Don't Breathe a Word

by Christie Craig

  He fucking couldn’t believe he was down to hocking stolen goods. But Rex had screwed him again. When he’d paid for the last job, he’d only given Pablo half of what he used to pay him.

  When Pablo confronted his ass, he’d said, You just aren’t as valuable as you used to be now you don’t work on LAPD. First the man degraded him—talked to him like one of his peons. Now Rex was cheating him out of his money. Hadn’t the latter been the last straw with his own old man? He’d found Pablo’s stash of cash and taken it. And what Pablo had done to him as a result hadn’t been pretty.

  The sound of a motor filled the late night. He looked up. A car drove down the street. Its headlights flashed across Pablo’s car. Dan coming home early?

  Eyes on the rearview mirror, he saw the car pass Jefferies’s house. Pablo’s frustration coiled up in his gut like a snake.

  Reaching for his phone, he dialed Sam’s number. When the call connected, Pablo jumped right in. “Why haven’t you answered your phone today?”

  “Service sucks here.”

  “Tell me you got something!”

  “If I had, I’d have found a way to get in touch with you,” Sam Milbourn answered, his tone sounding like he was already asleep.

  “What the hell have you done all day?”

  “I went to nine schools in a thirty-five-mile radius and showed your daughter’s picture. No one claims to have seen her.”

  “What about gyms? The woman’s addicted to working out.”

  “I’m going to them tomorrow. But there’s only six in this area.”

  “What about the bordering towns? She’s not completely stupid. She probably wouldn’t send flowers from her own town.”

  “The six includes the three closest towns.”

  “Then go farther out. Do both schools and gyms. There’s a new town around every corner. I know because I’ve been down in that area before doing work for Rex.” Rex, who fucking forgot everything I did for him.

  “You do realize how big Texas is, don’t you?”

  “I don’t care.” Pablo slammed his palm on the steering wheel. “She has to be around there. You keep looking until you find her.”

  “I’m trying,” Sam bit out.

  Was he? Why did Pablo not believe the man? His tone? The fact the man fought him at every turn when it came to searching for the bitch?

  “Try harder!” Pablo hung up and got out of his car.

  Dressed in all black clothes, gloves, and a hat to keep his hair hidden, he moved through the darkness to the side gate. He’d rigged it when he was here last time so he could open it without any trouble.

  Five minutes later, he stood in the house, tossing drawers and stacking anything that looked of value. He came across a metal box in the bottom dresser drawer. Nothing but photographs. He started to toss it down, but he saw a picture of Vicki with Alison, his daughter, and Dan Jefferies. So Jefferies had met Alison.

  He stared at Vicki’s face. “Where the fuck is my money? Goddamn it, I’m going to enjoy killing you!”

  He threw the box across the room, and something flew out and skidded across the wood floor. He looked down. It was a key. He picked it up. It was small, like a padlock key. On it was a piece of tape with the words Unit 106 written on it.

  Jefferies had a storage unit. Could Vicki or Alison have hidden his money there? Where the hell was this place?

  He remembered the mail stacked on the table. Shooting out of the bedroom, he flipped through the envelopes until he came across a bill from Full Service Storage.

  The address was on the bill.

  * * *

  At almost one a.m., Juan leaned his head back on the headrest in his car and stared out at Cindy Bates’s apartment door. Rolling down the window an inch, he waited for another breeze. The night seemed almost as quiet as it was hot. But damn, he wished she’d come home and he could get her in protective custody before she ended up on a slab at the morgue.

  Mark had called him around eleven and said he’d be heading home, so Juan came straight here. It wasn’t as if he’d been sleeping.

  He was still too keyed up. Still pissed at Nikki for being so damn stubborn. The woman looked like she could barely stand up, but refused to let him help her. All he’d done since he got back home from the Henleys’ was fret about her. Why wouldn’t she give him her number so he could just call and check in?

  He kept hearing her words. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for mistaking you for a burglar. I’m sorry that I’m coming off like a bitch. I’m sorry that I’m not in a place to accept…everything you’re offering. It’s not you. It’s me. And I’m sorry.

