Deadly Reunion

by Lakes, Lynde

  By the time she reached the lighthouse entry gate, rain like needles of glass battered her and turned the ground into treachery. She stumbled through the unlocked opening, ran to the door of the lighthouse, and, as the killer had promised, it was unlocked.

  Every nerve in her body hummed with tension; she fought an urge to turn and run. She listened. All she heard was the roar of waves slamming against the cliffs below. She shoved on the door and entered semi-darkness, amazed she could hold her gun steady. Pressed tight against the wall, she scanned the circular room. Shards of rain pounded the glass dome overhead, but Malia didn’t dare look up. She sensed the killer’s presence, felt his gaze boring into her.

  Echos of the rain thumping glass rebounded from the walls, muting any sounds of movement. Suddenly, bright light flashed into her eyes. After several heartbeats, the heavy-duty beam of the flashlight lowered. She blinked until her vision cleared. Then she saw Damon, caught in a pool of light, lying bound and still, in the center of the room, his face puffy and caked with blood. She was trained to hide her reactions and held back her gasp. The sight of matted blood in his hair set her heart beating in quick time. Unconscious? Not dead … please, not that. “You said you’d let Damon go.”

  “I lied.” The killer’s hardened voice echoed eerily around the circular, shadowy room. She couldn’t tell where the sound originated, and nothing moved in the shadows. The tough voice didn’t sound like the Al Lee she’d known, yet there was something familiar about it. She decided to gamble that it was him. “I never knew you to lie before, Al.” If only she could keep him talking and get him to show himself.

  “You never knew me, period!” he said. “Not the real me. You got your kicks playing the faithful pal to a weirdo no one else liked. It made you feel superior, not only to me, but to everyone. Only you don’t feel quite so superior now, do you?”

  Malia scanned the shadows, waiting for some sign of movement. “It was never like that. The tragedy in our lives was our connection. You can’t deny that I protected you as much as I could. I cared about and always stood up for you.”

  “Yeah,” he said, his husky voice cracking, “you stood up for the poor whipped dog, not your boyfriend.”

  She saw movement and pointed her gun at the shifting shadow. She couldn’t deny she’d never been attracted to Al. “But I stayed your friend. And I’m here now to help you out of this mess.”

  “Cut the bull. You’re here to save Damon. Now put that gun down nice `n’ easy. Don’t even think about disobeying me. I have my gun pointed at Damon’s heart. Even if you get off a shot at me, my finger will jerk the trigger.”

  “No one is going to shoot anyone,” she said. “We’re just talking.”

  ****

  Damon regained consciousness to the familiar strength of Malia’s voice. In spite of her vulnerable soaked-kitten look, hair dripping and clothes clinging to her slender figure, she spoke with the ferocity of a tiger. He wanted to shout: “Get the hell out of here,” but it was too late for that. The only way he could help her now was to work on his ropes.

  Every movement sent pain coursing through his body. Al’s kicks had done some excruciating internal damage, but if he wanted Malia to survive he had to block out the agony and think only of helping her.

  Moments ago, when the killer flashed the light on her, Damon had seen her courageous, relentless gaze and the steady way she’d gripped her gun in both hands. The only thing that might have suggested fear was the vein pulsing in her throat. Now, because of her concern for him, the killer had her stalemated.

  She had taken the loss of power without so much as blinking. Malia was the strongest woman he’d ever known and the coolest head. She radiated a confidence that told him she had a plan. But he wouldn’t let her face this madman alone.

  Damon struggled with his ropes, hoping the killer wouldn’t notice. He hadn’t made much headway, but if the guy Malia called Al would step forward one step, he’d be standing in front of him. In spite of Damon’s bound feet, he figured he might be able to kick upward and knock the gun out of his hand.

  “No more talk,” Al said, cocking his weapon. “Gun on the floor. Now!”

  Keeping her eyes on him, she bent and placed the gun on the concrete.

  The barrel of Al’s gun was aimed at Damon’s pounding heart. He took a breath and waited for the bullet to tear into him.

  Instead, Al shifted the business end of his gun barrel from him to Malia. Damon’s gut twisted into sick knots. Al roughly pushed Malia ahead of him up the stairs. Why was he taking her topside? To shove her off the deck? Panic shot through Damon. “Get a grip,” he muttered and stiffened at the murmur of his own low voice rebounding from the walls. He clamped his mouth shut and listened. Conversation between Malia and Al echoed down the stairwell.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Malia hesitated and felt a painful jab of steel to her spine.

  “Keep moving,” Al Lee said in a heartless tone. They were midway to the top landing now. If she could catch him off guard and jump him, she might have a chance.

  She glanced back at him. “Why, Al, why? We were friends in school, walked home together. Shared feelings. This isn’t like you. You had such a tender heart. Remember how you nursed that baby bird back to health? How we both loved that little bird?”

  He snarled, “But you turned me down. The next morning I bought a beebee gun and shot all the birds I could find.”

  Malia gasped. Had Al been insane even then? Why hadn’t she seen the warped mind behind the seemingly gentle teen’s smile?

  “Surely all this isn’t about me not dating you? That was years ago.”

  “That was only the last straw. I was born here, yet I was called the ghost haole.”

  “All this killing was over adolescent name-calling?” Malia knew kids could be cruel to one another, and that sometimes when the abused kids grew up they dreamed of revenge. But for most, their dreams of revenge remained a fantasy.

  “The name-calling was only part of it. The daily beatings and shunning made my life a living hell.”

  Malia knew his home life wasn’t any better than his school life. His mom had hung out in bars and brought home a string of men. They’d abused him, too. Malia had always felt sorry for Al and tried to be a good friend to him. But he’d become a classic and deadly example of a triple whammy: man against man, man against himself, and man against his environment.

