Walk Through the Fire

by Calle J. Brookes

  “I need to meet with Elliot in my office. Carl has been looking into Dennis Lee Arnold for me. He thinks he’s found something.”

  “The councilman who’s always on the news?” She remembered him. He was so blond that he was almost bleached out. His eyes were a weird green color that had always struck her as empty. She’d spoken with him before—he was known to go door-to-door in her neighborhood from time to time. Usually when he wanted people to vote for him.

  Her mother had always liked him. “He’s the one?”

  She could barely fathom it, but seeing him shot right before her eyes that night was something she would never forget.

  “I think so.” He shot her a rueful look. “At first, I thought it was Carl.”

  “Ouch.” That would hurt him. He spoke about Carl Buchanan just as much as he spoke about his parents. The man was Turner’s hero—him and Houghton, anyway. “I’m glad it isn’t Carl, Turner.”

  “Me, too. He…you know when you have that one person who makes a difference in your life because they want to—not because they have to? That is Carl for me.”

  “Like a second father.”

  “Yes.”

  “I had Jake. He was only twenty-six or -seven when Izzie went to live with him. But he was fierce over her. Me, too. Anything I needed, Jake was there. It took some getting used to. We didn’t really like him that much at first. We were rather used to doing whatever we wanted, when we wanted.”

  “I’m glad you had him. Although, he’s pretty intense. I can see where that would be tough for two teenagers to deal with.” She could just see his face in the light from the car pulling up behind them.

  “He can be. He’s always been that way. It used to drive Izzie nuts. Especially about her asthma—”

  Something slammed into the rear of Turner’s Lincoln, sending them careening off the road and into the darkness.

  Annie screamed.

  The airbag deployed just as her head slammed off the passenger door.

  Everything went black.

  107

  Turner heard the Lincoln’s post-crash alert system blaring the horn. It was enough to pull him back to consciousness. Turner tried to turn his head toward Annie.

  She wasn’t moving. She was slumped against the passenger door, the hood of her thin hoodie covering her face.

  “Annie! Honey, talk to me. Honey, Annie…”

  Turner’s door was jerked open.

  Help had arrived.

  He turned toward the sudden explosion of light, from the second car’s headlights.

  “Not a word,” a voice said from next to his window.

  The gun was right next to his face. Turner lifted his hands from the wheel and shifted his body—blocking Annie as best as he could. She wasn’t moving. He bit back the panic. She couldn’t run, couldn’t escape.

  And the man had the gun pointed right into the interior of the Lincoln.

  “Out of the car, Barratt,” the gruff voice ordered. “Now.”

  “What’s this about?”

  “Paying debts. Once I’m finished with you, I’m gone. Now I’m not saying it again. Out of the damned car.”

  Annie was wearing dark clothing. She…the attacker might not have seen Annie. Might not have realized she was even there.

  It wasn’t the most populated highway into the city, but someone should be coming by soon. Annie would get help. Someone would find her, would call in the wreck.

  Someone would help Annie.

  But he had to get this bastard far away from her first.

  It was all the hope Turner had.

  108

  Annie opened her eyes and saw nothing but headlights reflecting off the rain. Theirs, and from the car that had struck them. Her head hurt, making it difficult to keep her eyes open. And her forehead burned. Stung, like she’d scraped it against something.

  “Turner?” She turned her head. Turner should be nearby.

  He wasn’t there.

  “Turner?” When he didn’t answer, she called it a little louder. Still, nothing.

  They were still at least a mile from town. In the dark.

  In the storm.

  Annie shoved the door open, ignoring the pain in her head. “Turner?”

  He wouldn’t have left her. Not Turner. She didn’t think they’d hit hard enough for him to have been thrown from the car. And he’d had his seatbelt on. She was sure of it.

  Every motor vehicle accident patient she’d ever seen flashed through her head.

  She wobbled, taking quick stock of her own injuries. Probably a concussion. But it was a mild one. Her wrist was already swelling. There was blood at her temple, mingling with the rain.

  The worst was the concussion. She was injured, but she’d live.

  “Turner?” she yelled as loudly as she could. Nothing.

  He was gone.

  And she was still south of town on a side road that people didn’t always travel when it rained. She fought the panic. “Turner!”

  Annie hurried back to his Lincoln. The onboard safety system was still blaring. She didn’t know if his car had that feature where it would automatically alert the police in the case of an accident, but she couldn’t count on it.

  She had to call Elliot. He was waiting. She had to get to him. Annie found her phone under the front seat and grabbed it quickly.

  She didn’t bother with 911. Not with Elliot waiting for them.

  She dialed as quickly as she could, so grateful she’d had his number in her phone before. He answered on the second ring.

  “He’s gone, Elliot! Someone ran us off the road, and I can’t find Turner!”

  “We’ll be right there.”

  109

  Dennis Lee didn’t regret sending Collin after the mayor tonight. The man had to die. It was a simple matter. They all had to die. It was fitting that the man credited with saving the city from the storm died during another.

  Carl Buchanan was next.

  Carl was his. A thrill of anticipation went through him as he imagined what would happen.

  He’d fantasized about killing Carl off and on since they were young boys.

