Deadly Aim

by Patricia H. Rushford

  A beautiful bichon frise met them at the door, bouncing like Tigger on the tiled entry. Angel’s gaze quickly scanned the living room and kitchen. His kitchen was huge—almost like her mother’s. That shouldn’t have surprised her. What did surprise her was how nicely decorated it all was. But with the dog demanding attention, she didn’t have much time to think about the decor.

  “Hey, Mutt.” Callen hunkered down to pet him, then lifted him into his arms, introducing the wiggling mass of fur to Angel.

  “Mutt?” Angel rubbed between his ears while he licked her hand. “He’s adorable.” A watchdog, he was not. She was surprised at the breed—not the type of dog most police officers had. They often went for the bigger, more masculine dogs like German shepherds, Dobermans, or Labs.

  “He was my wife’s dog,” Callen explained as he set the animal down to remove his jacket. “I didn’t like him much at first. I called him Mutt. She called him Punky. My name stuck.”

  Callen put a leash on Mutt and handed the dog off to her. “He needs to go out, and I don’t think I’m quite up to it.”

  Angel took the leash. “On one condition—that you lie down and let me wait on you.”

  He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “I think I can handle that.”

  Angel stepped out the patio doors into the cold night air. She hadn’t walked a dog in years, not since Bailey, the family’s golden retriever, was alive. Bailey had been hit by a car when Angel was fourteen, and they hadn’t had a dog since.

  Mutt strained at the leash, urging Angel to run across the sand toward the ocean. The mist was still as thick as it had been earlier in the evening when she’d gone down to the docks. Another shooting. And the attack on Callen. What did it all mean?

  Mutt did his business and hightailed it for the house. Angel wondered if Callen would feel up to talking about the investigation tonight. Then she thought about curling up next to him on the couch and resting her head on his shoulder. She smiled. The snuggling would have to wait, as would the talking. Callen needed rest, and she would see that he got it.

  The next afternoon, Angel sat in the hard wooden pew of her lawyer’s office, staring at the brilliant colors of stained glass. Rachael was supposed to join her soon to talk about strategy.

  What strategy? She had exhausted her resources. If a gang member had been responsible for Billy’s death, there was no evidence to support the theory. The casing Callen had found in the warehouse led them exactly nowhere. He had ordered all of the law enforcement officers in the area to turn in their weapons to be checked against the casing primer. None were a match. Divers found two more casings, both .45 caliber, one in the water near where J.J. had been shot and one under the dock where Angel had seen the mysterious figure.

  According to the manufacturer’s batch number, the bullets apparently had all been hollow point—police issue. Three casings, coming from two guns, and no viable suspect. They still had no real evidence to support the theory that she had only fired one shot, only her word and the casing Callen had found.

  The grand jury hearing was scheduled for the following morning. Angel’s chest tightened at the thought. A trial could lead to conviction and possibly to prison. The idea terrified her. Even in this room of color and light, she felt as though she’d been covered in a dark impenetrable cloud from which she couldn’t escape. She’d never been one to give up, but what more could she do? Her life was no longer in her hands.

  “Bad things happen.” Angel remembered her mother’s comments at the hospital while they had waited for her father to come out of surgery. “God never promised us they wouldn’t. In fact, the Bible tells us they will. Pain and suffering are all part of life. God only promises to be with us, to uplift and encourage. To carry us to the other side.”

  An odd sense of peace flowed through her, drawing her gaze upward. She closed her eyes. “Okay, God, I could use some of that guidance right about now.”

  Angel heard a rustling noise and glanced back. Rachael scooted into the pew beside her.

  “Well, tomorrow’s the day.”

  Angel sighed. “Rachael, I want you to know that I won’t blame you if we lose and end up going to trial. The other day I was so sure I had only fired the one shot. Now, I’m wondering if it was just wishful thinking. Maybe it’s one of those weird tricks the mind plays when it can’t face the reality of what actually happened.”

  “We’re not going to lose. Especially now. The owner of the pharmacy died.”

