A/N: Thank you again for all the reviews... particularly zero-zip., Clarissa, and LittleMiszCaseyNovak. Ya'll are awesome for reviewing every single chapter. We're not quite at the end, but we're getting pretty close. Hope ya'll enjoy this next one!
Chapter 9
5:15 p.m.
659 Waverly Avenue
Seaford, New York
Philip Sullivan softly lifted the blinds of the window of his study. He smiled to himself as he watched ten marked and unmarked NYPD and Seaford police cars park in front of his long driveway. "Atta-boy, Jack," he said softly. He glanced quickly at his watch, and his eyebrows lifted. "You're early, too."
He crossed the room to his desk and opened the top left-hand drawer, revealing the forty-five-caliber pistol he kept there. He pulled it and the magazine out almost reverently. In two swift motions, he slid the magazine into the butt of the gun and pulled back the slide, immediately chambering a round. A boy like Jack wouldn't go down with just his twenty-two. He'd need some serious firepower.
He'd been waiting for this moment for four long months. He might not kill Jack Calhoun. But he would certainly make him suffer. He'd show the arrogant bastard that he'd made a mistake leaving the organization. Sullivan would break him of everything he'd worked so hard for - his job, his girl, his self-righteous pride. Sullivan would show the prick that he was no better than him, that he was capable of everything he stood against.
After all, that was what this was all about. Sure, it was about revenge for ratting him out. But Jack would move on if his little girlfriend was dead. But if Philip Sullivan could take him down too, make him crawl and grovel... that was ten times better than just killing her. She would be left alive, knowing that her knight in shining white armor was tarnished. And Jack would be utterly disgraced, a murderer and a fiend. Sullivan could care less if he died knowing that Jack went down with him.
Jack Calhoun would either become a monster or die.
Jack's mind whirled as he strapped on a Kevlar vest over his t-shirt and checked the gun Elliot had given him. The last time he'd been at this place, it was as a completely different person. Being Jack O'Brian had been the acting job of his career, since he and that Jack were completely different. And yet, the longer he'd stayed under Sullivan, more he had started to think like Sullivan. And it scared him. He thanked his lucky stars yet again for bringing Casey into his life.
"Hey, Calhoun."
Olivia's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see the pretty detective standing in front of him, her chest covered in a Kevlar vest like his. She cocked an eyebrow at him and jerked her head toward the mansion in front of them. He smiled and walked toward her, his gun pointed at the ground in a safe position.
"Hell of a house," Olivia said quietly as they joined Elliot and seven black-clad SWAT officers.
"You can bet Sullivan's men are in there, armed and ready," Jack replied as he looped his external earpiece over his left ear and tucked the battery pack into his back pocket.
The group of officers turned to begin the long hike up the driveway. The sun was starting its descent behind them, and the leafless trees that lined the driveway cast eerie shadows across them.
"How many does he have?" Elliot asked.
The younger man shrugged. "No tellin'. He doesn't like a lot of bodyguards. He'll probably have one or two guarding Casey, but no more than necessary."
They rounded a curve in the driveway, and Elliot gave a low whistle when he saw the four-story mansion in front of them. Its colonial-era brick façade was covered in ivy in strategic places. Four rows of windows reflected the setting sun, so they couldn't see any interior lights. If he didn't know any better, Elliot would have sworn the house belonged to some sort of rich movie star, not a mob boss.
"There're a lot of rooms he could hide her in, and a lot of rooms he can hide in," Jack continued. "Fortunately, there're no secret passageways or anything, at least none that I remember. It's a pretty straight-forward floorplan."
"What do you suggest?" one of the SWAT guys, a Seaford cop named Rogers, piped up.
"Four on the first floor. The rest pair off and clear each floor, one by one. First, third, and fourth floors don't separate into halls. Second floor does."
Elliot nodded approvingly, and they fanned out, five on either side of the driveway. Suddenly, Jack stopped, his mouth wide open, and stared at the building.
"What?" Olivia asked.
"I just saw the curtains move. On the third floor." He pointed. "Third window from the left."
Olivia stared hard at the building. Just when she was about to give up, sure enough, the curtain in the window barely moved. "He's right. There's someone up there."
"All right, Liv, you and Rogers check out that room. We'll clear the rest of the building," Elliot instructed, giving his partner a look as they picked up the pace to the building.
Four SWAT quietly maneuvered around the back, guns at the ready. Elliot motioned silently toward Olivia and Jack to follow him to the front door, and they nodded. Olivia pulled her weapon from her holster and held it at the ready. Elliot climbed the three steps to the front door and shot one more glance at Olivia and Jack, who crouched along the wall to his left.
"NYPD, open up!" Elliot yelled and banged on the door.
No answer.
Rogers and another officer moved in front of Elliot and positioned the battering ram over the lock. They brought it back, then swung it forward with all their might. The thick wooden door cracked with the blow, but stayed shut. Rogers counted softly as they swung it back and forward again. This time, it completely splintered the lock and the doorframe.
