The Final Twist by Jeffery Deaver (free ebooks romance novels txt) 📕

“Wouldn’t want them anyway.”

Of course. The note would be accompanied by a question: How did Shaw come by it? And the disquieting answer to that inquiry was: because his brother had shot someone in the head.

Russell looked at his watch; it was an analog model, brushed steel or titanium. “Two days until they die. We need to figure out a plan.”

Had Shaw heard right? “‘We’? You don’t want to get involved in this, Russell.”

His older brother clearly wasn’t happy. “I do not, that’s true. But what this’s become, it isn’t your thing. It’s not a reward job, Colt. You can’t do it on your own.” He stalked up the stairs. “I’ve got reports to file. We’ll talk strategy in the morning.”

THE STEELWORKS

After the third guard draws his weapon and fires, Shaw returns one shot, missing, and he and Nita step into one of the empty storerooms. Shaw looks out occasionally, Glock ready. One or two of the men near the office will fire his way, but casually without aiming. It’s covering fire only, to keep them down, to keep them back.

And it’s working.

Shaw called 911 and reported the shots.

Why, though, are the three not charging him? Moving forward, shooting . . . They could overwhelm Shaw and the young woman. She’s crying, shivering.

Rock, Paper, Scissors . . .

Still not charging them. Shaw then looks around the corner and sees why.

A man walks down the stairs, listing under the weight of a five-gallon gasoline can. He takes it into the TV room.

Because he’s armed, they must assume that Shaw is an undercover cop, or at the least he’s called the police. So the order has come from the owner of the place to destroy the physical evidence, the computer files.

Everything has to disappear.

Including the witnesses.

And in the process, they can avoid getting shot by charging Shaw.

With a crisp whoosh, the massive fireball fills the office and rolls into the corridor. Orange, black, yellow. Uncontrolled boiling, mesmerizing if it weren’t so deadly. The men vanish.

Down here, Shaw notes, there are no sprinklers.

Shaw calls 911 again and reports there’s now a fire.

For what good it will do. The entire building will be a pile of cinders in twenty minutes.

The stampede above them is a roar and is accompanied by muted screams. He believes he hears, “We have to get out. Help us!” The smoke will be rising to the dance floor.

The flames illuminate the basement. Shaw hopes he’ll be able to see another exit. There is one but it’s chained, and his lock-picking skills only go so far.

There’s one way out.

“Come on.” He takes Nita by the arm and leads her straight toward the conflagration.

“No!” she screams.

He tugs her more firmly. “Our only chance.” She comes along.

They approach the turbulent flames, the heat scraping their skin. Just before it becomes unbearable, Shaw turns to the right, into the storeroom across from the office. The flames are lapping at the outer wall but have not yet eaten through.

He moves to the side facing the stairs and begins to kick the Sheetrock. This wouldn’t work if he were in his rubber-soled Eccos but his boots’ leather soles, the heels in particular, make indentations in the wall. Again, again. Finally he breaks through. It’s a small hole. He ducks and looks through it. Yes, the area at the foot of the stairs—only ten feet away—is empty of hostiles. But soon it will be engulfed in flame.

More kicking. The hole grows slowly larger.

Nita helps. She’s strong. When Shaw cracks a piece, she pulls it free. The hole is now about eighteen inches around. Almost big enough to fit through.

Kick, pull.

Both are coughing. His eyes sting and stream. The fire is stealing the oxygen. He feels light-headed.

Kick, pull . . .

Now, finally, it’s big enough for them to fit through.

“Go on.”

She wriggles through and collapses on the other side.

The pounding feet on the dance floor above them have stopped. Everyone has evacuated. The roar of the flames is the only sound.

Shaw turns to the hole they broke open in the Sheetrock and says to Nita, “Up the stairs now, fast. There’ll be police.”

“But . . . what about you?”

He smiles to her. “Not yet.”

And turns back, jogging to the far end of the corridor.

PART TWO

JUNE 25 THE GREAT EARTHQUAKE

Time until the family dies: thirty-two hours.

25

The Shaw brothers had two missions, interwoven like ropes in a Gordian knot.

One, saving the SP family from the hitman who would replace Blond; the other, bringing down BlackBridge. In saving the family, they might find hard evidence linking the hit back to Braxton, Droon and maybe even Ian Helms himself. Or, finding that evidence in the first place might allow them to identify and save the family.

Their initial task was to try to identify Blond, and so after leaving the safe house they drove to Hunters Point, a neighborhood on the eastern edge of the city, jutting into the Bay.

Hunters Point and neighboring Bayview were among the toughest parts of the city, and the most densely populated with gangs.

Confirmation from Hunters Point crew.

6/26, 7:00 p.m. SP and family. All ↓

Which gang could the hit order mean?

Shaw had enlisted some help and this morning had sent a text to his friend and rock-climbing buddy, Tom Pepper, who, at the FBI, had worked terrorism and organized crime.

As Russell’s SUV—a Lincoln Navigator—idled in a parking lot, Shaw’s phone hummed. He answered, “Tom.”

“Colt.”

“You’re on speaker here with my brother, Russell.”

A pause. Shaw wondered what the man would be thinking. He knew of the estrangement, though not its basis. “Hello, Russell.”

“Tom.”

“Here’s what I’ve got. Two main crews in Hunters Point—Bayview. One’s Anglo. The Bayneck Locals. You know the Peckerwood Movement?”

Shaw replied, “Vaguely. White supremacists, prison culture, drugs. Started in the South, right?”

“In the thirties. Then spread, lot of the members ended up in California. Skinheads, yeah, but they have some alliances with Latinx gangs.