Killjoy (Buchanan-Renard #3)

Killjoy (Buchanan-Renard #3) Page 47

“If it pleases you, I will.”

She took hold of his hand and walked by his side to the car. He liked little things like that, he thought. Taking his hand. It was a sign of trust, wasn’t it? The way she looked up at him with such admiration. He liked that too.

“I’ve already parked the other car down the street from the church,” he said. “Just as a precaution. The key’s behind the visor.”

“We won’t need to use it,” she said. “You’ve covered every possibility.”

He was certain that he had, and so he agreed, yet there was still that nagging little worry about the wires. He’d been so tired, he hadn’t done more than one test, but that was enough.

The wind had picked up as they drove. Monk glanced up at the tower above the theater as he turned the corner. He pulled into the lot, parked on the end in front so Jilly could see everything. No one could block the front of his car, and if he had to drive over the curb to get to the street, he could do so without getting trapped.

He turned the motor off. “Are you ready?”

“Oh, yes.”

“The remote’s in the glove compartment.”

She carefully lifted it out. “It looks like a garage door opener.”

“That’s what it is,” he said. “Modified, of course.”

“When do I push the button?”

“I thought it would be nice to wait until the church bells start.”

Jilly turned in her seat to watch the men and women and children hurry toward the church. They didn’t want to be late, she thought.

The show’s outside. Too bad they wouldn’t see it. “What time is it now?”

“Five more minutes.”

“I don’t want to wait. I want to do it now.”

Monk reached under the seat and handed her the binoculars. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Jilly wet her lips as she lifted the binoculars. She adjusted the lens until she was looking at the room that had had the light on the night before.

“I’m taking my dream back,” she whispered.

She pushed the button. Nothing happened, and so she pushed it again. Then again, harder, holding it down.

“Damn,” Monk muttered. “The wind must have knocked loose one of the wires. Stop pushing that button, darling. I’ll have to go up there and fix it. You sit tight. All right?”

He gently removed the remote from her hand. “If anything goes wrong . . .”

“You worry too much. Fix the wire,” she said, a bit more sharply than she’d intended. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be so anxious. I can wait another few minutes.”

“That’s my girl,” he said. “Just in case, you remember what to do?”

“I go into the church, then out the side door, and get in the other car.”

“And drive away on the side street I showed you. Don’t drive in front of the motel.”

“I won’t leave without you.”

Her loyalty was heartwarming. He patted her hand, put the remote on the floor by his seat, and then got out of the car. Slipping one hand into his pocket, he casually strolled across the parking lot and up the stairs to the church.

The bells rang as he walked inside. Thirty seconds later, he came out the side door, crossed the street, and walked three blocks to the north before he was convinced he wasn’t being followed. He crossed the street and headed toward the movie theater.

The back door was locked, of course. He used his tools to undo the dead bolt, went inside, and quickly locked the door behind him.

He was in the back hallway. The door leading upstairs to the tower and the marquee was across the lobby. He stayed low and quiet.

He stood in the shadow behind the snack bar for several minutes, listening for any sounds, and when he was convinced he was all alone, he crept to the door. That, too, was locked, just as he had left it. He quickly unlocked it, opened the door, and looked up. The brown string he’d left on the third step hadn’t been disturbed. No one had found his little hiding place. He stepped over the string and slowly, cautiously went up, aware that there was a squeak on the fifth step. He knew he was alone—the theater wouldn’t open until the matinee at two—but he still avoided the step.

There was a trip wire at the top, much thinner than dental floss and all but invisible to the na*ed eye. Monk released the lever so that when he opened the door, he wouldn’t be blown to kingdom come.

Good thing the owner didn’t want to change the marquee today, he thought with a smile. He only changed the movies on Wednesdays, but Monk had set a trap anyway. Can’t be too cautious, no matter what his darling Jilly believed.

He opened the door a crack and looked in. The rifle with the scope attached was still there in the corner, propped against the pillar.

His gaze went to the trigger mechanism below his homemade missile. Just as he had suspected, one of the wires had slipped down. It wasn’t dangling free. The wind had loosened it just enough to break the connection.