  She’d never come off as a bitch. She’d come off as scared. Not weak scared, but tough scared. He recalled his mom bringing feral kittens home hoping to tame them enough to be adopted out. They’d look at him as if they wanted to play, wanted to curl up in his lap or sleep on his chest, but when he got close to them, fear took over and their claws came out.

  “You need to be more patient,” his mom would tell him. “Let them come to you.” She’d click her tongue and say, “Mijo, patience is not your virtue.” Then she’d put a soft hand on each of his cheeks, and say, “But caring is.”

  His mom had been wrong. Caring was his curse. The more he cared, the more he hurt. He’d cared about his mom. About not being there to protect her. He’d cared about Angie. About not being able to save her. When Angie first got pregnant, he’d worried he didn’t care enough, and then he’d lost his chance to care.

  Part of him knew this was why he’d spent the last three years hiding from the world. He didn’t want to care about anyone else.

  So why did he feel as if the tide had turned these last few weeks? Was it just time? Had his lonely existence finally taken its toll? Or was there something about Nikki that caused the change?

  Was it even fair for him to want to win her over when he doubted his heart would really be free? He wasn’t sure he could love again. Never like he’d loved Angie.

  Headlights spilled into the parking lot and drew him out of his reverie. He turned to see if he could make out the type of car. Distance and darkness hampered his vision. Then the vehicle drove to the back of the lot, and when it passed under a light, he got a glimpse of burgundy. Cindy?

  His pulse raced as he watched the car park. He reached for the door handle, then hesitated. Wanting her to get far enough from her car that if she saw him, she couldn’t jump back in her vehicle and take off.

  Shouldering back in the seat, he couldn’t see her yet, but he heard a car door open, then close. Footsteps clicked on the pavement. He stayed in his car, waiting. He had her. Damn, this felt good.

  Then he heard another car door opening. “Cindy?” A male voice called her name.

  “Who…?” Jumping out of his car, Juan spotted her standing between the rows of cars. Then he heard the pops. One. Two. Three shots rang out.

  “Get down!” Gun drawn, he rushed toward her, darting between the rows of cars. Bates hit the ground. Was she responding to his order, or had she taken a bullet?

  He got close enough to see she lay facedown on the pavement, not moving. His gut said she’d been shot. Knowing the shooter was still there, Juan gripped his Glock, his pulse thrumming in his ears.

  A car revved its engine. He ran out between the rows of cars. “Police!” A cream-colored Corolla hurtled toward him.

  He dove between two cars. His shoulder slammed against the pavement. He rolled on his stomach and shot at the tires. The pop of return fire had his blood pumping, fizzing. He got to his feet. Shot two more times.

  The car swerved, hit a Toyota, then careened out of the parking lot. “Damn!”

  Grabbing his phone from his pocket, he rushed to Bates, still facedown on the pavement. “Don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead.” As he neared, he saw the dark pool of blood around her shoulder. He called for backup and an ambulance.

  When he dropped down on his knees beside her, she moved. He gently turned her over. Blood ran down her tem
ple. Had she taken a bullet to the head? Then he saw another wound right in the V of her shirt. Her eyes opened. Desperate blue eyes met his. She tried to talk, but couldn’t. Blood spilled out of her chest.

  He yanked off his shirt and pressed it against the wound in her chest, hoping to stop the bleeding. Her red hair lay spread around her head. Blood continued to ooze down her cheek. “I have help coming. Hang in there.”

  * * *

  “Sorry, I need to get out of here.” Juan stood the second he saw Connor walk into the ER waiting room. Juan had called Connor as soon as he’d gotten to the hospital.

  “Have you heard anything?” Connor asked.

  “They say they’re taking her to surgery, but haven’t yet. She took one bullet to the chest, another in the head. They don’t know if she’ll pull through. They already called Homicide in and they took over the scene. Sorry, I need to—”

  Connor rested his hand on Juan’s shoulder. “You okay?”

