by Lauren Carr
He yanked his service weapon from its holster at the same time that Gnarly lunged across the front compartment. His rear leg kicked the SUV into gear. During the fight that ensued, Hopkins’ foot hit the gas, and the SUV plunged forward, rear-ending the sports sedan in front of it.
When Mac and the detectives from the homicide squad spilled into the parking garage, they heard the roar of the SUV pushing the small car out of its parking space. Mixed in with the noise were multiple gunshots and the sounds of vehicles being smashed by the out-of-control SUV.
Rounding the corner, Mac saw the SUV rocking and jostling where it had come to a stop after pushing the small red sports car into the rear of the car across the aisle from it. Blood was smeared across the inside windows.
“Gnarly! Stand down!” Mac yelled over the roar of the SUV.
The door on the driver’s side flew open, and Wayne Hopkins, covered in blood, spilled out onto the concrete floor. His service weapon tumbled out and landed next to him.
Also covered with blood, Gnarly was standing on the driver’s seat, glaring down at the dirty cops’ ringleader.
“Now I know what you meant about Hopkins not going anywhere.”
Cursing, Wayne Hopkins picked himself up, only to find that every detective he worked with on the squad was aiming his service weapon at him. “Hey, guys, what’s going on? Can’t you see what happened? Faraday is trying to frame me! He killed Gibbons and sicced his vicious dog on me.” Clutching his left hand, which had a bullet hole through the palm, he gestured to Gnarly, who was still growling at him. “He attacked me. See?” He held up his blood-covered hand and arm. “Put a bullet right through my hand when I tried to protect myself.”
“You’re a liar, Hopkins,” Lieutenant Van Patton said in a low voice.
“We expect that from dirty politicians,” Detective Winslow said, “not one of our own brothers.”
“You killed Lieutenant Gibbons because she figured out what you were up to,” Lieutenant Van Patton said.
Hopkins tried to object. “Now wait a minute—”
“We heard the recording!” Detective Winslow shouted.
“They all heard the recording she made with her cell phone,” Lieutenant Van Patton said. “They heard her lay it all out for you. Then they heard you admit to tipping off the dirty cops she had collected evidence against and organizing them so they could put their law-enforcement skills, combined with their lack of ethics, to use in a way that would benefit all of you. They heard her confront you about sending your personal hit squad out to kill Ali Hudson and Chief O’Callaghan—right before you killed her.”
“You’re a dirty cop,” Detective Winslow spat out. “Dirty cops don’t just hurt those they’ve sworn to protect—they ruin the reputation of every good cop on the force. It’s scum like you who get us spat on—or even worst, ambushed.”
Hopkins’ eyes grew wide when he saw the whole squad of detectives and uniformed officers, his colleagues, advancing on him. “Chief! Faraday! Stop them!”
“Don’t talk to me,” Mac said. “They’re the ones with the guns.”
“You just don’t get it, do you, Hopkins?” Lieutenant Van Patton said. “The media and public never notice or appreciate stories about the good cops. Last week, when Officer Koberstein ended up in the hospital after shoving a pregnant black woman out of the way of a runaway car and getting hit, only one news station picked up the story. He’ll be in the hospital for two weeks with a broken hip and two broken legs. He’ll be in physical therapy for months. He sacrificed his life to save this woman and her unborn child because he’s a good cop—but no one cares.”
“But you, Hopkins,” Detective Winslow said. “When the members of the media find out about you, you can bet every news station all over the country will cover it, and we’ll all be crucified—for what?”
“None of us hardworking good cops will ever be able to get rid of your stench,” Lieutenant Van Patton said.
“Now, guys,” Hopkins said, “I can explain.”
“You explained it very well in the recording Gibbons made—right before you threw her out a window,” Mac said.
“You’re not going to turn me in. You can’t. You know what they’ll do to me in prison.”
“They don’t have your back anymore, Hopkins,” Mac said, “because you didn’t have theirs.”
“Assume the position, Hopkins,” Lieutenant Van Patton said as he and Detective Winslow moved to take the lieutenant into custody.
