Chapter 44
“Where is Kit?”
“Pull over,” James said, suddenly tense. He prayed the screen on his tracking phone was lying.
Frustratingly, the driver checked to make sure it was safe before pulling onto the highway shoulder.
“What’s wrong?” Holden asked from the other back seat
Everything. Or nothing. But probably everything. James speed dialed Bishop on his personal cell without answering. Two eternal seconds before Bishop picked up.
Without preamble, James demanded, “Where is Kit?”
“He went to…” Bishop cut himself off. “Fuck.”
“Turn around,” James snapped to the driver.
Holden added, “Please and thank you.” Which sounded even more threatening in Holden’s ice-cold voice.
James returned all his attention to the call, where movement was happening on the other end. “Don’t bother checking the house.”
“I’m not checking the house,” Bishop said, mission-calm. Good. “Give me the data.”
“He went out the side door.” James’s grip tightened painfully on both phones—the one at his ear, and the one feeding him unpleasant data. “Five minutes ago. Fuck.”
More noises on the other end. None of them slamming doors. Bishop must be grabbing what he needed, instead of running recklessly into the night. Fucking asshole.
“I thought you gave him access to all the exits,” Bishop said.
“Giving him access is one thing. I still want to be informed of his every movement.” Probably a lot to say in front of the driver, but James didn’t give a shit. “He’s heading west, towards the park.”
On Bishop’s end, a door finally crashed shut. “Have someone follow in a vehicle. I’m going on foot.”
Sensible request. Except James got a bad feeling. “Don’t you dare hang—”
Bishop hung up.
Gravel crunched. The night was too loud and empty. Bishop looked forward to being berated by James later. That would mean everything worked out. Right now, Bishop needed his hands and head clear in case everything didn’t.
He slammed in the side gate code, then darted onto the stony walkway. The neighborhood would be buzzing about the suspicious man running across their lawns. Doubly so if anyone’s door camera picked up the gun in his right hand.
But the neighbors probably bought their cameras from San Corvo Security. James could clean that up when he was done chewing Bishop out.
After Bishop found Kit and chewed him out.
One block away from the park, Bishop heard tires scratching out of sight. He sped up, in case—
Two figures rounded the corner across the street. They were hard to make out in the darkness, but the taller one held the other by the shoulder. Surreal recognition struck. That bulldog figure was Archie, who shouldn’t exist in the same reality as Kit.
Bishop had put Archie away. He ruined his entire career and social circle to do it. He killed his fantasy of law and order, replacing it with his own sense of justice.
Maybe he should thank Archie for that. Or maybe he should just serve Archie’s overdue sentence.
Bishop’s phone buzzed. Ignoring it, he raised his gun.
“Step into the light,” Bishop said, calm and clear. “No sudden movements.”
Uncharacteristically, Archie complied without argument. He brought Kit stumbling with him.
No. That wasn’t Kit.
The yellow streetlight illuminated an unfamiliar face. The resemblance was sickening, but this was the boy Holden had looked up. Shiloh Laudrie.
Kit wasn’t here.
“Put your hands up and step away from the kid,” Bishop gritted out. These two must have information.
Archie raised his hands to shoulder height. He looked haggard, no more ruddy swagger. “Hey there, Bishop,” Archie said, his bravado threadbare. “I’m going to set my gun down.”
“Easy does it,” Bishop said, poised to return fire.
But there was no need. Archie bent slowly and dropped the gun on the sidewalk. Then he straightened, just as slowly.
The decoy kid trembled in place. Kit would have taken the opportunity to run. Or to stab Archie in the throat. Something sensible like that.
“Shiloh, right?” Bishop said. “I’m a friend. Come over here and get behind me.”
Shiloh took a few halting steps, his gaze pingponging from Bishop to Archie. When Archie made no move to stop him, he sprinted over.
“Are you Bishop?” Shiloh asked, and the wary hope in his voice was a gut punch. Kit would have been far more suspicious.
“Yes, I am,” Bishop said, then flinched. Shiloh shouldn’t know his name.
Sure enough. “Kit said you would come.”
Which meant Kit was here. He spoke to Shiloh. Maybe to Archie. They were Bishop’s route to getting Kit back where he belonged—safe in the house, maybe handcuffed to Bishop, so he couldn’t escape again.
“Where is he now?” Bishop stepped closer to Archie. “I’ll warn you, partner, I’m not as patient as you might remember.”
Archie took a wheezing breath. His jacket was too large. He’d lost weight. “You’re still a good man, Bishop. Better than me.”
“No shit,” Bishop snapped. “Where is Kit?”
“I’ll tell you,” Archie said. “In exchange for a calm and orderly return to prison. I’m not asking you to let me go. You’ve got your principles. You’d never do it.” A rough laugh broke his voice. “Truth be told, I’m not suited to life on the run.”
“So, why’d you do all this?” Bishop asked.
“Laird’s a hard man to say no to.” Archie grimaced. “He’s a mean fucker. I got in over my head, and I want out. Get me safely back into custody, and I’ll tell you where he’s taking your little friend.”
Bishop believed him. Archie always liked being in control. He kept himself safe, only taking advantage of people he had power over. He was neither a criminal mastermind nor a lackey willing to put his neck on the line for someone else.
“How’d you get tangled up with Laird?” Bishop asked.
