Chapter 20
Twenty
Michael might have a strong stomach, but being stuffed into the tiny cargo space of the modified garbage truck was testing the limits of his threshold.
He’d barely managed to move his arms enough to cover the lower part of his face with his shirt.
He breathed through his mouth, fighting the gag reflex.
This space must be where the organization stashed the goods they were smuggling. Nothing big though. He barely fit his six-foot body in the narrow metal box. He didn’t want to think about how much it resembled a coffin.
But he did need to think through his next moves.
He might not know what Martha meant by “meeting Victor” or why she would wait for Booker Wilson, but clearly, she was the one giving orders.
So Victor was either a puppet, a prisoner, or if Michael’s current situation was any indication, more likely dead.
Like his mother.
What had Colter said when Michael asked if Wilson killed Gary Donner?
Yeah. And he said it wasn’t even the first cop he’d offed.
There hadn’t been many unexplained police deaths in the last ten years. And one of them was Martina Martinelli’s.
After half a decade, Michael was on the verge of knowing who’d killed her. And now he knew why. She hadn’t taken a bribe. She hadn’t been involved with Sean Fletcher’s drug enterprise. She’d been investigating the citywide corruption of the Shadow Syndicate.
She was a hero. A hero who’d died too soon.
She’d missed Frankie’s graduation. She’d never been able to see Gabriel or Raphael play varsity football, Kate try her first case, or Eliza and Maria start their careers.
The injustice of it all fed the fire burning inside Michael’s gut.
After this whole ordeal was over, he’d probably be hit with grief and sorrow, but right now, he wanted a fight.
Heaven help whoever he got his hands on first. Hopefully it would be Booker Wilson.
Michael’s head slammed into the side of the box as the truck hit a bump. Then another. The engine rumble stopped. Doors opened and slammed shut.
Go time.
The end of the box by Michael’s feet opened and a voice yelled, “Time to meet Victor, Martinelli.”
Meaty hands clamped down on Michael’s ankles and yanked his body free of the box. He fell to the cold gravel but quickly found his feet, fists raised in front of his face.
After the pitch-black confinement, the lone pole light above blinded Michael. He blinked until he could see again.
This time, only two of Martha’s men faced him with their M16s. The vast darkness beyond their forms swallowed the landscape. But he locked in on his targets.
And that was all he needed.
He lunged for the guy on his left, grabbing the barrel of the rifle and pointing it toward the other guard.
Shots were fired, and the guard dropped to the ground while Michael wrestled, fighting to keep the end of the gun away from his own body.
Locked in an evenly matched hold on the gun, he and the remaining guard each tried to push the barrel toward the other. It slowly angled toward the guard…
He was doing it. Michael strained, tipping the barrel further. A little mor—
“Enough!” a voice yelled. But it was a child’s scream that made Michael take notice.
“You don’t want the little guy to get hurt, do you?” Booker Wilson stepped into the puddle of light, holding a gun to Eddie Carter’s head. Stephanie stood behind them, gagged and bound, screaming muffled words.
Michael froze. “Let him go.”
Booker laughed. “Nah. He’s come in pretty handy. It’s amazing what you can get people to do when you have some leverage. Now, let go of the gun.”
Headlights cut through the dark. More vehicles arrived, kicking up dust from the dirt road.
They must be in the hills, but there were no trees around, only wide, dark space.
No fresh mountain air, but the stench of refuse.
A rusty backhoe lay beyond the pole light.
They must be at the landfill outside of Renegade.
More guards with M16s surrounded them. More of Martha’s personal army.
This wasn’t looking good.
“Let it go, Martinelli.” Booker snaked his thick palm around Eddie’s neck.
Michael released his hold on the gun. The guard pitched forward before catching himself. Too bad he hadn’t fallen on his face completely. But there were bigger problems now.
Martha herself stepped out of an SUV. “You got the party started without me, I see.”
Michael growled. “I’m surprised you’re even here when you have filth like Wilson to do your dirty work.”
“What can I say? I thought I’d give you one more chance”—she sauntered over to Eddie and brushed his hair off his forehead—“and a little more motivation to do the right thing here.”
The right thing? Nothing about this was right.
Michael could feel the press of darkness on his soul.
How were they ever going to fight this kind of evil?
The kind that manipulated, infected, and spread like a disease.
The kind that had grown to mountainous proportions and seemed to have every advantage. How was he supposed to fight this?
Yeah, there’s a lot of brokenness in this fallen world. But we can also look for the things that are good. The evidence of God at work. Because He is always at work, no matter how dark it seems.
His father’s words stilled the despair trying to take over.
Okay, Lord, where are You in this? Where are You at work? Because this is pretty dark. And there’s not much I can do to make this right. I finally find the people responsible for my mom’s death, and it’s so much worse than I imagined.
All the people he loved flashed through his mind. The people he fought so hard to defend. He looked at Eddie, in the hands of a monster.
If God was at work here, Michael needed help to see it.
“You might as well give in now, Michael. It doesn’t have to get ugly. And no one else needs to know. We’ll protect you,” Martha’s voice purred.
“Your idea of protection feels a lot like extortion. And it didn’t work out so well for Donner.”
She lost the alluring smile. “Fine. Either way, look around. You’re outnumbered. There’s no one here to help. There’s only one choice here.”
Help.
The words of his mother’s favorite psalm whispered through the night.
