Final judgment

SEVENTY-SEVEN

Brewer and Kelly opened the door to the storage room, shining powerful flashlights in their eyes. Hands behind their backs, Mason and Blues ducked their heads, unable to avoid the blinding glare. Though only a few feet away, they couldn’t see Brewer and Kelly well enough to attack them even if they were foolish enough to try.

“Time to go for a ride,” Brewer said.

“Lila is still out and Fish needs help getting up,” Mason said. “Take off our cuffs and we’ll move them.”

Brewer shined the light on Fish. His chin lay on his still chest and his open eyes didn’t blink at the bright light.

“This one doesn’t need any help,” Brewer said. He poked Fish with the toe of his shoe then pressed the flashlight against Fish’s cheek, the temperature hot enough to sear his flesh. Fish didn’t flinch.

Kelly set her flashlight down, pushing Brewer’s away, and knelt at Fish’s side, feeling for a pulse. “He must have had a heart attack. He’s dead.”

“Natural causes. We caught a break,” Brewer said.

Mason closed his eyes, seeing Fish in his living room, his grandchildren tugging at his ankles, his bitter daughters pulling them away from him. He heard Fish telling him that all he wanted was another chance with his family. It was enough to make Mason forget the odds. He opened his eyes, lowered his shoulders, and launched himself at Brewer with a piercing, guttural yell.

Leaping over Fish’s body, he caught Brewer in the belly, the two of them tumbling through the doorway and onto the frozen ground. Mason landed on his back like an overturned turtle, cuffed hands beneath him. Brewer was quick to his feet but was knocked flat an instant later when Blues flew into him like a linebacker blindsiding a quarterback.

Brewer made it up on all fours, shaking the cobwebs from his head. Blues was about to kick him in the ribs when Kelly fired a shot at his feet. Blues whirled around toward Kelly, measuring his chances.

“The next one goes in your knee, Bluestone,” she said.

Brewer staggered to his feet, gathered himself, and walked up to Blues. Without a word, he slammed his fist into Blues’s solar plexus. When Blues folded up, he hit him hard in the back of the neck with a two-handed blow, dropping him in the grass. He took a step toward Mason, drawing his gun.

“Not yet,” Kelly said. “Get Webb and his wife out of here and don’t forget the money. Somebody may have heard that shot and called the police.”

“What about them?” Brewer asked.

“Leave that to me, darling,” Kelly said.

Brewer kissed her hard on the mouth. “You are something else, Agent Holt.”

Mason and Blues managed to sit up as Brewer went back in the house.

“Stay where you are,” Kelly said, pointing her gun at them when they started to stand.

“Is this what you meant when you told me things weren’t what they looked like between you and Brewer?” Mason asked.

“Keep your voice down,” Kelly said, glancing over her shoulder at the house.

“Afraid the neighbors will hear?” Mason asked.

“For once in your life, just shut up, Lou!”

One by one, the lights in the house went out. A moment later, Brewer, Webb, and Sylvia climbed into the car parked in the carport. Brewer gave Kelly a final wave before they drove away.

When their taillights disappeared, Kelly walked over to Mason. “On your belly.”

“No thanks. You’re going to have to look me in the eye.”

“That’s the way you want it?”

“That’s the way I want it.”

“Fine by me, but it’s harder that way.” She stuck her gun in her waistband, took the handcuff key from her pocket, and wrapped her arms around Mason. “Been a while since we’ve been this close, Counselor,” she said as she unlocked his cuffs and handed him the key. “You take care of Blues and I’ll check on Lila.”

Mason looked at her, not trusting her or his eyes. She patted him on the cheek and he grabbed her wrist.

“Whose side are you on?” he asked her.

“Mine.”