Deadly Aim

by Patricia H. Rushford

  “She wanted out, and he wouldn’t let her go.”

  Angel nodded. “Which makes for a good motive. Michelle felt trapped and did the only thing she could to get out of it. Kelsey was the worst kind of abuser. He brainwashed her into believing he had a right to slap her around whenever he felt like it.”

  Brandon frowned. “Yeah. The guy was a piece of work, but she didn’t kill him.”

  “The evidence says otherwise.” Angel leaned back while the waiter took her salad plate and replaced it with the main course.

  “The evidence doesn’t prove a thing,” Brandon insisted.

  Angel sighed and waited for the waiter to leave, then leaned forward and met his intense gaze. “Has anyone ever told you that you’d make a great lawyer?”

  He laughed. “I’m sorry. I feel strongly about this one.”

  “You know what?” Angel straightened. “I hope I’m wrong. Go for it. This will be a high-profile case for you. Congratulations. How did you end up with it, anyway? This is the kind of thing your father would take or at least hand off to Carl.”

  “Actually, Michelle—uh, Mrs. Kelsey was already my client. She’d come to me wanting to start divorce proceedings. So when her husband disappeared and she realized the police suspected her of killing him, she wanted to retain me as her lawyer.”

  “Divorce? She came to you? No offense, but... you guys aren’t exactly cheap. I doubt her husband would have put out money for it.”

  “You’ve got that right,” Brandon snorted. “And she has money. She’s been secretly putting it away for a few years now in her own account, for an emergency. She also came into some money through an inheritance—an aunt or something. She managed to keep it from her husband.”

  “So Michelle was planning to get a divorce? Too bad Jim’s not around. I’d have liked to see the guy squirm.” She scooped up some garlic mashed potatoes on her fork. “On the other hand, maybe it’s a good thing he isn’t. He might’ve ended up killing her.”

  She closed her eyes and let the warm potatoes linger on her tongue, enjoying the blend of butter, cream, and garlic. Maxwell’s made the best garlic mashed potatoes on the coast—except for her mother’s, of course.

  They ate in silence for a while, and Angel savored every bite. Sometimes she wished she could cook, but that talent hadn’t been passed down from mother to daughter. Not that Ma hadn’t tried to teach her. Angel hadn’t wanted to learn any more about homemaking skills than she had to. She’d gotten by so far, but she cringed at the thought of being married and having to come up with meals on a daily basis. Brandon was accustomed to eating well. The family had a housekeeper and cook, and he still lived at home—something she couldn’t understand. Of course, she might not have minded either, if her parents had the Lafferty house, with its six thousand square feet of living space, plus a full-time maid, gardener, and chef. What would Brandon expect in a wife? Would he want them to live in his parents’ home? Could he afford domestic help? He’d have to if he married Angel.

  She brushed the pesky thoughts aside. She had no intention of getting married to Brandon or anyone else for a very long time. Her life was too unsettled—and after today, even more so.

  Angel concentrated on the food. The salmon was as delicious as it was beautiful. Grilled to melt-in-your-mouth perfection, then topped with a light blackberry sauce. The vegetables—beans, asparagus, broccoli, and carrots—had been grilled and served in a citrus marinade.

  “How’s your family?” Brandon asked. “This dinner reminds me of something your mother would cook up. Her baked salmon is the best.”

  Angel had to agree. “They’re the same as always. Dad talks about retiring, but I doubt he’ll leave until they kick him out. Ma is busy with church stuff. And she’s still volunteering with Meals on Wheels. Did I tell you that now she’s doing hospital visits as well? The woman never quits. She sews for Tim’s girls and knits and quilts. I don’t know where she finds the time to do it all.” Angel picked up her glass. “Do you know she came by the house today, after...” The lump came back to clog her throat, and she fought a wave of tears.

  “Angel...” Brandon’s face was wearing that helpless male look.

  She excused herself to go to the rest room. By the time she had used the facilities and washed her hands, the tears were well under control. At least she hoped so. When she got back to the table, the busgirl was taking away their empty plates.