I will lift up my eyes to the mountains;
From where shall my help come?
My help comes from the Lord,
Who made heaven and earth.
A quiet assurance flickered and caught.
God had made these very mountains. Surely He could vanquish this foe.
But would He?
But we can also look for the things that are good. The evidence of God at work. Because He is always at work, no matter how dark it seems.
The good. Good things like a partner who’d given him the benefit of the doubt when the rest of the precinct wanted to believe he was the son of a corrupt captain.
Good things like a family that loved him.
Good things like Dani moving back to Renegade, just in time for their cases to intersect.
For once, he wasn’t alone in this fight, trying to balance the scales in justice’s favor.
Okay, so maybe it wasn’t so crazy to think God would show up here too.
Michael lifted his chin as Martha walked toward him.
“Well? What will it be?”
“I think you know. I’m not going to join your syndicate. In fact, I will do everything I can to fight and bring you down.”
Martha burst out laughing. “So righteous. And yet so…powerless.”
Michael drilled her with a hard stare. He wasn’t alone. Not even close. “Even if I go down, there are others who will fight you.”
“You have no idea how far this organization goes. This snake has more than one head.” She tilted her chin. “The fight is over.”
At that moment, the sound of a chopper cut through the night. Spotlights shone down from the mound behind the shed, red lasers bisecting the dark and landing squarely on Martha’s and Booker’s chests. A speaker from the helicopter called out.
“This is the FBI. Drop your weapons. You’re surrounded.”
No one moved.
“Now!”
The guard closest to Martha aimed his gun and fired into the sky toward the helicopter.
A blast of light, one shot from the chopper, and the guard dropped to the dirt, releasing a little cloud of dust up into the air.
“This is the Renegade PD.” Another voice from a speaker called out from the east. “That was your warning. Now drop—”
Chaos broke out. Booker grabbed Eddie and ran.
“Go!” a voice yelled in Michael’s direction. “Go get the boy! I’ve got Martha.”
Dani?
She emerged from the darkness, sprinting past him in her now-torn red dress. “Go, Michael!”
Michael surged forward, ducking around the SWAT forces and FBI agents swarming the area. He had to get to Eddie.
Booker bolted past the garbage truck and pivoted around the rusty backhoe, trying to make a break for the road.
But Michael cut him off. Aiming for Booker’s legs, he lunged. Eddie cried out as he fell out of Booker’s arms and landed on the ground, but Michael didn’t dare break his focus. He loosened the grip on Booker’s legs and reached higher, knocking the gun out of his hands.
Booker landed a jab, smack on Michael’s jaw. Another hit to his ribs, but Michael wouldn’t let go. The two men wrestled in the gravel. Fists to his temple. Michael answered with an uppercut to the chin, another to the nose.
Wilson screamed and unleashed a string of profanity and enough strength to flip Michael. The cold ground dug into his back, Booker now towering above him. His heavy hands constricted around Michael’s neck. Eddie lay a few feet away, looking on in horror.
Blood ran from Booker’s nose, dripped onto Michael. “You should’ve taken the deal. Now I’ll send you to meet your mother. Ask her if she remembers me, since I was the last person she saw before she died.”
NO! This would not be the end.
Michael fisted dirt and gravel, threw it in Booker’s eyes. Booker yelled but didn’t release his grip. Darkness crept in from the sides of Michael’s field of vision. His lungs screamed for breath.
My help comes from the Lord,
Who made heaven and earth.
With the mighty thundering of the verse severing the panic, the training for this exact scenario came back to him.
Michael thrust his arms together and threaded them up between Booker’s.
He threw them down and out while exploding up from his hips at the same time.
Booker lost his grip and his balance, fell forward, his nose crashing into Michael’s head.
He rolled off and writhed in the dirt, holding his now-broken nose.
Out of the dark periphery, Ron and Steve appeared and grabbed Booker while Michael sucked in the oxygen he’d been deprived of. Once he caught his breath, he sat up. “Where did you guys come from?”
Dani rushed in and scooped up Eddie. “I told you these guys are the real heroes.” She held Eddie close, smiled down at Michael. “They helped me find you.”
Michael took his time standing, pushing through the slight shakiness in his legs. His head pounded, but he didn’t care. He wanted the feel of Dani in his arms. Needed to know with his own two hands that she was real. He pulled her and Eddie into his chest. “Took you long enough.”
She gaped up at him. “I think what you meant to say is, ‘Thank you, Dani, for coming to my rescue.’”
He quieted her with a swift kiss, first her lips, then her forehead. He breathed in her sweet floral scent, breathed out a prayer of thanks, then whispered, “Thank you, Dani, for coming to my rescue.”
He ruffled Eddie’s hair and smiled at him. “You’re safe now, kiddo.”
“Eddie!” Stephanie sped toward them, arms outstretched.
Eddie reached for his aunt. “We’re safe, Auntie Steph. They’re guardian angels. Just like you said.”
Michael and Dani looked at her, confused.
She laughed through a tearful smile. “Yeah, buddy. They kept us safe, huh?” She squeezed him in a fierce hug. “I told him God would send His angels to keep us safe. To defend us.”
Dani grinned up at Michael. “I guess He did, didn’t He.”
Michael balked. “Believe me, I’m no angel.”
“Maybe not, but you were named after one.” Dani’s eyes shimmered with love and tenderness. “Your mom would be so proud.”
And deep in his heart, Michael knew it was true.