Deceiving Death Read online

  This time she did swear.

  “It’s not on you, Shea. He played you. Played me. And a bunch of others. My guess is he’s got a whole lot of money tucked into an offshore account to give Giudicci the revenge the racketeer wanted years ago.”

  “Murder for money? My bet is on murder for power and money. Conscienceless monsters like Giudicci love having inside creeps help them out. It feeds their egos.”

  She was right. It was an old and successful game that shouldn’t have come back in style, but it had. Not with gambling and prostitution this time. With drugs and human trafficking. They’d upped the ante exponentially, which meant the rules of the game escalated.

  That made him and Shea nothing more than collateral damage. But that was only if they died tonight, and he really had no intention of doing that.

  “Do you think the state troopers will get here in time to help? Or your deputy?”

  “My guess is they never got the first message.”

  He might not be able to see her reaction, but he felt it as if hope drained out of her.

  But then she surprised him. Big time. Because she leaned over, kissed his whiskered cheek and said, “I don’t go out easy, cowboy. Let’s do this. Darkness is in his favor, because he knows we’re here. The light will be in ours. So he’s going to move soon, probably when we hear gunfire from the Southern border.”

  “I want you out of here.”

  She ignored him completely. “I’ll take the side door. You take the front.”

  “Alternative plan is you creep out, get yourself back to that access road and hide. There’s a couple of hunting dugouts that will keep you hidden. Nothing anyone here would know about. Straight up the creek about three-quarters of a mile, then fifty feet to the right. Not even that. Tuck yourself in there to buy time so Roy can get here. He’ll come looking Shea. I promise.”

  “So your plan is for me to sneak out, creep through unfamiliar woods, find a random creek along a gravel road in the pitch black and then follow that creek— soundlessly, I might add— until I get to the three-quarter mile mark. Then conveniently bury myself so that when the assassin finds me and shoots me, he doesn’t have to trouble himself with hiding the body.”

  Okay, so her perspective put a different slant on it.

  “That’s just dumb,” she whispered and the heat in her voice amplified the meaning without using volume. “We’re in this together. I helped arrange the set-up that pulled you into this. That’s my bad. The least I can do is help you get out alive. Here’s the real plan. Whatever happens, whoever draws fire first, the other one takes out the shooter. Two against one, right? We’ve got this.” She slid across the floor to the small anteroom that held two more cots.

  He lost eyes on her.

  And ears.

  Stubborn. Fierce. Strong. And probably a good cop.

  He tried to envision the shooter, but got nothing. Then he pictured the front of the rustic cabin.

  Not much in the way of cover, deliberately. They’d cleared all the brush and trees to give them room to park vehicles and have safe campfires. It seemed sensible at the time. It was a death-trap now.

  The shooter would have night vision.

  Tony didn’t. But he did have clear knowledge of this area. The trees. The brushy spots. The creek’s angle. The rock outcropping just north of them.

  The creek wasn’t high this time of year. That meant the shooter was on this side of the creek, most likely. Best cover for him was the back of the cabin and the west side.

  Shea’s side.

  The perp wouldn’t be as interested in Shea. Tony was the main target, but Shea would have to be silenced or she’d take Buddy down. Either way she wouldn’t be seeing mercy from either assassin.

  He slipped beneath the back window, but kept his attention on the front door. They’d used a short broom to sweep out old ashes from the wood stove. He grasped it, turned it upside down, and raised it slightly. Then he swept it from left to right with a wriggling motion. Hopefully not high enough for the perp to know it was a broom, but to see the motion.

  Then he went to the opposite corner.

  A male Great Horned owl broke the silence by voicing its distinctive mating call from the east. An answering call from a female sounded south of the cabin.

  A city-dweller’s mistake because unlike the songbirds that often double-nested, the fierce owl was a winter-breeder. He wouldn’t be singing his mating song now. He was too busy feeding fledgling owlets.

  The perp had sent a message to Buddy.

  And Buddy responded.

  Chapter Eight

  Tony crept to Shea’s spot quickly. “He’s to the east. I’m going out this door. Cover me.”