  When the waiter came with the check, Brandon handed him a credit card. A few minutes later, they were walking out to the car. Angel had actually enjoyed dinner and was glad she’d decided to go. She’d managed to put the shooting out of her mind for a little while at least.

  Instead of taking her to her apartment, Brandon headed north on Highway 101.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Angel closed her eyes and leaned back, thankful for any diversion that would keep her from dealing with Billy’s death.

  When they reached the outskirts of the city, Brandon made a right, taking them east along Vista View Terrace. The road meandered into the hills and through Sunset Cove’s most prestigious neighborhoods. From their vantage point, the bay looked like a huge bowl with openings at each end. To the west it narrowed and curved where it met the ocean. To the east the hills separated just enough to allow the Ilchee River access. They drove past a number of elegant homes perched on the hillside, overlooking the cove.

  “We’re not going to your place, are we?” Angel asked. The last thing she wanted to do was face his parents.

  He took hold of her hand. “You don’t have to worry about Mom and Dad. They wouldn’t let this kind of thing affect the way they feel about you.”

  Probably not, Angel mused. She’d never gotten the impression they cared that much about her anyway. Somehow she doubted they’d appreciate their son bringing home a...

  Angel quickly turned her attention back to the road.

  Brandon’s home, mansion actually, was located on Sunset Drive in an upscale housing development. Brandon answered her question by going past his street.

  As they drove, Angel glimpsed some spectacular views of the bay and ocean between homes. Finally Brandon slowed and turned into Bayside Drive, which took them down the hill closer to the water. “I hope we’re not going to a party. I’m not in the mood.”

  “Nope. Just you and me.” He smiled at her again, his eyes twinkling.

  “What are you up to?” She couldn’t help smiling back, finding his excitement contagious.

  “You’ll find out soon enough. We’re here.”

  Brandon pulled into the driveway of a home that looked like it belonged on the cover of Coastal Living magazine. The lawn, what she could see of it, sloped down to the water’s edge.

  “Who lives here?”

  “No one at the moment.”

  “Then what? Is it for sale?”

  “Come on. I want to show you around.”

  “Are you thinking of buying it?”

  Brandon turned off the engine and reached for her hand. Raising it to his lips, he kissed it then pulled her closer, brushing a kiss against her cheek and lips. “I might be. Let’s go inside.”

  “Shouldn’t you have a realtor show it to you?”

  “I already made arrangements.” He got out of the car and came around to open her door. Holding her hand, he led her toward the entrance—a covered tile patio and large double doors, both framing beveled glass ovals.

  “Come on, Brandon. Why are you being so secretive? Why are we here?”

  “You’ll know soon enough.”

  He stopped and turned her toward him. Cupping her face in his hands, he lifted her head, forcing her to look into his eyes. “I love you, Angel.”

  “I...” Before she could finish, Brandon kissed her again. Angel was glad he hadn’t let her finish. He thought she was going to say “I love you too,” but she wasn’t; she’d never been able to say it. She definitely cared for him, maybe loved him in a w
ay; she just wasn’t certain it was the kind of love that would sustain them in a permanent relationship.

  Brandon released her. “Let’s go inside.” His key easily fit in the lock, as though he’d been opening the door for some time.

  “Belongs to a friend of yours, doesn’t it?”

  “In a way.” He laughed. “Come on. You have to see this.”

  The alarm system beeped when they entered. Brandon punched a series of numbers into the panel near the door and closed it. He turned on the entry light, revealing a magnificent tiled floor in cream-colored shades. He took her coat and tossed it on the curved banister that wound up wide carpeted stairs, then grabbed her hand, pulling her to the great room. Light from the entry flowed into the spacious living area. A huge kitchen with granite counters was off to the right. The kitchen alone was almost as big as her entire apartment. “Wow. My mother would love this kitchen.”

  “Yeah, she would. Can’t you see her making one of her great pasta dishes in here?”

