Deadly Past

by Kris Rafferty

  “Pull over there,” Modelli said to Teresa. “Next to that wall.” Then she waved the gun at Cynthia. “Hurry up. Put on the hood, the zip ties. Now. You,”—she waved her gun at Charlie—“duct tape the hood on her neck.” Charlie shook his head. He couldn’t do that. “Do it,” Modelli said, her tone low, determined as she straightened her arm, aiming the gun at his chest. Charlie thought being shot dead preferable to putting that damn hood on the love of his life’s head. He wouldn’t do it. “I can shoot you now and stage your body later,” Modelli said.

  Cynthia held her palms up, between Modelli and Charlie. “No. Don’t shoot. I said I’d do it!” With trembling hands, she picked up the hood and the duct tape and swallowed hard. “I’ll do it,” she whispered, as if to herself, dredging up the courage. “Just…Charlie?” She lifted her chin, locking gazes. Her eyes welled with tears, breaking his heart. Was this how it would end for them? “Live, Charlie. Okay? Just…live.” Then she pulled the hood over her head, and the ripping sound of her pulling a length of duct tape echoed in the van.

  “Fuck this.” Charlie tugged off her hood and looped his handcuffed wrists over Cynthia’s head, trapping her to his chest. Then he threw them to the van’s floor, taking the impact on his shoulder before rolling on top of her. He tensed as he waited for a bullet to rip through his body as he protected every inch of Cynthia, shielding her with his body. The back? Knee? Hip? His mind scrolled through Anatomy 101, and decided a bullet to the sciatic nerve would be excruciating. Cynthia struggled beneath him, but forehead to forehead, he held her panicked gaze. If he was dying now, he wanted Cynthia’s eyes to be the last thing he saw, her breath the last air he breathed, her body the last thing he felt.

  “Get up, for shit’s sake,” Modelli said.

  “We choose,” he whispered. “And I choose you.” Charlie heard Modelli pull back the slide and chamber a bullet. Cynthia’s palms were pinned against his chest.

  “I love you,” Cynthia whispered as her fingers curled, digging into his chest.

  “Lina, no!” Teresa shouted.

  A gun discharged and echoed in the cabin. Blinding pain had Charlie’s body arching. Cynthia screamed. A screech of braking tires. He became weightless, and within a heartbeat, everything rushed to the front of the van. Cynthia slammed into him, still wrangled by the loop of his cuffed wrists, and knocked the air from his lungs as he impacted with the seats.

  The windshield shattered. Air bags deployed. Pop-pop. One after the other, and then there was ringing in Charlie’s ears and Cynthia’s hands patting him down. He felt pressure on his leg. Sirens screamed in the distance and broke his shock. He sat, eyes wide, as air inflated his lungs and shattered glass rained off him. Cynthia was talking to him, but he couldn’t process her words.

  “I’m okay. Are you okay?” Nauseous, his focus dropped to his leg. He noted the blood, the burning. He was losing blood, but there was no spurting, so no major arteries were hit. He ripped his jumpsuit’s pant leg, hindered by the cuffs. “What did we hit?”

  “The brick wall. Modelli flew through the windshield. I don’t know if she’s alive,” Cynthia said, her eyes on his leg. “Is it bad?”

  The bullet seemed to be a through-and-through. “Well, this sucks.”

  “Charlie! Is it bad?” Tears ran down her cheeks, but you wouldn’t know it from her fierce expression and pugilistic posture. Her hands were poised to put pressure on his wound.

  “Uncuff me.” He held out his wrists, noting the blood dripping from his fingertips. It took a few tries, but Cynthia retrieved the key from her pocket, and once free he sniffed the air. Smoke free. “Do you smell gas?” He didn’t. Cynthia shook her head. “It might not last. Let’s get the hell out.”

  “First, your leg.” She found the duct tape roll and wrapped its length around his wound until Charlie nodded, sure it would hinder bleeding without cutting his circulation.

  “Check on Teresa.” He grabbed the sliding side door and it opened easily as Cynthia crawled up front.

  “Teresa?” She gripped the seat, peering at the tech’s face, and then legs.

  “Benton,” Charlie spoke into the microphone taped to his chest. “I hope you got all that.”