  “Happily.”

  She didn’t look happy. She looked like a wounded bear ready to attack.

  Yep.

  Good cop.

  If they drew this guy out now, before a ruckus with the other assassin, Buddy would be too busy trying to recover lost ground with the first perp. If Tony couldn’t beat his old partner at this well-engineered game of life-and-death, he could at least upset the playing field.

  He slipped out the side door with nothing more than a mild click, then crept toward the nearest stand of trees.

  He could use a moon or at least a handful of stars, but the heavens weren’t cooperating. He got low and waited.

  Nothing.

  He ignored the chill, moist air. High humidity had turned ground clutter into a sponge, silencing footfalls. Another advantage to the shooter.

  Time wasn’t on their side. He knew that. But until he got some kind of eyes or ears on assassin #1, anything he did would pinpoint his own position.

  Meanwhile, he stood between two trained killers in a monkey-in-the-middle profile he neither sought nor wanted...

  Keep Shea safe.

  Get this done.

  That was his thought as the sound of breaking glass split the air on the back side of the cabin.

  Shea.

  The back window.

  His heart leaped.

  Did she break the glass? Or—

  Suddenly his eyes made out a shape in the trees. A shape that didn’t belong there. He strained his eyes to be sure, and then the shape moved. Just the slightest move, but it was all he needed. He gripped the gun, took the position and waited. And when the shape took a half-step out of the woods, he didn’t hesitate.

  He shot.

  The perp didn’t run away, wounded.

  He dropped like a stone-cold weight, right where he was.

  First target down.

  Somewhere south of him came the owl call again. The faux female, looking for confirmation.

  He’d give the crooked cop confirmation, all right, but it wouldn’t have anything to do with birdwatching.

  Shea came around the far side of the building.

  “Didn’t I tell you to stay inside?”

  “And miss all the fun?”

  “Follow me.” He wasn’t taking a chance that the downed guy was playing possum. “Cover me while I approach. If he twitches, take him out.”

  “My pleasure.” She assumed the position, ready to fire.

  He moved in from above the guy’s head.

  Still breathing, but barely.

  He handcuffed the guy just in case he didn’t bleed out before help came, then tied his feet together with the hank of rope he’d lifted from the cabin. Then he relieved him of a really nice firearm, and the back-up pistol stuck in the guy’s waistband.

  “Stay low.” He handed her the second gun. “We’re going into that copse there, then coming out near the creek.”

  “The water’s noise will make it hard to hear them.”

  “And the rocks will give us significant cover. Trust me.”

  He couldn’t see her eyes in the dark, but when she breathed softly, he knew she’d agreed. And when they slipped from the cover of the trees to a niche in the over-reaching rock formation, he tugged her close.

  She smelle
d of woods and triple antibiotic ointment and it surprised him to find both appealing. To find her appealing.

  “I’ll watch north.”

  “I’ll take south.”

  The ground beneath them was sodden, but the air above them was just warm enough so their breath wouldn’t form steam. Something in their favor at last.

  He’d pocketed the perp’s phone, but it wouldn’t open.

  Encrypted.

  The jerk.

  Why couldn’t he have a weakly protected phone like everyone else on the planet?

  Paid assassins try really hard not to get caught. And if they do, they really don’t want to get convicted. That’s part of their M.O., Einstein.

  The mental scolding almost made him smile, but then the female owl called again. Closer this time.

  Did that mean they were coaxing the other perp their way? Funneling that person toward them deliberately?

  Or had they silenced him and Buddy was tracking this way on his own?

  He couldn’t have convinced the PPD to fire on Shea, could he? Unless he convinced them she went rogue?

  A fine mist began to fall. The kind that lessened visibility exponentially. A fog began lifting from the lake, and the fog and the mist intermingled about eight feet up. Perfect for blocking his vision... and not all that good for Buddy’s, either.

  A sound came from the cabin area. They still had sixty minutes until daylight, so Buddy would want to act fast. But he’d have to find them first.

  Tony peered through darkness.