Elliot quickly crossed the foyer to the stairs going up the center of the room. Olivia, Jack, Rogers, and the two other SWAT were hot on his heels.
They ascended the stairs quickly, whispers of "Clear!" from the other SWAT echoing through their earpieces. In a matter of seconds, the six officers reached the second-floor landing. Jack motioned for two officers to clear the hallway to their right, and they nodded.
He quickly turned and followed Elliot and Olivia into the long hallway on their left. Rogers held the door open for him with his foot, and as soon as Jack entered the hall, he let it softly close behind him. The four SWAT from downstairs had already made it to the second level, and were quickly clearing the rooms on either side of them.
Elliot motioned to Jack, Olivia, and Rogers. "Stairs," he whispered, pointing to a door at the end of the hall. They nodded in understanding and followed him. He put his hand on the doorknob and turned to face the others. "On three," he whispered. "One, two, three!" With that, he flung the door open.
A quick look into the stairwell told him it was clear. He jerked his head, signaling the others to follow him up the stairs. Step by step, they climbed to the third-floor landing. "Liv, Rogers," Elliot whispered.
Olivia nodded and quickly opened the door, letting Jack and Elliot continue up the stairs to the top floor. Suddenly a shot echoed in the tiny space, and a bullet whistled past her ear. Olivia pulled back, breathing hard. "Holy shit," she whispered. "Can you see him?"
Rogers slowly and cautiously glanced around the corner. He could see half of a very big man trying to conceal himself in a doorway a few feet down. He pulled back quickly. "Yeah. About twenty feet away."
"Right." Olivia wiped at an annoying bead of perspiration making its way down her face. "How much you wanna bet this guy wasn't hired for his brains?"
A grin spread across the other cop's face. "I'll take that bet."
Slowly, he moved toward the open door, hoping that the guy would take the bait. Sure enough, the big thug fell for it. Olivia watched as the thug stepped out into the hallway to draw them out.
"Freeze! Police!" she shouted as she leveled her own gun at him. He started to raise his gun, but it wasn't fast enough. Olivia aimed for the center of mass and squeezed the trigger twice. Immediately he dropped to the ground with a thud.
"You win," Rogers said with a grin.
"I'd rather not," she replied, her eyes fixed on the crimson pool that started to spread across the wood floor. She carefully stepped into the hallway, her brown eyes darting about to make sure there wasn't anyone else that would jump out at her.
"Third door on the right," Rogers said, motioning with the barrel of his gun. "That side's the front."
Olivia nodded and gingerly stepped over the man she'd shot. He was out cold, if not dead, and she suppressed a shudder. She shifted her weapon to her left hand and reached for the doorknob. Rogers moved around her to stand on the other side of the door, finger on the trigger of his automatic rifle. She glanced up at him, waiting for his signal.
He nodded, and she tried the door handle. It didn't budge. "Locked," she whispered. "Someone doesn't want something getting out." She banged on the door loudly with her fist. "Casey!" she called. "Casey, are you in there?"
The silence seemed to stretch for hours, and she prayed they were right. Oh, God, please let her be in there…
"Liv?" a familiar, yet frightened voice finally shouted, and Olivia let out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "Olivia, is that you?"
"Yeah! Sweetie, can you unlock the door?"
"No! It uses a key!"
"Okay. Is there anyone with you?"
"No, it's just me! Get me out!"
"Hang on, we'll get you out in a sec!" Olivia glanced at Rogers. "Break it down?"
Rogers shrugged. "Don't see any other options."
Olivia nodded. "Right." Rogers slung his rifle over his shoulder and moved in front of the door. He nodded at Olivia, signaling that he was ready. "Casey," Olivia called. "Casey, move away from the door! We're gonna break it down!"
They heard some movement in the room, and then Casey's muffled voice called, "Okay!"
Rogers reared back and gave the door one swift kick. The thin wooden door gave in with a resounding crack. Olivia burst into the room and spotted Casey standing by the window, a relieved expression gracing her face. "Casey!"
The young ADA launched herself at her friend, and Olivia quickly holstered her weapon before catching her in her arms. "Oh, God, Liv," Casey sobbed as she wrapped her arms around the detective's neck. Everything she'd been through in the past twenty hours, all the hurt that had built up, came rushing out in a torrent of tears.
"Shh," Olivia soothed, gently rubbing her back for a couple of seconds. She gently grasped Casey's shaking shoulders and pulled her away so she could look at her. "You hurt?" she asked, giving the attorney's body a quick visual inspection. She touched the back of Casey's head, checking for a lump.
"No," Casey answered, furiously wiping at the tears streaming down her cheeks. "They used chloroform. Where's Jack?"
"Here, with Elliot." Olivia wrapped an arm around Casey's waist and gently led her to the door. "Let's get you outta here."
