Made to Be Broken

Chapter Forty-seven

The bullet sliced through my jacket as I hit the floor in a roll. A second shot bounced off the concrete beside me. I came out of the tumble and shot forward, hunched over, head down, hand going for my gun. A third shot, this one so far from hitting me I didn't even see where it went.

I caught a glimpse of MacIver, still standing where I left him, his hands at his sides, eyes wide – not in shock that I'd nearly been shot, but that I'd avoided it.

I swung around as a shadowy figure spun, lifting his gun to take aim.

"Stop," I said.

He hesitated, gun still aimed down, lowered as he'd moved. He started to lift it.

"That goes for the gun, too," I said. "Move it and I'll shoot."

He adjusted his hands on the gun, as if considering his odds, only to decide they weren't in his favor. He let it drop an inch as he looked up, his face turning into the glow of MacIver's half-lowered flashlight.

"Hello, Ken," I said.

His brow furrowed.

"No, we haven't met," I said. "But I know who you are. Kenneth Keyes, proud papa to a new baby, just like MacIver here. Two new babies, courtesy of a pyramid scheme. How did you guys come up with that one? Sitting around the country club after a few holes, and someone says, 'Hey, I know how we give our wives those babies they want'?"

"We don't need them to give us anything," said a voice behind me as a gun barrel poked my spine. "I'm perfectly capable of getting what I need."

"Leslie," I said, striving to keep my voice neutral, hiding my surprise. "You hired a baby-sitter for the evening, I take it? Better keep this short, then. I hear they charge double after midnight. But I suppose when you've paid the big bucks to kill a girl and steal her baby, that's a minor expense."

The gun didn't even waver. Damn.

I inhaled through my teeth, telling myself it might not be a gun. For all I knew, she was poking me with a stick. But was I willing to bet my life on that?

These weren't cool and experienced criminal masterminds. They were suburbanites, panicked and ready to kill everyone involved to cover their tracks. That's why MacIver had told me this was a one-shot job. Spooked by Fenniger's disappearance and the "FBI" visit, they were shutting down all connections to their hitman – killing the guy who'd hired him, then the hitman who'd done the job.

Once the smoke cleared, they could get a new hitman elsewhere, which I was sure they'd do. It was a very profitable endeavor.

After coming up with the scheme to get babies for themselves, they'd recruited Payne to provide the documentation, and he'd convinced them they could sell babies to other desperate parents-to-be, who'd believe they were getting a child from a willing – and living – teen mother.

So they'd hired Fenniger to find girls and take pictures. If the child wasn't quite what they wanted themselves, he went to one of the paying parents. MacIver had taken Connor, the first baby. The second was sold to a pair of the "innocent" parents. Ken and Leslie held out for a girl: Destiny. There were two other couples in the scheme, still waiting for children; plus a half dozen more innocent prospective parents.

"Ted and Doug couldn't make it tonight, I take it?" I said. "Big poker game planned? Or since you guys have kids already, and the most to lose, they pawned off this nasty bit of business on you? Hardly fair."

"Shoot her," Ken mouthed.

"Payne isn't dead," I said quickly.

"What?" Leslie said.

"MacIver only asked for his ring. Do you think I needed to kill him to get it? He didn't even ask for proof that the files were destroyed."

MacIver's chin shot up, eyes bugging. "You didn't tell me to ask – "

"She's stalling," Ken said. Sweat trickled down his forehead. He couldn't tear his gaze from the gun pointed at his chest.

"Nervous, Ken?" I said. "You're praying Leslie shoots me before she finds out how badly you fucked up. I cut a deal with Payne. How else would I know your names? Your scheme? Know about that visit from the Feds?"

"Les, she's stalling." A note of pleading seeped into Ken's voice.

"You know what the problem is with hiring criminals? We aren't the most loyal employees. Right now, Payne is awaiting my call to say it went fine and his half of your hit money will be transferred tomorrow."

"His half?" MacIver sputtered. "Why would you pay him?"

"For the most valuable commodity of all: information. He gets his life and half your money, and I get all his files. He runs to Cancún. I blackmail you, and get an amazing rate of return on my investment. But, if he doesn't hear from me in an hour, he's going to run… with those files. One advantage to dealing with criminals though? If I double-cross you, I double-cross him, too. So how's this? I call Payne and tell him you paid me in cash, so we can make the transaction right now. He'll bring the files. I bring you…"

The pressure on my back eased as Leslie shifted.

"Les, don't listen to her," Ken said. "What's to say she won't just trick us again?"

"You'll be there to make sure I don't. Believe me, between money and my life, I'll take my life. I can always earn more – "

I fired. Ken gasped. I was already diving to the side. Leslie fired once, but the bullet went wild. I scrambled behind the wall of tires, skidded to the floor, then flipped around, on my back, gun raised, pointed at the edge of that tire wall.

"She shot him," MacIver breathed, the words coming in disjointed puffs.

"See?" I called, gun fixed on that tire wall edge, ready to fire at anything that came around it. "That's another problem with hiring professional killers. When things go wrong, people tend to die." I listened and caught the gurgling rasp of Ken's breathing. "Seems my aim was less than perfect, though. That gurgle you hear, Leslie? That's blood filling his lungs. I'd say he's got, maybe, fifteen minutes."

"You bitch! You fucking bitch!"

The brief sound of a struggle, MacIver holding Leslie back, trying to reason with her. I pushed to my feet, gun still on that spot, ears telling me they were both a few feet away.

Ken moaned. The shot, if I'd aimed right, had gone through his left lung, dangerously close to his heart, but not fatal. Not yet. Better to keep him alive and in mortal danger, dividing their attention.

"I'm going for help," MacIver said.

I sidestepped to the tire wall and backed up past a gap between stacks. Through it, I could see across the entrance and aim a gun, but Leslie had stopped MacIver and they were arguing.

I pressed my hands against one tire stack, testing it, but it would take all my weight to knock it over and I couldn't predict where it would land.

"We have to reason with her," MacIver was saying. "Come to an agreement."

"Reason with her? She shot Ken!"

"We – we'll pay her. Insurance. We factored this into the forecast, and we have enough – "

"To pay blackmail money to a killer? Start and you'll never stop."

They continued talking about me as if this tire wall was soundproof. I staked out the area, creeping about as my eyes continued to adjust.

"For God's sake, Leslie! Ken's dying. Who cares about blackmail? We'll just pay her to let us out of here."

Leslie's harsh laugh echoed through the warehouse. "Let us out? Palmer, look around. We're ten feet from the door. She's the one trapped. Now, here's the plan."

Her voice lowered as she whispered instructions. I crept forward, straining to hear, but Ken's labored breathing drowned it out.

"No," MacIver said finally. "I mean it, Leslie. I've had enough of this, and I won't let Ken die."

His loafers slapped the concrete as he strode to the edge of the tire wall. Leslie called for him to stop, but his figure rounded the corner, stepping from the blackness into the gray gloom.

"I want to negotiate," he said.

I shot him in the forehead.