  “Mr. Bergman? When? No one told me.”

  “I just got a call from the DA. As terrible as that is, it strengthens our case.”

  “How? Billy wasn’t a gang member.”

  “We don’t know that for certain. The important thing for you to remember is that you are innocent. It doesn’t matter if you fired one shot or three, you are not guilty of any wrongdoing.”

  “But if I’m indicted, I’ll be up on manslaughter charges,” Angel murmured, more to herself than to Rachael. “I wish I had some answers. Callen said he thinks Billy saw J.J.’s body when he was up on the second floor of the warehouse. He thinks maybe the back stairs were blocked by someone and that person is what made Billy turn around and come back down the stairs. I wish I had waited. I made the wrong call, Rachael.”

  “You did what you felt was right at the time.”

  Angel moved her head from side to side, studying the hand that had held the gun. “We’re going to need a miracle.”

  “Then we’ll just have to pray for one.”

  On Thursday morning at twelve noon, Angel walked out of the courthouse in a daze. In the end, the lack of evidence had worked to her benefit. The members of the jury had found the shooting justifiable. They believed she had acted in accordance with police procedure. The number of shots didn’t matter.

  Eric, who’d been one of the witnesses, was the first to congratulate her. “I knew it wouldn’t go to trial. I knew it. Didn’t I tell you?” He pulled her into an exuberant hug. The grand jury hearing had been held in private chambers, and Eric had waited with her through the entire process.

  “Yes, you told me. But I’m still in shock.”

  “Nice job, Rachael.” Eric shook the lawyer’s hand, then turned back to Angel. “I wish I could hang around, but I have to get back to work. I’ll see you later, partner.”

  “Thanks, Eric.” Angel watched him walk out the door, his large form nearly filling the doorway.

  “He seems nice,” Rachael said.

  “He’s been really supportive through this whole thing.”

  “Well, you should be getting clearance to go back to work soon.”

  Angel sighed. “I know, but I’m not sure I’m ready. I’m working through some rough spots with my counselor.” And getting things settled with Callen. Angel kept that thought to herself. Her relation-ship with Callen was so new and fragile; she wasn’t certain where she stood. He hadn’t been the least bit affectionate while she’d been at his house and had almost seemed anxious for her to leave. She’d told herself it was because of the bump on the head and the never-ending investigations with a string of deaths and very little substantive evidence.

  Angel and Rachael talked briefly with reporters then escaped to lunch at Tidal Raves in Depoe Bay to celebrate Angel’s freedom. After lunch, Angel dropped Rachael off and headed for her parents’ place. She wished she could stop and tell Callen the good news, but he wasn’t home. He should have been there recuperating from his head wound, but he was as stubborn a man as her father. He’d told her the night before that he wanted to be with her during the hearing but had to go to the crime lab in Portland after giving his testimony.

  Her father greeted her with a hug. “You see, Angel, I told you all along the grand jury would find for you.”

  “I know you did, Dad.” Angel hugged him back.

  “Come in and have a cup of coffee,” her mother called from the kitchen. “I’m making your favorite pastries.”

  Angel kissed her cheek, poured herself a c
up of the Italian blend, and picked up the flaky turnover filled with raspberries and cream cheese.

  “I’m glad for you, honey,” Anna said.

  Angel sat on the bar stool at the counter. She thought of Callen and envisioned him standing in her mother’s kitchen. Had he heard the grand jury results yet?

  “It isn’t over, you know.” Angel bit into the delicate, flaky crust and filling. “I still have the civil suit.” And she still had to deal with her own guilt. Nothing would ever change the fact that she had raised her gun and put a bullet into a twelve-year-old boy. Maybe her bullet hadn’t killed him, but she’d given the other shooter ample opportunity.

  Angel spent the next couple hours running along the beach and working out. She’d just gotten home when Brandon called.

  “Hey, I heard. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Want to have dinner with me tonight?”

  “That’s not a good idea.”

