Blood Kills Read online

  I hung up with a smug smile on my face, knowing how irritated Wukowski would be when he learned that Bart was a player in this game. They went back a long way, and Wukowski often felt frustrated by the legal shackles that prevented him from nailing Bart’s Family clients.

  Then I headed for my second steam shower of the day. Mick’s home hadn’t been dirty, but anytime you invade a wall, you’re bound to feel grimy.

  Dressed in loose yoga pants and a cotton top, I settled comfortably on my sofa and called Aunt Terry. “Ready for an evening of little ones?” I asked her.

  “So ready,” she said. “I know that David and Emma say they’re done with pregnancies, but I really wish one of them would relent.”

  “No more than I do,” I told her, “but it’s their lives that another baby would impact. Now, before we continue down that road, let’s plan for tomorrow. I’d like to get to the farmhouse by six-thirty so the children can meet you and Magdalena can take us through the nighttime routine. How about an early supper at the Delafield Brewhaus, on the way to Spider’s? My treat,” I told her, “and no arguments. You deserve a special meal, with all you’ve done to help Rebecca. And it took a lot of pressure off me, knowing that she was safe.”

  “That’s no more than any good person would do, Angie, but I will gracefully accept your offer. And thank you.”

  With that small task completed, I settled in my chair, tea at my side and book in hand, and tried to concentrate on Educated. Despite the engrossing story, my mind kept returning to those two little vials. Repeated visits to the laptop to check email didn’t help. Come on, I urged Gmail, tell me whether Mick’s innocent or not. Despite my pleading, the inbox held nothing from the DNA expert. I resigned myself to a weekend of waiting.

  Chapter 49

  Sometimes the smallest things take up the most room in your heart.

  A. A. Milne

  I spent a typical Saturday—laundry, cleaning, lunch, a trip to Glorioso’s Italian Market and Sciortino’s Bakery. By four o’clock, I was ready for a nice hot steam.

  Afterward, I searched my closet for appropriate babysitting clothing. I remembered the days of playing with grandchildren on the floor and chose accordingly. Comfortable underwear—no need for an enticing bra-and-panties set on this occasion—sports socks, black jeans, and a turquoise crewneck sweater. I tossed a spare shirt and jeans into a bag in case of spit-up or leakage from Gabriella or Daniel.

  Feeling prepared for an evening of fun, I slipped into flats, grabbed the bag and my purse, and headed out to pick up Aunt Terry. We enjoyed a leisurely meal at the Brewhaus, albeit at the Seinfeld hour, and left at six-fifteen to continue our journey west to the farmhouse and the kids.

  This time it was Spider and Joey who greeted us. “Hooway!” Joey shouted. “Miss Angie and Miss Tewwy awe heah, Daddy." But he stood next to Spider without approaching.

  Feeling shy, I surmised.

  Aunt Terry kissed Spider on the cheek and squatted down to Joey’s eye level. “Hello, Joey,” she said, her voice a soothing purr. “You figured out right away who I was. Very smart of you.”

  He nodded but said nothing. I waited for Aunt Terry to work her magic.

  “It’s been a while since I babysat. You’re a big boy and probably know what to do around the house, so I hope you’ll help me with your little brother and sister.”

  Another nod. “I will, Miss Tewwy.”

  “And Angie tells me that you’re a big fan of Batman. So maybe we can find a Batman cartoon to watch after the babies go to sleep.”

  “Oh yeah!” He fist-pumped, took Aunt Terry’s hand, and led her inside.

  “Terry’s a sweetie,” said Spider.

  “She is indeed. Now let me say hello to Magdalena and the little ones.” I entered the living room and the controlled chaos of three children under seven.

  After a briefing from Magdalena on feedings, diapers, and bedtimes, laid out on the index card she’d printed in block letters, she and Spider left for a well-deserved evening alone.

  Joey played happily at his large Legos table, constructing a scene that he termed “Got-em, Batman’s city.” Aunt Terry and I took a twin each—she with Daniel and me with Gabby—and we occupied them with peekaboo, pop-up picture books, and other paraphernalia that I recalled from my children’s and grandchildren’s childhoods.

