by Dani Pettrey
Declan raced from his surveillance position, Lexi close behind him, both flying across the street as Declan held his hand up trying to halt oncoming traffic.
He caught sight of Anajay exiting the alley at the far side. He called over his com to alert the rest of the agents while he and Lexi maintained pursuit.
His thighs burned with adrenaline, his breath coming in metered bursts as he increased his speed to his max, Lexi falling slightly behind.
Anajay looked over his shoulder and crossed into the next alley, raced through, then crossed the street into another alley. Declan caught up with him at the alley’s dead end.
Anajay scanned the space around him, eyeing the fire escapes as Declan aimed his gun at the man’s chest.
He indicated for Lexi to hold the top of the alley—to prevent any civilians from entering. Anajay must not be armed or he would have responded.
Instead he became eerily still, his dark eyes fixing on Declan. He said something—in Indonesian, he presumed—four short words, and his right hand shifted. Instinct and training told Declan to shoot. He squeezed the trigger as a wall of fire pummeled him back in an explosive force.
He woke to smoke thick in the air, his ears ringing. Lexi was trying to tell him something, her own face smudged black. Sirens roared along with the ringing, everything moving frantically, yet in slow motion.
He was lying on something, men hovering over him. He couldn’t breathe.
A bump, and he looked around. He was in an ambulance? What had happened?
The ringing dulled, and he could make out words but not sentences. There was a man standing over him, moving fast, talking fast as the bay doors shut and the ambulance started moving.
“Pneumothorax . . . going to . . . needle decompression . . .”
“Ten minutes . . .”
Spots danced before his eyes, and everything faded away in a swirling haze.
42
How much longer?” Tanner asked, pacing the ER waiting room. It’d already been an hour since she’d arrived. “What is taking so long?” Why was everyone else so calm?
“Come pray with me,” Finley said, patting the empty seat on her right.
Swallowing, Tanner sat down, her heart still racing like crazy.
Declan had been in an explosion. Details were sketchy, but the aftermath was all over the news. The scorch marks on what remained of the brick alley walls, the depression on the ground from an aerial view. A suicide bomber dead.
Fortunately, the two buildings lining the alley were commercial storage rooms, and no one other than Declan had been hurt beyond superficial injuries, but what occurred still rocked Baltimore—and the whole country. Another terrorist act on American soil. And Declan had caught him. Admiration swelled in her heart along with deep concern. Collapsed lung, she’d heard the nurse say.
“Please, Father, we lift Declan up to you in prayer. You are his Maker, you formed his body in his mother’s womb. Please heal it today. Amen.”
Finley’s prayer was short, but from deep in her soul.
“He’ll pull through,” Griffin said, moving from Finley’s left to sit beside Tanner and squeeze her shoulder. “Not to downplay his injuries, but the nurse said his worst injury is just a pneumothorax.”
“Just a collapsed lung?” Was he crazy? Then again, this was coming from the man who had once used his vehicle to ram another vehicle—one Finley and Tanner were being held hostage in—at a high rate of speed. Tanner shook her head, thinking back to the first case she’d worked with this group.
The doctor entered, and Tanner rose to her feet.
“He’s going to be fine. I inserted a chest tube and he’s breathing well. He’s got a broken leg, a couple of fractured ribs—one of which is the culprit for his punctured lung, but he’s rebounding well. You can see him now.”
“Thank you, doc.” Parker stood, shaking his hand.
“See,” Griffin said.
“You called his family, right?” Tanner asked. They weren’t here and that wasn’t like the Greys. His family was close-knit—as was their hometown, Chesapeake Harbor.
“His parents are on a cruise. We told the rest to wait until tomorrow before they start barraging him, so he can get some rest.”
Tanner’s eyes narrowed. “How’d you know he was going to be okay?”
“Because there wasn’t panic on the nurse’s face and because Declan’s a fighter,” Griffin said.
“I’m starting to get the impression this sort of thing happens often with this group,” she said as they took the stairs up to the third floor and down the hall to Declan’s room.
Griffin held it open. “It goes with the territory.”
She’d remember that.
Declan was propped up in bed and smiled as they entered.
“What? No balloons or pizza?” he asked.
Tanner shook her head. They really were a crazy bunch.
“Ready to tell us what happened?” Finley asked, always the curious one.
“We cornered Anajay, and he decided he’d rather die than get taken alive.” He looked to Griffin. “Was anyone else hurt?”
“No.” Griffin shook his head. “Lexi and a few pedestrians are receiving treatment for superficial wounds, but the storage warehouses boxed the alley.”
“That’s a gift from God.”
“So is your being okay,” Tanner said. “Though you don’t exactly look okay.”
“Why, thank you.”
“You know what I mean.” She was worried about him. Far more so than she would have imagined. For an hour she’d feared the worst, that she might never see Declan Grey again, and it had shifted something in her. Despite his grumpy, uber logical ways, Declan also had a caring side. She’d become close friends with Kate, and was getting to know the rest of the gang better, but now she found herself wanting to know Declan much better. It didn’t make a lot of sense, considering how much he vexed her at times . . . but God’s ways often didn’t make sense upon first glance—or even upon deeper inspection, at times—but she trusted Him, and His Spirit told her it was time to get to know Declan Grey much better.
