.38 Caliber Cover-Up

by Angi Morgan

  “O’Malley?” His head thudded against the wood. “Need…help.”

  Okay, so he wasn’t some random nutcase. He’d asked specifically for her.

  “Why do you want O’Malley?” Why hadn’t she brought her cell outside to call 911? She continued to hold the man at gunpoint, but he didn’t look as if he was going anywhere. His breathing was shallow and ragged, his eyes were closed and he held his side as if he was injured.

  “Gotta stay a…wake.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Pike said I could trust you,” he panted. “Undercover. No…hospital.” The last of his words faded as he appeared to slip into unconsciousness. His hand fell away, covered in blood.

  “God almighty.” Darby pushed her gun down the back of her pants and bent to her knees. She frisked him. He wasn’t carrying a weapon, but there was a photo of Pike on a fishing pier. The reverse side had a map to her house and a coded message from her brother Michael.

  Rolling the stranger to his back, she felt his chilly neck for a pulse. “Talk to me. What does this have to do with Michael? What trouble will you be in if I call an ambulance to save your hide?”

  Baggy jeans and a black extra-large T-shirt helped disguise the blood seeping across his side. Good grief, she couldn’t let him bleed to death on her back steps. He was soaked to the skin, with no jacket and an empty shoulder holster.

  Was he here for the package? How could she be certain he was the person Pike mentioned? But Michael had sent him, so how did it all fit together?

  “No docs,” he mumbled. “Verify…two one four…five five five…nine six nine six.”

  Darby took one last look at the yard. No movement. It was the wrong thing to do, but she grabbed the unconscious stranger under his arms and pulled him through the door. He moaned, but didn’t give any indication he was waking. She lowered him to the tiled breakfast nook floor.

  God, what was wrong with her? She couldn’t do this again. Just call 911 and deal with the repercussions later. Still thinking she shouldn’t get involved, she knelt and yanked the Ozzfest shirt up to the guy’s armpits.

  Smooth, sculpted pecs and abs—make that an entire six-pack—would normally have her biting her lip to keep from drooling. But none of it mattered. A small knife wound, covered in blood, marred his left side. She pulled dishtowels from a kitchen drawer and placed them over his wound, closing her eyes.

  Deep breath. In through the nose…out through the… Shoot, that only made it worse. The metallic smell of blood mixed with the leftover Chinese takeout on the counter invaded her senses. Her stomach flinched, forcing her memory to a place she didn’t want to revisit.

  There was no way she could deal with Pike’s death now. But this guy had asked for her and had something to do with her murdered friend. There had to be someone she could call. She couldn’t let the guy die.

  That sealed it. She pulled her purse off the counter, sending quarters, dimes and eyeliner rolling across the floor. Her cell phone bounced once and popped the casing in two different directions. Her badge and lip gloss headed in two others. The man stirred.

  “God,” he moaned, his voice as deep as sin. “I passed out?”

  He rapidly blinked lashes too long to be considered manly. Yet on him, they framed a pair of ancient amber-brown eyes. Her right hand kept the towels in place as her left slid around her hip and rested on her gun.

  “Who are you and why can’t I call a doctor?” she asked.

  “Ah, crap. I’m going to puke.”

  “Terrific. As if bloodstained grout isn’t enough.” His stomach muscles contracted under the tips of her fingers as she heard the age-old accompaniment to dry heaves. Her own gag forced her eyes shut.

  One second she was preparing to jump out of the way. The next her shoulders were pinned to the floor with the stranger straddling her hips, her gun in his hand pointed at the ceiling.

  “Pike said you were good. The best,” he said, too confident and boastful in his dominant position. “Well, except me. I need some help, O’Malley. Pike left a package for me, and I need it. Tonight.”

  “If you know who I am, then why are you sitting on me?” Faker. He wasn’t the least bit woozy.

  One jab in his wound and he’d be writhing on the floor. If he pointed the barrel toward her, she wouldn’t hesitate. But there was something about him… Something that made her wait for his next move. Something other than Pike and Michael instructing her to trust him.