  “Huh?” Cynthia turned her head in time to see Charlie open the top buttons on his jumpsuit and reveal wires taped to his chest. “Benton,” Cynthia snarled, “if you’re listening, I’m going to kill you.” Charlie heard sobs coming from Teresa. Cynthia turned back to the driver. “Broken nose. Legs pinned.” She pulled the deflated air bag off Teresa and grimaced when she got a good look at the tech’s legs.

  “Benton, we need an ambulance,” he said. “Teresa’s pinned in the van. Hurry, please.” His leg wound was burning.

  “Teresa, for all I know this van is about to blow up, so don’t dick around. Tell me how you were involved.” Glass fell off Cynthia’s hair and shoulders as she tugged at the tech’s seat belt, releasing her strap.

  Cynthia wasn’t wrong. The van’s stability seemed iffy at best, and if Teresa was pinned, they didn’t have much time to free her. As much as he wanted to hear explanations, he wanted Cynthia as far away from this van as possible while he heard them.

  “Cynthia. Outside.” He didn’t wait for Cynthia’s agreement, but instead grabbed her around the waist and dragged her from the van. Not an easy task while hobbled by a GSW to the thigh. When Cynthia’s feet hit tarmac, she pivoted to the van’s door, tugging on the handle. It didn’t move. Charlie nudged her hand aside and tried. The metal was bent. That door wasn’t opening without heavy equipment. “How you doing in there?” Charlie said. Teresa was dabbing at her bloody, broken nose with her fingertips.

  “I’m pinned.” Teresa didn’t meet his gaze. “Kind of numb. That’s probably not a good sign.” She glanced at Charlie. “Thanks for asking. You…you were always nice to me.”

  Hopping onto the footstep with his good leg, he allowed his other to hang as he squeezed his upper body in through the window. Grabbing the dashboard that now pinned Teresa’s thighs, he used all his strength to lift it. Gained merely an inch, but Teresa grew pale and gasped from the pain. He saw his attempts were making her bleed faster, so he released his grip and stepped back. They’d have to wait for the fire department.

  Cynthia had climbed on the van’s hood, using the brick wall to stabilize her balance. She pressed two fingers to Modelli’s neck. “She’s alive.”

  “Get down from there,” Charlie said, the buzzing in his ears growing louder; a combination of blood loss and his initial adrenaline rush after the crash fading.

  “So, Teresa, why’d you frame Charlie for murder?” Cynthia hopped down, and somehow didn’t break an ankle in her heels.

  “I never wanted to…” Teresa shook her head, dropping her gaze to her lap, now covered with shattered, bloody glass. “When my father turned state’s evidence,” Teresa said, her voice faint, “Lina promised not to kill him if I helped her. I refused, because my father was in WITSEC. I figured he was safe. Then she threatened to kill my whole family. So I had no choice. I said yes.”

  “You could have asked for help. Instead, you put other people in danger.” Cynthia paced next to the van, staring down the road, watching the progress of the first responders driving toward them, sirens growing louder. “Charlie? Sit down before you fall down.”

  Teresa caught Charlie’s attention. “I’m bleeding.” She smiled through her pain. “I think I nicked an artery.”

  “No. You’re just sitting up, so it seems like a lot. The weight of the dash should be enough pressure to keep you safe until they can get you out of there.” Charlie glanced at Modelli. Her gun was nowhere in sight, but he didn’t want to take any chances. “Where’s the gun, Cynthia?”

  “In the van,” Cynthia said, compressing her lips. “She’s out cold, and I think she broke her neck.”

  “Shit.” That meant he had to climb up to Modelli.
With Cynthia hemming and hawing the whole time, he managed to do that, dragging his left leg behind him as he triaged the contract killer. “If it’s broken, I can’t tell from palpation,” he said, “but she’s likely suffering internal injuries, broken bones.” He carefully slid off the front of the van and took a moment to breathe through his pain and dizziness. Cynthia wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Sit down!” she shouted. He did, lowering with one leg as he propped his back against the driver’s side running board, under the window.

  “Did you kill anyone, Teresa?” Charlie asked as soon as he adjusted his bad leg. With a head injury, it was important to keep her talking. And that seemed a good a question as any.