  When the twins’ bedtime rolled around, Aunt Terry found a Batman cartoon DVD and set it up for Joey. Then she and I dealt with bottle warmers and special nighttime diapers, constructed differently for boys and girls. Allowing Daniel to hold his own bottle, Aunt Terry burped him sitting up, per Magda’s instructions, using strong pats on his back.

  Gabriella, on the other hand, took her feed lying in my arms and then nestled against me with her chin on my shoulder. She required soft rubs to produce the same startling eruption of sound that her brother did. As she nuzzled my neck, I laid my cheek against her head and inhaled the sweet baby smell of her, thinking how much I missed these moments. A fierce sense of protectiveness washed over me for these little souls who were temporarily in my care.

  Before we could carry the twins upstairs, a loud noise sounded from the kitchen, startling us. Brrrrrp… brrrrrp… brrrrrp. What had activated the alarm at the bottom of the driveway?

  Chapter 50

  Children are the hands by which we take hold of heaven.

  Harriet Ward Beecher

  Joey said, “Look, Miss Angie, theah’s a tank,” and pointed to a screen-in-screen inset on the TV.

  A black Hummer stopped at the entry to the long drive, and four men emerged, cradling weapons. Aunt Terry gasped, and I damned myself for leaving my Beretta at home—although it would do no good against what looked like assault rifles. I hated to ask, but there was little choice. “Joey, does your daddy have any guns in the house?”

  “Uh-huh.” He turned off the TV and took my hand. “Time to play intwoodah hide-and-seek. I’ll lead the way and you bwing the babies.”

  Aunt Terry and I, each carrying a twin, followed Joey to the basement stairs. Thinking it might slow down the assault team, I engaged the deadlock and bolt on our side of the door.

  Joey moved confidently to a bank of shelves along the back wall and pointed. “You push the bwick in the middle to open the wall,” he told me.

  Open the wall? Spider has a hidey-hole, I surmised with a silent thanks. It took several tries before I pressed the right spot and the unit moved outward, revealing a half-height crawlspace.

  “C’mon, evwybody,” Joey commanded, activating a light as he entered the dark tunnel. “Daniel and Gabby will follow me,” he said. “Miss Angie and Miss Tewwy, you bwing up the weah, like Daddy.”

  From upstairs, I heard the thumping of feet proceeding from room to room.

  In a quiet voice, Aunt Terry said, “Deliver us from evil,” as she gently set Daniel and Gabby in the tunnel. They immediately tore off after Joey. “Thank God they know the game,” she murmured as she got down on all fours and began to crawl.

  From the top of the stairs, a dull thud hit the basement door.

  I scooted into the tunnel and softly called, “How do I close this, Joey?”

  “Pull the handle on the wall,” he said, his voice becoming fainter.

  I searched around me and located a pull-down lever. The shelving unit slid quietly into place and locked with a soft clunk. While my heart raced, I sat for a moment, listening. The sounds of the door bursting open and heavy boots thundering down the stairs jolted me into action. I crept along the tunnel.

  It opened into a room equipped with a bed large enough to accommodate the family, a toilet and sink behind a screen, and a rocking chair. On the other side of the room stood a computer table with a magnificent monitor, a large steel cabinet, and shelves of food, bottled water, diapers, toys, and other necessities for a prolonged stay. A safe room.

  The twins were giggling and chasing each other, eventually ending up on the bed, where they happily began to bounce.

 
“Shh,” Aunt Terry cautioned them.

  Joey reassured her, “It’s okay, the woom is soundpwoof.”

  She sank down on the rocking chair next to the bed, obviously shaken, but trying to act calm in front of the children.

  I crouched before Joey, sure that this was all a game to him—a game the family had doubtless played many times. “Are we under the house?” I asked.

  “Nope.” He pointed up. “That’s the gawage.”

  “Is there another way out?” It terrified me to think about taking these precious children into the path of imminent harm, but it might come to that if the attackers found the room.