  “No. I need to get out of here.” He tore down the hall to the ER exit. Connor’s footsteps followed.

  “Why don’t I take you out for a drink?” Connor asked.

  “No. I’m going home.”

  Connor moved in front of him. “Slow down.”

  Juan slammed his palm on the hospital wall. “That’s just it. If I hadn’t slowed down. If I’d gotten out of the fucking car when I first saw Bates, I could have stopped this.”

  “This isn’t on you.”

  “Why the fuck do people keep saying that?” He exhaled. “She begged me to get out of undercover. If I’d gotten out when—” Realizing what he’d said, he shut his mouth.

  Connor just stared.

  “I called Bates’s sister. But I don’t think she’s coming. I got a BOLO out on the shooter’s car. But right now…I need to go.” Everything was taking him back. The blood. The smell. The sound of the hospital. He’d made them bring Angie here. It didn’t matter that they’d said it was too late. Too late for her and his baby. It didn’t matter. He wanted a miracle.

  He hadn’t gotten one.

  * * *

  It was after two in the morning when Juan got home. He stood in the middle of his living room, his gut a knot, his chest jammed with emotions he didn’t want to feel. Rushing into the kitchen, he reached in the fridge for a beer. Then, realizing that wouldn’t cut it, he found the scotch his brother had given him for Christmas.

  He poured himself four fingers. Craving numbness, he gulped half of it in one swallow. It burned all the way down to his stomach. He moved into the living room, turned on the DVD player, and started the video.

  Angie appeared on the screen. “I love you, baby girl, and I love your daddy.”

  Tears filled Juan’s eyes. He hadn’t watched the video since…since he met his neighbor. And before that he’d watched it most every night.

  He dropped into his recliner and brought the cold glass to his lips. The sharp sting of scotch filled his nose. He was about to take another gulp when his cell phone rang from the kitchen.

  Probably Connor checking on him. He didn’t want to be checked on. So he ignored the ring and watched his wife press her hands to her round abdomen. Watched everything he’d lost.

  His doorbell rang. Had Connor followed him home?

  Bolting up, Juan shot across the floor to his door, ready to give his partner hell. He looked out his dining room window. He couldn’t see the porch, but he could see the street. Connor’s car wasn’t there.

  The doorbell rang again.

  Suddenly leery, he pulled out his gun. When he did, he saw he had blood on his jeans. Cindy Bates’s blood. He moved to the door and looked out the peephole.

  The fish-eye view was empty. No one was there.

  Had he imagined the ring? He was about to walk away when it rang again.

  He swung around, gun out, and jerked open the door. Bell stood there in a pink nightgown, her toenails painted with smiley faces. Her teary eyes widened in fear.

  He holstered his gun. “Bell, what are you doing here?”

  Her bottom lip trembled. “My mama’s sick. Her alarm is going off on her phone, but I can’t get her to wake up. Can you help her?”

  “Yeah.” His own pain forgotten, he grabbed the girl’s hand and led her next door.

  “Where is she?” he asked, walking inside.

  “On the sofa.”

  He hurried over. Nikki lay there huddled beneath a blanket. “Nikki?” He called her name and knelt down.

  She didn’t move. Fearing the worst, he touched the side of her neck. A flutter of her pulse whispered across his fingers, but her skin felt so hot it almost burned. Shit!

  He debated calling an ambulance, but he knew he could get her to the hospital faster. Looking at Bell, in her nightgown and barefoot, he said, “We’re going to take your mom to the doctor. Can you get your shoes on?”

  She nodded, but didn’t move.

  “Hurry.”

  Tears ran down the child’s cheeks. “She’s not going to die, is she?”

  “No,” he said, not knowing if it was true but saying it anyway.

  She moved to the other side of the room and slipped on some flip-flops.

  He needed his car keys. “I’ll be right back.”

  In record time, he had pulled into Nikki’s driveway.

  Rushing inside, he picked her up. She stirred a little.

  “Nikki.” He pulled her against him. “It’s Juan. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

  She muttered something. Something about Bell.