  He should have killed him when they’d been children. Sharing a small bedroom in his damned alcoholic father’s bungalow, terrified the man would come in and strike more blows. For the smallest of offenses. Nothing he or Carl did was ever good enough.

  Carl sure had tried.

  Dennis Lee hadn’t bothered.

  Dennis Lee’s daddy sure had liked to use his fists on his son and stepson. Nothing Dennis Lee or Carl had done could make it stop. Until Carl’s momma had that baby, and they’d wanted the room the boys shared for her.

  Thirteen and fourteen were old enough to make their own ways in the world, they’d both been told. They’d given them twenty dollars each and showed them the door.

  Family sentimentality had been all that had kept him from targeting Carl before now. But fuck that. Carl wasn’t his family. Family didn’t screw each other like this.

  Jenny, his Jenny, had had no business climbing into Carl’s bed like that. Carl had to have convinced her, had to have tricked her. Just to take her from Dennis Lee.

  Why else would Jenny have chosen Carl?

  Dennis Lee should have been enough for her.

  No, he was going to do some housekeeping tonight. He wanted the mayor gone. Just to get things finished in that regard. The city had lost a mayor before; they’d survive losing Barratt.

  Dennis Lee might just step into the roll himself.

  Punish Jenny by taking that position from her.

  He knew how badly she wanted to be the mayor someday.

  Dennis Lee wanted Carl to suffer. First, he’d tell Carl himself exactly what had happened to the man Carl had always considered like his son. He’d take Barratt away from him, just as Carl had taken Jenny.

  Then he’d shoot Carl, fill that damned dried-up old body with as many bullets as he could.

  He just wanted to make Carl suffer fo
r taking his Jenny.

  Dennis Lee really loved that woman.

  Just how much was finally becoming clear. It was time to make Carl pay for everything he’d ever done to Dennis Lee.

  Dennis Lee stood, then tucked his .38 into his pocket. It had never failed him before. It wouldn’t fail him tonight.

  It had been the only thing of his father’s he’d ever had.

  Fitting that he used it tonight.

  110

  Turner couldn’t see a damned thing as the guy forced him at gunpoint over the small hill in the opposite direction of the town. He kept his hand where the man could see them. There would be a time to act, and Turner was going to take it.

  They kept walking, putting at least one hundred meters from the Lincoln.

  He heard Annie yell his name, and the man jerked around. The guy cursed and almost turned around to go back. He raised the gun in his hand.

  Toward Annie.

  Turner dove at the man, hitting him around the waist.

  He slammed into the man, sending him reeling. Both went down in the mud and gravel alongside the road. Turner jammed his fist into the man’s face.

  The gunman’s fist bounced off Turner’s face. Turner pulled free.

  He slammed the man’s head against the ground.

  It stunned his attacker. Just enough for Turner to get the upper hand.

  He yanked the man up and slammed him down to the dirt again.

  He was bigger, madder, and had a whole lot more to fight for in that woman just over the hill. Turner wasn’t about to let the man ever get near Annie again.

  One more time, fighting against the man’s grasping hands. Turner slammed him down again.

  He got lucky.

  The guy went limp. Turner searched for the man’s gun but couldn’t find it in the dark.

  But one thing was crystal clear.

  He had to get Annie out of there. Fast.

  He could just see her in the distance, visible only when the lightning would flash. “Annie!”

  She turned and then she was stumbling right toward him.

  He ran.

  111

  Turner scooped her close. Lightning flashed overhead, revealing a dark stain at her temple. “Just how badly are you hurt?”

  Sirens sounded in the distance, competing with the approaching thunder.

  “I—where were you? I called Elliot. He’s on his way. I couldn’t find you.” She was reaching for him, her hands tight on his shoulders. Turner wrapped both arms around his woman and just held her. “Who hit us?”

  “He had a gun. It was an ambush. Come on.” Turner wasn’t taking any chances. There were corrupt cops in the TSP now. He wasn’t going to risk her. “I want you to get behind the car until we see who is behind those sirens. Then we’re going to get you to the hospital and get you checked out.”

  She’d been out when he’d come to. That didn’t just happen by chance. He wanted her checked out by her friends, preferably Allen or little Nikkie Jean, before he took her home to his family ranch, where there were armed staff to keep her safe.

  Then he and Elliot were going to go hunting.

  Someone had set them up tonight, pulling him out from the ranch. That bastard had been waiting for him. Turner had no doubt about that.

  Just so he could be a target.

  Now they’d just pissed him off—Annie was never going to be a target again.

  He grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his Lincoln. He made quick work of wrapping it around her, keeping his eyes trained in the direction of his attacker. The guy could come back over that hill at any moment.

  And Turner hadn’t been able to find that gun.

  “Stay here, honey. I’m going to go check on that guy. Make sure he’s not creeping up on us.” The missing gun didn’t sit well with him. Not at all. “Get behind the Lincoln and stay down.”

  “No. Stay here. Let Elliot’s men do that.” Her fingers wrapped around his arm again. “Please. Just don’t go back over there.”

  Before he could say anything, two squad cars and two unmarkeds pulled to a stop in front of them.