  Nothing. But another sound came through. A snapped twig or branch. From straight ahead. Hands loose, he lifted his weapon. Took aim. Waited for the hint of a visual.

  Nothing.

  No more sounds.

  Nothing moving.

  Nothing stirring.

  A red herring.

  And at the very moment he realized that, a sharp voice came from his left. “Drop the guns. Both of you. And come out of there with your hands up.”

  It wasn’t Buddy’s voice that took command at that moment.

  It was Roy’s.

  Chapter Nine

  His father’s old friend. The guy waiting another four months to retire so he got his full pension because it’s all he had after years of caring for a special needs daughter. A daughter he loved and doted on.

  Roy had gone in with Buddy.

  Roy had turned.

  Tony couldn’t believe it.

  Roy wasn’t like Buddy. He was a man of faith, a man of substance, the kind of guy who made it to church every Sunday he could, and a host of Wednesdays, too.

  The darkness obscured Roy’s face, but then Buddy came forward and clicked his light on. Garish features suddenly came into view, drawn out by the mist and the sudden light-cast shadows. “You could have made this easy, Tony. And saved her.” Buddy indicated Shea with a thrust of his gun. “But you had to take it to the next level.”

  “I’m pretty sure it wasn’t me who chose the levels, Kovinski.” He stared right into Buddy’s face, which meant he was staring into the light. That meant his vision would be affected.

  Not Shea’s.

  “Was it money or power that pulled you into Giudicci’s web?”

  “Shut up.”

  “And you can’t shoot me,” Tony mused. “Because I was able to get messages off to Troop C and Roy, although that one might not have done me a whole lot of good.”

  “I can not only shoot you, I can bury your sorry body so deep no one will ever find you,” boasted his former partner. “Either one of you. Your disappearance will be one of those great mysteries of all time.”

  “Where are the rest of the guys?” The minute Tony asked the question, he understood the answer. “There weren’t other guys. That was a cover for Shea. So there was no other perp, but why not just let Rudy’s goon take care of business? Why the ruse to get me up here? With Shea?”

  Buddy liked to talk. Always had. He made a face of disgust toward Shea. “Her fault. She heard about the contract on the street and wanted to save you. Pled her case to command and they agreed that we couldn’t let one of our own go down.”

  “Well there’s something to be said for loyalty. Make sure to thank them for me.”

  “We’ll make it part of the eulogy,” Buddy promised. “They’ll probably ask me to speak after being your partner for so long. Great chance to tell a few funny stories.” Buddy poked the gun at Tony. “Start moving. Slowly. We’ve both got you covered, so don’t be stupid.”

  “And let you walk us casually to our deaths?” Tony didn’t budge. “You think I’m going to make this easy for you? For either of you? Think again. Shoot now and drag our bodies wherever, leaving as much evidence as you can or figure out another way because we’re not going anywhere. And if it was you who roughed up Shea’s face for this little ruse, I will be sure to even the score. No worries on that.”

  “Dead men have no scores to tally. Get moving or I take her out right here. No Auld Lang Syne for you.” He reached out and started to grab Shea in a strangle-hold.

  Shea had other ideas.

  Ninja-like ideas.

  She whirled like a South Philly street dancer, kicked at Buddy’s hand, the one holding the gun and missed—

  With the first foot.

  The second one hit the target and sent his gun spiraling into the creek.

  Then she whirled again, knifing the air with her hands while she delivered a kick straight to Buddy’s chest while Tony went in low and hard on Roy.

  He didn’t think about who this was.

  He couldn’t.

  He had to think survival first. Then law and order. The questions that filled his brain when he spotted his deputy sheriff with Buddy would be answered later.

  Roy’s gun went off.

  He prayed Shea wasn’t hit as he delivered three repeated hooks to Roy’s face while he pinned Roy’s arm— the one with the gun— beneath his knee.

  Roy gave a huge thrust. He wasn’t in good shape, but he was a bulky man and the thrust rolled Tony, but before he lost contact, he managed to kick the gun out of Roy’s hand. Not with Shea’s gymnast finesse, but it did the trick.

