by CJ Lyons
The ERT’s medic arrived, quickly assessing the situation and opening his trauma kit. “Just like Spence,” Luka told Dean as he moved out of the medic’s way. “Leave it to me.”
Forty-Five
Leah braced herself against the wall as the door slammed open. To her surprise, it was a middle-aged woman and a man in his early thirties who charged into the room.
“Who the hell are you?” the man demanded.
The woman motioned to him to hush. She stepped forward. “I’m Reverend Harper’s wife, Rachel. This is his church and this is his son, John.” She took another step toward Leah, which blocked her view of John. “How can we help you?”
Did they know about Beth and the baby? Leah wondered. Surely the reverend would have trusted his own wife and son—but then she remembered how Luka had said the reverend refused to say anything, even to Harper, his daughter, after she told him the baby’s life was in danger.
When Leah said nothing, the man, John, pulled a gun out from behind his back. “Told you we might need this,” he said to his mother. Then he gestured to Leah. “Move away. I know my father stashed her in there. We just want the girl.”
“We don’t want to hurt you,” Rachel added in a conciliatory tone that Leah did not trust, not for a moment.
“The girl can’t help you,” she tried bluffing. “She doesn’t know anything about where the gold is. Spencer killed himself before he could tell her where it was.”
John cocked his head. “See, now we know you’re lying. We heard Spencer tell my father that if anything happened to him, he was to get the girl out and that the gold would protect her and the baby. Of course, at the time, he didn’t expect the baby to be born right when he was leaving to fake his own death.”
Leah frowned. “Wait. You heard—how? And how did you know he was leaving, much less what he was going to do?”
Rachel nudged John hard. “You talk too much.”
“You were there,” Leah said, shock flooding over her. “You killed Spencer?”
“It was an accident,” John said. “Now open the door and get the girl. The police will be here any minute.”
Harper appeared in the doorway, the reverend right behind her. “The police are here. Put the gun down, John.”
She held her own pistol aimed at John, but in such a small room, that also meant it was aimed toward Leah. The reverend didn’t help matters as he pushed past Harper to confront his son. “You were there when Spencer died? You need to tell the truth, John. What happened?”
“Don’t say a word,” Rachel snapped, squaring off with her husband. And blocking any shot Harper had, Leah couldn’t help but notice. She scanned the area closest to her, searching for a weapon, but the only things close to hand were the life-sized sheep clustered among the other nativity figures.
Despite the fact that John’s attention was diverted by his parents’ argument, he still held the gun aimed at her and was far too close for her to have any hope of his missing if he pulled the trigger. She patted the wall behind her, judging its thickness. In the ER, she’d taken care of civilians caught in the crossfire when bullets had gone through apartment walls. At this range even if a shot missed her, could it pass through to where Beth and the baby were hiding?
“Rachel,” the reverend said in a patronizing tone. “Don’t meddle in affairs you know nothing about. You can’t coddle the boy; he needs to take responsibility for his actions.”
“Maybe you two can take this outside,” Harper suggested.
They ignored her. “You push him too hard,” Rachel told the reverend. “Besides, you’re the one who knows nothing about it. John didn’t kill Spencer. I did.”
“You? No.” The reverend suddenly seemed smaller, taking a step away from his wife and sagging against the metal storage shelves.
“John and I went there to get the money John lost. Spencer was on the phone with you, ready to get into his SUV when he saw us. I couldn’t let him tell you what had happened, how John had lost all that money—there was no need for you to know since we were going to get it back anyway. I grabbed at Spencer’s arm as he was stepping up, climbing into the driver’s seat and it pulled him off balance. His feet went out from under him and he twisted and fell, hit his neck on the edge of the running board.” She grimaced. “There was a snapping noise and he didn’t move after that.”
Leah noted that Harper’s free hand was in her pocket and she wondered if the detective was recording her own mother’s confession. She wasn’t sure what to think about that, although she was certain Luka would approve. But she also saw that Harper didn’t have a clear shot—they needed to stall until Luka could arrive to help. “Did you know Spencer was still alive?” she asked Rachel.