  “I got Bell,” he assured her, then realized he’d need her driver’s license and insurance stuff. He looked at the child, who stood frozen looking up at him. “Do you know where your mom’s purse is?”

  She nodded.

  “Can you get it?”

  She went into the kitchen and came back with it.

  “Let’s go.”

  Bell followed.

  He put Nikki in the backseat, opened his passenger door, picked up Bell, and placed her in the seat.

  “I need my car seat,” she said as he reached around her to buckle the seat belt.

  “It’s okay. I’m going to drive real safe.”

  “But Mama says it’s the law.”

  He didn’t have time. Nikki might not have time. “I know, but I’m the police, so I can do this. Okay?”

  He drove fast, but mindful that he had a child in his front seat and a very sick woman in the back.

  He heard Bell crying and glanced down at her. “It’s okay. We’re taking her to see a doctor.”

  “Why isn’t she awake?”

  “I don’t know.” He touched the girl’s shoulder. “Are you feeling better?”

  She nodded and wiped her palms over her wet cheeks.

  Three minutes later, he pulled up at the emergency doors. He cut off his engine and exited the car. He got Bell out, then yanked open his back door and picked up the still-unconscious Nikki.

  “Follow me,” he told Bell, and rushed through the doors.

  “I need help,” he called out to the officer sitting behind a desk at the front. The man picked up a phone. Ten seconds later the door to the back room opened and a nurse rushed out with a stretcher.

  “What’s wrong with her?” the nurse asked.

  “I don’t know,” Juan said. “She’s burning up. She was throwing up earlier.”

  Juan felt a bump against his leg. He looked down to find Bell, still crying, standing beside him. “It’s okay.” After placing Nikki on the stretcher, he reached down and picked up the sobbing child.

  She rested her face on his shoulder and continued to cry.

  The nurse looked at them. “You need to register her.”

  “Yeah,” Juan said. “I need to park my car and get her purse.”

  The nurse pushed Nikki into the back.

  “Don’t take her away,” Bell cried.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “They’re going to make her feel better.” And with everything he had, he pr
ayed that wasn’t a lie.

  * * *

  “Insurance card?” the woman sitting behind the registration desk asked. They’d waited ten minutes before someone motioned him to come up to the desk. Bell sat in a chair beside him, looking small, hurt, and exhausted.

  “I don’t see one.” He fumbled through her wallet. “Here’s her driver’s license.”

  The woman picked up the card but appeared surprised. “Aren’t you her husband?”

  “No.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  “No.”

  “But you kissed her,” Bell said. “I saw you. Doesn’t that make you her boyfriend?”

  Juan’s surprised gaze shifted to Bell. But for the life of him, he didn’t know what to say. The silence grew long and the kid waited for an answer. “Well, I guess, sort of.”

  When he looked back at the woman, she was smiling. He frowned. She pulled in the expression. “Nearest relative?”

  “I don’t know. I’m her neighbor. She just moved here.” He glanced at Bell. “Do you have any family?”

  She shook her head extra hard. “No.” He couldn’t say for sure, but something said that was a lie.

  He looked back at the hospital employee. “Sorry.”

  “I guess you wouldn’t know any medical history either, then?”

  “No.”

  “Okay,” she said as if this were his fault. “I guess I’ll have to have the patient fill this out when she regains consciousness.”

  “That’d be best,” Juan said.

  A nurse walked up. “The doctor would like to speak to you.”

  “Is something…” He stopped before saying wrong. “Sure.” He stood up. “I have her daughter. Is that okay?” He hoped she understood what he meant.

  “It’s fine.”

  Bell scooted off the chair and reached for his hand. It felt so tiny in his. So fragile that he wanted to pick her up and hold her close.

  They were led into a room.

  “The doctor will be right in.” The nurse left.

  “You want to sit down?” He motioned Bell to a chair.

  She yawned, claimed the chair, and pulled her knees up. Only the tips of her flip-flops and her smiley-faced toes peered out from under her pink nightgown.