Hopkins moved so fast that no one saw he had his gun in his hand until he brought it to his temple and pulled the trigger.
“Mac!” Ed Willingham said as he trotted out from the elevator and into the throng of officers and detectives. Upon seeing Gnarly and Hopkins, who was dead from a self-inflicted gunshot to his head, he stopped short and turned his head away. “I see Gnarly has been busy. I wanted to tell you that they found David and Dallas.”
“Tell me they’re okay.” Mac held his breath and waited for Ed’s response, which was a nod of his head.
“They’re at the hospital in Long Island. I’ve got a car waiting to take us now.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
In Long Island, Mac strapped a service-dog vest onto Gnarly in order to allow him entrance into the hospital before following Ed into the emergency room entrance. While Ed went in search of a reception clerk who could help them, Mac zeroed in on two uniformed police officers who, he correctly assumed, had accompanied David and Dallas to the emergency room. By the time Ed returned, Mac had left Gnarly with the officers and had found Dallas Walker, who was staring straight ahead and sitting on a chair next to an empty gurney.
“Dallas.”
Startled out of her stare, she jumped to her feet and rushed into Mac’s arms. “I’m so glad to see you.” He felt her stifle a sob working its way to the surface.
“It’s okay.” Mac hugged her tighter. “I’m just glad neither of you are hurt.” Seeing the empty gurney, he said, “David is okay. Right?”
Pulling away from the hug, she sniffled. “They took him for an X-ray. One of the hit men whacked him on the head with a rifle butt. They think he may have a concussion. He definitely has a couple of broken ribs and a bruised kidney.”
Mac noticed that both of her hands and wrists were heavily bandaged. “And you?”
“Just some cuts.” With a shrug, she tucked her hands under the multicolored leather poncho. “They’ll heal. They took us to a high-rise that was under construction. I saw a razor blade on the floor. So I provoked one of those goons into slappin’ me so I would have an excuse to hit the floor. When they turned all their attention to David—”
“Who they considered a threat,” Mac said.
She nodded her head. “The last thing they expected was for me to go on the offense.”
“While you were cutting the one’s throat, David disarmed one of the other two and killed both of them. The officers who brought you here told me.” Letting out a breath, Mac shook his head. “I’m really impressed. Everyone is. You two seem to make a good team.”
Her cheeks turned pink. “I think so.”
“Looks like you have company!” a nurse announced when she wheeled David around the curtain into the examination room.
To Mac’s surprise, Dallas rushed forward to kiss David on the lips. When she pulled away, he caught her by the back of the neck and kissed her again.
This is not good. Mac thought. Not good at all.
“I see you found us,” David said while Dallas and the nurse helped him out of the wheel chair and back up onto the gurney. He had a nasty bruise on his left cheek and his forehead.
“Yeah,” Mac said. “It’s been a rough twenty-four hours. But not as rough as it’s been for Wayne Hopkins.”
“I hope you nailed the bastard,” David said through gritted teeth.
“He offed him
self,” Mac said.
“Even better.”
“But he didn’t kill Mom,” Dallas said. “He was the detective on the case.”
“Second to Sergeant Roberts.” Mac noticed that she had moved in close to David on the gurney so that she was half sitting on it. Her hand was resting on his thigh. “He didn’t kill Yvonne Harding either. According to the checkout log for building security, he signed out more than five minutes before Yvonne was shot.”
“He was covering for the killer.” Remembering that he’d heard Hopkins talking on a cell phone at the construction site, David sat up. “Do they have Hopkins’ cell phone?”
“I’m sure it’s either in his SUV or on him,” Mac said. “Why?”
“Because if they do, they have a line to who is behind this. Hopkins reported to someone that he had picked Dallas and me up. Whoever he was talking to on his cell phone gave him the order to kill us.”
“Hopkins wouldn’t have been stupid enough to do his dirty business on his own phone,” Dallas said. “And how much do you wanna bet that whoever was givin’ the orders was usin’ a burner phone?”
