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  On their proximity to the closet doors.

  “Yeah, just like that,” he called. “You throw down your weapon, we all go down to the station, see if we can’t sort things out.”

  Again, the sound of laughter could be heard, this one louder, tinged with bitterness.

  “Clarence was wrong to have thought so highly of you. You’re nothing but an imbecile if you think I came all this way to end up in a police station.”

  The voice was somewhat muffled by the door separating them, but there was no mistaking the intent or the tone.

  Flicking his gaze to Billie, Reed thought for a moment. Tried to imagine the best way to proceed, how he could handle the situation and put her in the least amount of danger possible.

  Gerard was in there alone, that much was obvious.

  What wasn’t so clear was the amount of firepower he had or if Koob might soon come pouring in from the opposite direction.

  “Yeah?” Reed yelled, his focus still on Billie, hoping somehow she understood what he was thinking.

  Would forgive him if it didn’t work.

  “What was your plan? Come over here, kill a couple women, slink back home and hide behind whoever you’ve got stowed away in your pocket?”

  The words were just past his lips, the acrid sound of Gerard’s voice just starting to fire a retort, as Reed raised his weapon. Twice in quick succession he pulled the trigger, his aim turned not toward the doors, but away to the side.

  Pulling off two quick shots, his aim was true, tearing away the tethers holding up the front corner of the bed. With nothing left to keep it secure to the floor, one entire end jerked upright, the mattress rising to a ninety-degree angle, held perpendicular to the floor by only the handful of remaining straps.

  The moment it was on high, lifting as if a drawbridge slamming shut, Reed turned his attention to the door, the hum of his shots still pulsating through his palms. Aiming for the thin slit, he pulled back on the trigger as fast as he could, his vision blurring as one orange burst of light after another flashed from the end of his gun.

  Counting off the rounds, he put eight into a tight cluster around the door, shards of wood tearing away from the surface, fresh sawdust mixing with the assorted scents in the room. Firing until just two rounds remained in the magazine, Reed pushed himself upright, ignoring the burning in his calf.

  “Clear!”

  Past him in a blur, Billie flung herself at the door, hitting it at a dead sprint, the locking mechanism no match for her weight and the force of her body as she slammed into it.

  Behind her, Reed arrived just a moment later, shoving aside the remains of the double doors and barging into a closet bigger than Grimes’s office, his weapon drawn and at the ready.

  Arriving with adrenaline surging, hatred running a close second, he pulled up just short at the sight before him, his entire upper body rising and falling with each breath.

  In front of him, Billie stood snarling over a man he presumed to be Vinson Gerard. Across his chest were a pair of gunshot wounds, small holes punctured through his shirt, dark blood seeping out in a steady crawl.

  Through his cheek was a third wound, a clean hole ripped through the unnatural hue of his skin.

  On the ground beside him, a nine millimeter auto feed, never to be fired again.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  The world was a palate of mixed colors as Reed stepped out through the front door of the mansion. To either side was bright halogen light, the kind thrown down by the bulbs directly overhead, so strong they cast a glare across him that almost made him raise a hand to his face to block it out.

  Beyond the immediate reach of the lamps was nothing but black, darkness so thick when juxtaposed to the interior of the house, it kept everything beyond the closest of trees from being visible, even those with nothing more than spindly sticks rising into the air, branches and buds blocked from view by the roof above.

  Cleaving a stripe through the middle of it was the rotating blue and red of police cruisers, reinforcements having arrived. Unable to proceed past the mash of Sydney Rye’s SUV and Reed’s sedan parked behind it, they were gathered in tight around them, their lights painting a jagged triangle on the ground, tossing a faint glow into the night beyond the brick wall.

  Appearing to have just arrived, only a couple of shadows could be seen moving about, Reed making sure to stand in plain sight, both Billie and his badge visible.

  Beyond that, he didn’t bother raising his hands or identifying himself in any way.

  He was too tired, too angry, his leg hurt too much, to be bothered with such things.

  “Well, aren’t you a sight,” a voice said, pulling his attention to the left.

  Very much a statement, Reed could only smirk as Rye came into view, walking slowly. The lower half of her face crusted with blood, she held her jacket folded over an arm.

  Beside her, Blue ambled along, alternating glances between her and the pair of Reed and Billie.

  “I feel like I should ask if you won,” Reed said, motioning with his chin toward the mess across her features.

  Pulling up a few feet short, Rye cocked her head out to the side, peering down at his leg.

  “I always win,” she replied. “You alright?”

  Glancing out to the road, to the mass of people just beginning to mobilize, Reed said, “Better than Gerard. You?”

  “Better than Koob,” she replied, turning to face the same direction.

  For a moment, neither said anything, letting the enormity of the moment settle in over them, reveling in the fact that it was over.

  Somehow, the entirety of their interaction had been nothing more than a single day.

  Not that it didn’t seem much, much longer than that.

  “Hell of a thing, wasn’t it?” Rye asked.

  Knowing it would be quite a while before Reed truly processed everything that had just taken place, he simply nodded, saying, “Sure was.”