  She nodded her head. “This place is awesome. But it’s so big and elegant and...” Expensive. But then, cost probably wasn’t an issue. He was, after all, a Lafferty.

  To the left was a living area with a three-sided fireplace and a built-in large-screen television and stereo system. There was no furniture, but Angel could picture two sofas and two chairs with ottomans. They’d have to be natural—maybe white or cream, with colorful pictures on the wall and accent pillows. Or maybe something informal like rattan with tropical prints.

  Brandon left her in the center of the room and went to click on a switch at the far wall. The huge fireplace burst into flames. He came around and stood behind her then directed her toward the sliding glass doors. There were five sets, actually, spanning the entire front of the house. All of the doors opened to a deck, offering an unobstructed view of the river. The alarm beeped again as he opened one of the sliding glass doors and stepped outside. “Come here. You have to see this.”

  As they stepped away from the house, the light dimmed, allowing her to see the inky black water and the lights of homes surrounding the bay. Several boats moved along the waterway, one of them the popular stern-wheeler that took guests out for dinner cruises.

  “What do you think?” He took hold of her hand.

  “Oh, Brandon. It’s beautiful.”

  “I’ve always wanted to live in a place on the bay.”

  So he was thinking of buying it. “Then you should, Brandon. This is nice.”

  “Do you really like it?”

  Angel shrugged. “Sure. Who wouldn’t? I haven’t seen the rest of the house, but I’m sure it’s great.”

  “Well, the rest of the place is nice. But the view is my favorite part—and the fact that it’s so close to the water. You can’t see it very well right now, but there’s a dock and a motorboat.”

  “So are you going to buy it?”

  Brandon wrapped his arms around her. “I already did.” He kissed her again and drew her back inside. “I want you to see the rest of it.”

  Angel had enjoyed the evening, but the day’s events were taking their toll on her. She was exhausted. Even so, she dutifully followed Brandon up the stairs, making appropriate comments as he showed her the oversized bathroom with a Jacuzzi tub and shower for two. She was mildly impressed with the huge his-and-her walk-in closets and the bedroom that looked like it could easily accommodate fifty kids on a sleep over. She liked the balcony that overlooked the living room and kitchen below and the two bedrooms and baths that would make a wonderful guest suite.

  “It’s really nice, Brandon, but I’m getting tired. Can we go now?”

  Brandon looked disappointed. “I’m sorry. I was so excited, I forgot—after all you’ve gone through today, you must be wiped out. We can go in a minute. I have something really important to tell you first.”

  Angel rubbed the back of her neck. He was buying the house and wanted her to be excited for him. It wasn’t so much to ask. “It’s really a great house, Brandon.”

  “I’m glad you think so, honey. Because...” He hesitated, drawing her into the circle of his arms again. “Because I bought it for us.”

  “Us?”

  “Marry me. It’s time, don’t you think? We’ve known each other since high school. I want you to be my wife. I want to start a family.”

  Angel pulled away from him. She was speechless for a moment, her mind not able to process the words. Finally she managed to string some together. “You can’t be serious. A guy doesn’t go out and buy a house like this, then ask his girlfriend to marry him. What happens if I don’t want to get married?”

  “I...” Brandon stared at her, openmouthed. “The minute I saw it, I knew it was for us. I love this place. I thought you would too.”

  “I do, but that’s beside the point. Buying a house is something couples do together. I’m not ready for this. I don’t want to get married.”

  “Look,” he soothed. “You’re upset about what happened today, that’s understandable. Just think about it for a while.”

  Angel tried to calm down but couldn’t keep the edge out of her voice. “It’s not about the shooting. I don’t want to get married. I don’t want children, and I don’t want this house.” She walked out and sank onto the front porch step, cradling her head in her hands.

  She heard the door opening and a series of beeps as Brandon set the alarm. She’d hurt him, but she honestly didn’t know what to say. She still couldn’t believe he’d buy a house for them without her input. Granted, it was a beautiful place. And she had been dating him exclusively for the past year. But how dare he assume so much?