The older woman flushed—with anger or shame, Leah wasn’t sure. “We had no choice. John put him back in the car and we let nature take its course. It was God’s will, that’s all.”
“God didn’t leave the car running or shut all the windows and doors,” Harper snapped. She edged past Rachel to focus on her brother. “Put the gun down, John. Now. Last warning.”
“Don’t you dare threaten your brother,” Rachel screeched, lunging and pushing Harper into the life-sized Magi. Harper stumbled and fell off balance, but quickly righted herself, putting her back to the nativity characters, facing her family and covering them all with her gun.
“You listen to me, Naomi Harper,” Rachel continued. “You’re going to go out there and tell the police that there’s no one here, that you have no idea where the girl is. Or better yet, send them on a wild goose chase, buy us some time.”
“I can’t do that. You just confessed to murder.”
“Fine, then arrest me. But it wasn’t murder, it was a mother protecting her son, remaining loyal to her family. Not that you’d know anything about that.”
A stricken look crossed Harper’s face as if her mother had physically slapped her. “Don’t make me choose. John, put down the gun and both of you come with me. Now.”
“Me?” John protested. “You can’t arrest me!” He whirled away from Leah to face his sister straight on, raising his gun.
Leah shoved his aim away from Harper, but he still pulled the trigger. The shot went wild, pinging against the metal shelves. She threw her weight on John’s arm, but he flung her away. Then Harper was there, twisting his wrist behind his back, until he dropped the gun into her hand and ended up on the floor, crying in pain.
“Now, stay down,” Harper told him as she handcuffed him.
“What have you done?” Rachel cried. Both Leah and Harper whirled away from John to see Rachel on her knees, cradling the reverend in her arms. “What was he thinking?” she said, tears streaming down her face. “He could have stopped you, saved John. But instead he jumped in front of a bullet. A bullet meant for you.” Her face contorted with hatred as she spit the words at Harper. “You made John shoot his own father. It’s all your fault!”
Forty-Six
Leah gently disentangled the distraught woman’s arms from where they’d wrapped around the reverend’s head. There was blood, a lot of it. But when Leah palpated his skull, a shard of blue metal rattled from the back of the reverend’s jacket onto the floor.
Not a bullet, a piece of shelving. And it hadn’t penetrated the skull, merely grazed it. Probably a ricochet. The real damage had been caused by Matthew’s fall—his head had hit the floor hard enough to stun him, possibly also causing a concussion. The reverend’s eyes blinked open, confirming her diagnosis.
His wife didn’t even notice. She lunged at Harper as Harper handcuffed her brother’s wrists and hauled him to his feet. “He did nothing wrong,” she screeched. “Arrest me, not him.”
Harper’s cold, expressionless stare stopped her mother in her tracks. “Believe me, we will.” Two ERT officers swarmed through the door and restrained Rachel.
“What the hell happened here?” Luka asked as he limped through the door behind them. He stood aside as the ERT men dragged John and Rachel
out. They were quickly replaced by two more, crowding the doorway, guns still drawn.
“Rachel—” the reverend moaned. Then he slumped back. “My God, what have I done?”
“Stay still,” Leah told him in a soft voice. “You’ll be okay.”
“But, my son, my wife…” His voice trailed off.
Harper opened the hidden door and beckoned for Beth to come out. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay. Dr. Wright is here to look after your baby.”
Beth emerged, her eyes wide with fear, face ashen as she clutched her baby to her chest. Leah left the reverend to check on the baby—he was awake and sucking on Beth’s finger. A good sign.
“Leah, we need you at the house,” Luka said. “Foster Dean has been shot.”
Suddenly Leah had four patients to triage, one critical. The reverend was stable, as was Beth’s baby—although with kids, you never knew, they could go downhill fast—Luka’s leg was bleeding, probably torn stitches, leaving Foster Dean as her most urgent priority. But one good thing about having the ERT squad here was that they were all trained in basic trauma care.
