Curse of the Painted Lady (The Anlon Cully Chronicles Book 3) Page 12

  “Yeah, I think so. I know she was able to give the local PD a description, so I assume she wasn’t hurt too badly. But she was out cold for a good hour.”

  “No one noticed her?”

  “Nope. The perp dragged her behind a dumpster near the lot.”

  “Geez,” Jennifer said, shaking her head.

  Springer frowned and squeezed his hand into a fist. “Too bad no one noticed. Carla Bailey might still be alive if someone had.”

  Looking at Springer, Jennifer thought it obvious he was in anguish over the teenager’s death. He must have daughters, she thought. As she pondered a delicate way to ask about the killing, Bennett changed subjects. “I’ll tell you what, this Muran is crafty. First, she wipes out the Middlebury PD with precision in a very public firefight. After that, she slips out of town undetected, and then takes out an old woman and steals her car like some kind of ninja. She must have a military background.”

  “She may be military, but she’s not that crafty,” Springer said. “She should have ditched the car after killing the girl. Lucky for us she didn’t.”

  Jennifer didn’t understand the meaning behind his comment and her face must have shown it. Before she could ask Springer to explain, Bennett said, “The car has OnStar.”

  “Ah,” Jennifer said. “So, you were able to track the car.”

  “Yep, we’ve got the place surrounded. Helicopter’s got the house all lit up,” Bennett said.

  “She picked a terrible place to hole up,” Springer said. “House is in a cul-de-sac. Butts up against the lake. Crafty, my ass.”

  The VSP SUV came to a halt at a makeshift command post in a Denny’s parking lot. Jennifer fished in her tote for the Dreylaeks, then followed the Vermont officers as they exited the vehicle and assembled with a contingent of New York state troopers, two FBI agents from the Albany field office and an ATF agent who’d just arrived from the Boston field office via helicopter. Given the multiple jurisdictions involved, Jennifer wondered who would take the lead. Her question was answered in short order. In the middle of the group was a gray-haired African American in a dark blue uniform with more brass and insignia than Jennifer had ever seen on a police uniform. On his lapel was a name tag: Supt. Dunsmore. He shook Springer’s hand and nodded to the rest of the group.

  “Jack,” Dunsmore said to an officer standing nearby. “Let’s go through it one more time for the new folks.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the gung-ho officer. He stood before a map laid out on the hood of a police cruiser. “This is a map of the cul-de-sac. Our perp is in this one here.”

  Jennifer peeked over the shoulder of an officer. There were six houses in the cul-de-sac and Jack was pointing to the one farthest to the right.

  “We’ve cleared the other houses. We’ve got SWAT guys in position on all three sides of the perp and more in a boat in the bay. Helicopter overhead, a dozen units blocking the road into the court. The house has two entry doors, one in the front, the other in back. We’ve got snipers locked in on both.”

  Jennifer could hear the helicopter in the distance, though it was not visible from the command post. Jack continued to speak. “We’re going to send in a negotiator with a SWAT escort. The negotiator will try to coax our perp out, but if shit goes south, we’ll storm the house and take the perp out.”

  Springer asked, “Do we know if she’s alone in the house?”

  “Yes, sir,” Jack said. “We’ve got heat seekers on-site. Best we can tell, only one person inside.”

  “Has anyone tried to talk to her?” Bennett asked.

  “No, sir. But she’s aware of what’s going down. No way she couldn’t know. We’ve got the whole perimeter lit up with spotlights.”

  “Damon,” Springer said to Superintendent Dunsmore, “I know it’s your show, but before you send in your negotiator, we brought someone you should talk to. Jennifer, come here, please.”

  Jennifer politely asked the officers standing in front of her to make way. When she stepped into the inner circle, Springer said, “Damon, this is Jennifer Stevens. She’s a former Massachusetts State Police detective. She has some knowledge of the suspect, and more importantly, she knows what kind of weapon the suspect used in Middlebury. You shouldn’t send in your team until you see what the weapon can do. Jennifer, show him.”