  Brandon sat down next to her. “Angel...”

  “Don’t say anything, please. Just take me home.”

  “But—”

  “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to know why you did it. I just want to go home.”

  “Okay.” His voice sounded scratchy.

  Angel sighed. Brandon loved her. She knew that. But did she love him? “He’s a good man, Angel,” Ma had often said. “You could do worse.”

  Well, he could be a prince for all she cared. She just wasn’t ready.

  They didn’t say a word to each other as Brandon drove back to town and into the parking lot of her apartment complex. The members of the press had apparently given up for the night. At least there were none around that she could see.

  Brandon got out and came around to open the car door for her, but she’d already gotten out. When they reached her apartment, he pressed a hand to her shoulder, turning her toward him. “Angel.”

  She reached up to cover his mouth. “Don’t, please. I know you meant well, but... maybe it is the shooting. Maybe.... I don’t know. All I know is that I can’t get married right now. I’m not ready, and I may never be ready. I’m sorry.”

  Brandon avoided her gaze. He didn’t reach for her or kiss her good night as he usually did. But then, why would he? He waited for her to open the door and step inside, then turned and hurried down the stairs and got into his car. Angel waited in the doorway and watched until his taillights disappeared around the corner.

  She could almost hear her mother’s scolding voice. Angel Delaney, what have you done?

  It was after 9:00 when Callen got back to his house. Kath and the girls had gone back to Portland hours ago and had left a note on the counter. He rubbed Mutt’s head as he read it.

  Sorry you couldn’t make it back before we left. We cleaned up the place and left dinner in the fridge. Hugs and kisses, Kath, Jenna, and Ashley.

  Callen smiled at their thoughtfulness and set the squirmy dog on the floor. Mutt took off running, snatched up a rubber duck, and settled into a game of duck versus dog. If the squealing was any indication, Mutt was winning.

  Callen chuckled at the dog’s antics as he opened the refrigerator. Not much in it except for the stuff Kath had left him—a plate of deep-fried chicken, potato salad, and overcooked green beans—all apparently purchased at the grocery store
deli down the street. He grimaced. This kind of food was one of the reasons he’d learned to cook. Not that he was a health-food nut or anything. He just appreciated food done right. Hopefully he’d be able to get to a health-food store soon, or at least to a market that had a health-food department.

  He ignored the chicken dinner and pulled out the bag of raw vegetables he’d brought with him from Portland. Downing a full-size dinner at this time of night would probably give him heartburn anyway. After pouring a glass of milk, he went outside on the deck and set his food on the glass-topped patio table. He’d found a huge sale on patio furniture last fall and had gone all out. This was the first time he’d used it.

  He then pulled on his jacket and brought Mutt outside, substituting the squealing duck for a rawhide bone. Once the dog was settled, Callen sat down on one chair and put his feet up on the other.

  Munching on a spear of celery, he let himself enjoy his pleasant surroundings. It was a bit nippy for an outdoor meal, but he wasn’t about to let a little thing like cooler temperatures and Northwest drizzle spoil his dinner. Once he got established here, he’d invite some of the law enforcement officers over for a barbeque. Though he seldom ate red meat, for them he’d do big, juicy T-bones and baked potatoes, maybe corn on the cob, and a salad or two—one with salad greens and another with homemade bow-tie pasta, feta cheese, tomatoes, and his special balsamic vinaigrette.

  So far he liked the people he worked with. Nick and Eric had been especially helpful and didn’t seem to resent his coming into their territory. Part of that, Callen suspected, was that their superior, Joe Brady, had high respect and appreciation for the Oregon State Police.

  Investigations always went better when all the law enforcement agencies worked together. He wondered briefly how Angel Delaney would be to work with. Eric and Nick had nothing but praise for her; both went out of their way to assure him that she was a good cop. “Small but mighty,” Eric had said.

  “If she says she was forced to shoot, then she was. I have no doubt,” Nick had told him.