Part 19 (1/2)

”No, I hit him in the leg both times. Can't you hear him?”

As things slowed down, Jack became aware of moans rising from the other side of the pickup. ”I thought you said 'shoot to kill.'”

”I said for you to shoot to kill.”

Troy brushed past Jack and knelt down beside the unconscious man sprawled on the ground. He pulled one boot off the guy, removed the laces, and bound his wrists behind his back. Then he bound his ankles together with the laces from the other boot.

”There,” he muttered as he stood up again. ”He's not going anywhere.”

Troy moved around the front of the pickup and disappeared as he knelt down beside Griffin.

As Jack followed Troy around the front of the truck, Griffin screamed in pain. ”What are you doing?” Jack demanded.

”Getting answers,” Troy said as he pressed his knee down hard on Griffin's thigh. ”Where's my son?” he demanded, lifting his knee from Griffin's leg. ”Where's my little boy? Tell me right now, or it gets worse.”

Troy had been pressing his knee directly onto one of the bullet wounds. There was blood everywhere, including on the knee of Troy's pants.

”What little boy?” Griffin gasped. ”I don't know anything about a little-”

Griffin howled in pain as Troy dug his knee into the wound again and pressed down harder this time.

Jack grimaced. ”Troy, you can't keep-”

”Shut up, Jack. We need to find my son as fast as possible. And d.a.m.n it, we need to find Karen, too.” The man on the other side of the truck started moaning as Troy bounced up and down twice on Griffin's leg. ”I'll kill you if you don't answer me, Wayne. I'll shoot you, I swear,” Troy shouted, pulling his pistol from his belt and aiming it down at Griffin.

”Troy!” Jack yelled. ”You can't just shoot this guy in cold blood.”

Troy pointed his gun at Griffin's head, ignoring Jack. ”Who gave you all that money?”

”What money?”

”The two hundred and fifty grand.”

”I don't know what you're talking about.”

”I'll give you one more chance,” Troy said loudly but calmly as the man lying on the other side of the pickup began to whimper and wail. ”Then I shoot you. Then I go do the same thing to your pal on the other side of the truck.”

”Stop,” Jack pleaded. ”For G.o.d's sake, Troy, stop.”

”Where's my son, Wayne?”

Griffin gazed up at Troy and smiled smugly despite the pain. ”You won't shoot me, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d. And we both know it.”

”Don't do it,” Jack warned as Troy pressed the barrel of his gun directly to Griffin's forehead.

”Where is my son, Mr. Griffin?” Troy asked loudly, ignoring Jack again. ”Answer me now, or you die.”

ESPINOSA SAT in his home study staring down at the cell phone that lay on the desk in front of him. It looked so harmless lying there. But it held a horrible secret, a secret that could destroy him in seconds on the Internet.

The study curtains were drawn tightly across the windows, and all doors and windows were locked tightly now that Camilla had gone out to meet friends for a drink. He'd double-checked, even the windows on the second floor. He'd even engaged the home security system.

Espinosa picked up the phone and gingerly tapped the small screen at the spot that brought up videos saved on the device. The specific video he was making his way toward had shown up anonymously two months ago, sent from a number he hadn't recognized as he sat in his Supreme Court office.

He'd deleted the text when it appeared the first time, because he hadn't recognized the digit string starting with a 202 area code.

Five minutes later it had appeared again, as he was rising from his chair to put on his robe to go into session. That time he'd noticed an attachment, which he'd viewed.

He'd hardly been able to focus on that day's case, stumbling badly when Chief Justice Bolger asked him a question. It had been a brutally embarra.s.sing moment, and he'd heard the surprised, hushed whispers rustling around the great courtroom.

”Jesus,” he murmured as he pressed the last place on the screen required to start the video. ”How could I have been so stupid?”

It was all he could do to watch as the video began to play. But at the same time, he couldn't take his eyes off it.

He was sitting naked on the edge of the king-sized bed in the dimly lit bedroom of the young woman's Arlington apartment as she stood before him and slowly began to disrobe. As she had every other time he'd watched this, and as she had when this actually happened and the video was being taken without his knowledge.

The short dress dropped slowly down her body and legs to her ankles. Then the undergarments were s.e.xily removed-she turned around and bent over to bring the thong slowly down her legs. And finally those beautiful black heels slipped off, and she was standing there before him, just as naked as he was, long blond hair falling down around her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Espinosa closed his eyes and inhaled deeply in his desk chair as she knelt before him on the video. He still couldn't shake the memory of the incredible physical pleasure she'd given him that night-and the two nights before the one on the video, when he'd been forced to tell Camilla those terrible lies about where he'd been and why he'd come home so late.

When Espinosa opened his eyes again, he was lying back on the bed and she was riding him slowly and wonderfully, pulling his hands to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s as she moaned loudly.

How had Stewart Baxter gotten this video? The tension in Espinosa's body ratcheted up as the final seconds of the video played. He put the phone down on the desk so it was standing up, folded his arms across his chest, and hunched down in the chair. Only seconds away now.

He watched himself roll the beautiful woman onto her back, pull her legs up over his shoulders, and begin to move in and out, harder and harder, as she urged him on with shrieks of pleasure. He watched himself arch his back higher and higher as he continued to thrust. He watched himself close his eyes tightly and push his head far back as he approached climax, so far that his face was actually turned all the way up toward the ceiling.

”Jesus Christ!” he shouted as it happened.

Despite how many times Espinosa had watched, this scene affected him just as powerfully every time.

A bullet tore through the woman's head, blowing blood and brain matter all over the pillows and the mattress. But, deep into his climax, he didn't notice for several seconds.

As his o.r.g.a.s.m subsided and he realized that she was no longer moaning in ecstasy or clasping him tightly with her arms and legs, he glanced down-and was met by the horrific scene.

”Turn it off, turn it off!” he yelled at himself as he reached for the phone, frantically pressing away from the video. He dropped the phone back on the desk when the video was gone and put his face in his hands. ”Oh, G.o.d,” he whispered, ”what am I going to do?”

He'd run from the apartment that night, taking just seconds to throw on his s.h.i.+rt, pants, and shoes before grabbing his boxers, T-s.h.i.+rt, and socks and racing away. The bullet must have come through the lone bedroom window, but he hadn't checked. He'd just wanted to get out of the apartment so badly, in the moment simply terrified for his own life.

Fortunately, he'd checked himself in the rearview mirror of his car just before coming into the house that night, and spotted her blood on his face. What would Camilla have done if she'd seen the blood? How could he possibly have explained it?

The young woman's murder had been only narrowly reported in the news. Espinosa had been careful not to click on the Yahoo story about it so no one would have any chance to identify his interest, reading just the lead lines on the main page instead. He'd been certain for days that law enforcement would knock on his door at some point-either at home or at the court-and he would be led away in chains and shame.

But the knock had never come.

The story had faded quickly, and he'd been forced to admit to himself after a few weeks that maybe he was in the clear.

Then Stewart Baxter had launched that missile the other evening here in this room.