  “No,” Teresa said. Her voice was quiet, but seemed strong enough considering her circumstances. The fire truck arrived, and the ambulances and police cruisers, skidding to a stop. Relief scratched at his worry.

  Cynthia leaned a hand on the van’s door, peering at Teresa. “Did you know the WITSEC witnesses would be killed?”

  Charlie licked his lips, deciding a whiskey neat would be in his future.

  “No. I didn’t,” he heard Teresa say above him. “I arrived when she’d lined them up against the wall. You arrived. I panicked, knocked you out, and then Lina shot everyone. Just…just shot everyone. I thought she was going to shoot me, too. I convinced her not to kill you. Don’t believe her about me wanting to frame Charlie or you. I said whatever I could think of to stop her from killing you.” Doors opened and slammed as sirens were silenced and uniformed police and firemen rushed toward them.

  Cynthia nodded. “What did you say? I mean, to convince her not to kill me?” Charlie was interested to hear the answer, so he leaned and looked up, but could only see Cynthia’s face.

  “I told her,” Teresa said, “that Charlie was in love with you.” Teresa’s bloody hand rested on the broken driver’s side window frame, causing shattered glass to fall on Charlie’s head. “Lina had me falsify evidence, but I kept anything connecting you back. Dug out the slugs from the shots she took. Discarded the blood samples I knew were yours.”

  Charlie watched Cynthia’s face twist with confusion. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because Charlie loves you,” Teresa whispered. EMTs converged on them, and Charlie was lifted onto a gurney as Cynthia was hustled away from the van.

  “Cooperate with the FBI, with the DA. Make a deal,” Cynthia shouted to Teresa.

  Charlie sighed as an IV needle was stuck into the crook of his left elbow and he was wheeled to the ambulance. Teresa had been extorted, threatened, but had been instrumental in saving Cynthia’s life twice. Modelli’s bullet hit Charlie’s leg just as Teresa slammed on the brakes. A deal would happen. Charlie would make sure of it.

  Firemen approached with heavy equipment, and Charlie knew they were set to cut Teresa from the van. He saw EMTs hovering over Modelli like flies. Cynthia was at his side, holding his hand. “Charlie, you’re going to be the death of me.” She sniffed, her chin quivering as they rolled his gurney into the ambulance. He decided to give her something else to think about other than his leg.

  “We’ve got Angelina Modelli Coppola on tape confessing to six counts of murder,” he said. “Money laundering, transferring funds out of the country, conspiracy to fraudulently implicate me, conspiracy to—”

  “Murder is enough,” Cynthia said. “That might take some of the pressure off the DA to hit Teresa with accessory charges.” Police sirens heralded a phalanx of additional black and white cruisers.

  Whatever they’d put in Charlie’s IV had him comfortable quickly, and feeling lazy. It wasn’t long before Teresa was being wheeled past his view out the open ambulance back door, also hooked up to an IV. He shouted to her. “Teresa,” he said, “how did you gain access to my gun safe? Only me and Cynthia had that code.”

  Teresa grimaced, turning her head toward him. “I eavesdropped when Special Agent Deming was criticizing you for using her birth date for your passwords.” She raised her voice to be heard over the chaos. “You should have listened to her.” Then Teresa’s gurney was wheeled away.

  “I know, right?” Cynthia scowled at him, but he was too distracted by the EMT cutting the duct tape off his leg to call her on it. It should have hurt, but the meds made him not notice. When he was bandaged, and Cynthia was still scowling, he grabbed her hand.

  “Make a choice. Do you want to yell at me or be grateful we’re okay?” Modelli’s body was wheeled past them by an EMT accompanied by a uniformed officer. She was still unconscious.

  “A choice, huh?” Cynthia scowl faded. “Like the choice you made in the van?”

  He nodded. “I chose you. To die in your arms, if need be, rather than see you die.”

  “Oh, Charlie.” Her chin quivered. “That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “I will always choose you, Cynthia. You know that.” He hugged her, straightening his leg to give the EMT more access to the wound. Charlie saw Benton’s cherry red sports car park at the curb, beyond the cruisers and cops waving people back. He ran full tilt toward them.

  “Everyone alive? We heard it all.” We? Charlie saw Modena exit the car at a more comfortable pace and saunter past the cops putting up crime scene tape. This scene had only been released yesterday, and now it was a crime scene again. The area businesses were not going to be happy.

