Dedication
This book, the fifth in the Trust No One series, is dedicated to the Blue Ridge Literary Agency. To Dawn, our fearless leader, who gave me a chance when a significant number of others passed, thank you from the bottom of my heart.
When an author signs with BRLA, she doesn’t just become another name on the roster—she becomes a member of the BRLA family. To those awesome and talented agency writers who accepted me as an author before I had a single book published, who answered dumb questions, gave advice and offered friendship, shared and tweeted until their fingers were blue—you know who you are—I respect and admire you all.
Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
About the Author
By Dixie Lee Brown
An Excerpt from Various States of Undress: Georgia by Laura Simcox
An Excerpt from Make It Last by Megan Erickson
An Excerpt from Hero By Night by Sara Jane Stone
An Excerpt from Mayhem by Jamie Shaw
An Excerpt from Sinful Rewards 1 by Cynthia Sax
An Excerpt from Forbidden by Charlotte Stein
An Excerpt from Her Highland Fling by Jennifer McQuiston
Copyright
About the Publisher
Chapter One
THE CRESCENT MOON disappeared slowly beneath a thin veil of clouds, and a shiver rushed through Mac, stopping her in midsentence. What her brother would have referred to as the heebie-jeebies raised goose bumps on both of her arms. She hugged herself, the balance of her words forgotten.
Get a grip, girl. There’s nothing sinister about the moon. Inhaling a deep breath, she glanced sideways at the man behind the wheel, who studied her with an amused twinkle in his eyes.
She reached out to touch his arm. “Thanks for coercing me into this dumb ride-along tonight. It really was just what I needed.”
A scornful laugh burst from him. “Telling you I wasn’t going to cook for you ever again if you didn’t come doesn’t exactly qualify as coercion, Mac. But it’s good to see you laugh for a change, even if I am the butt of most of your jokes.”
“Don’t be a poor sport, Paddy.” Indeed, Mac had laughed until her cheeks ached. No one could get her out of a funk like Paddy. Clearly, he was concerned about her after her breakup with Douglas, the most recent disaster in a long line of unfortunate relationships he’d suffered through with her. She suspected the real reason behind his invitation was to get her out of the house and back among the living.
“Now see, there’s another thing. Do you think, while I’m on duty, you could refrain from calling me that?” He tried without success to hide his teasing smile.
Her gaze swept over him as he flipped on his blinker and turned onto Harbor Road. “I suppose you’d be wantin’ me ta call ya Patrick, all proper, would ya?”
One of his eyebrows shot upward as her fake brogue intensified. She shouldn’t taunt him, but then someone had to keep him from taking himself so seriously. Although, she had to admit he made a striking figure in his state trooper uniform, his badge displayed prominently on his shirtfront. It’d been his dream for as long as she could remember, and she’d been almost as proud as he was the day he graduated from the Police Academy.
“Actually, I was thinkin’ you might call me Officer Callahan.”
He hadn’t gotten the name all the way out before she hooted and held her sides while she laughed helplessly. After a moment, and Paddy’s exasperated sigh, she managed to contain her amusement.
“Maybe . . . if we hadn’t been friends since we were both four years old . . . no, you’ll always be Paddy Callahan—the blond-haired boy who played dress-up with me, who taught me how to cover second base, and who talked me into going skinny-dipping more times than I want to remember.”
Best friends all of their lives, Mac knew Paddy better than he knew himself . . . and vice versa. She’d tagged him with his nickname back when she was too little to wrap her tongue around Patrick, and now he was stuck with it. Similarly, he’d rejected Samantha Anne McCallister as being way too long, and she’d been simply Mac from that day forward.
Her father had returned from Viet Nam with PTSD, which ruled out the possibility of him ever returning to the front lines. The Air Force, always quick to treat the symptoms instead of the cause, gave him a recruiting job, which he held until he retired two years ago. After Mac’s mother quit her nursing position at the hospital, they’d sold out and moved to Anchorage. Now with Mac’s brother stationed at Anderson Air Force Base in Guam, Paddy had become the one she leaned on . . . probably too much. Bless his heart—he never seemed to mind.
The radio crackled to life and they both automatically tuned in to the dispatcher. “Anyone in the vicinity of six thirty-three Lincoln Street, we have a ten-ninety.”
Silent alarm in progress. Mac always got a little shot of adrenaline when a call went out sending one of the Alaska State Troopers into an unknown situation. Most nights, she’d have been the one to make that call, if not for this silly ride-along Paddy had talked her into. Eight years on the job gave her seniority among the small staff of dispatchers she shared her duties with, but she still chose the graveyard shift. Inevitably, the whack jobs and sickos came out after midnight.
Paddy scooped up the mike and held it to his mouth. “Copy that. Sierra Tango eighteen responding.”
“Roger, Sierra Tango eighteen.” Mac’s friend, Lucas, was covering her shift tonight.
“That’s just around the corner.” Paddy returned the mike to its hanger beside the radio. “Okay, finally, something to do besides drive around and argue with you. We’ll go in quiet and dark.”
The radio chirped again. “Negative, Sierra Tango eighteen. Simpson and I are right out front. We’ve got this.”
