False Justice Page 19

  Only minutes ago, she had been wishing for anything with which to cut the duct tape binding her wrists. Here was a table full of sharp implements.

  Tools.

  If she could manage to get to one, somehow maneuver it with her bound hands in a way that could cut the tape, then she could get free. Or at least give herself a chance.

  Jessie kicked backward with her right leg, trying to connect with Briscoe’s shin. The woman dodged her, seemingly without effort, and laughed. “Did they teach you that move in self-defense class?” She punched Jessie hard in the kidneys from behind and Jessie staggered forward, almost crashing into the filthy operating table. She swerved in a different direction and used the momentum to get closer to the table of instruments.

  “I thought we established our relative fighting prowess the first time I kicked your ass.”

  Jessie didn’t respond. She inched toward the table of instruments.

  “I think I’m going to start with your legs,” Briscoe said. “Give you some nice long scars. Maybe slice your Achilles tendons so you can’t try to kick me again. Maybe cut off a few toes, make your handsome detective friend eat them like Chicken McNuggets. How does that sound?”

  “Leary’s more of a Big Mac kind of guy.” The closest instrument, a long, extremely sharp-looking scalpel, was almost within reach.

  “Get on the table.” Jessie braced herself, flexed her hands—which luckily, although bound, had not gone completely numb—and made a quick grab for the scalpel. She got the instrument into her hands and fumbled with it, trying to rotate it so that the blade reached the tape between her wrists. Briscoe watched her with a bemused smile. “Seriously?”

  Jessie struggled against rising panic, but she couldn’t get the leverage she needed to saw at the tape. Briscoe closed the distance between them and reached for her hands. She was going to take the scalpel from her, and probably inflict a little damage as a punishment. Jessie watched Briscoe’s hand come toward her, and a thought flashed into her mind. Surgeon’s hands, Briscoe had called them, the day she’d panicked at the coffee counter of a University City bookstore. She said she needed to protect her surgeon’s hands.

  Jessie had an idea. She stopped trying to maneuver the scalpel toward the tape. She held it out toward Briscoe and charged toward the woman. Briscoe jumped back, surprised. But she wasn’t fast enough to get out of Jessie’s way. The blade connected, slashing across Briscoe’s right palm. The skin separated into ugly flaps and blood spurted out. Briscoe wheeled away. “My hand!”

  Jessie dropped the scalpel and thrust her hands at the rest of the instruments on the table. There was a heavy looking saw—maybe for cutting through bone?—that looked like it might serve her purposes. She placed her wrists over its teeth and started to piston her arms forward and backward. The tape loosened.

  “You ruined my hand, you stupid bitch!”

  Jessie sawed faster. The tape separated with a snapping sound. Her hands burst apart. She was free.

  Briscoe’s eyes were filled with rage. She bared her teeth like an animal. Her fist came up fast. She punched Jessie in the throat. Jessie flew backward. She couldn’t breathe. Black spots swam in her vision for one second, two seconds, as she watched Briscoe come at her. Finally, she sucked in a huge lungful of air.

  Blood streamed from Briscoe’s fisted right hand. Jessie threw her own punch, but missed. “Get on the table!”

  “Make me.”

  Briscoe reached for her. It was what Jessie had hoped she would do. When her right fist opened, exposing the slashed palm, Jessie grabbed it and dug her nails into the wound. Briscoe screamed and ripped her hand free.

  Jessie saw the scalpel she’d dropped earlier, still on the floor in a small pool of Briscoe’s blood. She lunged for it. Briscoe saw what she was doing and tried to beat her to the weapon. Jessie let herself fall to the floor, swept up the scalpel, and rolled onto her back. She let out her own scream and thrust upward. The blade entered Briscoe’s chest just as the woman crashed on top of her.

  Briscoe’s eyes, inches from Jessie’s, filled with a look of confusion. She let out a soft, “Urk.”

  Jessie let out a sigh of relief, but in the next instant, Briscoe’s eyes brightened again, full of hate. Her hand came up and her fingers wrapped around Jessie’s throat.

