident, Elliott.”
Theo knew that Michelle had rushed to the hospital and that the patient was John Patrick, the little boy who wanted him to shoot Lois, but when Michelle’s brother had called, he hadn’t given any details about the extent of the injury or how it had happened. Still, Theo knew Elliott would never intentionally hurt his brother. Elliott was a decent kid and came from a loving, close-knit family.
“I know you didn’t mean to hurt John Patrick.”
“But it’s my fault and now he’s gonna die.”
Elliott nearly knocked Theo over when he threw himself against him. He was sobbing uncontrollably now, his face buried in Theo’s shoulder. Elliott was a big, strapping boy who outweighed Theo by at least thirty pounds, but he was still a kid who needed to be comforted.
“Let’s go find your mother,” Theo suggested.
Barely coherent, Elliott stammered, “I never should have . . . I didn’t mean to . . .”
Theo’s heart ached for him. He put his arm around him and patted. “It’s going to be okay.” It wasn’t a promise; it was a prayer. “You’ve got to have hope, Elliott.”
He realized then that the elevator wasn’t moving. He stretched his other arm around the teenager so he could reach the button.
“Tell me what happened.”
“Mom told me not to get him the dartboard. She said he was too little and he could cut himself on those sharp darts, but John Patrick really wanted it for his birthday present, so I got it for him anyway. Mom was really mad at me,” he stammered. “I should have taken it back . . . but I didn’t. I hung the board with some rope off the big tree in the front yard. I put it down low so John Patrick could use it, and when it started to get dark and he got tired of playing with it and climbed up in the tree like he likes to do, I picked up the darts and I started throwing them. I got back real far, and I was really hurling them.”
Theo winced. He knew what was coming. Elliott was too distraught to go on. The elevator doors opened, and Theo pulled him along as he stepped out.
Noah was leaning against the wall facing the elevators. When he saw Elliott with Theo, he immediately went down the hall to get the boy’s parents.
“John Patrick jumped down out of the tree just as I hurled a dart,” Elliott sobbed. “I got him in the chest, maybe his heart . . . I don’t know, but he didn’t cry. He just looked so surprised. I was screaming ‘no’ and running to him ’cause I knew what he was going to do. He tried to pull the dart out . . . but it didn’t come out . . . just the fuzzy end . . . and he closed his eyes and went down on the ground. He . . . just . . . crumbled. I thought he was dead. Daddy saw it happen too. He had just gotten out of the van and was going up the steps. John Patrick’s gonna die, isn’t he, Coach? I know he is.”
Theo didn’t know what to say that could possibly console the boy. He cleared his throat and then said decisively, “Come on. Let’s go find your mother.”
There were signs on the wall directly ahead of him across from the elevator. Surgery was to the left down a long hallway. Noah had gone right, and Theo pulled Elliott along as he turned to follow. Noah stepped out of an open door and moved out of the way as Cherry and Daryl came hurrying toward Theo.
When Elliott saw his mother, he let go of Theo and ran to her. She put her arms around him and hugged him.
“I’m so sorry to hear about John Patrick,” Theo said to Daryl.
The father looked as though he had aged ten years since they’d met. “I know, I know.”
“He’s such a little boy,” Cherry cried.
“But he’s strong,” Daryl told her. “He’s going to make it.”
“How long has he been in surgery?” Theo asked.
“A half hour now,” he answered.
“Any word yet? A progress report?”
Elliott had let go of his mother and was now standing beside her, holding her hand. Cherry looked dazed.
Daryl answered the question. “Dr. Mike sent a nurse in a few minutes ago to tell us it’s going well. Did you hear that, Elliott?” he asked. “You had just gone downstairs to look for the minister when that nurse came in. Dr. Mike said that John Patrick’s guardian angel was looking out for him because the arrow missed hitting an artery. The nurse was guessing it would be another hour at least before the operation is finished.”