“Minus all the medical paraphernalia, and the fact you survived an explosion, you look great,” Kate said, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Anything besides pizza we can get for you?”
“My laptop.”
Kate raised her brows in admonishment. “You do not need to be working now. You can take the remainder of the evening off.”
“Says the woman who doesn’t understand what rest means.” He shifted a bit in the bed. “I need to do some research. Anajay said something in what I assume was Indonesian before he detonated the bomb. I just wanted to look up the translation.”
“I speak Indonesian,” Tanner said.
“Right. On the ship.” He shook his head. “I must have got walloped a little harder than I realized.”
“What did he say?”
Declan did his best in pronouncing the words, and Tanner thought for a moment and said a possible Indonesian phrase. They went back and forth until Declan said he was pretty sure Tanner was repeating what Anajay had hollered.
Her eyes widened.
“I’m guessing it wasn’t a warm, fuzzy statement,” Declan said at her expression.
“It roughly means ‘The wrath is here.’”
“It was nice of Tanner to offer to get Declan pizza and hang with him,” Finley said, a smile tickling her lips as the rest of the group entered Charm City Investigations.
“What?” Avery’s eyes widened. “You think there’s something there too?”
Finley shrugged. “I could be wrong, but I’m usually not.”
“Try never,” Griffin said. “It’s most annoying.”
“Please, you adore me.” She smiled, wrapping her arms around his waist.
“Good thing.” He chuckled, kissing her tenderly.
“If we’re done with the lovey-dovey,” Kate said, as she moved to her computer, “I have something I need to sh
ow you all.”
When Kate pulled up a photo with a wide grin, something seemed the understatement of the year to Avery. It was a new picture of Luke. A clear picture of his face.
“Luke’s alive,” Parker said, staggering back. “I don’t believe it. Where’d you get this, Katie?”
“My contact in Malaysia.”
“Malaysia?” Parker said, moving back to the image. “I assume this is a crop. Do you have the full image he sent?”
“Ye . . . ah,” she said, “but there’s just some ship behind him.”
“Ship?” Griffin said, urgency pulsing in his voice.
Kate pulled up the full image her contact had sent her. Luke was standing on a pier, talking with a man, a large merchant ship behind him.
Parker looked to Griffin. “What are the chances Luke’s on a Malaysian pier by a merchant ship . . .”
“When Anajay Darmadi came in on a Malaysian merchant ship,” Griffin said, finishing the statement for him. “Declan’s going to want to know about this. I’ll go tell him, show him the picture. You guys head home—you both look beat.”
Avery rubbed her neck. She was exhausted, but after their conversation with Kyle and Amanda, they needed to make one more stop.
43
Parker pulled to a stop in front of Megan Kent’s house. “You got the pictures?”
Avery pulled them from her bag and tucked them beneath her arm, thankful Griffin had contracted Parker’s services for the case. That arrangement allowed them to make use of the bond Avery believed they’d created with Megan. If they didn’t get the answers they were looking for, then Griffin would pull her in for trespassing and interrogate her.
Megan answered the door, the complete opposite of overjoyed to see them based on her stern expression and tense physique. “What do you want now?”
“Can we come in?”
“What do you want?” she repeated, her tone far more heated than it’d been the other day.
“We just want you to look at some pictures.”
“Of her?”
“No. Of the couple we believe were in Skylar’s trailer that night with you.”
“Oh. Okay.” She stepped back, allowing them passage inside.
The scent of clams and marinara wafted in the air.
“Something smells good,” Avery said. Probably didn’t help she was starving. She and Parker needed to grab a bite to eat, and then she needed to sleep.
“Linguini and clams with red sauce,” Megan said. “The sauce is an old family recipe.”
Oregano and basil floated along the hallway along with the scent of fresh tomatoes as Megan led them back into her living room. Seemed like a fancy dinner for one, but according to the officer Griffin had placed out front, Sebastian hadn’t shown. Though she supposed, if he really wanted in without being spotted, he could trek through the woods out back and enter through the cellar door, which was blocked from view. Maybe they needed to show Megan the rest of the pictures Sebastian had taken of Skylar, clearly dead. Surely that would convince her of the danger she could be in around Sebastian.
Parker nudged Avery. “The pictures?”
“Right.” She handed the top two to Megan. One of Amanda and one of Kyle.
Megan studied them. “I recognize her—she was there.” She handed Amanda’s back and studied Kyle’s, but then shook her head. “Sorry. Like I said I just got a glimpse of him. He’s hot like the guy I saw that night, but I couldn’t say for certain it was him.”
“Thanks, that’s helpful,” Parker said.
“Easy enough,” Megan said, moving toward the living room archway to the hall.
“Wait,” Avery said.
Megan turned. “Yes?”
Parker looked at Avery, no doubt quickly assessing what she intended to do.
“Please,” she whispered.
He nodded. “Okay, but I don’t think it will help.”
“What won’t help?” Megan asked, her bare feet padding across the floor.
“Showing you these.” She was very deliberate about which picture she placed on top before handing them to Megan.