  The gun slid off to the side and down the creek slope, the slippery undergrowth offering no friction.

  He took a rough punch to the face. Then another. Right about then he pictured Buddy roughing up Shea’s pretty face on purpose so that he’d go along, thinking she needed protection. That image didn’t just incite him.

  It infuriated him.

  He pushed up and roared like a trapped lion as Roy went for his throat.

  The noise threw Roy off for just a second. That was all Tony needed.

  His left arm sprang free.

  He grabbed Roy’s neck and gave the deputy a head-butt that probably hurt him as much as Roy, but enough to daze the older man.

  Then he scissored Roy’s legs with an old wrestling move and the deputy didn’t just flip to the ground.

  He crashed.

  Now Tony was upright.

  Roy’s face. The face of a friend. Of a colleague. A man sworn to uphold the law—

  A man that turned against every oath and vow he’d ever taken. A guy that meant to kill him— and Shea— for money.

  He punched him hard. Twice. And he might have gone for more except Shea’s voice broke through the haze of anger and disillusionment. “Tony. Enough. Let’s wrap this up the right way. The way things are supposed to get done.”

  He wanted to leave his mark on Roy’s face. And Buddy’s.

  Her words paused him. Her voice made him stop. Think.

  “You’ve got cuffs?”

  “Rope works.”

  Buddy wasn’t writhing on the ground behind her. He was out cold, and trussed like a holiday turkey. “Remind me not to make you angry. Okay?”

  “Happy to.” She grabbed the remaining piece of rope. “You flip him. I’ll tie.”

  “Will do.”

  It didn’t take much to flip the deputy no
w. Roy wasn’t young. He wasn’t in shape. They used to joke that he caricatured the donut-shop-deputy purposely and he would counter the joke by saying if you knew how to keep the peace in a small town, you didn’t need to run very often.

  He wouldn’t need to run at all now.

  He held tight while Shea finished tying, then he re-radioed the state police. Their location wasn’t an easy find, and it was nearly an hour before troopers poured into the clearing surrounding Duck Lake.

  The sun broke through the haze about the same time.

  It didn’t burn the fog right away. It slanted beams through the trees and the mist and the steam, angling tiny rainbows onto the ground below.

  “Fairy dancers.” Shea had been giving her statement to the State Police sergeant on the scene, but she joined him as the light rose higher. “Like a whole troupe of them.”

  She looked awful.

  And beautiful. So amazingly beautiful. And strong and graced with a raw kind of courage, the kind that made a difference wherever she was. No matter what she was doing.

  He reached out his arms.

  She fell into them and he stood there, holding her, just like that. They couldn’t grab sleeping bags from inside. It could mess up the evidence trail when the case came to trial, and neither one of them wanted a cause for a mistrial. They were cold, wet, muddy, and soundly thrashed, both of them.

  He didn’t care.

  Right then all he cared about was letting her know she was safe and sound in the shelter of his arms. She had a life in Philly. He had one here.

  But for this one night they’d put in a team effort and he wouldn’t forget it. He wouldn’t forget what she’d been willing to do to keep him safe— and what an amazing asset she was.

  He held her close and didn’t care that she smelled of old wet leaves and funky ground cover. He just cared that she was all right. For now, that was enough.

  Chapter Ten

  “We need you back here, Robinson.” Shea’s boss wasn’t being mean five days later. He was being honest. “I know this was a rough situation—”

  “A simplistic misnomer,” she retorted and had to bite back what she really wanted to say because her boss was one of the good guys. “A full on double-cross by one of my commanders, an imprisoned racketeer who still has his hand on dirty cops, and being set up to take down not only a former great Philly detective, but a guy who’s already lost his wife and is raising two kids on his own. A guy with more guts and integrity than I’ve seen in years, so yeah, you could call it rough. I’m taking one of my many weeks of vacation, cleaning up things at my dad’s place for real this time, and I’ll be back next week. Maybe.” She jabbed the phone’s screen with unnecessary force and turned.