  “I’m asking, politely, one more time.”

  “Ask any way you want,” she answered.

  The solid weight across her legs was uncomfortable. He eased his hand from her shoulder, scooping up the bloody dishtowels along the way. The moment of alarm at being confined lifted, and she could think again.

  “I like you,” he said, leisurely lifting one corner of his mouth in a smile. “Pike must have been out of his ever-lovin’ mind.” He sat straight and tucked her gun into the front of his pants.

  Darby had opportunity. So why didn’t she jab her thumb into his side, buck him off her thighs and gain the upper hand? No, she waited for him to threaten her, and God help her, she was curious.

  Utterly ridiculous. Where had all her training gone? He didn’t feel threatening? A total unknown was demanding a package while he sat on her. What more did she need to act?

  “I can see the wheels turning behind your pretty green eyes.” He winced and slid his shirt up to staunch the dark red trickle with the towels.

  A waft of blood hit her nostrils. She covered her mouth, trying not to be sick, but her gag reflex kicked in full force.

  “God, you’re seriously turning sour.” He shifted to one side and she scrambled for the bathroom.

  She didn’t know how long she hurled. Only that after a while, he was there, holding her annoying curls away from her face while she grabbed her out-of-control stomach and heaved. She hated her newfound aversion to blood. It was more than embarrassing. If her brothers ever found out, they’d tease her relentlessly.

  “You okay now, Officer O’Malley?” he asked, grabbing a washcloth from the top of an unpacked box, wetting it like a nursemaid and handing it to her.

  “How do you know who I am?”

  “I came looking for you, remember?”

  She over-exaggerated her movements to lean against the tub. The porcelain cooled her hot skin. Her visitor might as well think she was still ill instead of capable of ramming her head into his stomach and sending him crashing into the laundry room. If all else failed, she could wait until he really passed out from blood loss or exhaustion.

  Which wouldn’t be too long from the looks of him.

  He swayed, using the doorframe to hold himself upright. Viewed from this angle on the floor, he was especially tall. He continued to hold the dishtowels under his bunched-up shirt with a bloodstained hand.

  She gulped down more nausea. “You need a…a doctor.”

  The stupid jerk had faked getting sick and grinned from ear to ear, leaving her to stare at perfectly aligned teeth. But that was the only thing perfect about his rugged-looking face and two-toned, brown-and-gold hair. A small trail of blood was smeared across his chin from a busted lower lip. His tanned forehead had road rash, with bits of gravel embedded in the lacerations.

  This close she could tell his nose had been broken at least once. His strong, square jaw matched that magnificent chest hidden under his loose shirt. The silver dagger dangling around his neck somehow made him as sexy as a pirate instead of creeping her out. And his eyes… Good grief, it looked as if there were a thousand lifetimes in those whiskey-colored spheres.

  “What I really need is whatever Pike left for me.” He drew a deep breath, grimaced and allowed a short moan to escape. “God, O’Malley, Walter Pike was more than a friend to me. You saw the picture. I’m one of the good guys.”

  “Who still has my Glock shoved down the front of his pants,” she answered, pointing toward her gun.

  “Where it’s going to stay.�
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  “First things first.” She wanted out of the close quarters of the bathroom. “Just how hurt are you?”

  “O’Malley.” He rolled her name around as if he should be talking with an accent, his eyes never losing contact with hers. “I thought you’d be a bit more, well, manly. Pike never mentioned you were a woman. But we don’t have much time.”

  “I can hold my own. And Pike never gave me anything.” It wasn’t a lie.

  Pike had been shot at the academy and she’d found his body. He managed to say someone would come to her asking for a package, but he died before giving her details. She had no idea what it contained or where it was located. She hated to let her partner down, but she hadn’t had any luck finding what Pike had spoken about. Or any luck finding information that would clear her brother of murder charges.

  “Right.” He sank to the floor, sliding his back down the doorjamb. “Then why was I directed to come here?”

  “Let me call an ambulance.” Was he acting again or had the adrenaline rush finally worn off?