Jack was seeing red as he and Elliot made their way toward the only door at the end of the fourth floor hallway. The rage that had been building up in him for the past twenty hours was threatening to rear its ugly head. He'd never been so angry in his entire life, and they still hadn't found the bastard responsible for kidnapping his Casey. Part of him hoped that Elliot would let him beat the son of a bitch senseless.
Elliot glanced at his companion. Jack's jaw was clenched, and his knuckles were white against the dark gray of his gun. He was ready to blow. No, Elliot corrected himself, he would blow, the second they saw Sullivan.
"Study," Jack whispered, his voice interrupting Elliot's thoughts.
"Huh?" he asked.
"Sullivan's study. The door at the end of the hall."
Elliot nodded. "Right. I'll go in first."
"No!" Jack's fierce whisper caught Elliot off guard, and he stopped to stare at the younger man. "I'll go first."
"Sure," Elliot said hesitantly. He wasn't about to argue with Jack when he had that grip on the gun.
They reached the door in a matter of seconds. Jack cradled his gun in his right hand and reached up with his left to knock on the door. "Come in, boyo!"
The familiar voice coming from inside the room stopped him cold, and he gritted his teeth in anger. Elliot reached down and slowly opened the door. A handsome older man was seated at the desk, his hands folded innocently over his chest. Philip Sullivan, in the flesh, Elliot thought as he raised his gun and followed Jack into the room.
"You're early, lad," Sullivan said in his barely-perceptible Irish accent. "I'm impressed. But then, I was always impressed with ya, Jack."
"Shut up," Jack growled. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Elliot position himself on the wall with a clear bead to Sullivan's heart.
"What're ya gonna do? Shoot me?" Sullivan chuckled at the rage that flashed through Jack's eyes.
"I should," he said quietly.
"Oh, c'mon, Jack. I deserve it! I put you through hell! I took the woman you love and threatened to kill her!" He smiled as Jack tightened his grip on the gun.
"Jack," Elliot whispered. The younger man was starting to worry him. Elliot could see the beads of perspiration form on the tanned forehead, the gun in his hand start to shake with his effort to remain in control.
"Go ahead, Jack!" Sullivan goaded.
Jack's finger barely touched the trigger of his weapon, and Sullivan practically cackled.
"What're ya waitin' for, lad? I'm here, you're here. This is what you want, isn't it? Ever since ya first heard about it. I know you. I know ya dreamed about it. About puttin' a bullet in me chest. Go on. Do it. I'm unarmed! I can't shoot back."
His hand started to shake despite his tight grip on it, and he could feel a trickle of sweat make its way down his face.
"Jack," Elliot said again.
Just then, he heard Olivia's voice come over his earpiece. "Hostage safe and unharmed." She's alive? She's okay?
Sullivan laughed. "Your girl was wrong, Jack. You're just like me."
Casey. Her face flashed before his eyes. He couldn't do it. She made him a better person than he ever thought, and she was okay. Despite what the bastard had done, despite how much he wanted to, he couldn't kill him now. "No," Jack whispered. "I'm nothing like you, Phil." He could see the mixture of desperation and confusion wash over the older man's face.
With a sigh, Jack lowered his gun. "I'm much better than you could ever hope to be."
"Jack." There was no mirth in Sullivan's voice now. "Jack, you son of a bitch, shoot me! Shoot me!"
"No!" Jack shouted. "I'm done with you! I'm not Jack O'Brian!"
Sullivan's face grew livid with rage.
"You'll have your day in court. And I'll be there to make sure that you get the maximum amount of time available under the law." Jack let his gun hand fall to his side. "And you're under arrest." With that he turned around and started to walk out the door.
Until Elliot suddenly shouted, "Jack, watch it!"
He whipped around to see Sullivan leap to his feet, face red, and suddenly grab a pistol from behind his back. Jack was frozen in his place, unable to even raise his gun.
"Time to say goodbye, Jack," Sullivan said quietly. Jack squeezed his eyes shut.
Bang! Bang!
Jack held his breath, anticipating the painful feeling of bullets ripping through his body. Nothing. What the hell? He slowly opened one eye, half expecting to see the bright light of heaven in front of him. But there was no bright light.
All he saw was a tell-tale splatter of blood on the wall behind where Sullivan's head had just been. Shocked, he opened the other eye. Sullivan had disappeared.
He spotted movement out of the corner of his eye, and he turned his head just in time to see Elliot replace his weapon in its holster. "Elliot?" he asked quietly. His head spun when he looked down and saw two legs sticking out from behind the desk. They didn't move.
Elliot shrugged and smiled at the younger man. "Casey would kill me if I let the bastard shoot you."
Jack turned his head to look at the desk, then looked back at Elliot. The detective took a few steps until he stood right next to him. "Elliot, I—"
He just shook his head. "Seeing Casey's face when she sees you is all the thanks I need." He gently clapped Jack on the shoulder with one large hand. "It's over."
"It's over," Jack echoed with a smile and a sigh.