  “Wasn’t sure if you had it in you,” Rye said. Turning his way, she jerked the top of her head toward the house. “You know, finishing off Gerard like that.”

  Pausing a moment, contemplating her words, Reed said, “Yeah, well, he made it easy.”

  One corner of her mouth pulled back as she nodded, considering the statement. “Still, would have been awkward if you walked him out here in handcuffs and I showed up and shot him.”

  For an instant, Reed only stared at her, his features neutral, before a small crack formed, his body rocking slightly with a smirk. “Yeah, that would have been pretty damn awkward.”

  Shadows grew longer as the first of the responders began to make their way inside, spilling around the carnage of Rye’s SUV. One by one, they emerged from the darkness, taking on shape as they drew closer, fanning out across the driveway.

  “You know this is the part where I kind of fade into the background,” Rye said.

  “I figured,” Reed replied, surprised she had even bothered walking around to the front, knowing there was so much more that could be said.

  That now was not the time to even try.

  “Not sure my car is going to make it much further,” Rye added.

  “No,” Reed agreed, looking at the steaming hulk. “I have to stick around, but I can ask who the youngest guy here is, tell him to run you back into town.”

  Again, the faint smile appeared on Rye’s face as she looked his way, her eyebrows rising. “As much fun as that might be, you don’t have to worry about us. We’re pretty good at disappearing.

  “I might need you to handle a few items I had tucked away in the back though, some stuff I had stashed for a rainy day.”

  Not doubting the veracity of either part for a moment, Reed only nodded.

  So much had happened in the preceding day, there was no way to possibly encompass it with a few words, no chance that any parting declarations could wrap up everything swirling through his mind.

  Even less that he would know what they were if they did exist. />
  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  The number of crime scenes Reed Mattox had worked in the previous three days was too high to actually count, a figure he felt fairly certain eclipsed the last few weeks in total, if not more. Since the moment he had gotten pulled away from his steak, life for him and his partner had been a non-stop sprint, one marked by precious little food and even less rest.

  Many times throughout his partnership with Riley she had chastised him for the way he did things, becoming so engrossed in his work that he would often fail to stop for even the most basic of human necessities.

  A fact he was feeling the full effects of as he fell into the seat across from Grimes, his shoulders sagging. Around his right calf, a bandage was wrapped tight, the lower half of his leg encased in white. Under his eyes hung a series of concentric half circles, dried blood still dotting his chin and cheeks.

  It had been a hell of a run since the last time he’d sat in the very same chair.

  No point trying to hide it.

  Sitting three feet away, his fingers laced over his stomach, Grimes sat and stared at him, seeming to inventory his injuries in silence, processing the story that Reed had just shared. With his chin pulled back tight against his chest, folds of skin were piled up like an accordion, a favored position that Reed was all-too-familiar with.

  On the floor by his side, Billie sat with her front shoulder tight against his left leg, leaning heavily.

  Whether that was to support him or a display of her own exhaustion, Reed couldn’t be certain.

  Figured it was probably a healthy mix of both.

  “You realize...” Grimes said, beginning there and letting his voice trail off.

  Not knowing exactly where the statement was going, Reed knew that it could have ended in a handful of different ways, all of them pertaining to something he had done in the last few hours that could be considered questionable at best.

  Drawing out fire from the shooter. Going to Gerard’s house instead of returning to the precinct. Entering the premises without backup.

  And those were just the big ones.

  “I do,” Reed said, nodding slightly.

  “And that we’re actually quite lucky...” Grimes said.

  Again, Reed nodded, adding a bit more distance onto each end, his head rocking several inches.

  “That too,” Reed agreed.

  “And if ever...”

  Lifting his right hand, Reed said only, “I’ll never say a word.”

  The exact ending to each of the three fragments wasn’t important, Reed having worked with Grimes enough times to have a general idea of where things were going. The case had not been textbook from the beginning, but it had been fast and efficient, a conclusion drawn forth in just a matter of days.

  Sometimes, that’s all that can be asked for.

  “How was it received downtown?” Reed asked.

  Lifting his eyebrows slightly, Grimes let a sigh escape, his gaze rolling over toward the window, to the first bit of dawn appearing on the horizon. The state of his features and his attire both hinted that he’d gotten as much sleep as Reed in the last couple of days, both men intent to get away the first chance they got.

  A timeframe Reed was quite certain would be much shorter for him than the captain.

  “With us or the public?” Grimes asked, shifting his gaze over to Reed, the implication clear.

  They had gotten results. Otherwise, things would be a lot uglier.

  “That bad?” Reed asked, his eyes tightening just slightly with a wince, the movement tugging on the blood smeared across his jaw.

  “Well, let’s just say I think we gave back some of the goodwill we had accrued over the last year or so.”

  This time the wince grew a bit more pronounced, Reed rolling his features to look out the window as well. So much he wanted to say floated to the front of his mind, statements about the undue pressures they’d been working with and the severity of the case they’d been handed.