  In anticipation of the request, Jennifer was already holding up the Dreylaeks she’d taken from her bag back in the SUV. She handed them to the superintendent and ran through the same description of the Stones as she had in Middlebury. When she finished, she said, “I know it’s not my place to question your plan, Superintendent, but I don’t think she’s coming out without a fight.”

  “I’m inclined to agree with you given everything that’s happened today. But, we’ve got to try to resolve this peacefully, if at all possible,” Dunsmore said. He handed the Dreylaeks back to Jennifer. “I’ve seen the video from the robbery. You’re telling me these little things did all that damage?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, holding the Stones in her open palms for others in the group to see. “Together, they’re like a stun gun on steroids, but they have a limited range. I’d say as long as your guys are more than thirty feet away, she can’t do much damage with them. But, up close, they’re lethal.”

  Major Jack Sterns, the SWAT leader, asked to hold them. As he weighed them in his palms, he asked, “They have to be used together?”

  “That’s right. They interact magnetically. She needs to build up friction between the two Stones, heat them up, before she can shoot,” Jennifer said. “I can demonstrate.”

  “Please do,” Jack said.

  She took the two Stones from him and scratched them against each other in the palms of her hands. Using a circular motion, she quickened the pace of the scratching. In the darkness, the group standing around her could see the Dreylaeks start to glow.

  “Wow, they heat up fast,” Jack said.

  Jennifer pulled the Stones apart and looked around for something to shoot. There was a trash bin on the sidewalk outside the Denny’s entrance. She asked officers to move it to an empty spot in the parking lot. They positioned it about fifteen feet away and then cleared from the area. As the group backed up, the Ticonderoga fire chief stepped forward and told Jennifer to hold her fire until two of his men could empty the bin. “If what you say is true, and there’s something flammable inside, it’ll go up like a bomb.”

  After the container was emptied and two firefighters were positioned with extinguishers at the ready, Jennifer aimed at the bin and slapped the heated Stones together, causing a bright beam to shoot forth. Her aim was off and the crackling bolt missed the target. Grinding the Dreylaeks together, she guided the bolt through the air until it struck the bin. When it did, the aluminum container blew apart into two flaming pieces. The top piece spun through the air before landing on the lot surface twenty feet back from its original spot. The bottom piece shot sideways and tumbled a few feet away. As the firefighters ran to douse the molten heaps, a chorus of whistles and murmured expletives sounded from the group around her. Jennifer dropped the glowing Stones to the ground and blew on her singed palms.

  An EMT noticed her hands and rushed forward to administer aid. While he layered a cooling salve on her hands, Jack asked, “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I didn’t hold them long enough to do real damage,” she said, wincing as the EMT wrapped her hands with gauze.

  “You should use gloves when you fire those things,” said the EMT.

  “Wish I could. The hands have to feel the Stones vibrate to know when they’re ready to fire. Gloves mask the vibration,” Jennifer said.

  “The vibration’s that subtle?” Jack asked.

  “Yeah, and you don’t want to miss the vibration. Dreylaeks explode if they get too hot. I’d rather have burned hands than missing hands,” Jennifer said.

  “Jesus, I’ve seen a lot of weapons in my day, but nothing like that,” Jack said. “Where did you get them? Is it new te
ch?”

  Jennifer hesitated before answering. There wasn’t time for an extended discussion on the topic, so she kept her explanation brief. “Um, no, it’s old tech that kind of got shelved for a while.”

  “I can see why,” he said, looking down at her bandaged hands. “If they get that hot, she can’t use them for very long without burning her hands.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t count on that. She’s a lot more experienced with them than I am,” Jennifer said.

  “You know the suspect well, then?” he asked.

  “No, not at all.”

  “Then how do you know her name? How do you know she’s experienced with the Stones?”

  “I’ve heard stories about her, about some of the things she’s done.”

  “You’re not shooting straight with me, Stevens. I can see it in your eyes,” Jack said.

  Jennifer bit her lip. She wanted to be helpful, but there was no chance the SWAT leader would react favorably if she said, “She’s an evil, ten-thousand-year-old woman from a lost civilization.” So, instead, she said, “I know enough about her to know she’s very dangerous.”

