AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It wasn’t a guarantee Clatcher would spill what he knew about the string of pain left in Leland Walker’s wake, about the long list of coverups funded by his father, but it was better than catching Clatcher when he was fresh and ready to fight.
Nick reached into the pack and removed the glass cutting tool. He positioned it on the glass, prepared to reach for his weapon if the alarm sounded. If that happened he would shatter the glass and make a run for Clatcher’s bedroom with his weapon drawn, forcing Clatcher to disable the alarm, call the cops, and tell them it was all a big mistake.
Doable, but definitely not preferable.
He used the glass cutter to make a fist-sized hole near the door handle, then attached a suction cup to the circle. He breathed, nice and easy, in and out, and pulled.
The house remained quiet, the piece of glass staying attached to the suction cup as he pulled it gingerly toward him so it wouldn’t fall onto the tile floor inside the house.
He tossed it down the hill and reached through the hole, unlocking the door and pulling it open slowly and quietly.
No alarm sounded.
He left the door open, hoping the breeze coming in off the water would make its way into the bedroom, wake Clatcher sooner rather than later so Nick could get back to Alexa.
He took a few minutes to search the living room and kitchen and was rewarded with a large hunting knife and two handguns. He set them on the floor next to a chair in the living room, removed a roll of duct tape from his pack along with some zip ties, and sat back in the chair facing the hall, his weapon in his hand.
The house was impressive, perched at the edge of the hill with views stretching over the trees that separated the property from the road far below. The place had high ceilings and top-of-the-line furnishings, a professional grade kitchen gleaming beyond a half wall separating it from the living room.
Clatcher must have taken a page out of Karen LaGarde’s book and angled for a big payoff from Walker. Nick wondered how much money Frederick Walker had spent over the years, keeping people quiet, providing cover for the one-man wrecking ball that was Leland Walker, a man now poised to rise through the political ranks to positions of power that would allow him to do even more damage.
If Nick was lucky, he’d find out soon, and every bit of new information was a fresh chance at bringing Leland down for good.
He breathed through his rage, sinking into the silence of the house. Waiting was meditative. He’d done a lot of it as a cop, and plenty more when he worked in the field with Ronan for MIS. Time slipped as he breathed in and out, the sound of the wind blowing through the trees around the house a rhythm not unlike that of his breath.
He didn’t know how much time had passed when a creak sounded from the back of the hall — not the floors, which were tile, but the bed.
A cough sounded from the bedroom, followed by mumbled words Nick couldn’t make out. Nick listened as the sound of the toilet flushing made its way down the hall, followed by water running in a distant sink.
He lifted his weapon, his gaze on the hall.
Clatcher appeared a moment later. He looked considerably rougher than he had in the photos Clay had compiled in Clatcher’s dossier, but he was still recognizable, his gut straining under a dingy T-shirt, his boxers slouchy over skinny legs. His gray hair was still cut short, as if he was on a temporary hiatus from the military instead of retired for over twenty years.
He’d almost cleared the hall when he registered Nick’s presence in the chair. Nick recognized the sudden alertness in his eyes, a remnant of the military training that was designed to keep you alive when the unexpected occurred. Ronan still got the look now and then — a sudden crash of noise, shouting, a group of too-rowdy men entering a bar with a certain swagger that put his brother on edge.
It was a matter of seconds before Nick caught the tensing of Clatcher’s body, the way he angled his body slightly forward as he prepared to make a run for the kitchen.
“I wouldn’t,” Nick said, still pointing his weapon at the man. “They’re gone anyway.”
Clatcher’s gaze flickered away from the gun in Nick’s hand to the hunting knife, and two handguns sitting next to the chair.
Nick shrugged. “You’re a late sleeper. I got bored.”
“Who are you?” Clatcher’s voice was strong and surprisingly belligerent given his position.
Nick grabbed the zip ties with his free hand and rose to his feet, gun still pointed at Clatcher.
“I suppose I should clarify the situation: I’m the one holding the gun, which means I’m the one asking the questions. I don’t mind explaining once — you obviously had a rough night — but once is all you’ll get.” Nick started toward him. “Put your hands up.”
He was a few feet away when Clatcher made a run at him.
Nick fired into the man’s right shoulder but he kept coming, barreling into Nick with enough speed and force to knock him back.
Nick was already maneuvering as they fell to the floor. Clatcher’s head hit the tile with a crack Nick felt in his bones and he prayed the man hadn’t killed himself with the fall. It was hard to get answers from a dead man.
When he saw that Clatcher’s eyes were still open, Nick straddled him and slammed the gun into his nose. He was still fighting, blood streaming from his nose and smearing the tile under his head. Nick gave him another crack across the forehead for good measure.
After that, it was lights-out.