  Jessie felt her airway cut off. She gritted her teeth and forced the blade deeper into Briscoe’s chest. Blood flowed down the metal handle and coated Jessie’s hands. She pushed harder and felt the steel scrape past the resistance of Briscoe’s ribs. It sank into her heart.

  Briscoe’s eyes went out of focus. Her fingers loosened. Jessie could breathe again. The scalpel slipped out of her grip but stuck in Briscoe’s chest. Blood pumped out of the woman, flooding the floor. Jessie breathed heavily, watching the woman on top of her die.

  She felt a sickening sensation, but forced herself to roll out from under the body. She was still in danger, and so were Leary, Graham, and Kelly. She got to her knees in the blood and searched Briscoe’s clothing. She was looking for two things. She found one of them in the pocket of Briscoe’s jeans—a ring of keys. She did not find the second thing she was looking for, which was a phone.

  Jessie took the keys. After a second’s hesitation, she took one of the other surgical instruments as well—another scalpel. Then she hurried out of the room. There was no one in the hallway. She crept forward until she reached the building’s exit.

  The night was still chilly and damp, the grass wet beneath her shoes. She could hear men talking in the distance, rough laughter, the clink of bottles. She couldn’t see anything in the darkness. She moved forward, slowly and silently, in what she hoped was the direction of the other building. No more than ten feet away, she saw a flash of light as someone lit a cigarette. Her breath caught in her throat. After a moment, she moved forward.

  She crept past the smoking man. The main building came into sight. There was no one in front of it. No guards.

  Thank God.

  With her goal in sight, she moved more quickly. One step. Two steps. With one more sprint she could reach the door….

  A low growl stopped her in her tracks. Turning her head, she saw the eyes of the Rottweiler glittering in the darkness not more than six inches away.

  She froze and closed her eyes, waiting for the pain of the animal’s teeth tearing out her throat. But no pain came. The growl subsided into a husky panting sound.

  She opened her eyes. The dog was still watching her, but his gaze didn’t seem as menacing. She remembered seeing the animal in the light. An older dog, overweight and placid. Maybe even friendly.

  “Shhhhh,” she whispered. “It’s okay. Good doggie.”

  The Rottweiler wagged its tail. Jessie let out a breath of relief. She petted the dog on his head, then behind his ear. Then, leaving him behind, she continued her progress toward the biker gang’s main building.

  The door was not locked. She slipped inside. The front room was empty. She gripped the scalpel tighter, hoping her luck would hold. She went down the hallway, found the room she was looking for, and started trying the keys on Briscoe’s ring. The third key fit. She unlocked the door and opened it, stepping into darkness.

  A shape came at her and knocked her to the ground. Pain flashed through her body.

  43

  In the darkness, someone tackled Jessie and drove her to the floor. A surprised cry escaped from her throat. She cut it off quickly. The last thing she wanted to do was draw attention.

  “It’s okay. It’s just me.” She whispered as loudly as she dared.

  The person who had knocked her over was Leary. In the darkness, his eyes looked wide and unbelieving, shiny with tears. His hands searched her body, her face, as if he couldn’t believe she was here. He must have imagined her being tortured. He’d been trapped in here with Graham, tending to the wreck that was Kelly, and imagining what was happening to her.

  “Mark, I’m okay. I’m okay.”

  “What did she do to you
?” His voice broke. His hands continued to roam. “You’re covered in blood.”

  “Her blood.”

  “Where is she?” Graham said. Looking past Leary, Jessie could see the detective standing near the wall.

  “Dead.” Speaking the word sent a tremor through Jessie’s body. She had killed the woman. She knew, rationally, that she had had no choice. That Briscoe meant to do her incredible harm. But for some reason, that didn’t stop the guilt. It never did.

  Leary stared at her, as if having trouble comprehending what she was telling him. “How?”

  “I stabbed her in the heart.”

  “You’re sure she’s dead?”

  Jessie shuddered again. Now tears slid from her own eyes. She nodded. “We need to get out of here before someone finds her body.”

  “They took my car keys,” Leary said.

  From the darkness, Graham muttered a curse. Jessie thought she heard Kelly groan as well.