Leah nodded to the two ERT men. “Put pressure on his wound and call for an ambulance—he has a scalp laceration and probable concussion.” She turned to Beth. “We’re going to get your baby to the hospital as fast as possible. Harper, can you drive them? It will be faster than waiting for the ambulance.”
Harper nodded, then looked to Luka for confirmation. “You’ll need my statement and—”
“Exigent circumstances,” he told her. “We’ll deal with the formalities later. Go. Stay with Beth. Whatever you do, you don’t leave her side, not until I say, understand?”
Tears streamed down Beth’s face and Leah could tell she was so frightened she might run. “Beth, this is Detective Harper and Detective Sergeant Jericho. They’re going to keep you and your baby safe, understand me? You’re safe now.”
Beth shook her head. “No, no. They’ll find me.”
“No. They won’t.” Leah wrapped an arm around the trembling woman. “We’re going to take care of you and the baby. Go with them, now. We need to get your baby back to the hospital. I’ll meet you there, I promise.”
“Leah, we need to go,” Luka urged.
She grabbed her kit and followed him into the hall. He was limping badly, moving slowly. “Go ahead. The ERT medic is with him, I’ll catch up,” he told her. “But Leah, don’t mention his name. As far as anyone is concerned, he’s a John Doe.”
“Why?”
“My friend at the FBI, the one who got me the info about the Zapata family’s dealings with Spencer back in Denver? I just got off the phone with her. She said if Dean will take it, she’ll offer him witness protection if he talks. She’s on her way here to make him a deal.”
“Wait. Dean killed two people that we know of, and he gets witness protection? Why not Beth? She’s the innocent here, the one really in danger.”
“You don’t get wit-sec unless you have something to trade for it. I have no idea what Beth knows—she hasn’t been around to interview,” he snapped, obviously also frustrated by the idea of a killer making a deal.
“Then go with Beth,” she urged him. “You need that leg checked out anyway. Talk with her, see if you can help her.”
They’d reached the back door of the church. Behind them, Harper was already leading Beth and the baby out.
Luka nodded. “I will. Now hurry. I need Dean alive.”
Forty-Seven
Once again Luka found himself stranded, lying on a stretcher in the ER, forced to manage his growing Hydra of a case from flat on his back. Beth was under guard while the doctors treated her baby; Harper was giving her statement to the state police officer-involved-shooting team; Ray and Krichek were booking her mother and brother; while he’d heard from the nurses that Leah had called for a LifeFlight to transport Dean to Good Sam and he was currently in the operating room.
The highlight of his night so far was the fact that Leah had been able to keep Dean alive. Hopefully the surgeons would do their job as well and soon Dean would be able to talk. Because neither he nor Harper had been able to get anything out of Beth during their drive to the hospital—not even a last name, forcing them to admit her son to the hospital as Baby Doe.
He’d just gotten off the phone with Ray—both Rachel and John had lawyered up—when a rap came at the exam room door. Leah. She’d changed into scrubs, so he hoped that meant she had news about Dean.
“How is he?” he asked.
She sank onto the stool beside the bed. “Hanging in there. They removed his spleen, but his liver is also damaged and he’s lost a lot of blood.”
Luka blew his breath out in frustration. All this death and destruction—he dearly wanted someone to pay. Not only Dean but the people who’d sent him to Cambria City as their enforcer.
She glanced at his wound that he was waiting for the nurses to dress. “You know that’s going to scar.”
“What do I care?”
“Did you call Nate? Let him know you’re okay?”
Luka focused on the far corner of the ceiling. He’d been tempted to wait until morning to call home, but the memory of the look on Nate’s face yesterday when he’d seen Luka in the ER had forced him to interrupt the phone calls and details of his case that he was juggling to take the time to call Nate. “Yeah. Woke him up. He was upset, but better than yesterday. Even thanked me. I felt like it was the first time anyone had ever taken his feelings into consideration, put his needs first.”