“Oh, hell.” Paddy’s disappointed sigh clearly indicated his level of boredom with the inactivity of the evening. He grabbed the radio. “Roger that. Sierra Tango eighteen out.” He turned toward Mac with a grin. “Your buddy Gallagher . . . cutting in on my action.”
Mac chuffed a contemptuous breath. “He’s not my buddy.”
“Well, you went to the homecoming dance with him our senior year.”
“I can’t believe you! That was eight years ago. Give me a break. Besides, that was before I found out how horny he was.” She’d never told Paddy just how awful that night had been.
He snickered and reached toward her, pushing her long brunette waves behind her shoulder, his eyes asking forgiveness for bringing the whole thing up. Mac met his gaze, and memories of the two of them growing up next door to each other, inseparable all through school, filled her mind. He was the one person she could always count on—no matter what. She loved him like a brother and could never stay irritated with him for more than two seconds.
Paddy moved his hand back to the steering wheel, hit his blinker, and turned left onto Lincoln Street.
“What are you doing?” It was a foolish question, and she knew the answer. Except for her misguided decision to attend college in Anchorage, ended by a
disastrously short career as an exotic dancer, she’d lived in Sitka all her life. The address the dispatcher had given was home to Wagner’s Fish Packing Plant, and it occupied most of the next block.
Paddy grinned and winked. “Just a little drive-by—making sure they don’t need backup.” He slowed as they approached the intersection, then braked sharply. “What the hell?”
Mac followed his gaze. The packing plant was on the right, an Alaska State cruiser parked on the street, and three guys stood in front of the entry, illuminated by the streetlight on the corner. “Do you recognize them?” Sitka was a small town, but she’d never seen these men before.
Paddy shook his head slowly. “Those are automatic weapons they’re packing.” He killed the lights and made a quick left into a dark, sparsely populated lot, parked in the farthest corner, and grabbed the mike. “Dispatch, this is Sierra Tango eighteen. I’m at six thirty-three Lincoln Street. Be advised of a possible ten-thirty-two. Are you in contact with Gallagher and Simpson?”
“Negative. No contact since they entered the building.”
“Copy that, dispatch. We’re going to need some more backup out here. I’ll have a look around.” Paddy placed the mike back on its hanger.
Lucas immediately put out the call for additional help, but Mac only heard bits and pieces of the thread. If she hadn’t taken the night off, she’d be the one making that call, sending backup to Paddy’s location. Man, it seemed so different—clinical—on that end. Out here it was just plain scary. Her heart pounded in her ears, and her stomach ached with dread. This wasn’t what she’d anticipated when Paddy had convinced her to ride along with him. She was a complete coward. Oh my God! She couldn’t breathe. She was hyperventilating.
Suddenly, he gripped her hand, and his quiet, calm voice broke through her panic. “Remember what I told you. Lock the door when I leave. Under no circumstances should you attempt to leave the car or follow me. Got it?”
She nodded. Questions tumbled over themselves, fighting to be asked. Why couldn’t he wait for the backup? What did he plan to do? He was coming back safely, right? She clamped her lips closed. This was his job, and he was good at it, so she shut up and let him do it.
He laid her hand on her leg and gave it a pat as he smiled. Then he opened his door and stepped out. She followed his movements to the rear of the car, where he opened the trunk and closed it a few seconds later. When he appeared at her side window to point at the door lock, he carried his pump-action shotgun.
Mac locked the doors and returned his wave just before he walked away. As he ducked into the alley leading to the rear of the plant, a chill shook her from head to toe and drew her eyes to the crescent moon that now hung brazenly in the night sky.
She fought down the dread that rose like bile in her throat and turned partway in the seat so she could more easily see the front of the plant. The three armed men had moved single-file through the entryway a few minutes ago. The sidewalk was empty now. She alternated between watching the door and looking up and down the street. Where was the backup Lucas had called? Hurry up. Let me see those pretty blue lights. The waiting was excruciating, and after a while, she had to physically stop herself from climbing out of the vehicle.
Her fingers twitched to grab the radio and ask Lucas what was taking so long, but that was too public. She scooped up her purse from the floor, rifled through it for her cell phone, and dialed the nonemergency number.
“Dispatch.” It was six rings before Lucas answered. Must be a busy night in the district.
“Lucas, where’s that backup? What’s taking so long?” Mac strove to attain the same level of detachment she exhibited on the job but failed miserably.
“Mac? We’ve got a regular free-for-all out there tonight. A riot broke out over on Waterfront Street near the new strip club . . . thirteen hurt so far. Every uniformed man we’ve got is trying to get a handle on that. I’ll get someone there as soon as I can.” Lucas was in his early forties and had worked the radio most of his life. Nothing ever seemed to chip away at his calm.
That’s right. She’d heard that call go out earlier. Paddy had been on the outskirts of town checking out a domestic disturbance at the time or he’d have responded to that location too. “I know you’re doing the best you can, Lucas. It’s just . . . it’s way different from this perspective. This ride-along was a really dumb—”
A blast of automatic weapons fire ripped through the quiet street. Mac fumbled with the phone, and it disappeared between the seat and the console. She shoved her hand through the gap and felt for the device but went still as movement caught her eye. Her gaze shot toward the front of the packing plant in time to see Simpson and Gallagher exit the building and jog toward their cruiser.