  “No.”

  “Then your handler.”

  “No one,” he said, fingers on the butt of her gun. “Can’t trust…any of them…right now.”

  Threatening or nonthreatening. She didn’t trust herself to choose. For the past several weeks she’d doubted her intuition. Nerves on edge, jumpy, imagining looks from colleagues. And here she was cornered in her bathroom by a thug claiming to work for… Who was he claiming to work for?

  “It will complicate my weekend if you die in my hallway.” She tried to be detached and uncaring, but this unusual suspect was fading fast. Or was he?

  His eyes closed and he coughed—one of those pathetic “ahem” things that didn’t convince her one way or the other of his weakening. She inched her way toward the door. Informant or not, she couldn’t just wait for him to die.

  “I’m undercover DEA.” He looked up through pain-filled eyes. She was sunk. “I need your help, O’Malley. Can I depend on you?”

  Can I depend on you? The words echoed in her mind.

  Two weeks ago, she would have answered yes in a heartbeat. She had answered yes—too many times to count. But now no one counted on her. How could they? No one really trusted her. She’d failed Michael, and Pike had died in her arms.

  “Verify…two one four…five five five…nine six nine six,” he mumbled, fading. “Double-crossed. Don’t tell ’em…anything.”

  RHODES OPENED ONE EYE at a time, wondering why he didn’t see swirling stars and birdies. Maybe the tom-toms in his head had scared them all off. Stifling a groan, he inched his way to a sitting position against the door. Every bit of him hurt from his earlier fight, but his side had stopped bleeding and had a bandage.

  “Glad to see you’re coming around.” O’Malley stood in front of him—left hand pointing her department-issued pistol at his head and her right holding a cell phone.

  Triumphant and gorgeous. She had to be at least five-nine or five-ten. Slender, with a body honed by the rowing machine in the corner of the living room.

  “Who are you and how are you involved with Michael?”

  “I already told you, O’Malley.”

  “Wrong answer.” She pushed a button and held the phone to her ear. “Yes, sixteen forty-nine Mayflower Drive. Male, mid-twenties, he’s passed out and hit his head. I can’t stay on the line, but I’ll let them in.” She clicked the phone off and sported a very satisfied smile. “You have seven minutes. Tops.”

  “I’d give us three before the guy sitting on your house busts inside.” Another reason he’d used the back entrance. A guy with “cop” written all over him was watching this house from a traditional dark sedan.

  “Real answers or you go to the hospital with the cops.”

  “You are the cops, O’Malley.”

  “Six minutes and counting.” She leaned against the bare wall—barely out of his reach, curly hair neatly tucked behind her ear, gun firmly in her hand, sounding confident.

  But she was vulnerable. He’d seen her throw up.

  “I’m sure it’ll be less of a headache to let you become someone else’s problem. Not to mention the paperwork that I detest. So convince me.”

  He needed to be back in control. He inched his way up the doorjamb, his strength steadily returning despite every muscle in his body aching. What was going through her mind? Did she fake the call? Nope, she looked too confident. “I was double-crossed tonight. Hand over the package Pike gave to you, and I’m out of here.”

  “And the DEA won’t help you because…?”

  “Can’t trust ’em.” Okay, raising one very cute eyebrow was her prompt for more information. And the little tug on her Lucky Care Bear T-shirt meant what?

  “Why would you think you could trust me?”

  Again, the one curious eyebrow thing. Nice. Don’t get distracted, Rhodes. He was running out of time.

  “You saw the photograph. There’s only one reason I’d be sent here.” That hit a nerve. Her fist tightened around the gun handle. Yeah, she knew about the mysterious package. He could see the indecision playing across her lightly freckled face.

  Focus.

  “Five minutes,” she said in a flat voice, ignoring all the emotion he’d witnessed.

  “I’m tracking a guy who might have murdered Pike.”

  “I’m still listening.”

  How much could he spill without jeopardizing his next moves? Enough to get them out of here before her shadow parked out front knocked on the door. Them? Yes, them. It was the only way he could be sure she told him the truth. And to guarantee no one would be coming after him.