  “I have Vicki’s keys.” Jessie held up the keyring, squinting to see the keys. One of them was attached to a Mercedes key fob.

  “When Graham and I got here, we saw a Mercedes parked out front,” Leary said. His composure seemed to be quickly returning, and with it, a sense of purpose. He turned to Kelly. She lay curled up in a fetal position. Leary crossed the room and gently touched her shoulder. “Kelly, can you stand up? We need to leave.”

  Kelly didn’t move. Jessie wasn’t even sure she’d heard or understood him.

  “She’s traumatized,” Graham said.

  “Can you carry her?” Jessie said to Leary.

  “I think so. But that means I won’t be able to fight if we get surprised on the way out.”

  “Emily can fight,” Jessie said. “And I’m not so defenseless myself.”

  “I think you proved that tonight,” Graham said. Leary looked uncertain.

  “We can’t leave her here,” Jessie said.

  “I know.” Leary bent down and gathered Kelly into his arms. Her limbs hung limply from her, swaying slightly. Leary grunted as he hefted her up and over one shoulder. “She’s heavier than she looks.”

  Jessie was already on her feet. She gripped the scalpel in one hand and grabbed the doorknob with the other. “It’s a straight shot up this hallway to the main room of the building. Then through a door to the outside. Briscoe’s car should be right in front.”

  “Okay,” Graham said. “We move fast and quiet, get Kelly into the back seat, get in the car, and go. You ready?”

  “Hold on.” Leary adjusted the weight he was carrying. Kelly’s black hair, disheveled and blood-caked, hung down his back. “Ready.”

  Jessie started to turn the knob, then paused. She realized they might not make it. She looked back at Leary. “Yes.”

  “Yes what?”

  “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

  A smile spread across his face, bright even in the darkness of the room.

  “As novel as it is to watch a proposal in a dungeon,” Graham said, “I’d really like to get the hell out of here.”

  “I love you,” Leary said.

  “I love you, too. So let’s try not to die.” Jessie turned the knob and opened the door.

  44

  Jessie and Graham entered the quiet hallway, with Leary a step behind carrying Kelly Lee. There was no sign of the bikers. Not yet, anyway.

  They made their way up the hallway as planned, and entered the main room where they’d first met the bikers and Ray Briscoe. There was no one there now. The lights were off and the room was quiet. Jessie opened the door to the outside.

  At first, Jessie thought Briscoe’s car wasn’t there. Her heart slammed in her chest and her mouth went dry. Then her eyes found the vehicle’s sleek, black form, almost invisible in the darkness. She led the way and they hurried to the Mercedes. Jessie unlocked it with the key fob. The car emitted a chirp that seemed excruciatingly loud to Jessie. She froze, cringing, waiting for discovery. The dog barked once, but there were no other sounds. Letting out her breath, she opened the rear passenger door.

  Graham helped Leary lever Kelly into the back seat. Her body flopped lifelessly across the seats. Leary pushed her legs into the car and closed the door. Then he turned to Jessie. “Always fun when we get to work together.”

  “Barrel of laughs.”

  A gun shot rang out. The side of the car punched inward no more than an inch to Leary’s right. Jessie realized it was the force of a bullet hitting the vehicle’s frame.

  “Don’t fucking move.” A familiar voice, calm but steely.

  Ray Briscoe.

  “Shit,” Graham said.

  “Someone find Vicki,” Ray Briscoe said. “The rest of you kill these bastards.”

  Jessie glanced at Graham, then exchanged a look with Leary. The three of them ducked and moved quickly. Jessie could hear other voices now, and boots pounding the wet grass. More gunshots split the quiet of the night. The rear door’s window shattered. Jessie crouched by the driver’s side door, opened it, and got behind the wheel. Leary got in on the other side. Graham climbed into the back, squeezing next to Kelly. The lawyer lay prone across the back seat, covered in pieces of glass from the exploded window.

  “Go!” Leary said.

  Jessie stabbed the ignition and shoved her foot down on the gas pedal. The Mercedes leapt forward.

