by Jo Leigh
And it made her feel like a woman a man could love.
Not that she thought Jack loved her. She knew it was too soon for that, but the possibility existed that he could love her. If he wanted to.
If he could get past his pride. Past his anger at the world.
She went into the kitchen and pulled out the chicken she’d defrosted, along with vegetables and rice. It would be a simple meal, but she knew Jack would compliment her on it. That he’d make a little fuss.
That was it of course. The reason she’d fallen. Well, one of the reasons. Because he made a little fuss over a simple meal. That he waited to open the ledger. Because he’d done his exercises for her.
The feelings scared her. They made her too vulnerable. If she wasn’t careful, she’d be terribly hurt when this was over.
She sighed. Who was she kidding? She’d gone and done the stupidest thing. She’d fallen in love with Jack, and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.
THE RAIN LET UP just as Jack pulled into the department multilevel parking lot. He drove to the top level, preferring to keep his Cadillac as far away from curious stares as possible. After he parked, he sat there for a few minutes, staring out the wind-shield. Not at anything in particular. Just an old brick wall. But his thoughts were sharply in focus, maybe sharper than they’d ever been before.
What was he going to do about Hailey? The whole way into town, he’d tried to figure it out, and he was no closer to an answer almost an hour later.
It all boiled down to the inescapable fact that he’d been shot. If it had just been his limp, he probably could have gotten over it. But the bullet had taken away his job, his future, his identity. How could he love anyone if he didn’t really exist? And he didn’t. This farce of him investigating Chandler’s murder was just that—a farce. Frank and Bob were doing the real work. Even Hailey had done more than him.
The only thing he was good for these days was clicking the remote and drinking beer. Nice. Nice thing to offer a woman like Hailey. A woman so fine he couldn’t begin to think why she wanted him at all.
There was still time to show her the error of her ways. That she was enamored of an illusion, a badge without a man. He’d have to convince her that it was a mistake to think he could make her happy. He’d have to convince himself that it wouldn’t kill him to succeed.
He pushed open the car door and went through the humiliating ritual of getting his cane, placing it exactly, then hoisting himself up. If he was smart, he’d get back in the car and drive west, and keep on driving until he hit the Pacific Ocean. Leave Hailey and Megan and this whole business to people who were equipped to handle it.
Instead, he headed for the elevator, and when it came he got in. He pressed the button for the lobby, wondering if Frank or Bob would be there. Hoping they wouldn’t. He’d hate seeing the look of pity in their eyes.
JACK TURNED ON his computer and waited for the boot sequence to finish. He’d dodged several cops he didn’t want to see and made it to his desk, or what used to be his desk, with only one or two people knowing he was here.
He wanted to look up the initials in the book. To see if he could make sense of them. GW, for example, might be George Winslow, the police commissioner. On the other hand, GW might be some unlucky schmuck who’d bet too heavily on a Rockets game.
His plan was to look up city government and police officials, and print up some lists he could take back home. Then he’d see if the numbers meant anything—the nine numbers he thought might be social-security numbers. That would do it. That would be enough to get a search warrant and start a full investigation. He’d already decided he’d go to the FBI. No sense risking everything talking to the wrong cop.
He typed his name and his password, anxious to get in and get out. But a notice appeared, instead of a menu. A notice that said his password was no good.
So that was the way it was going to be. They’d told him he could have a desk job until he got back on his feet, but they’d lied. They knew he’d never be back. That he was a washed-up cripple of no use to anyone.
He turned off the computer and reached for his cane.
“Hold on there, Jackson.”
He looked up at the sound of Frank’s voice. Despite Jack’s earlier wish, he was glad to see a friendly face. To know that at least someone hadn’t forgotten about him. “How you doin’, Sparky?” Jack asked, using his nickname from the police academy.
“I gotta go to the can,” he said. “Why don’t you hobble with me?”
“You’re just as suave as ever,” Jack said, ignoring his own feelings of embarrassment as he leaned on his cane.
“Why tamper with perfection?”
Jack shook his head as he followed Frank past a row of cubicles, down a hall and into the men’s room. As soon as they were inside, Frank held up a cautionary hand.
He went to each stall and checked to make sure no one was there. Then he went back to the door and flipped the lock.
“First, Brett Nichols. Something’s up with him. He’s been on the force for two years, and he’s not moving up the ranks very fast. He got in because of his father. A twenty-eight year veteran who now works for guess who?”
“Faraday.”
“Score one for the gimp.”
Jack nodded, thinking about Faraday, about Nichols, and about what the hell Megan could have that they’d want.
“Second, what the hell are you doing here?” he asked, turning to face Jack. His bonhomie had gone, leaving him the tough cop Jack knew him to be.
“I came to use the computer,” he said, “but my password didn’t work. They’ve locked me out.”
“I’m not surprised,” Frank said, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He wasn’t actually going to smoke, because that was against the law, but as long as Jack had known him, he liked to hold a cigarette between his fingers. Sometimes he’d have one anchored behind his ear, one in his hand and one dangling from the corner of his mouth. Jack had learned a long time ago to keep his mouth shut. Everyone deserves a crutch.
