In Close (Bulletproof #3)(95)
Author: Brenda Novak

Thank God…

“Les?” he called. There was no answer, but he kept talking. “If you’re smart, you’ll get the hell out of here now. You just killed a sheriff’s deputy. The police catch you, you’ll get the death penalty for sure.”

Again, no reply. Les was hedging his bets, trying to kill and get out while concealing his identity, just in case Isaac—or even Rusty—somehow survived long enough to finger him.

“Rusty radioed the sheriff. He’ll be here any minute,” Isaac yelled. He wanted to believe that was true; Rusty had been about to contact Myles but no way could he have had time.

Maybe if he stalled, the police would arrive even without Rusty’s having called.

No, that wasn’t likely. He had to be realistic. Someone might eventually come looking for the deputy, when dispatch realized he hadn’t checked in for a while, but that could be an hour or more away.

“Les? You listening? We found Alana O’Toole in the crawl space. Probably Don, too. The game’s up.”

“Not yet it isn’t!” A rapid succession of gunshots rang out as someone came running down the stairs.

It was a fast, bold and confident move—so fast, bold and confident it took Isaac by surprise. In that split second, he wasn’t sure whether to dash into the open, like his adversary. With bullets going everywhere, he could easily be hit. But if he waited, he’d get pinned in Jeremy’s room.

Heart pumping so hard he could almost hear it above the gunfire, he froze in indecision. If he didn’t act fast, he wouldn’t get out alive. Les was almost on him.

He thought of Claire. They had something—something worth fighting for. He wasn’t going to let it end this way.

Dropping to the floor, he rolled into the center of the doorway, did what he could to steady his hand and pulled the trigger.

The random firing stopped; it sounded as if his opponent fell.

Rolling back behind the cover of the wall, Isaac waited a few seconds to see what would happen next. But nothing happened. He could hear heavy breathing and the grunts of someone in pain, so he got up and turned on the light.

It was Les Weaver, all right. He’d fallen over Rusty and landed on his face. When the light came on, he managed to roll onto his back. He even attempted to lift his gun. “I’ll get you, you son of a bitch!”

Isaac wasn’t too worried. Blood poured from the man’s chest, and he was shaking too hard to control his hand. When he finally managed to take awkward aim, Isaac merely kicked the gun away and stepped on his wrist. “I think you should’ve taken my advice and left.”

Les’s demeanor changed instantly. Clutching his chest with the other hand, he winced. “Help. G-get help!”

Isaac felt drained, weak. The adrenaline—and the fear, anger and shock—were taking a toll. He almost made himself stumble up the stairs to the phone, but Rusty hadn’t stirred or moaned or done anything since he’d been shot, even when Les fell over him. He was dead. The only person at risk here was the person who’d killed him, and Isaac doubted Les was in as much mortal danger as he thought. The way he kept gasping, the bullet had probably punctured a lung, but the hole wasn’t very close to his heart.

“First you’re going to help me.” Because this was his only hope. Once Les went into police custody, he’d lawyer up and they’d never get the real story. He’d deny having shot David, setting the fire, ransacking Claire’s house, killing Don—whatever he’d done.

Isaac figured Les owed him and Claire a few minutes of his time, but Les’s eyes widened as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. Apparently, despite how cold-blooded and calculating he’d been, he expected nothing but compassion in return. “I—I’m dying!”

“Tell that to Rusty over there. I’m sure he’ll feel bad for you.”

“How—how can I…help you?”

“By telling me why. Why’d you do it?”

“I don’t…know what you’re…talking about—”

Isaac pressed harder on his wrist. “Are you really going to play dumb? In case you’re not aware of it, your ass is already beyond saving.”

“You—you’re crazy. Just…just get the helicopter!”

Isaac didn’t move. “Maybe I am crazy, but after everything you’ve done I consider Life Flight an unnecessary waste of taxpayer dollars.”

He blinked rapidly. “So…you—you’re going to let me…die?”

“Unless you tell the truth.”

“You—you’ll go to…prison…yourself.”

“I doubt it. This was self-defense, pure and simple.” He bent to press the muzzle of his gun to Les’s head, just to put him at even more of a psychological disadvantage. “Were you hired to kill David?”

He struggled for breath. “Yes, okay? Now will…will you call for the helicopter?”

“Tell me who hired you.”

“D-Don.”

“Where’d he get the money?”

“How should…I know? I never…asked.”

The bloodstain on his black T-shirt was spreading fast. Isaac wondered if he should feel sorry for him, because he didn’t. It wasn’t easy to take pity on a cold-blooded killer. “And Alana? Did you murder her, too?”

“No.”

“Who did?” Isaac thought he knew. He assumed it was Tug, or that Tug had put Don up to it, but he wanted to hear the answer straight from Les’s mouth.

Shaking his head, Les licked his lips and gasped for more air. “His—his son.”

The blood seemed to freeze in Isaac’s veins. “Jeremy? That can’t be true. He was only sixteen at the time,” he said, but the memory of all those locks on the crawl space door seemed to give credence to Les’s words.

Chest rising and falling in violent spasms, Les tried to explain. “All I know…is—is what…Don told me.” Gasp. “He…he said his boy…didn’t mean…to do it. Alana caught him…in her daughter’s room…when he was supposed to be at…at school.” Gasp. “He was…going through Claire’s…drawers.” Closing his eyes, he slumped back as if he couldn’t say another word, but Isaac wasn’t finished with him yet.

“Tell me more!”

Les cried out as Isaac shook him but seemed to rally. “He—he tried to get around her—” gasp “—but she cut him off.”