  “No shit,” he responded. Stepping closer, he locked cold eyes on hers. “Look, I’m about to send my team in. If you know anything about her, anything that can help me prevent bloodshed, you better start talking.”

  She looked away and crossed her arms. “Trust me, Major, anything I could tell you about her you wouldn’t believe.”

  Jack moved to stand in her line of sight. “God damn it, Stevens. Give me something more than that. I’ve got men with families I’m sending in there.”

  Jennifer suddenly regretted the decision to get involved, but telling him what she knew about Muran was asking for a one-way ticket to Crazy Town. She could see only one way out of the situation. “Let me go in with your negotiator.”

  “What?”

  “Let me go in with him.”

  “Why in f—’s sake would I do that? You’re a civilian.”

  “Listen to me, she’s not going to surrender, Major. She’s going to fight her way out or die trying.”

  “All the more reason you shouldn’t go.”

  Jennifer was about to plead her case when a deafening explosion occurred. Instinctively, everyone at the command post took cover. Out of the corner of her eye, Jennifer saw a ball of fire in the sky. All around, she heard a frantic stream of chatter burst from the first responder radios surrounding her.

  “Chopper down! Chopper down!”

  “Take cover!”

  “Open fire!”

  In the distance, the popping sound of firearms filled the night air, followed by another massive explosion. Jennifer saw the halo of another fireball rise above the tree line.

  “Boat just blew up!”

  “Officers down! Need immediate assistance!”

  Jennifer turned to see Jack running for an armored BearCat vehicle. As he ran, he shouted commands into the microphone attached to his flak jacket. Jennifer picked up the Dreylaeks and raced after him. She climbed into the back of the truck along with two other SWAT officers. If Jack had noticed her board the truck, he said nothing. His focus seemed solely devoted to the radio reports of the battle raging a few miles away.

  Chapter 8 – Old Terrors and New

  Route 395, Mammoth Lakes, California

  September 27

  For hours, Pebbles had faded in and out of consciousness. Each time she would stir, all she could hear was the high-pitched whine of the car’s tires and all she could feel was the vibration of the trunk floor against her curled body. The sensations were hypnotic and had lured her back to sleep on several occasions. But some time ago, Pebbles could not be sure how long, the grogginess that had held grip on her began to wane.

  Fully awake now, she shivered uncontrollably. It was freezing inside the trunk, and to make matters worse, she was sweating profusely. Yet, these discomforts paled in comparison to the burning pain in her calf. Earlier, she had tried to warm herself by tucking her bound legs closer to her chest, but it caused stabbing twinges along her battered rib cage. It had been painful enough that she cried out, but the cloth wedged in her mouth muted the sound. She had also tried to raise her head and look around, but it had proved a wasted gesture. Her eyes were covered and the movement produced sharp throbs on the side of her head where her captor had bashed it into the floor.

  She had cried for a while as she relived the savagery of the attack. He had warned her not to move, but she had foolishly believed she could outrun his bullet.

  What was I thinking? Pebbles thought. Lying in the dark cargo hold, she came up with a half dozen ways she could have talked her way out of the situation, including waiting for Antonio to arrive and simply handing over the Stone. But instead she’d acted impulsively and paid a dear price. She had no way of knowing how badly she was injured, but she was in enough pain to realize the injuries were serious. She didn’t know where she was or where the car was headed, but she doubted it mattered much. Whenever they arrived at her captor’s intended destination, she expected to be on the receiving end of more brutality. This time, however, she would tell him anything that would help keep her alive.

  Pebbles thought of Anlon. She reasoned he had to know by now. Antonio would have arrived at the house and discovered she was not at home. She imagined Antonio would then have tried to text and call her. When he received no answer, would he have suspected something was amiss? Would he have called Anlon? She had to hope he reached Anlon and that Anlon gave him the garage door code to get into the house. If Antonio had managed to get in the house, he would have quickly discovered the blood in the hallway. He would have searched the house and found her gone. He would have immediately contacted Anlon, before or after alerting the police. She was certain Anlon would have contacted Jennifer, too.

