CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Dr. Patricia Houston rolled her eyes when she heard more thumping from the apartment below.
She was trying to be a good neighbor, she really was.
She didn’t want to be “that woman” and complain about noise, but for God’s sake, it was excessive.
Shouting and arguing late into the night, shouting and screwing later into the night, kids running around all day, and the constant thumping and thudding like they had a pet rhinoceros and just let it have the run of the apartment.
This was what she got for not hiring a better lawyer.
Her lovely cheating ex Clark got the house in the divorce, and since he had no assets to speak of other than the house, half of everything turned out to be enough to buy the furniture she needed to take an apartment in this not-quite-a-slum neighborhood.
When her lease was up, she’d have enough saved to finance a house.
It would be much smaller than the four-bedroom new build that was the only good thing about living with Clark, but it would be better than sharing a wall with a family of nine.
She took a deep breath, released it through her nose, and decided not to complain. Five more months. Five more months, and this wouldn’t be an issue anymore.
Another thump, louder. She threw her arms in the air and cried, “Oh for God’s—”
The bedroom window opened. She froze, arms still in the air.
She tried to convince herself that she hadn’t heard what she thought she’d heard, but there was no mistaking the sound of an aluminum-rimmed pane of glass being slid up an aluminum track and held in place by two plastic shims that clicked when activated.
Then she heard footsteps, and she couldn’t even try to lie to herself. She turned around, face blanched. She reached for a kitchen knife and knocked the block over. Blades scattered on the floor, and she shrieked as one bounced and nicked her toe.
“Get out of here I have a knife!” she shrieked in one breath.
“That’s cute,” a gravelly voice replied. “I have a gun.”
He stepped into view, tall, muscular, a shock of wild hair above bloodshot eyes and a wide, crazed grin. In his hand was the gun, a small revolver, a .32, Patricia guessed.
Big enough.
All of her arguments with Clark rushed back. Patricia hated guns in the house, was angry every time she saw Clark cleaning one of those murder weapons. Now she was here about to be murdered by one of those weapons, and all she had to fight back was a damned steak knife.
“You don’t remember me, do you?”
The gunman sounded almost hurt. Patricia shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “Take whatever you want. I don’t have much, but it’s yours. Just please don’t hurt me.”
He chuckled, but there was no mirth in those eyes. “You know what I want, Dr. Houston? I want my dog back.”
Patricia blinked. What the hell was he talking about? She didn’t confiscate dogs. Her shelter didn’t even take confiscated dogs anymore. She hadn’t dealt with forced removals since Tarrant.
Then she knew. She gasped and dropped the steak knife. It occurred to her that she’d just lot her only weapon, but it wasn’t like she was going to stab him before he shot her to death.
“James,” she whispered.
“That’s me,” he replied, almost cheerfully. “Too bad about Hunter, huh? He would have loved to see this.”
His thumb pulled the hammer back. Patricia opened her mouth to shriek.
Then she heard sirens. James flinched and looked out the kitchen window. “Son of a bitch!”
Patricia looked that way. She saw police cars with officers spilling out of them. She forgot herself for a moment and ran to the window, shrieking with desperate hope. “Up here! Up here, please! He’s got a gun!”
The officers looked up at her in shock. One of them shouted something, but before Patricia could work out what it was, a rough arm wrapped around her neck and jerked her head backward.
The gun pressed to her head again, and James Caldwell snarled, “Back down! Right the fuck now! Any of you goes somewhere I can’t see you, and I blow her fucking brains out! ”
“Please,” Patricia whispered.
“Shut up!” James snapped.
Patricia did. She closed her eyes and wept, praying to God that she wasn’t about to suffer judgment for what happened to Hunter. She was only doing her job.
What would Hunter say about that, I wonder? a voice in her head asked. Would he forgive you for doing your job?
Patricia knew the answer to that question, just as she knew that there was nothing she could say to convince James not to kill her. Her only hope now was that the police would find a way to stop him before he gave up on his own chance at escape and made sure she died with him.
***
Two minutes away from Patricia Houston’s address, Faith and Jessica got a call from Sergeant Oliver. The policewoman’s voice was tense, and Faith could hear a commotion going on in the background.
“Agent Bold, he’s here. He’s barricaded himself in the house.”
“Shit,” Faith cursed. “Dr. Houston?”
“Still alive. He’s holding her hostage.”