“He found me.” Archie shifted his shoulders, clearly uncomfortable. “He’d lost track of his kid for a while. When he found him again, he found you.”
Anyone looking into Bishop’s background would find Archie. A bad penny and a useful tool, who knew Bishop better than Bishop would like. Enough to offer this exchange. They both knew Bishop would win a shootout. But Archie also knew Bishop was too principled to hurt a prisoner.
The clock was ticking. With every second, Kit got farther away. The odds rose that some sleepless neighbor would see this standoff. Bishop frankly didn’t care, except that a 911 call could delay his route to Kit. Or some unknown accomplice could track from the hedges, or a parked car.
“You’ll have to offer something else,” Bishop said, his gun steady. “I already know where Kit is.”
“You don’t,” Shiloh said, his small voice startling. “He took Kit’s phone and gun.”
Fuck. The tracking devices.
Archie’s hands twitched, but he stopped himself from moving before Bishop shot. “They’re in my jacket.”
Worst-case scenarios flashed through Bishop’s imagination. Far too visceral. He’d seen enough case files to fabricate details.
Bishop’s phone buzzed again. Gritting his teeth, Bishop took one hand off his gun. “Stay put now,” he said, feigning nonchalance as he fumbled for an earbud. “I need to take a call.”
James’s snarl burned through the earbud. “You motherfucker—”
“I’ve got company,” Bishop interrupted. “My old partner’s here with the new kid. They have Kit’s phone and gun.”
James might be pissed off, but he was good at understanding the key details. “Leave them. Kit’s in a car. We’re almost back.”
That sounded more promising than Bishop had dared hope. “Can you track Kit without his phone?”
“Yes,” James said, with utter confidence.
“Great,” Bishop answered, and shot Archie in the forehead.
Bishop’s principles had shifted since Archie knew him.
Shiloh’s shriek echoed the gunshot, then muffled to a whimper as the body crumpled. The thud was oddly, pathetically quiet.
James gave a shocked laugh over the phone. “Did you shoot him?”
Ignoring James, Bishop lowered his gun and turned to Shiloh. “Sorry if I startled you. I’m going to take you somewhere safe.”
All Bishop wanted to do was chase after Kit. But Kit would never forgive him for not taking care of Shiloh. The kid was probably the reason Kit had run out tonight.
Shiloh hugged himself. He couldn’t look away from Archie’s slumped form. “Sorry if you startled me? You shot him. Oh my god. Oh my god.”
He continued muttering the phrase, a panicky mantra. Blood spread slowly, a shadow beneath Archie’s head.
“It’s going to be okay,” Bishop said. Damn, his client-soothing voice was hard to access right now.
Shiloh’s attention snapped away from the corpse. “That’s what Kit said. I didn’t believe him.”
Bishop didn’t have an answer to that.
Headlights rounded a corner. “Car incoming,” Bishop said to James. “Is that one of yours?”
“Yes, don’t shoot the sketchy black SUV,” James answered. “She’ll take Shiloh—you take the car. I’ll tell you where to go.”
Then he resumed his muffled urging to his driver.
“This is a friend,” Bishop said, as the SUV pulled up. He probably should have said something earlier, but Shiloh flinched, like he hadn’t noticed the car’s approach.
“Sure.” Even in his shock, Shiloh managed to sound classic-teenage unimpressed. His resemblance to Kit heightened. “Whatever.”
A woman jumped out of the SUV. She moved quickly into the streetlight’s glow, so Bishop recognized her from the team assigned to the house. “Here,” she said, offering the keys.
Bishop took them. “Get this kid back to the house. Make him tea or something.”
“Let me throw up first,” Shiloh said faintly.
“Sure thing,” the woman said, looking considerably less enthused. She touched her earpiece. “I need backup with a biohazard. And there’s a dead body, too.”
Bishop was already in the SUV, his body moving without waiting for his mind’s direction. The split second before the car purred to life echoed with strange silence. Archie was dead, and that meant nothing. Not when Kit was missing, in a monster’s grasp.
“Where am I headed?” Bishop asked.
The car’s navigation system blinked online. A mechanical voice instructed, “Proceed to the route.”
“Just follow directions,” James said, reassuringly smug. “Race you there.”
Holden’s side of the car was quieter. Nearly silent. As James muttered and ranted at Bishop, Holden had a line open to Darius. They only verbalized the essentials.
Turn around. Kit’s been taken. He’s still in San Corvo. The locations were wrong.
In between, all they traded were quiet breaths. Holden forgot Darius was there sometimes. His full attention stuck on a small, handheld screen. James had an identical one. They’d been right. A phone tracker wasn’t enough. Darius’s gun tracker wasn’t enough either.
Hopefully, this would be.
“He’s stopped,” Holden said, unblinking. Waiting to see if the tracker would move again. It had paused before. The Viper obeyed red lights, apparently.
“What’s the address?” Darius asked. His voice would be calming if Holden gave a shit.
Holden read it off. “Looks residential.”
Information shuffled through Holden’s mind. According to Kit—and Holden agreed—the Viper liked to control the scenario. But leading enemies to his nest didn’t make sense.
Someone else’s nest, though…
“Does Archie still own a house?” Holden asked, certain he was right.
But being right didn’t matter if they were too late.