  He pointed to a steel plate in the ceiling. “Up theah. But Daddy says this place is safe as can be.” He strolled over to the monitor and pressed a button. The screen activated. “Look, Miss Angie. The bad guys.”

  The closed-circuit TV displayed three assailants in the house—one searching the basement and two clearing the rooms upstairs. Outside, near the tree line at the back of the property, the fourth man stood, speaking into a walkie-talkie. When his mouth moved, the inside men nodded and murmured into their own devices.

  From the rocker, Aunt Terry gasped.

  Joey walked over and patted her hand. “Don’t wowwy, Miss Tewwy, it will be all wight. Daddy will be home soon.”

  Chapter 51

  All violence consists in some people forcing others, under threat of suffering or death, to do what they do not want to do.

  Leo Tolstoy

  Once Yuri sent the all-clear message, Artur moved inside the large farmhouse. “Did you locate the box?” he snapped at the team.

  Speaking for the others, Yuri replied in a conciliatory tone. “Nyet, boss. No sign. But there is a room upstairs that we cannot penetrate. Eyeball scanner and a solid steel door. And the door to the basement was locked. We had to break in. Nothing down there.”

  “Chert!” Artur swore. “They must be in the locked room.” He paced, his crew careful to step out of his path. Then, with a sharp about-face, he climbed the stairs and shouted, “Angelina Bonaparte, I wish you no harm. I only want what you took from Mikhail’s house. Give it to me and we will leave. Thwart me and I have no choice. I will destroy the samples—and everyone inside—with fire.”

  With a sweep of his arm, he marched outside and the men followed.

  Chapter 52

  Danger is real. Fear is a choice.

  Unknown

  Aunt Terry sucked in a breath as the words came sharp and clear from the monitoring equipment. I will destroy the samples—and everyone inside—with fire.

  Artur knows who I am, I realized. Remembering his ruthless murder of the man in Rebecca Franken’s parking garage, I knew Artur would never walk away. He would forge a path of destruction in order to eliminate anyone with knowledge of Mick’s story and the samples. Should I take the samples out and leave the others here in the safe room?

  From inside the steel cabinet, a low-pitched buzzing sounded.

  “That’s the special phone, Miss Angie.” Joey pointed to the top of the unit. “The key’s up theah. Daddy doesn’t want us kids to weach it.”

  I was too short myself, so I hauled over the chair from the computer desk and climbed up, thinking, Please don’t hang up. Please.

  Key in hand, I scrambled down. The buzzing continued as I opened the storage cabinet and grabbed a chunky black phone with a thick antenna extruding from the top. Spider, read the display.

  I clicked the button and spoke. “We’re in the safe room, Spider, but there’s a team of four men—one of them is Artur—on the property. They think we’re locked inside the home office. He’s threatening to set the house ablaze if we don’t come out with the samples from Mick. Can we survive a fire in here?”

  After a pause, Spider’s voice, pulled taut with tension, said, “Theoretically. But I don’t want to put it to the test.”

  “Then I’ll go out alone.”

  “Wait! There’s an alternative… if you’re willing.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I’ll have boots on the ground in twelve minutes. You can disable them long enough for me to get there, but there’s an element of danger to it.”

  It took less than a breath for me to decide. If Aunt Terry and the kids came out of this safe, the risk would be worth it. “Go on.”

  “Take the watch on the top shelf of the cabinet.”

  “Got it.”

  “Press the two buttons while turning the dial away from you. The house security images will appear. See them?”

  “Just one. The men are all outside in a huddle. They have jerry cans.”

  “The watch only displays active images. Perfect setup, with them all in close proximity. Now open the metal box on the top shelf.”

  I eyed the cylinders inside the container. “Are these… grenades?” My mind recoiled at the thought of blood, tissue, and broken bodies.

  “They’re called flash-bangs or stun grenades. Suckers produce more light and sound than you can imagine. Causes several minutes of blindness and deafness. Debilitating. Ever use one?”

  “Uh, no. Not my usual equipment.”