  If that were all true, then there were now a bunch of people searching for her. It was a comforting thought to Pebbles, but only if she could stay alive long enough for them to find her, or for them to negotiate her release. For that was the only reason she wasn’t dead already, Pebbles realized. Her captor wanted Malinyah’s Sinethal, and now the only way for him to get it was to use her as his bargaining chip. How he expected to accomplish that without getting captured himself, Pebbles didn’t know, but her game plan for the time being was simple — cooperate and survive.

  It would be easier to cooperate if she knew the identity of her captor, Pebbles thought. But she hadn’t recognized his face or voice. Was he on his own or was he acting on behalf of someone else? If he was someone else’s stooge, then there was one obvious string-puller that came to mind: Klaus Navarro. Pebbles knew he was searching for a Tuliskaera and had tried before to steal Malinyah’s Sinethal. She also knew he was partial to letting others do his dirty work for him, a la Margaret and Kyle Corchran. And she was sure Navarro hadn’t forgotten or forgiven her for bludgeoning him with a lamp in Devlin’s office.

  Another long stretch of time passed before Pebbles felt the car finally begin to slow. Soon after, it came to a brief stop and turned. They were on a gravel or dirt road, given the grinding sound coming from the tires. A few minutes later, they stopped again. This time, the car’s engine went silent.

  By now, not only was Pebbles numb from the cold, but she also had an urgent need to pee. Given all the other indignities of the day, the thought of urinating where she lay didn’t faze her. At least it’ll warm me up for a little while, she thought. But she ultimately decided against it, reckoning that wet clothes would only make matters worse once the fluid cooled. Plus, she didn’t think her captor would take kindly to her befouling the car. She hoped he would allow her to take care of business before resuming his interrogation.

  She heard the car door push open and felt the vehicle jiggle as her captor stepped out of the car. Then came the crunch of footsteps in her direction, followed by a click and then the squeak of the trunk’s hinges moving. Immediately, a blast of icy air filled the chamber. Pebbles’ whole body shuddered from th
e unexpected gust. With her eyes shielded by cloth, she could not see either her captor or her surroundings. A hand touched against her forehead. Pebbles flinched and turned her head away.

  “Easy, now. Be still,” the man said. The hand returned, this time cupping her forehead. The hand was cold, very cold. The hand lifted off and came to rest against her cheek. A moment later, the hand lifted and she felt it wrap around her ankle. She jerked her leg to pull away, but he clamped her ankle firmly. “Stop. I need to check the dressing.”

  Pebbles nodded, relaxed her leg and tried to speak. Restricted by the fabric inside her mouth, all that came out was a muffled, “Okay.”

  She felt a tug along her calf, and then his cold hand touched the skin beneath the bandage. A moment later, he adhered it back in place and asked, “Want water?”

  After a quick nod, her captor removed the tape covering her mouth and fished out the bunched cloth inside. Pebbles licked her dry lips, closed her mouth and wiggled her jaw. His hand gripped her head and lifted it a few inches. “Open up.”

  Pebbles did as he instructed and felt water dribble in her mouth. She swished it around and swallowed. She quickly opened her mouth again and he poured in some more. This time she swallowed it directly. It was cold and soothed her parched throat as it passed through. Finally, he placed the bottle against her lips and let her gulp down more. When he pulled it away, she said, “I need to pee.”

  “Tough. Hold it ’til we stop again,” he said.

  She shook her head. “Been holding it. Can’t any longer.”

  Pebbles heard his feet shuffle on the gravel, but he didn’t reply. She said, “It’s either out there or in here.”

  He let out a protracted sigh and cursed. Five minutes later, he maneuvered Pebbles back in the trunk. She was pliant as he rewrapped the binding around her ankles. When he barked at her to open her mouth, she thanked him as sweetly as she could, hoping it would diffuse his hostility. But it seemed to only irritate him more. He shoved the rag in deeply, causing Pebbles to gag. Seconds later, a fresh strip of tape was pasted over her mouth and the trunk lid slammed shut.