Son of a junkie, raised mostly by the foster care system, it was no wonder Nate was insecure and anxious. But what really overwhelmed Luka, what had him now blinking back tears as he thought of their conversation, was how, despite all that, Nate was already turning into a damn fine human being. Eight years old and he was a better man than most people. Including men of God like Matthew and John. Poor Harper. She’d be dealing with whispered innuendos and the fallout of her family’s actions for a long time to come.
“You know, if it wasn’t for Nate and his photos, we’d never have found Beth’s cabin,” Leah interrupted his thoughts. “Tassi’s body could have remained undiscovered for days and Dean could have gotten away with everything.”
“Nate and Emily.” Luka hesitated. “He’s a good kid. Talented.”
“More than that. Special—he’s so good, the way he treats Emily. Like he understands what she’s feeling more than she does herself.”
“The judge at the fair? She teaches art at Cambria Prep. They’re offering Nate a scholarship.” There, it was out. He kept his gaze on her face, bracing himself for her reaction.
“You mean—” She swallowed, looked down at her hands, then nodded and glanced back up at him. “Luka, that’s wonderful. Nate deserves it. It’s a fantastic opportunity.”
“But—”
“But, I can’t help but think of how it will impact Emily, not having him with her at school. She doesn’t have any other friends and is always in trouble—she’ll be miserable.”
He straightened as best he could, lying on the gurney. He couldn’t help but notice that she didn’t mention how Emily’s behavior had often gotten Nate in trouble with their teachers. Of course, she was focused on her daughter and what was best for her, but Nate had no one but Luka to stand up for him. “I need to put Nate’s needs first. I hope you understand that.”
She took a long time before finally nodding, her expression still troubled. Before he could say anything more, her phone rang. It was a quick conversation and when she hung up, the look on her face was not a happy one.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Dean died. The surgeons did everything—”
“Damnit.” He grabbed his phone. “I need to call the FBI, tell them not to bother.”
“Hold off. Let them come.”
He glanced at her in surprise. “Why?”
“I stopped to check on Beth and the baby. I told her about Dean. And I told her that if she had somethin
g to offer the FBI, we might be able to get her witness protection.”
“Leah, you had no authority—you can’t make promises like that!”
“Dean tortured two people—and who knows how many more—for the Zapata family, and it’s okay to get him a deal, but not an innocent victim in fear for her and her baby’s lives? How’s that justice?” Her face was flushed with indignation.
“It’s not. It’s not justice, it’s the system. It’s how we get bad guys to roll on even bigger, badder guys so we can get them off the street.” He sighed and pushed himself upright so he could meet her gaze. “It’s not a perfect system, not even a very good one, but it’s the best we have.”
“Your FBI friend, she’s after the Zapata family? Why not DEA? Aren’t they drug dealers?”
“They’re into everything. Drugs, weapons, human trafficking, money laundering, you name it. The FBI was actually hoping Dean could tell them who the money guy in Denver was, the one who made the mistake of investing in Spencer’s Ponzi scheme. They figure if that guy is still alive, he could tell them about the family’s finances.”
“What makes you think the Zapatas haven’t killed him? They don’t seem like the forgive-and-forget types.”
“Except that the only people they allow to handle the money are members of their own family. So there’s a chance, a slim one, that the guy isn’t dead.” He sank back against the pillow. “Not that we’ll ever know.”
A strange expression crossed her face. Part smirk and part consideration. “Tell your FBI friend to come. She’ll have someone to talk to when she gets here.”
“Wait, what? Who?” Then it hit him. “No. You can’t be serious.” He lowered his voice to a near whisper. “It’s Beth?”
“They met at a charity gala. Beth invested her own money with Spencer—she wanted a way to leave the family, but that meant cash for a new identity, a new life. She had no idea Spencer was running a con, not at first. But then, they fell in love. Spencer knew he couldn’t just leave Tassi—not without protection, which also cost money. So he made a deal with Beth. She’d funnel her family’s money through him, he’d squirrel away enough for all three of them, Beth, Tassi, and Spencer, to start a new life, and he’d divorce Tassi and then run away with Beth.”