“Yeah, but if the boss man or woman doesn’t know that Hopkins failed to tie up his loose ends and that he’s dead, he or she could be feeling a false sense of security,” Mac said.
“And could make a mistake,” David said with a grin.
“Do you know who it is yet?” Dallas asked Mac. “Do you know who killed Mom and why?”
“I think I do,” Mac said. “The problem will be proving it.”
“That’s never stopped us before,” David said.
“No, it hasn’t.” Mac gestured toward the bruises on David’s face. “That’s going to wreak havoc on your wedding pictures.” He noticed a silence in the examination room while David and Dallas exchanged anxious glances.
Dallas extracted a cell phone from her bag and scurried toward the door. “I need to call my brother to let him know what’s goin’ on.”
Once she was gone, Mac and David exchanged long looks.
Finally, David took in a deep sigh. The pain in his broken ribs made him grimace. When he was able to talk, he said, “Mac—”
“You don’t have to explain to me,” Mac replied more harshly than he’d wanted to. He sounded like a parent chastising a child.
“Have you talked to Chelsea?” David asked. “Told her what’s been going on?”
“No,” Mac said. “One, I had no idea about this.” He pointed in the direction that Dallas had disappeared in. “Two”—he sighed—“she’s in the hospital.”
David sat up as best he could with his injuries. “What happened to her?”
“She had a seizure yesterday,” Mac said. “Archie says the emergency room doctor told her it was the stress of the wedding and trying to get stuff together for law school.”
With a groan, David covered his face with both hands. “Mac,” he whispered, “what am I going to do?”
“The smell of that soup is driving me crazy.” Bogie had to restrain himself from digging into the bag for the takeout container of fresh crab soup and hot bread from the Spencer Inn that Archie had ordered and picked up for Chelsea’s lunch.
Archie slapped Bogie’s wrist when he tried to sneak a fresh roll from the bag she was taking out of his squad car to carry into the hospital. “That’s for Chelsea. Poor girl. She was telling me this morning that the bacon they served for breakfast was like petrified tree bark, and the fruit salad was tasteless. She’s probably starving to death, and you know how hospitals are. They won’t release her until after lunch—at which time we’ll go straight to the inn for a relaxing massage and a wonderful girls’ night out with the bridesmaids.”
“I smell Carmine’s pizza.” Sniffing, Bogie stopped in the hallway leading to Chelsea’s room. “Pepperoni. Italian sausage. Mushrooms. Double cheese. Thin crust.” At a trot, the deputy chief hurried down the corridor with Archie behind him.
Chelsea’s laughter drifted into the hallway.
Turning the corner to enter their room, Archie stopped when she saw Dr. Seth Blanchard sitting across from Chelsea on her bed. They were eating pizza together. On the floor between them, Molly was taking turns doing tricks for both of them in exchange for goodies.
“Hey, you’re just in time,” Chelsea said, waving for them to enter the room. “Seth brought me pizza for lunch. There’s enough to share.”
“Molly loves Italian sausage.” Seth grinned at Chelsea. “Just like her mother.”
“When I was in the hospital for my broken ankle, all I got was mushy spaghetti and tough meatballs,” Archie said in an accusatory tone.
“You weren’t my favorite patient.” Seth winked at Chelsea.
The blush that came to Chelsea’s cheeks made Archie’s blood boil. Seeing Bogie reaching for the pizza, she slapped his wrist.
“I brought you crab soup from the inn.” Archie held up the bag to show the container to Chelsea. “Along with fresh bread.” Then for Seth’s benefit, she added, “And as soon as your doctor decides to release you, we’ll go to the spa and meet the bridesmaids for a nice relaxing afternoon of pampering.”
“Sounds like a lot of fun.” While her words said that Chelsea believed it would be an enjoyable afternoon, her emotions failed to say the same.
“Mac and David have been working hard on the case,” Archie said. “They should be back tomorrow. Bogie and I have been keeping up with the event coordinator at the inn. Everything is still on schedule for your wedding the day after tomorrow. So you can relax.”