Megan took one look and dropped them, the grotesque images splaying out across her living room floor. “Why would you show me those?”
“Because I want you to see what Sebastian did. He’s dangerous, Megan.”
“Sebastian took those?” she said.
“We got them off his camera at his studio.”
She raced out of the room, and a door slammed. They heard heaving, the toilet flushing, the sink turning on and off, and then she returned to the room.
In the meantime, Avery had collected the photos. “I’m sorry to show you those. I know they were disturbing, but I don’t want to see you hurt.”
“Please go,” she said, tears slipping from her eyes.
Avery wanted to stay, to make sure she was okay, but it was obvious they were no longer welcome. She only prayed showing the photographs had finally broken through to Megan—that if she knew Sebastian’s whereabouts she’d call, and that she’d stay away from him at all costs.
“I think you got through to her,” Parker said as they walked back to his car.
Avery exhaled. “I pray so.”
Parker and Avery stopped and picked up takeout from Bill Bateman’s, and once home Avery devoured her filet, mashed potatoes, and grilled asparagus. Parker made a huge dent in his second order of crab dip, the extra baguette nearly gone.
“We forgot dessert,” Parker said.
As full as she was, no meal was complete without dessert. “I’m out of ice cream and chocolate.” It’d been a crazy time, and grocery shopping had gone out the window.
“I’ll run down to Vaccaro’s and grab us some cannoli.”
“That sounds awesome, but you’re sure you don’t mind?”
“I’m certain.” He leaned in and kissed her. “I told you, anything for you, love. But I better hurry, before they close.”
She smiled as he shut her front door and she deadbolted it behind him.
Raggedly, she climbed the stairs, a hot shower sounding incredible for her aching muscles. Hoping to be out and freshened up before Parker returned, she headed into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and let it run until it was hot, steam billowing in the air. She turned to undress . . . and froze at the sight of Sebastian Chadwyck.
44
With no street parking available out front when they’d arrived at Avery’s, Parker had been forced to circle a few times, finally locating a spot four blocks away. He was a little more than one block from the car when the sight of a motorcycle parked in the alley snagged his attention.
Panic surged as he stepped closer. A blue Ninja. Sebastian. He turned and raced back to Avery’s.
“Hello, beautiful.” Sebastian stepped from leaning against the wall, gun in hand, aimed at her heart. “We’ll be needing to hurry.”
“Parker will be back any minute.”
“Not if he’s going to Vaccaro’s.” He smiled, and fear kicked in.
He’d been listening.
“But it still doesn’t leave us much time. I’m going to need your car keys.”
“What?”
“I can hardly take you on my motorcycle, and take you I will.” He stepped closer. “Turn around.” He pulled out duct tape.
She did as instructed.
“Now put your hands behind your back. Hold them out. No fighting like last time.”
He was going to tape her wrists together, which meant . . .
He set the gun down, and she waited until she heard the tape pull, then swung her elbow back and up into his nose.
Sebastian hollered, and she’d swung around, reaching for the gun, when she heard the soft mechanical click of a trigger readying.
Terrified Sebastian had reached the weapon before her, she looked up . . . and relief swelled at the sight of Parker with his gun aimed at Sebastian’s heart.
Parker stood behind the viewing glass as Griffin and Jason read Sebastia
n his Miranda rights and then began their interrogation. Parker had dropped a fully protesting Avery off with Kate and Tanner because he didn’t want her present for the gory details of her friend’s death. And if Sebastian gave up the location of Skylar’s body, he most certainly didn’t want her there when they found it. She didn’t need the last image of her friend to be her decomposing corpse.
“I’m telling you,” Sebastian said, rubbing his nose, which was still red and tender from connecting with Avery’s elbow. “I didn’t kill her, and I can prove it.”
“How’s that?” Griffin asked.
“I saw the dude that killed her. Well . . . kind of.”
“Kind of? Yep. That’s a real promising start,” Griffin said, looking back at him with raised brows.
“I mean I didn’t fully see his face. At first he had his back to me and then it was dark, but I did see him.”
“Uh-huh.” Jason wasn’t buying it either.
Parker had seen Sebastian’s work. Entered his world at the studio. There was nothing but darkness there.
“How about a license plate?” Sebastian offered.
Parker straightened. He hadn’t expected that, but Sebastian could toss out any license plate number to throw them off his trail for a while. Divert their attention.
“And,” Sebastian said, his voice strengthening, his shoulders squaring, “I can tell you where her body is.”
Griffin glanced back at the glass, his expression one of surprise and interest.
“He’s lying,” Parker said, though he was the only one in the room. No one who had murdered someone would be stupid enough to give up the body dumpsite, and no one as grotesque as Sebastian Chadwyck—based on what they’d seen at his studio, home, and storage facility—could be innocent of Skylar Pierce’s murder.
“All right,” Jason said, “tell us who did it, and where Skylar Pierce’s body is.”
“I said I saw him, but I didn’t say I know who he is.”
“Well, that’s convenient.” Jason’s curiosity dimmed on his face. “And let me guess . . . you aren’t exactly sure where her body is, after all.”