He’d have it fixed in two seconds. He pushed the door open, stepped forward, and bent down on one knee. Then he froze. The voice came from his left on the other side of the bell. “Nice Roman candle you’ve got there.”

Monk was too stunned to move. His mind was screaming, No, no, no. The wire . . . the string . . . nothing had been disturbed. How did . . .

Another voice came from his right. “I think he’s having trouble getting it to work.”

Monk lunged for his rifle. Neither man tried to stop him. He rolled, firing as he moved.

Nothing happened. The rifle was empty. Noah stepped into the sunlight. Monk saw him and coiled back. “You,” he whispered. “I know you.”

John Paul moved forward from the shadows.

“How did you know?” Monk’s face twisted with fury, and his voice shook.

“Easy. I’m smarter than you.”

Noah’s gun was pointed at Monk’s forehead. John Paul saw the look in Noah’s eyes and knew exactly what he was thinking.

“Cuff him,” he said. “Then read him his rights.”

Noah shook his head. “I’m gonna kill him first. Then I’ll cuff him and read him his rights.”

“Yeah, well, you can’t.”

“Son of a bitch.” Noah released the trigger and put the gun back into his holster. He had the cuffs out and was moving toward Monk when they heard an agent shouting.

Monk lashed out with his foot, knocking Noah off balance. He stumbled in front of the killer, making it impossible for John Paul to get a clear shot.

Agents were racing up the stairs as Monk tried to get his gun from his ankle holster, but John Paul anticipated that response. He slammed his foot down on Monk’s leg, pinning him to the floor.

“Quit messing around,” he shouted. “Get the hell off him so I can shoot him.”

“I’m gonna shoot him,” Noah shouted back. He hit Monk in the face, grunting from the sheer pleasure of hearing cartilage snap. He punched him again, trying to strike the exact spot so that it would hurt him more.

The door slammed into the pillar when the first agent came flying across the threshold. Monk seized the opportunity. With every ounce of strength he possessed, he shoved Noah off him and dove headfirst off the tower.

The killer landed on the slanted tin roof. He rolled to his hands and knees and crawled like a gorilla down to the marquee. When his right foot hit a bracket, he braced himself and went for his gun. He was swinging it up when John Paul and Noah, dropping down to the roof, fired simultaneously. Their bullets riddled Monk’s body, sending him dancing backward like a marionette they were manipulating. He swung around and fell forward, his body draped across the marquee.

Panting, Noah put his gun away and then said, “You have the right to remain silent . . .”

“Damn right,” John Paul muttered.

An agent leaning from the bell tower window called down to them. “Subject is on the move.”

Noah pulled his walkie-talkie from his belt. He repeated what the agent had just told him.

“Roger.”

“Was that Avery’s voice? That was, wasn’t it?” John Paul asked.

Noah spoke into the handset. “Avery? Is that you, sweetheart?”

He used the endearment just to piss off John Paul, and he grinned when he saw his reaction. If looks could kill, he’d be hanging over the marquee with Monk now.

John Paul snatched the handset. “What the hell are you doing, Avery? You were supposed to—”

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah, we’re both fine. Where are you?”

“Roger. Over and out.”

“Son of a bitch. She’s in one of the tail cars.”

They were both sprawled out on the roof. Noah laughed. “You could tell that from ‘Roger, over and out’?”

John Paul ignored him and hit the button again. “Kelly?”

The agent in charge of the operation was quick to respond.

“Kelly here.”

“Is Avery in one of the tail cars?” John Paul demanded. “Son of a bitch, I know she is. I told her to stay on that damn boat.”

“Roger. Over and out.”

Noah laughed. “Guess Avery’s got a mind of her own.” He leaned over the side of the building to judge the distance to the ground. “How the hell are we gonna get—”

John Paul shoved him off the roof. He followed him down and landed in a clump of dead shrubs beside the agent.

Kelly was on the handset again. “Do you have Monk in custody?”

“No, sir,” John Paul answered.

“Where is he?”

He looked up at the marquee. “He’s at the movies.”

