John sighed and became quiet. Neeley was trying to sort through what he had already told him. She wanted to know everything about the past very badly, but she also wanted to know what John was lying about concerning the present. “You didn’t leave Hannah the day Gant called.”
John stared at her and finally reluctantly nodded. “I was scared when Gant called, but he told me I was covered. That someone — he must have meant you — would come by and everything would stay the same. I was going off to golf when Nero called me on my cell phone. He told me it was time for me to go.”
“That’s why I didn’t sense it,” Hannah sounded relieved, as if a great mystery had been solved.
“I don’t get it,” Neeley said. “What did he mean by that.”
John looked at his wife. “I am so sorry. I never really thought Nero would come for you.”
Hannah was surprised. “For me?”
John shook his head, rubbing his hands across weary eyes. “This has all been a nightmare. Ever since that day in Mogadishu.”
Hannah was about to say something, but Neeley cut her off. “I don’t understand. If you were working for Nero, why did you and Gant keep the video and documents?”
John looked up at her. “Because Gant had seen who in the next building had fired the missile that downed the helicopter we were supposed to be on, killing everyone on board.”
Two things happened very quickly. There was a sharp crack as if someone had thrown a rock at the big window and Neeley reached over, grabbed Hannah's head and smashed her facedown into the carpet.
Hannah heard another loud pop and then Neeley was on top of her and whispering. "Keep down. Crawl into the hallway."
Hannah started to move and only then noticed the weight of John on her legs. Hannah gasped and struggled to free her feet. She felt something warm and wet soak her back. "Get off me, John!"
Neeley's voice was insistent and level. "He can't, Hannah. He's dead."
Hannah pulled her feet loose with a jerk. She started a low crawl toward the hall all the while hearing the shots and the crashes that followed them. Whoever was firing was using a damn large caliber gun. As she got close to the hallway, a glass frame above her shattered, raining splinters of glass on and around her.
Hannah paused and turned to look for Neeley. Another well-placed shot caused her to roll into the hall, regardless of the glass.
Suddenly Neeley was at her side, John’s briefcase in her hand. "Crawl into your room. Get dressed, fast. We've gotta get out of here."
Hannah looked at the strange woman. “John is dead?”
“Yes.”
Hannah closed her eyes. A hand pinched her arm. “You don’t move, we’re both gonna be dead too.”
"Why should I listen to you? You were going to kill John and me a few minutes ago."
Neeley pushed her. "I wasn't going to kill you. I came to help. Now go get dressed!"
Hannah shook her head. "What do you mean you weren't going to kill us? You had a gun pointed at us! That's certainly—"
Neeley brought the pistol back up, cutting her off. "OK, I will kill you if you don't get dressed right now. Whoever's out there is an expert. We only have a few minutes to get out of here so do what I say now!"
Whether the words or the tone worked wasn't clear, but Hannah crawled to the big bedroom. Neeley followed and darted around Hannah, making her way to the bathroom. By squatting in the tub she could see most of the backyard. With the light off, she knew she couldn't be seen from the outside. It was still dark out there but the promise of daylight was not far away.
Neeley couldn't see a thing and regretted leaving her pack in the truck. Whoever the Cellar had sent had been amazingly fast. The firing had stopped once they got out of the den. She had been surprised at the number of bullets the shooter had put into the house. He couldn't have seen them once Neeley shoved Hannah down, but he had continued to fire as if he knew where they were. And he should have come into the house by now. How did he know they hadn't run out the front door or garage, or called the cops?
Neeley had it then. This guy was smart. He had access to the same equipment Gant had had and would operate in the same way. Neeley braced her forearms on the edge of the tub, the barrel of her pistol pointing into the back yard. She took a chance. "Hannah, get away from the kitchen window!" she yelled.
She saw the bright muzzle flash right where she expected it. By the old tree. She heard the kitchen window shatter. Hannah was calling out but Neeley ignored her as she fired rapidly. First shot to blow out the plane of glass between her and the target, then three rounds as fast as she could pull the trigger at the muzzle flash even though she knew the shooter would have relocated as soon as he fired.
"What are you doing?" Hannah was yelling, the sound of the gun echoing off the tiles.
Neeley ran to the bedroom, staying low just in case and grabbed Hannah's arm with a fierce grip. She hissed in Hannah's ear. "The house is bugged. The person outside can hear us. Do whatever I say if you want to make it out of here alive."
Neeley looked down and realized Hannah had on a silk dress buttoned wrong and had been trying to pull on pantyhose. "Jesus," Neeley muttered.
Neeley reached into the closet and felt around. Nothing felt like denim. "Socks, Hannah," Neeley whispered. "Socks and tennis shoes. Sneakers," she added. Neeley grabbed the nylon out of Hannah’s hand.
In a minute she had Hannah reasonably well put together. She edged back to the door of the bathroom and looked out. Nothing moving. Neeley looked at Hannah, who was moving now, stuffing clothes and items into a large tote bag. "Call the cops," Neeley said loudly.
"What?" Hannah asked, confused.
"Call the cops. As soon as you get them on the phone, I'll be gone," Neeley said. She was watching the woodline. "Move!" Neeley snapped. "Call them now!"
Hannah crawled over to the nightstand and picked up the phone. Neeley saw something moving in the woodline and smiled. She turned and grabbed Hannah's arm. "Let's go," she whispered.
"But—"
Neeley clamped a hand over Hannah's mouth and dragged her toward the garage, the phone falling to the ground.
Racine was running through the woods, heading back toward his car. He rubbed his hand down his left side as he moved. There was a little bit of blood. Splinters from the tree. The bitch was good with a pistol. It must have been sixty-seventy feet from his position to the window she'd fired out of. Contrary to the cop shows on TV it took a damn good shot to even get close with a pistol at that distance.
Racine pulled the small headphones off and tucked them into a pocket, sealing the Velcro cover to make sure they didn't fall out. The house had been wired, just as he'd expected. He'd picked up the conversation in the kitchen as he'd hit the right freq. Jesus! Masterson had just been sitting there spilling his guts and that had forced Racine to act before he was ready.
He'd taken out John to shut him up, but the women had reacted faster than he had expected. He'd peppered the fucking house, tracking them by sound from the wire as best he could, trying to flush them out, until they'd mentioned the cops. That was a bit too much publicity for him, especially after Baltimore.
"Fuck!" Racine came to a halt. Neeley wouldn't call the cops! She'd tricked him. Just as she'd tricked him to shoot at the window. Racine half-turned back toward the house, and then realized it was too late for that.
He smiled, his teeth giving him a ferocious appearance in the dark. It didn't matter. He knew exactly how to meet up with Hannah and Gant's ghost. Racine began sprinting, heading back the way he had come.
CHAPTER 12
Hannah glanced at the woman behind the wheel. Neither of them had said a word since they had switched to Neeley's pick-up and made the on ramp for Interstate 70. They were going toward Kansas City and Neeley, if she had a plan, wasn't sharing it.