  “Easy-peasy,” he reassured me. “You’ll need the ear protectors and goggles. You pull the pin, count two seconds, and lob it in their direction. It’ll disorient them, big time. Don’t be a hero. Toss a second one to make sure they’re down, then get back inside ASAP.” He paused. “Can you do it? No shame if you can’t.”

  “Either I’ll get it done or I’ll die trying.”

  “Ange…” His voice trailed off.

  “This is how it has to be. Hurry home.” I disconnected.

  I removed a compact semiautomatic Sig Sauer from the cabinet and loaded it from the box of ammunition that lay alongside it. My hands were steady. Good. I could fall apart after the crisis passed, but I’d be functional until then.

  Wukowski’s old challenge echoed in my ears. Shooting at a target is a lot different from shooting at a person, Angie.

  Joey watched me intently, his eyes very large in his small face. “Do you know how to use the gun, Miss Angie?” he asked.

  I did and, to protect these innocents, Aunt Terry and myself, I would. I ruffled Joey’s hair and said, “I’ll keep you guys safe. But here’s your part. Stay back there with Miss Terry. Okay?”

  “Will do,” he said. Then he made a sharp about-face and marched to the bed, joining the twins as they bounced and giggled.

  Aunt Terry’s eyes widened, but she hugged Joey and told me, “If I haven’t said it lately, mia nipote preziosa, I’m so proud of you.”

  My precious niece. “No more than I am of you, mia cara zia.” My dear aunt. Never more dear to me than now.

  A quick look at the images on the watch reassured me that Artur and his team remained in a tight circle. Time to move.

  Chapter 53

  It’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog.

  Mark Twain

  I hoisted myself up and through the vent hatch, then whispered to the room below me. “Aunt Terry, close the cover. If I want back in, I’ll tell you in Italian.”

  On the watch face, Artur issued orders to his men, with finger jabs to different spots along the house.

  Aunt Terry used the desk chair to reach up. As the steel plate lowered into place, she said, “God be with you.”

  Once in the garage, I quickly scanned the camera display. Now the men were moving away from Artur, but two remained within twenty feet of the leader. The other was nearing the opposite side of the house from me. Probably the best I could hope for, short of their lying down and letting me tie them up.

  I pulled on the goggles and placed the ear protection around my neck, afraid to block my hearing too soon and let the third attacker take me unawares. Then I slipped out the side door and made for the back of the house, pausing at the corner to put the ear protectors on and take a moment to ask for help from the powers that be.

  I pulled the pin and counted
. One one-thousand, two one-thousand. I leaned out and sidearmed the first flash-bang toward Artur and his men.

  Quickly resuming my position along the wall, I waited. Another count and the detonation came, sound and light blasting out like bolts of lightning loosed by an angry god of war. The smell of a hundred matches being simultaneously struck reached my nose. Even with the protection, my senses whirled. I stiffened my spine and lobbed the second flash-bang. Again, an overwhelming pungent smell, brilliant light and booming waves of sound pushed past me as I sheltered against the outside wall, where I removed the goggles and ear protection.

  Sig at the high ready, I stepped out, adrenaline pulsing fury through my veins. Artur and two of his men lay on the ground, clutching their heads and moaning—or in the leader’s case, shouting what I presumed were curses in Russian.

  I raised my wrist to locate the fourth man… who stood behind me, weapon at the high ready, pointed at my head.

  Rumbling menace spoke in a heavy Russian accent. “Put gun on ground. You turn, I fire.”

  Everything in me longed to deal punishment, to take his power in retribution for his part in threatening the children. But then I did the math. He only needed to squeeze his index finger. I couldn’t turn and fire in time. Shaking with frustration, I did as he directed.

  “Now walk to garage. Hands on wall. High. Legs spread. Lean in. No make me nervous.”

  I complied, clenching my jaws at the helplessness of my position. Light glinted in my vision, forcing me to blink. Keeping my head and hands steady, I tilted my left arm downward and rolled my eyes up to the watch.

  A new camera activated at the back of the property. Bram!—climbing a stout oak, a rifle holstered across his back, the stock pointing upward above one shoulder. He settled midway in the tree.