“There’s been talk about you. You really shouldn’t have come.”
“Talk? What kind?”
Frank shrugged. “I don’t know. They don’t include me. Everyone knows we’re friends. But everyone’s wondering why you’re not at home. Why you disappeared the day after the murder at your apartment.”
“Screw ’em,” Jack said, angrier about his computer privileges being taken away than being a suspect in the murder.
“That’s easy for you to say,” Frank said. “But you’d better be careful. This thing could get messy.”
“What do you know?”
Frank shook his head. “Bob is checking on Faraday. I’ve been stuck on another case, but we were going to get together tonight and figure out what’s what.”
“Okay,” Jack said. “I’ll copy down the information I need you to get, and I’ll bring it back tomorrow.”
“Don’t.
You’ve got a computer with a modem, don’t you? I mean, where you’re staying?”
Jack nodded.
“I’ll give you my password,” Frank said. “Log in as me tonight. I won’t be using the computer. No one will know the difference.”
“I’m not sure I can get the stuff I need over the modem.”
“Try. And if you don’t have any luck, we’ll go to plan B.”
“What might that be?” Jack asked.
“Hell, I don’t know. Pull back and punt.”
Jack smiled. Then someone came to the washroom door and tried to open it. After two good tugs the gentleman outside started banging on the door. Loudly.
“We’d better get out of here,” Frank said. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know it, dummy. I want to.” Frank opened the door, and a rather desperate-looking uniformed officer rushed past them to the far stall.
“When you gotta go…” Jack started.
“You gotta go.” Frank fi
nished.
HAILEY TURNED ON her laptop. Megan had been asleep for almost two hours, and Hailey debated waking her so she would sleep through the night. She decided to wait a little while longer. She hadn’t answered e-mail in ages, and she shuddered to think what was waiting for her. She wanted to see if any of her clients needed updates. This was no time to lose business, not with what lay ahead.
Once the connection was made, she went into her mail program and started at the beginning. Forty-seven e-mails sat waiting to be read.
The first three were updates on web pages she did for a group of mystery writers. The next e-mail was just a notice that her credit card had been billed for her monthly fee. She clicked on the next, but before she could read it, the oven timer went off. She got up from the kitchen table and put on some oven mitts, then took out the chicken casserole. It smelled heavenly. She turned off the oven and went back to her chair, thinking about making a salad to go with dinner.
Then her gaze went to her screen and all thoughts of dinner evaporated as an icy chill went down her back.
It was a message, and it was right to the point: Give us the girl or we’ll take her. You won’t like how. Bring her to your apartment tonight at 10:30. We won’t hurt her if you do as we say. It wasn’t signed of course. But it was dated two nights ago.
So they’d found her web site. She’d been thorough when she’d registered the site with all the search engines. It must have been remarkably easy for them. She broke out in gooseflesh and her heart thudded. Why wasn’t Jack here? Why hadn’t he left her a gun?
She got up and raced to Megan’s room. The little girl hadn’t budged. Hailey went to the window, even though she remembered locking it. She checked, trying to pull the window up, but the lock held. Then she went to Jack’s room, then the bathroom and finally back to the windows in the living room and kitchen, checking every one. The door was bolted and the curtains were all drawn. Logic told her that they didn’t know where she was. She’d know it if they had. That just because they’d located her e-mail address, it didn’t mean they would find this address.
She was safe, at least for the moment. But she wished that Jack would hurry.
JACK LET FRANK out of the elevator first. Then he walked toward his car, his friend to the right of him. Dark clouds made it feel later than four-thirty. It would rain again soon, which would make his drive back to Galveston a nightmare. Especially at rush hour.
“So how’s that hip of yours?” Frank asked.
Jack shook his head. “The same.”
“You doin’ what the doc told you to?”
Jack nodded. “Yes, sir. I’m doing everything I’m supposed to.”
“Good. ’Cause I don’t like it when you’re not on my team, buddy. We need you back.”
“Don’t count on it. You know what I’m up against.”
Frank waved his hand dismissively. “We’ll get these slimeballs,” he said. “Then you’ll come back and everything will be the same.”
Jack knew it wouldn’t. Even if they did solve the case, things wouldn’t be back to normal. Because he couldn’t go back. He would never be able to put this behind him.
Frank took the cigarette he’d perched behind his ear and lit it, taking a deep inhalation of smoke and nicotine. He sighed, blowing the smoke out.
“You ever gonna quit that—” Jack froze. Something was wrong. He went for his gun, and then he heard the pop-pop of gunfire spitting from a silencer. Frank dropped like a ton of bricks and Jack dived behind a Buick Skylark.
A bullet slammed into the windshield of the car, shattering it into a spiderweb of broken glass, still attached to the window. He couldn’t see anything—except Frank’s motionless body.
Not again, he thought.
He was on his side, his cane next to Frank. Jack pulled himself up on the car bumper as he listened for the sound of feet on the pavement. Nothing.
An image of Hailey flashed into his head and he felt his chest constrict. What would she do if he didn’t get back to Galveston? How could he protect her if he was dead?