  “We’re alive.” Charlie nodded to Modena as he approached. “Modelli was alive when last I saw her.”

  Cynthia scowled at her team. “It would have been nice to be brought into your plan. Might have saved me a ride in a van.”

  Modena shrugged. “You ran with a known fugitive. Don’t blame us.”

  “We heard it all,” Benton said. “Proof Charlie was targeted because of his connection to the Coppola case.”

  Modena nodded. “Modelli’s plan would have worked, too.”

  “She had help. Teresa must have been the blonde in Charlie’s driveway,” Cynthia said.

  “Sooner or later,” Charlie said, “the forensic evidence would have proven I was innocent.”

  “Forensics takes time,” Benton said. “The wire was a better idea.”

  “But why the wire?” Cynthia shook her head, obviously confused. “You couldn’t have known I’d take Charlie. And he resisted at first.”

  “We knew Modelli was in the area,” Modena said. “And before you pulled that stunt back at the precinct, we were minutes away from dangling Charlie as bait on a perp walk, hoping for the best.”

  Cynthia’s eyes widened with fury. “You were going to put Charlie on an undercover op? My Charlie!”

  “We were out of options,” Charlie said. “But then you’d basically solved the case, so I thought your idea of running was probably the best.” The EMT waved the agents away from the door. “How am I doing?” he asked his EMT. She was in her thirties, cool as a cucumber, short hair and almond-shaped brown eyes.

  “You’re going to live.” She smiled. “But we need to bring you to the ER to irrigate the wound.” She leaned toward the front. “I’m closing the door and then we’re ready to go.”

  Modena and Benton waved and headed toward the crime scene as the EMT closed them inside the ambulance. Cynthia still held his hand, looking worried.

  The trip to the hospital was uneventful, and other than a nurse waving scissors too close to his privates as she cut the jumpsuit off, his treatment progressed without a hitch. An hour later, hydrated with two bags of Lactated Ringers solution, antibiotics, and pain meds, Charlie was sewn up, with two more scars to add to his collection. Benton called twice, and Modena was two doors down interviewing Teresa as the doctors worked on her. Everyone waited for news of Modelli’s prognosis.

  Charlie didn’t care about any of that. He just wanted to go home and be with Cynthia. She was worrying him, not meeting his gaze, though her hand was never far away, touching him, c
lasping his, patting his arm. Benton had Charlie’s belongings driven to the hospital, so Cynthia drove him home in his own clothes rather than borrowed scrubs.

  Socks greeted him, angry and hungry.

  And it was there, standing in the kitchen, watching Socks demolish a can of Cat Chow, that Charlie finally said what he’d been wanting to say since the van. He turned to Cynthia, saw her distraction as she stared at his cat eating, her folded arms rumpling her suit jacket. Dark circles and blood smears were in sharp contrast to her pale complexion. She was a woman who had been through a lot, and he was sorry for it. The last couple of days had taken its toll, and she deserved to crash, thinking about manicures and long baths, and maybe takeout, but words were pressing at the back of his throat, begging to be said.

  “Stay married to me, Cynthia.” She didn’t move, didn’t even clench her jaw. But her eyes tracked up his body until they met his gaze. “I love you. I need…” He eased his weight onto the hospital-provided cane and limped toward her. “I need you with me, in my life, all the time, or I’ll never be happy.” He stepped in front of her, not touching her, because she seemed unmoved and walled off to him. “We are not friends with benefits. We’re in love. Admit it. You’re in love with me.”

  She unfolded her arms and stepped close, pressing her palms to his chest. Her right hand landed over his heart, which he knew was racing a mile a minute. It made Charlie wonder if this was part of her voodoo, measuring how fast she could make his heart race.

  “I am,” she said. “I am in love with you.”

  That’s what he wanted to hear, yet she remained so still, as if she were waiting for something. “And you’ll stay married to me?”

  She nodded very solemnly. “I will.”

  “You love me.” He covered her hands with his free one, and then pressed his forehead to hers, needing to lean to do it. “I need you to say it again,” he whispered. “Tell me everything. Please.”

  “I love you, Charlie Foulkes. I love you so much sometimes it scares me to death, because…” She inhaled sharply, as if she were barely keeping her composure.