Chapter 38

JILLY HAD GROWN IMPATIENT WAITING FOR MONK TO RETURN to the car. What was taking him so long? She picked up the binoculars from the floor and watched the tower. Where was he? He knew how much she hated waiting. “Fix the damn thing,” she muttered. “Hurry up.”

Monk suddenly came into view. Jilly gasped in disbelief as she watched him somersault onto the roof. She thought he was going to break his neck. He came flying down from the tower, but while he was still in the air, he twisted around and landed like a cat on his feet. He lost his balance, skated down the roof on his hands and knees. She thought he was going to flip down over the building, but he caught himself in time.

Two men leapt onto the roof above Monk. They were moving so fast their faces were a blur.

“Kill them,” she whispered to Monk. “Kill them now. Do it.”

Gunshots reverberated around her. She thought she heard Monk scream her name, and she watched with detached curiosity. He fell so ungracefully and draped over the marquee, blood pouring down over the lights. He died with his ass sticking up in the air. She cursed his incompetent soul.

How dare he do this to her? Her disappointment overwhelmed her, and her eyes stung with tears. The remote. She frantically grabbed it and pushed the button. Once, then again and again. Nothing happened.

Damn. How could Monk be so thoughtless? He knew how important her dreams were.

Stomping her feet on the floor, she cursed him because he had ruined everything. Worse, he had made her unhappy.

“Damn you to hell,” she muttered.

He’d left the keys in the ignition. Ignoring his order to take the other car if there was trouble, she hiked her skirt up over her thighs, climbed over the console, and got behind the wheel. Men, FBI men, she knew, were running to the theater, and there were people flooding out of the church to see what all the commotion was about. No one would notice her leaving. She pulled out onto the street, and so that she wouldn’t draw any undue attention to herself, she stayed below the speed limit as she cruised through town.

The second she reached the on-ramp to the highway, she slammed her foot on the gas pedal. Muttering curses, she slapped the steering wheel, trying to vent some of her rage.

She had someone else ready to help, of course. No one was going to steal her dreams again. No one. She knew Monk had weapons packed in his suitcases, and by God, if she had to kill Carrie and Avery herself to get her dreams back, then that’s what she would do.

“Stupid Monk,” she hissed. “Stupid, stupid man.”

The tail car stayed well behind Jilly. There were three agents riding with Avery in the sedan. Kelly was driving, and she sat behind him. She tried not to let her anxiety show, but it was extremely difficult.

Her heart felt like it had stopped when she heard the gunshots, and she didn’t take a breath until she heard John Paul’s voice over the radio. She went weak with relief and then immediately started worrying again.

“Do you think she’s spotted us?” she asked Kelly.

“I’m sure she doesn’t know she’s being followed,” he replied.

Jilly was now so far ahead of them on the highway, Avery could barely see the back of her head.

“She’s speeding, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” he answered. “She’s going at least eighty.”

“If there’s a speed trap—”

“There isn’t,” he assured her.

“How do you know?”

“I know.”

She moved on to another worry. “Shouldn’t you get closer?”

“I’m not going to lose her, Delaney. Now sit back and relax.”

“She’s turning.”

“I see her.”

Avery forced herself to stop telling the agent in charge what to do. It would all be over in just a few minutes. If she could just stay calm that long, she could spend a month falling apart if that was her inclination. Stay cool, she told herself.

Jilly had almost missed the entrance to the Windjammer motel. Avery watched her slow her car, make the turn, and drive across the parking lot. She lost sight of her then as Kelly sped on. He pulled into the exit, circled around the motel, and parked next to the restaurant adjacent to the parking lot.

“She’s parked in front of the steps,” Kelly said.

Avery was looking up at the units. All the doors faced the street. Then she looked at Jilly. She wished they were closer so she could get a good look at her face.

“What’s she doing?” she asked as she leaned forward.

“Brushing her hair,” Kelly said.

Avery squinted against the sunlight. She saw Jilly pull down the vanity mirror.

“Is she putting lipstick on?”

“She sure is,” Kelly said.

She sat back when the agent turned off the motor and rolled the window down. “You get out of this car, Delaney, and I swear—”