The sound of a car engine revving chased his thoughts away, leaving him focused and steady. The only problem was, his body wouldn’t be able to do anything, even if there was something to do. He was trapped, like a fly in amber. The bastards could pick him off any way they chose.
The engine cranked up another notch, then tires squealed, and Jack saw a gray Pontiac shoot out from behind a pillar. He ducked as the car sped by, knowing he couldn’t do more if they decided to shoot him. But they didn’t. They went right into the curve of the down-ramp, leaving him sweating in the cold air.
He lurched over to Frank, expecting a lot of blood. But there wasn’t any. At least not that he could see. He reached down to turn him over, but Frank sat up, shaking his head. “What happened?”
“I thought you were dead.”
Frank touched his chest and his legs, searching for a wound. “If I wasn’t hit, what happened to me?”
Jack nodded at his friend’s head. “There,” he said. “You’re bleeding.”
Frank touched his temple, then brought his hand down again to look at the dark red blood. “Bullet must have grazed me.”
“Damn lucky,” Jack said. “Another inch and you’d be meeting your maker.”
Frank cursed, his voice still a little shaky. He got up, grabbing Jack’s cane as he stood. “Here. You’d better get out of here before someone comes and starts asking questions.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. Go on. It’s late, and it’s gonna take you a couple hours to get home from here. The ferry’s gonna be murder. Bob and I will take care of things out here.”
Jack stuck out his hand, and Frank grabbed it. They shook, but then Frank stepped forward and gave him a bear hug. Then he let go, and stared down at the pavement.
Jack walked to his car and got in. He started her up, but before he pulled out, he looked at Frank. The man just stood there, blood dripping down his face. Then the rain came, and it washed his face clean.
Jack put the car in gear and left the station. He knew it was the last time he’d see the station. Someone there had arranged to have him killed. It could be anyone from the cop that needed the washroom to the captain. If he was to go back, his life wouldn’t be worth a plugged nickel. Which wasn’t a big deal, except that he needed to be there for Hailey. Except that he wanted to be there for Hailey.
Of all the damn times to start caring.
Chapter Fifteen
Hailey almost jumped out of her skin when she heard the dead bolt click open. She grabbed a knife from the counter, prepared to kill or be killed. Then she saw it was Jack. Of course. Jack. She sighed, willing her heart to slow down.
He shut the door behind him, then looked at her curiously. “What’s that for?”
“I wanted to protect myself,” she said. She looked down to see that, instead of the knife she thought she’d grabbed, she was pointing a potato peeler at him.
“Were you planning to peel me to death?”
“If I had to.”
He smiled. “I’d hate to run into you in a dark alley.”
“Next time I won’t be so nice,” she said. “I’ll get out the melon baller.”
“Ouch.”
“You betcha.”
He hung up his jacket and took off his holster, then he looked around the living room. “Where’s Megan?”
“She’s playing in the bedroom. I’m just finishing dinner, so go wash up. And wash Megan, too, please.”
“Let’s talk first,” he said. “While she’s out of the room.”
“What happened?” she asked, instantly nervous. She’d planned on telling him about the e-mail message after dinner, but if he’d had a message, too…
“Someone took a shot at me.”
Her adrenaline kicked up again, but she kept her cool. “Go sit down,” she said. She got him a cold beer from the fridge and went to sit with him on the co
uch.
“I don’t know, Hailey,” he said resignedly. “I don’t know that you’re safe here anymore. Isn’t there somewhere else you could go? Like Timbuktu?”
She shook her head. “This is it. The only place I know.”
“It’s not safe.” He caught her gaze and held it. “They know I’m involved. They’re going to assume I have Megan. And I wouldn’t doubt that they know you’re with me.”
“They do,” she said, curling her legs under her.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean they sent me a message.”
He sat forward, squeezing the beer bottle so tightly his fingers turned white. “How?”
“By computer. They know my e-mail address. They must have done a search on me and found my web site. My e-mail address is right on it.”
“What did the message say?”
“They want Megan. They told me to bring her back to my apartment, but that was two nights ago.”
“What was the return address?”
She shook her head. “I tried to search it, but it had already been disconnected. It was one of those free things from Juno.”
He cursed soundly, his frustration making the muscles in his jaw tighten. “Did you print it out?”
She went to the kitchen table, picked up a sheet of paper and handed it to him.
He looked at it for a long minute, then put it down. “Frank and I were walking to my car,” he said. “There were three shots, maybe four. I thought Frank had been killed because he dropped like a stone. But his head had only been grazed.”
“And you?”
He looked down as if he was ashamed to speak. “I’m fine. I’m perfectly fine.”
“You didn’t hurt your hip?”
He took a long swallow of beer, then wiped his mouth. He stared at her, but she had the feeling he wasn’t seeing her. It was difficult not to press him, but she held her tongue. She just waited.
“I want to do the exercises,” he said finally. “Tonight.”
“We can wait till tomorrow. You’ve been through enough excitement today.”
“No. I want to do them tonight. After dinner. And then we’ll figure out what we’re going to do.”