  In her haste to swing the car around, she almost lost control. The steering wheel jumped in her hands and the left-hand tires went off the gravel road and into the grass. She righted the vehicle and got it turned in the direction of the main road leading out of the property. Gunshots continued to fire from behind them.

  Leary put a reassuring hand on her arm. “Stay calm.”

  “Kind of hard to stay calm when people are shooting at us.” She floored the accelerator and the car rocketed along the narrow gravel road toward the exit of the compound. The gunshots petered out, but a new sound replaced them. Engines. Cars and motorcycles came to life behind them, dozens of headlights spearing the darkness.

  “That’s not good,” Jessie said.

  “Just drive.”

  “They didn’t teach car chases in law school. Maybe I should have let one of you take the wheel.”

  Graham said, “Well, I wasn’t going to say anything at the time, but—” The side view mirror on Jessie’s left exploded.

  They bounced along the gravel road and swerved from there onto the main road. The members of the Dark Hounds gang pursued them. In the back seat, Kelly whimpered. The bouncing and jostling of the car must have been painful on her wounded and bruised body, but there was no avoiding it. Jessie wished any of them still had their phones. They were on their own out here in the middle of nowhere. Even assuming Torres was on her way, it didn’t look like she was going to get here in time. If the bikers caught up with them, Jessie could not even imagine what retribution Ray Briscoe would visit on them for the death of his daughter.

  “They’re catching up,” she said, watching her pursuers in the rearview mirror.

  Several of the Dark Hounds peeled off of the road, bounding up a side road that intersected it. They’re going to flank us, Jessie thought. This area was the Hounds’ home turf. They knew the roads around here—the shortcuts and side roads.

  “Speed up,” Leary said. “I have an idea.”

  Jessie had already pushed the Mercedes past ninety miles per hour. On the dark, slick road, she was afraid to go faster. “Leary….”

  He pointed. “See up ahead, how the road bends? Get there.”

  She shoved her foot down hard against the pedal. The Mercedes responded with a growl. The miles-per-hour counter rose, exceeding one-hundred. The car whipped around the bend. The night seemed to darken as the headlights behind them disappeared.

  “Slow down,” Leary said.

  “What? Why?”

  “Just trust me,” he said.

  “Do it,” Graham said from the back. “I think I know what he’s thinking.”

  Jessie risked a quick glance at
the man beside her. He was leaning forward and peering out the windshield, as if searching for something. Jessie let up the pressure on the gas pedal and the car slowed.

  “There! See it?”

  Jessie had to squint to see what he was pointing at. Then she saw it. A rough path—it looked like muddy straw—running from the other side of the road and down into a field. There was some kind of structure in the field, a shed or a barn, with its doors open. “Yes.”

  She jerked hard on the steering wheel. The Mercedes half-turned, half-skidded. Even with the windows closed, the smell of burnt rubber filled her nostrils. The front tires bounced off the pavement and onto the straw, then the rear tires followed. The car bumped roughly, throwing Jessie against the steering wheel, and then hard against her seat.

  She aimed for the barn, hoping the car would fit. She slammed on the brakes and the car screeched to a halt before just narrowly missing the structure’s rear wall. The Mercedes rocked to a hard stop. Jessie caught her breath, then cut the power and extinguished the headlights.

  Graham jumped out of the car and ran for the barn doors. As she was pulling them closed, Jessie heard a burst of noise. The sound of vehicles racing past on the road above them. Then it was quiet. She looked at Leary. “It worked. They missed us.”

  He smiled and nodded. “Now we wait, I guess.”

  As it turned out, they didn’t need to wait long. Only a few minutes passed before the sound of police sirens wailed through the night.

  Jessie’s breath escaped in a sigh. Leary started to laugh.

  “Better late than never,” Graham said.

  45

  Restaurant week was over, but Leary found himself at another fancy restaurant with Jessie and her father. The ambience was subdued and classy, the tables surrounding them occupied by content-looking people chatting happily over their meals. After recent events, Leary found himself envying their normalcy.

  Jessie smiled at her father. “This time we promise to stay for the whole meal.”