  “Please. I’m in seclusion and incredibly lonely. I have a suite at the best resort on the Oregon coast. There’s a Jacuzzi in my room, and I have an awesome view.”

  Angel smiled. “Sounds nice, but... Brandon, we have to talk.”

  “That sounds ominous.”

  “Not really. We’ve been friends for a long time, and I just think we need to be honest with each other.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Come on, Brandon, I saw the way you and Michelle Kelsey were looking at each other. You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

  He didn’t answer right away. “Angel, it isn’t what you think.”

  “Don’t lie to me.” She smiled and shook her head. “If you love her, call her and invite her to dinner.”

  “It isn’t that easy. She’s a client. I need to at least wait...”

  “Brandon, I know a great attorney who would be thrilled to take over the Kelsey case for you.”

  “Rachael?”

  Had she heard a thread of relief in his voice? “Recuse yourself.”

  “What about you? Will you be okay? I feel like an idiot proposing to you. I was trying not to let myself get involved with Michelle.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  After wishing Brandon well, she hung up and went to her refrigerator to get something to eat. Thanks to Callen and her mother, her cupboards were anything but bare. But making a meal required putting some of the basics together—not something she was ready to attempt alone.

  She thought about going to her parents’ place, but they would’ve eaten already. Knowing her mother, there would be plenty of leftovers, but hanging out with her parents was not the way she wanted to spend the evening.

  Maybe she’d call Callen and invite herself over. As she’d seen on her visit, he had a well-stocked refrigerator and pantry and knew how to use everything in it. He’d most likely be back from Portland by now.

  Angel dialed his number and hung up, thinking a visit might be better. She wanted to tell him about the grand jury decision in person. She wanted to see his face light up. She wanted to feel his arms around her. All of a sudden calling first wasn’t an option. She shrugged into her jacket, her heart already speeding up in anticipation of seeing him.

  She pulled up in front of the house on the opposite side of the street. Callen’s car wasn’t there. Disappointed, she started to drive on then changed her mind. Using her cell phone she dialed his number.

  Callen answered on the second ring.

  “Hi.”

  “Angel.” Callen chuckled. “I just called your place.”

  “Well, I’m sitting in front of your house, waiting to be fed.” Suddenly Angel thought that sounded terribly forward and wished she could take the words back. “Um, where are you?”

  “Just east of Lincoln City. I should be home in about twenty minutes.” He told her where to find an extra key. “Feed Mutt for me, will you? When I get there, I’ll fix us one of my specialties.”

  Angel found the key in the mouth of an ornamental frog on the back porch and let herself in. She waited for Mutt to bark and race across the floor to greet her. No bark. No toenails clipping across the floor at fifty miles per hour.

  The hairs on the back of her neck and arms stood on end as she slipped inside and looked around. The dining room curtains fluttered as the wind blew through the open window.

  Duke sat in his car, contemplating his next move. Everything that could have gone wrong had. He thought he’d found what promised to be the perfect dealer in Broadman. The guy had connections, and he was slick and needed money. Duke had warned Broadman against getting involved in the Delaney shooting, but the guy was greedy and saw the lawsuit as a way to make some extra bucks. Like he needed more.

  Then the idiot had gone berserk and killed Dixon. Broadman had called him, frantic, saying Dixon was threatening to walk away and tell the media there was no case. “What else was I supposed to do?” Broadman asked. “I couldn’t let him go to the media; he’d have destroyed any chance I had to get money out of the city.”

  Duke had told him to calm down. He’d asked all the right questions and told Broadman exactly what to do to keep from getting caught. Then he himself went to the resort, not as Duke, of course, but in uniform. He’d talked to the kid who had waited on Dixon and Broadman, and when the kid had told him he’d heard them arguing, Duke said they should go down to the department to get his testimony on tape. The kid was excited about helping out.

  Duke felt bad about wasting that one, but what choice did he have? He couldn’t afford to let Broadman get arrested.