“Sounds like everything is coming together.” Seth stood up from the bed.
In a defensive move, Archie stepped up to the bed when she saw Seth pat Chelsea’s hand. “All we need is for you to release her and let her go.”
“I think Seth is still waiting for the results from the MRI he ordered yesterday,” Chelsea said.
“But you’re feeling fine, aren’t you?” Bogie asked around a mouthful of pizza. “Doc said that as long as you were feeling okay and took it easy—”
“What has David said?” Chelsea asked Bogie and Archie.
“David’s been tied up in this murder case,” Archie said. “Believe me, he would call you if he could.”
“But he’s been tied up solving the murder of his first wife,” Chelsea said.
“He went to New York to divorce Yvonne because he wanted to be with you.” Archie was uncomfortably aware that Seth was lingering at the foot of the bed. After she fired off a glare in his direction, he announced that he would go sign Chelsea’s release and that she would be free to leave.
“You’re going to leave your number for me to call you, aren’t you, Seth?” Chelsea called after him. “In case I need to get in touch with you.”
With a soft grin, the doctor left the room.
Archie glared at the vacant doorway for a long moment before turning her attention to Chelsea, who was picking bits of pepperoni from her pizza and feeding them to Molly. “You do know that you’re getting married the day after tomorrow—or did that seizure you had make you forget about that?”
“Seth is my doctor,” Chelsea said, “and a good friend. If it wasn’t for him, I never would have made it through chemistry.”
“From what I can see, he’s still trying to help you with chemistry,” Archie said without humor.
“The Blanchards are a nice family.” Bogie pointed to the last slice of pizza. “Can I have that?”
“Unless Archie wants it.”
Feeling as though eating any of the pizza would be akin to betraying David, Archie folded her arms across her chest and gave her head a firm shake. Ignoring her glare, Bogie dove in.
“You’re not able to forgive David, are you?” Archie asked her.
“Of course I can forgive him,” Chelsea said. “He explained over and over again how this happened. It was a mi
stake. He was drunk. Back in high school, he was immature, and his hormones overpowered his senses. Now he knows better. Four years ago, he didn’t.”
“As long as you keep him sober and out of Vegas, you two should be fine,” Bogie said.
“You’re not helping,” Archie told him.
Chelsea waved her hands. “What’s done is done. Now Yvonne is dead, and David is free to keep his word and to fulfill his obligation to marry me.”
“How romantic,” Archie said with heavy sarcasm.
“Archie, why don’t you go make sure Seth is signing the release forms.” Bogie tossed his gray head in the direction of the door. “I’ll stay here to make sure Chelsea doesn’t decide to pull a runaway-bride act on us.”
Her arms still folded across her chest, Archie went in search of Dr. Seth Blanchard, who she found at the nurse’s desk completing some forms. “You are aware that Chelsea is marrying David O’Callaghan the day after tomorrow?”
A chuckle rose from deep in Seth’s throat while he handed the clipboard over to a nurse. “You’ve told me that several times, Archie. You’ve been trying to make that so clear that I’m almost expecting an invitation from you to drill it into my head.”
“Okay.” Archie moved in close to him. “Then I’ll make this even clearer to you. Back off. As her doctor, you have to see that she’s under a lot of stress—”
“Which I believe could have directly contributed to her seizure,” Seth said.
“And your making romantic overtures days before she’s supposed to marry another man, one who isn’t available to defend himself, isn’t stressful? You’re planting doubts in her mind when she’s emotionally vulnerable. That’s cruel, not to mention unfair.”
“All’s fair in love and war,” Seth said with a laugh.
Archie moved in like she was going to punch him. Before she could, he turned serious.
“I haven’t seen Chelsea since I went away to med school ten years ago,” he said. “The stress that caused her seizure—which is nothing to laugh at, by the way—was there before I came back in the picture. Maybe that stress is caused by underlying doubts about marrying David, and maybe it’s not. Only Chelsea knows that. But I do know one thing, not only as her doctor but also as her friend: she needs a friend right now to help her identify the source of that stress.”