  Of the fact that he had wrapped it within twelve hours of the thing first making the news cycle.

  Clenching tight for a moment, feeling the acrimony work through him, Reed slowly exhaled, letting it all bleed away, the outside visual the perfect depiction for all he could do at the moment.

  The sun was rising, and in a couple days, he and Billie would return, freshly rested, ready for their shift and whatever it brought with them.

  Life would go on, as it had a way of doing.

  “Apologies,” Reed said, keeping his gaze averted, trusting the captain would understand exactly what he was getting at.

  “No need.”

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  The air was frigid, especially when juxtaposed against the feeling of the warm Oahu sun just a few days before. Adding to it was the thin drizzle that didn’t so much fall from the sky as hang in the air, coating Sydney Rye’s skin, casting a thin film on the mirrored lenses of the sunglasses she wore.

  A perfect embodiment for the mood she was in if there ever was one.

  Stepping away from the full-size sedan she’d rented earlier in the day, she left Blue sleeping in the backseat, the enormous animal barely raising an eyelid as he watched her go, content in the warmth and dry of the car. Given her demeanor, her attire, the lack of weaponry, he seemed to sense his services weren’t needed, instead retreating back to his general state of being.

  Which was to either be eating or sleeping at every possible turn.

  A list that would involve a third thing if Rye let him get away with it, proving yet again that there wasn’t quite so much distance between man and dog as some would like to believe.

  The saturated grass beneath Rye’s feet bent without a sound as she walked across the open expanse, threading her way through scraggly pine trees. Still on the cusp of spring’s full arrival, the ground had not yet been tended, the grass rising in spotty clumps, the surface soft and uneven.

  Not that Rye especially gave a damn about her footing, her focus on the last fifty yards of her journey, on the last task she had to complete before setting off again.

  The very last thing in the world she wanted to do, but knew she must if ever she was going to be square with how things ended.

  With her head aimed toward the ground, body pitched forward slightly, leaning into the breeze, it wasn’t until she was just a dozen yards away that she realized she wasn’t alone. That a pair of silhouettes were already on hand, each standing resolutely despite the weather, seeming to ignore the moisture as it coated them, pale sunlight refracting from it.

  Rising to full height, Rye slowed her pace, elongating her strides by an extra few inches.

  “Hello there,” she said, not sure exactly how to best approach the situation, opting for the simplest she could think of.

  Across from her, Billie on the ground by his side, stood Reed Mattox. Having swapped out his usual attire for a dark suit, he stood with hands in the front pockets of his overcoat, droplets of water clinging to his hair.

  Most of his weight was balanced on his left leg, clearly favoring the wound he’d sustained at Gerard’s.

  Less visible, but no different, than the bruising now covering the bottom half of her face.

  “Didn’t think we’d be seeing you today,” he said by way of a greeting.

  Shifting her body a few inches to the side, Rye took in the white marble slab with the name Nora Heatherington chiseled out in block letters, the dates 1989-2017 below it, the indentations painted black, a stark contrast to the white behind it.

  All bought and paid for a few days earlier, the money coming from an anonymous donation that Rye would never admit to having supplied.

  Not that she figured Mattox would need to hear it to understand anyway.

  Anybody that had ever worked in their particular field – regardless how they chose to go about it – understood the burden of having a victim on their conscious. Of feeling a weight that was far different from the anger she had carried for Clarence Koob, something that
could never be properly repaid.

  “Thanks for being here,” Rye said, bypassing the many ways she could have answered the question.

  For a moment, neither said anything, each of them staring at the headstone, Rye remembering the girl beneath, thinking she could have seen her and Mattox hitting it off, a few years in age difference meaning nothing.

  “I’ve been watching the news,” she said, “sounds like things simmered down pretty quickly. Any concerns they had about the way things went over got cast aside pretty quick.”

  Moving only his eyes, Mattox glanced to her, an inscrutable look on his features.

  “Funny how that works, isn’t it? The second a microphone gets thrust in their face, everybody starts talking about justice being served.”

  To that, Rye offered her own smirk, having dealt with similar lines of shit before.

  People that want to question how people like them get things done, but have no problem basking in the residual benefits that accompany it.

  “Justice,” she muttered. “What a crock.”

  In her periphery, she saw Mattox turn to look at her. Rolling his head back slightly, he peered at her a moment, oblivious to the water beading up on his skin.

  “Exactly,” he said. “Take this for instance. To people on my side of the line, if they knew the full extent of what happened, they would see what went down as an affront to justice. Two people taking matters into their own hands, going full vigilante, bypassing the machinations of the system.”

  Lifting her eyebrows, Rye didn’t bother trying to respond.

  He was right, there being no need to add any more to the statement.

  “I’m guessing to your side, all that matters is the fact that the killers were apprehended, put down so they could never harm again.”

  Raising a hand to her face, Rye pulled away the dark frames, the world growing much brighter, awash in black and white, various shades of gray.

  “And what do you think?”

  Pursing his lips, Mattox returned his gaze to the headstone, to the mound of fresh dirt humped before it.