Seconds after their car laid rubber and took off, the three men who’d walked in with rifles in their arms reappeared with them slung over their backs. They paused and peered around carefully. Mac ducked as they looked her way, even though it would have been nearly impossible to see her in the dark so far away, especially while they stood under a street light. It still unnerved her. She breathed a sigh of relief when they got into a vehicle a few doors down, started it, and drove away.
Thank God. It’s over. Her gaze never left the alley as she waited anxiously for Paddy to come back.
But he didn’t. Five minutes . . . ten minutes . . . fifteen minutes. Mac was kidding herself. Something was terribly wrong, and in spite of Paddy’s orders, she couldn’t sit there any longer. She should have gone to find him as soon as those men left. Truth was, she’d been too scared to move.
Now the only thing on her mind was getting in that building to look for Paddy. He could give her hell for leaving the car later. She opened the passenger door and slid out, then reached back inside to grab the flashlight off the dash and shine it beneath the seat until she located her phone. Pocketing it, she glanced around carefully, noticing how deathly quiet the street was. It was nearly three o’clock in the morning. Even the drunks would be sleeping it off by now.
Mac took a deep breath, hoping to bolster her confidence, and crossed the parking lot, keeping a sharp eye out for any sign of life before stepping into the street. She ended up in front of the entrance to the building way before she was ready to go inside.
The only thing that got her to move was the growing knowledge that Paddy had to be in trouble. She tried the door handle, relieved when it opened for her. After everything else she’d seen tonight, the fact that whoever those men were had left the door unlocked in the middle of the night wasn’t even noteworthy. Just inside, she flipped on the flashlight and shone it into the darkness. The long room before her smelled slightly of fish and was filled with stainless steel tables, conveyor belts, machinery, and huge vats. On the far side was a set of wooden stairs leading to Cecil Wagner’s windowed office, which overlooked the plant floor. It was stone quiet, to the point where she could hear herself breathing.
“Paddy?” Her whisper was shockingly loud in the silent room, but she’d have to call louder if she expected him to hear her. “Paddy, where are you?”
Thump.
Mac’s gaze darted to the room at the top of the stairs. Had she really heard something? Or was it only her heart pounding in her ears?
Thump.
That was definitely something, although, if it was Paddy, why didn’t he simply show himself? She hurried across to the stairs, took them at a jog, and stopped outside the small office with her hand resting on the doorknob. More afraid than she’d ever been in her life, she pushed it open.
Immediately, she heard a raspy, wheezing, gurgling sound that chilled her to the bone. She shone her light across the floor and almost dropped it when the spotlight landed on Paddy, lying on his back. One fisted hand raised and dropped, again making the noise she’d heard from downstairs. So much blood . . . everywhere.
Mac choked back a sob and rushed to him, the knees of her jeans soaking up his blood as she knelt beside him. An ambulance. Desperately, she fumbled f
or her phone.
Paddy was badly hurt. Two bullet wounds in his chest and one in his throat. There may have been more, but that was all she could see. The one in his throat was keeping him from talking, although it didn’t stop him from trying. His eyes were open and locked on hers, desperation written there.
Mac had to hold it together. She was all he had right now, and she wasn’t doing him any good being on the verge of a crying jag.
Without taking her eyes off Paddy’s, she dialed Lucas’s number again. “Paddy’s hurt. We need an ambulance.”
“Mac? Are you still at Wagner’s?” Lucas’s voice rose for a second before his customary calm returned. “I’ll call it in. Stay on the line, Mac.”
“No . . . I can’t. I have to help him. Tell them to hurry, Lucas.” She dropped the phone and smiled at Paddy even though her heart was aching. “They’ll be here in no time. Now, let’s get this bleeding stopped.” She glanced around and spotted a stack of towels near a sink. Jumping up, she grabbed several of them. As she knelt beside him again and began applying pressure to his wounds, he put his hand to his throat and formed words with his lips, but, except for his frustrated grunts, no sounds came out.
Mac placed her fingers on his lips and held his gaze until he quieted. “Tell me later, after they get you patched up.” There were a thousand questions she wanted to ask, but now wasn’t the time.
The fear that grew in his eyes almost did her in. Slowly, he slid his hand to his badge and pulled it free. He pressed it against her hand frantically, until she had to leave the towel and take it from him. Next he reached for his gun and became highly agitated when it wasn’t in his holster.
“It’s okay, Paddy. It’s by the door. I saw it on my way in.” What had happened to his shotgun?
If she had let him, he would have crawled over to retrieve it. After ordering him to lie still, she went and got the weapon. He was pulling a business card from his front shirt pocket when she knelt beside him again, and he shoved it at her along with the gun she tried to put in his holster. She had no idea why he wanted her to have those items, only that he was calmer when she gave in and held them in her hands.
Tempt the Night Page 1