  He had run into the biggest snag with the bloody clothes and shoes. If it hadn’t been for Angel and her lawyer snooping around, everything would’ve been fine. He’d personally gone to Broadman’s house to get the bloody clothes out of the neighbor’s can like he’d promised, only to find the women digging through the garbage. He’d taken off then, figuring Broadman was on his own. Fortunately, he’d done all his negotiating on the phone, so Broadman couldn’t ID him. Duke doubted he’d talk anyway—no sense implicating himself further—and if he did, he’d never be able to finger Duke.

  Now he was faced with another problem. He had no one to pick up and distribute the drugs to his dealers. The pickup was supposed to be simple. Jake Ensley would bring the shipment in on his boat and call him. At a prearranged time, he’d bring the drugs into the abandoned warehouse office, then go back to his boat, where his money would be waiting for him. All of that would’ve gone off just fine if Detective Riley hadn’t been snooping around. Duke had caught him in the warehouse and had no choice but to whack him and get the drugs to a safe location. He’d never killed a cop except for his old man, and that didn’t count. But he had to do something about Riley. The guy was too persistent for his own good.

  Duke rubbed a hand down his face, hoping the evidence-planting would work. If all went according to plan, Detective Riley would be out of commission for a long time. Of course, Delaney was another problem. It would’ve been easier if she had died in the car bomb. Not that he’d wanted her dead. Broadman was obsessive in his revenge, and Duke suspected he’d contracted a hit from jail. Duke had nothing against Angel, just wished she’d stay out of things. He didn’t want to kill either of them, just get them out of the way for a while so he could regroup and maybe move on.

  He had it timed perfectly. According to dispatch, Detective Riley would be in Sunset Cove in twenty minutes. He didn’t like cutting things so close, but he had to wait until after the sun set. He’d take the beach access out to the sand dunes and walk south to Riley’s house, place the package under the deck, and leave the same way. Then he’d make his anonymous phone call.

  Angel closed the window that Mutt had somehow opened and darted outside, shutting the patio door behind her. “Come on, Mutt. Come here, boy.” She circled the house, calling his name and whistling. When he didn’t show, she headed for the beach. She heard his playful bark at about the same time she saw a white blur streaking up and down the beach, scam
pering in and out of the waves about a quarter of a mile south of where she was standing. Mutt stopped and growled at a clump of seaweed and then raced down the beach. She called to him again, and he skidded to a stop, flipped around, and ran toward her, then stopped just a few feet from her, jumped in the air, and took off.

  He clearly wanted to play, but it was getting too dark. Angel kept calling him, then picked up a stick and threw it. “Get the stick, Mutt. Come on.” When he finally brought it back, she scooped him up.

  “You’re a little dickens, do you know that?” She laughed as Mutt slobbered kisses all over her face. She muzzled her nose in his wet fur. He smelled of salt water and dog and was getting her jacket all wet and sandy. “Come on. Let’s go back to the house and get you cleaned up.”

  The wind was blowing steadily from the north, blowing into her face as she trudged through the soft sand. She came up over the sand dune and stopped cold. Someone was kneeling beside Callen’s porch and placing a package there. The large bulky figure looked all too familiar. She’d seen him on the dock the night Mike’s contact was killed, but he’d been too far away for her to recognize him.

  But no. She had to be mistaken.

  Mutt whined and barked and squirmed out of her arms, racing toward the dark figure. Mutt circled the man’s legs, barking. The man swore and kicked the dog into the air.

  “No!” Angel screamed and started toward Mutt, who’d wriggled to his feet and was staggering toward her.

  “Don’t move.” The man whirled around and pulled a gun.

  Angel froze. “Eric, what are you doing here?”

  She took a step closer, unable to assimilate her runaway thoughts. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he was here on a call. Maybe one of the neighbors had called the police when they saw her going into Callen’s house. But why the package, and why would he be out of uniform?

  He backed away, his white teeth glistening in the dim light. “Stop right there, Angel. Don’t make me shoot you.”