Faith’s heart leaped to her throat. “Oh, thank God! Listen, keep him talking, and be very careful. We want him calm. We’ll be there in ninety seconds, and I’ll take over. I want to try to convince him to release her, or at least give us a chance to go in and take him out before he can hurt her.”
“Good luck with that,” Oliver replied. “He’s talking a lot of bullshit.”
“Just stay calm,” Faith insisted. “We can handle this.”
She hung up and glanced at Jessica. Her partner was pale but appeared as excited as Faith was.
“When we get there, go around to the back and find a way in,” Faith said. “Take one of the officers with you. I’ll keep him talking until you can get a chance to take him down.”
Jessica nodded. “All right.”
Faith turned down Patricia’s street a moment later.
The lights of the police cruisers were clearly visible at the end of the long cul-de-sac.
She brought the SUV to a skidding halt in front of the house and jumped out, Turk following.
Jessica jumped out the other side and used the vehicles to cover her approach.
Sergeant Oliver was standing behind her car door holding a megaphone. Her partner stood behind the driver’s side door aiming a handgun at a second-floor window where James Caldwell stood holding a gun to Patricia Houston’s head.
Faith’s stomach turned when she got a good look at Caldwell’s intended final victim. Her eyes were wild with terror.
When she saw the newcomers, Patricia drew in breath and screamed, “Help m—”
“Shut up!” Caldwell snapped, jerking her head back. He glared down at Faith and Turk. “Your K9 better keep his ass right where he is! I’ll kill him too!”
“Is that what Hunter would want you to do?” Faith asked.
Caldwell flinched, pulling a muffled squeak from Patricia. He stared at Faith, eyes as wild as Patricia’s, though with insanity in his case.
“My name’s Faith,” Faith called, stepping in front of the car door.
“Stop there,” Oliver whispered, “Otherwise, you’re in our way.”
Faith stopped and lifted her hands to show she was unarmed. “Can we talk?”
Caldwell blinked, hesitating. “I… What… Who are you?”
“Special Agent Faith Bold.” She pointed at her vest. “FBI.”
“How do you know about Hunter?”
“We looked you up,” Faith replied. “We know what happened with him.”
“You mean you know that this bitch and her friends murdered him.”
“I know,” Faith said.
Patricia whimpered, but Caldwell shifted his grip so his fingers tightened around her throat. She gasped, and her eyes bulged from her head.
“You don’t want to do that,” Faith said. “If she dies, these officers will kill you.”
Caldwell relaxed his grip on Patricia, who gasped and shuddered, then burst into tears.
“Let’s just talk,” Faith said. “No one’s going to hurt you, and you don’t need to hurt anyone. Okay?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Faith saw one of the officers sidestep softly to join Jessica. She kept her focus on Caldwell and asked, “Tell me why you’re doing this, James.”
She knew exactly why he was doing this, but she needed to keep him talking until Jessica got into position. Turk switched his tail back and forth but remained where he was lest he provoke Caldwell. Faith kicked herself. She should have sent him with Jessica. Too late now.
“They killed Hunter,” Caldwell explained. “He was a good dog. He just needed help. You know, it sucks being in combat. You see a lot of shit. You kill. You get hurt. It’s not something you can just get over.”
“I know,” Faith replied. “All too well. I was a Marine.” She grinned apologetically. “Hope that’s not a problem.”
Caldwell blinked at her, confused by her friendliness. That was fine with Faith. As long as he was trying to figure her out, he wasn’t pointing a gun at Patricia Houston. “Okay, then you know that sometimes people need help. Dogs too. Killing them is just… It’s wrong.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Faith said. “And yes, they shouldn’t have killed Hunter, but they weren’t being mean-spirited. They did the best they could.”
Caldwell chuckled. “Oh yeah. It’s okay that they killed my dog because they really tried.”
Yeah, that was a stupid thing for Faith to say. “Killing them won’t bring Hunter back, James.”
Caldwell released another shrill laugh. “Nothing will bring him back. But I’ll be pretty damned happy knowing his murderers are dead.
You know a family wanted to adopt Hunter, but Sarah Garrett denied them?
Because she was afraid Hunter would bite the kid?
Never ever have I ever seen Hunter bite a human being he wasn’t ordered to bite. ”
Records from both Dallas Doghouse and the Plano Animal Shelter reported Hunter biting staff multiple times, but that wasn’t the argument she wanted to have with Caldwell.
“What do you hope to gain from this? You know it won’t make you happy for long.
Hunter will still be gone, and you’ll be spending the rest of your life in prison. ”