The Fallen (Amos Decker #4)(124)

Body-armored DEA agents with assault weapons were swiftly moving in and taking control of the situation. The short battle was over.

The chopper had landed next to the cemetery and Agent Kemper jumped out and hurried over to them.

She said, “I have to tell you, that text you sent telling me to come here blew me away. But I trusted you and it damn sure paid off.”

Decker nodded and looked over at where Baron and Jamison were escorting Amber and Zoe to a group of DEA agents.

“Did you use rubber bullets?” asked Decker.

She nodded. “Like you suggested. We figure we can get these guys to turn on whoever they’re working for higher up the food chain.”

As the smoke cleared further, Riley said, “Decker, I see Ted Ross, but not Lassiter.”

They all looked over to see Ross, his face bloodied from Jamison’s blow, being hauled to his feet by two agents.

Decker said. “Someone ran off back toward the house. It was probably Lassiter.”

“We’ll get her,” said Kemper confidently. “This place is surrounded. I have agents barricading the road up. There’s no way out.”

Decker glanced over at the SUVs. Ross and his wheelchair were gone.

He rushed over there only to find pieces of duct tape on the ground. The old man must have managed to free himself somehow.

Kemper joined him a moment later.

“What is it?” she said.

“Fred Ross is out there in his wheelchair somewhere,” added Decker.

Kemper smiled. “Again, not a problem. Thanks for the assist, Decker.”

She left to confer with some of her men and to confront Ted Ross.

Decker watched her go for a few moments and then looked at Riley.

“Go help the others. I’ll be back.”

Before Riley could say anything, he had already hustled off.

A few minutes later he emerged from the road to the cemetery and looked up toward the house. He stopped and gazed around, listening for someone running. He heard nothing and started moving again. He was listening for the sound of Ross’s wheelchair, but again he heard nothing.

Where could the old man have gone?

He picked up his pace. And where was Lassiter? She couldn’t leave on foot. She would easily be caught. But with a vehicle she might have a shot at running Kemper’s barricade. Decker had the keys to the truck they’d driven up in. But he knew there was another vehicle available.

He hustled toward the garage.

Right as he got there, the truck started up. He heard gears gnashing and the old Suburban hurtled backward out of the garage bay.

He had to throw himself sideways to avoid being run over.

He rolled and sat up as Lassiter spun the wheel and the Suburban cut a one-eighty, its hood pointed toward the road.

From a kneeling position, Decker settled the shotgun’s stock against his shoulder and took aim.

“Get out of the truck, Lassiter! Or I open fire.”

Her answer was five pistol shots fired at him through the open driver’s side window.

Fortunately, she couldn’t really aim and drive at the same time, so her rounds sailed wide.

Decker fired several shotgun blasts at the side of the truck.

The pellets slammed into the old Suburban, blowing out both tires, shattering a window, and pockmarking the doors.

Lassiter screamed and a few moments later the passenger door flew open. He heard feet hit the dirt and then she was running away.

Lassiter came into his sightline and he watched as she ran to the front door of the mansion and disappeared inside.

He slowly walked up to the truck and peered inside.

He saw the blood inside the cab, so he knew he’d hit her.

He followed the trail of blood to the front door and poked his head inside.

He heard it before he could see her.

Moaning.

He made his way slowly down the grand hall, peering cautiously into each room he passed. The sounds of moaning were growing louder, but in this cavernous place they seemed to echo everywhere.

He stopped and listened intently.

“Decker?”

He took a few steps forward and peered into the gun room.

Lassiter was sitting on the floor with her back against the wall.

The arm that had been in the sling was bloody and hanging limply by her side.

Decker fixed his gaze on the pistol in her right hand.

“Yeah?” he said.

“Go to hell!”

“It’s over, Donna. So put the gun down and I can get you some medical attention.”

She laughed, grimaced, turned to the side, and threw up.

She wiped her mouth with her gun hand and looked over at Decker standing in the doorway. “You got me good, Decker.” She touched the muzzle of the gun against the side of her bloody face. “Not so pretty anymore, am I?” She laughed and then doubled up in pain.

“Why, Donna? You’re a cop.”

She sat up straighter. “Too much money, Decker. Too damn much.”

Lassiter groaned and slumped back against the wall.

“You also wanted to stick it to Baron, because of your dad. And your mom.”

She pointed to the bloody sling on the floor. “The plan was to take out Marty and Alice when we were transporting them. Then they were going to shoot at me and a couple others to make it look legit. Only the damn round glanced off my body armor and knocked out my left arm. Had to down some serious painkillers just to function. Then you really messed it up with your shotgun. Feels like it’s going to fall off. And I think my lung’s filling up with blood.”