  “If the package isn’t here, I think we should leave.” Someone had her house staked out and Rhodes couldn’t tell if the guy in the car would be on her side. “Look. Tonight was supposed to be a simple meet. Get some information. Find out where to go next. I was set up. Trigger-happy cops at one end of the alley and a gun at my back pinning me in the middle. Most likely my handler from the DEA.”

  “They obviously didn’t want you dead or they would have been a little bit more accurate.”

  “I’m not too sure about that.” He pressed his hand to his side. The bleeding had definitely stopped. A flesh wound that still hurt like the devil.

  “I can save you a lot of trouble. I didn’t set you up and have no information about your…package.”

  She grinned at the double entendre. Cute.

  “Aw, but you do.” Yeah, she did. O’Malley wasn’t a very good liar. Strange for someone in undercover work. “And you’re curious.”

  “I’ll give you that one.”

  “Shouldn’t we be leaving?” They’d be cutting it close by walking out the door now. “Call the number I gave you? Verify my ID.”

  “Um…cop,” she said pointing to herself. “Called it and got the Dallas Celebration Deli while you were unconscious.”

  “Then I have nothing. Let your curiosity or faith take over. I need your help. You’re the only one I can count on.”

  There it was again. That indecision he’d seen earlier and something more. It would be close if they left right now. Thank God she had a rear-entry garage. “No more delays. They’ll be here any minute.”

  “I’m not turning over whatever Pike left me because you have a map instructing you to come here.”

  “Take me to the package.” He was back in control. He could see how much she wanted to participate. Her eagerness was written all over her face.

  Don’t say anything else, Rhodes. You’ll just screw it up. It has to be her decision.

  The whine of an ambulance grew in the distance. He needed to avoid the complication of the Dallas P.D. and deal with the one cop he’d been sent to find—O’Malley. One step and he had his back to her.

  Nothing.

  A shake of the doorknob.

  He knew. Just knew. His thighs tensed, ready to move. His abs hardened, anticipating the requirement of his body.

  The front door bashed open and
hit the wall. O’Malley turned toward the noise.

  There was a pop, a hole in the wall. Someone barely missed shooting a hole in O’Malley’s heart.

  No time to think, shout or plead. He wrapped one arm around her waist and his free hand around her pistol. He yanked her toward the kitchen, aiming at the target, blindly pulling the trigger.

  Chapter Two

  Bits of drywall stung Darby’s cheek. She landed with a heavy thud on top of the agent who had saved her life. With her snug against his body, his strong arm circled her waist and hauled her into the kitchen. He anchored her to his rock-hard chest, continuing to point her gun at the opening to the hall—his hand wrapped firmly over hers, committing her to action.

  The agent’s arm pulled so hard and fast, her breath escaped her body. She couldn’t move. Or had time slowed to a frame-by-frame? Her eyes blinked. A strand of hair floated across her face, moved by the man behind her.

  And still the agent held her locked to his long body. Her legs nesting between his.

  Waiting.

  A quick intake to fill his lungs. She did the same, but his grip around her middle didn’t lessen. No sounds came from the front room. She heard nothing but his matching heartbeat against her back.

  “You hit?” Warm air circled her ear, shooting tingles down her spine in spite of their situation.

  The still-unnamed agent released his death grip and her hand holding her weapon fell to her leg. She shot to her feet with him quickly following. His eyes locked onto hers while his fingers explored her body.

  “Are. You. Hit.”

  A rough, impatient voice countered the concern in his eyes. Her side was coated in blood—his blood. The look she’d seen in his eyes for a split second let her know they had something in common…he’d seen death, too.

  “I’m fine.” She was anxious to get her eyes back on the crazy SOB who had busted through her door, gun blazing. “Stay here.”

  Five years of training kicked into gear. Scanning the room and beyond for potential harm, she kept an eye on her unarmed hero. He should have stayed in her kitchen, but he took her flank through the dining room door.