  Elliot Marshall was outlined in the flashing lights within seconds. Some of Turner’s tension lessened. “Elliot! Over here!”

  The chief jogged toward them. “Turner, Annie, are either of you hurt?”

  “I’m ok, but she was unconscious for a few minutes. There’s a man down just over that small hill there. He ran us off the road. Then when Annie was unconscious, he forced me from the vehicle at gunpoint. We…fought. He hit his head, and I made it back to Annie.”

  It was almost simplistic in his explanation. Turner didn’t need that pointed out to him. Hell, if there were more details than that, he’d have given them. “There’s not a lot more I can say about it. I didn’t even get a good enough look at his face to identify him.”

  Elliot turned toward the plainclothes detectives who had come up behind him. “Callum, Evers, check it out.”

  The two detectives did as instructed, disappearing over the hill quickly.

  Turner just held Annie in his arms and looked at the chief. “She was unconscious, El. I want to get her to the ER.”

  “Paramedics are on their way,” Elliot said. He stepped closer and used a small flashlight to study Annie’s face. “How badly are the two of you hurt?”

  “I—” Annie started to say something, but shouts came from over the hill.

  Callum jogged up. “Chief, you’ll need to see this. The guy…you need to see this. You, too, Mayor Barratt. It…isn’t pretty.”

  Turner wasn’t going anywhere without Annie. His hand tightened around hers. She wasn’t saying much, just shaking in his grip. When they crested the small hill, Turner could just see the outline of one of the detectives over the man who had attacked him. He’d honestly thought the guy would have taken off by now. Or at least tried to get back to the car he’d hit them with.

  Dread filled him.

  That guy should have taken off by now.

  “What is it?” Elliot asked.

  “He’s dead. Head wound, most likely from that rock right there,” Callum said, bluntly, pointing a flashlight toward a handful of palm-sized limestone chunks. “And it’s Officer Collin Eugent. He was wearing a damned face mask, almost obscuring his face. The hit probably killed him instantly. Evers found a gun ten feet to the east. Not TSP issue. That answers a few questions I had about him.”

  “He was going to kill me,” Turner said, unsure what else he was supposed to say. He hadn’t meant to kill the man. He’d just wanted to ensure Annie was as safe as possible. “He started back toward Annie with the gun, and we were grappling. He had his gun, but I couldn’t find it in the mud after that. He was going to go back after Annie. It was an accident.”

  Turner quickly outlined what had happened since the moment he realized the car was coming up behind them.

  “It was self-defense then.” Evers said. It wasn’t a question. “He’s not in uniform. He’s wearing a ski mask and carrying a gun that isn’t standard issue. He would have recognized you, Mayor Barratt. He would have run your license plate number, as well. If it was legitimate business, he wouldn’t have pulled you from the car at gunpoint; nor forced you out here. And he would have rendered aid.”

  “And he’s had access to privileged information. We can’t overlook that,” Elliot stated bluntly. “He overheard quite a few of our conversations. I’ve used him for a runner for weeks. He could have leaked anything.”

  “He was going to go after Annie. He…I thought she was dead when we first crashed. I couldn’t let him come back for her.”

  “It was self-defense, and defense of another,” Elliot continued. “You did what you had to do. Don’t forget that tonight when the nightmares come. You kept yourself and Annie safe. And that is what matters.”

  112

  Carl saw the small crowd the instant they entered the hospital ER. Turner was rather easily recognizable, after all. His sweet little Annie was at
his side, looking battered and bruised. There was a bloody bandage at her temple, and she sat perched on the stretcher with a paramedic at her side, almost embarrassedly.

  No doubt she felt just that, being in the ER where so many of her friends worked.

  Carl headed straight for Turner, who was covered in mud and completely shell-shocked. Carl gave him a closer once-over, making certain he wasn’t injured more than he appeared. “What happened?”

  “We were ambushed along the road,” Turner said quietly. “I’ll tell you more in private.”

  Carl just nodded. He would have hugged Turner, but he was covered in mud. “How badly is Annie hurt?”

  She wasn’t walking, but Turner was. Carl fought the worry. He’d started to feel a bit protective over the girl in the few days she’d been staying with Turner, just from the way the younger man had spoken about her. Turner had brought her to lunch with him one day, and he’d been charmed by how sweet yet unwavering the girl seemed.

  She was giving Turner the family the boy deserved.

  Carl had been hoping he’d get to meet the boys soon—and get to know Annie even more. Be on the periphery of that little family. Turner was the closest thing to a son he had now, besides Jason. Carl didn’t take that relationship lightly.

  Carl had been happy to entertain the idea of being an uncle to three little boys. He’d mentor them, just like he had Turner. If he lived long enough.

  Carl might not have much blood family still living—he had a sister he rarely saw, somewhere in the city—but he had learned years ago how to build a family out of those around him that he loved.

  “Banged up a bit. She thinks she had a concussion, and she wrenched her right leg when the impact happened. I want her checked out before she ever steps foot outside again.”

  “Of course.” Carl understood. Turner’s love for her was still in that new and terrifying phase. Something happening to her had just become Turner’s number one nightmare.