  “The women you killed may have shunned you,” she said, “but none ever beat you up.”

  “Save the sympathy. They brought it on themselves.”

  “Why didn’t you go after the guys who hurt you?”

  He laughed ruthlessly. “I’m sure as hell not a coward if that’s what you’re getting at. I wasn’t ready to tip my hand.” He remained cocky and confident. “I wanted you and the other cops to think my targets were real estate women, but then, when you figured out that it was reunion babes, you forced my hand. If I’d killed the guys right away, you might have realized that my target was the whole reunion gang.”

  “What about Rosado, the waiter, and all the others who weren’t part of our graduating class? And Damon isn’t part of this. Don’t you see that you’ve lost focus?”

  “Damon was my fall guy; Rosado was my whipping boy; and the others were the means to an end, or they merely got in the way.”

  Malia stopped and faced him. Al gestured with his gun. Malia held her ground, locked gazes with Al and in her quietest, most calming voice said, “I’m not your enemy. I never was. You need help, Al. I can see that you get it.”

  Al raised his gun and cocked back the hammer. “Get moving. Don’t force me to kill you before I’m ready. I have something very special planned for you.”

  “Don’t go to any trouble,” Malia said, stalling for time. “Besides, how could you kill someone you love?”

  He laughed cruelly. “Ask my mother. Whoops, you can’t. Not unless you go to some weirdo who speaks to the dead. Now go!”

  De
ar God. Had he killed his mother, too? “Al, we shared secrets.”

  “Not all of them.” He laughed with insanity in his voice. “You all thought that Melody was grabbed from the room where you both slept. I made it look that way. Good job, right? Fooled you, your parents, and the cops.”

  “What are you talking about? You were just a teenager like us.”

  “Not just like you girls. I was – and still am – a friggin’ genius.”

  It couldn’t be true; he is just trying to hurt me.

  “You doubt me?” he said. “The truth was sweet lil’ Melody left the room willingly. She thought we were planning a surprise party for you. But I had to get rid of her; you two did everything together, leaving me out. And I wanted you all to myself.”

  He was telling her this to throw her off balance. She recalled the newspaper headlines when they found the raped and mutilated body in the ravine. To hold on to her sanity, she pushed Al’s confession from her mind, refusing to give it any credence. “You’re lucky I don’t believe you or I’d have to kill you.”

  He laughed. “You forgot, Lady Cop. I have the gun.”

  “You’ll never get away with this.”

  “You think not? This is Damon’s gun. If my timing is just right, and I intend for it to be, the cops will find Damon here, dead with his .38 in his hand. It will look like a murder/suicide.” He twisted his lips into a smirk. “You cops like things nice’n’ tidy, and this fills the bill.”

  “It doesn’t wash,” Malia said softly. “Damon’s been cleared as a suspect. Besides, a man who stands to inherit a million dollars doesn’t kill himself. And he was in custody or with me when you killed the others.”

  “He has a make-believe accomplice. Of course, since he really doesn’t exist, he’ll never be caught.”

  “You’ve slipped up, Al. None of this makes any sense. But assuming that the police buy it that he had an accomplice, what could Damon’s motive be for killing the other women?”

  “Blackmail. I’ve planted papers proving he was sleeping with those women. When they learned of his plans for his wife they wanted a piece of the inheritance. But he wanted it all to himself.”

  “No one will buy the accomplice thing, and with money as the motive it doesn’t make sense for him to kill himself.”

  “I’ve thought of that,” Al said puffing out his chest. “Here’s what happened: he folded under the pressure of blackmail. Next, you fingered him, and he lost it and killed you. Then remorse set in, and he took his own life.”

  “Don’t you get how flawed all that is?”

  “Dammit. It’s not flawed. The cops’ll find an explanation on Damon’s computer … a convincing story about a serial killer who used a hammer to throw everyone off. The whole setup was an elaborate plan to kill his wife and walk away with the money.”

  “No one will buy that.”

  “Wanta bet? Now move. Or your cop buddies will find you here in this musty stairwell, your body riddled with holes like a sieve.”

  ****

  Damon heard the deliberate, fierce savagery in the killer’s voice and knew the exchange had turned deeply personal and potentially deadly. Like a madman, he sawed the ropes around his wrists against the rough concrete, anger and fear sustaining his energy and strength.

  ****

  Malia shuddered. She had known when the case was over she and Damon would go their separate ways. And while she hadn’t dared to dream of growing old and dying together, she also hadn’t dreamed they’d be murdered together. Her stomach tightened, cold with dread. She made a fierce decision that if they survived this, somehow she would keep Damon in her life.

  But first she had to shift the balance of power. They were almost to the top landing now. Al was behind her and down a step. In one smooth motion, she dodged left, whirled and kicked out, knocking the gun out of his hand. Al leapt and closed his hands around her throat.

  ****

  Damon heard Al’s gun clanging down the stairs. He broke free of his bonds, untied his feet and grabbed up Malia’s gun. Ignoring the pain that ripped through him as he bent, he stuck it into his waistband and then retrieved Al’s gun. He stiffened, recognizing his own initials scratched onto the barrel. He didn’t have time to figure out why the killer had his weapon. He held it in front of him, ready to fire. With no need for muted steps, he raced up the stairs, taking three at a time. Pain like he’d never known zigzagged through him. Don’t let me pass out and fail Malia.

  ****

  Malia lost her balance as Al’s forward thrust hurled them outside onto the slick deck and into the snapping teeth of the storm. She brought her arms up and tried to break his grip on her neck, but he yanked her to her feet and bent her backward over the railing. Thrashing wind whipped around them, alive and angry as he tried to shove her over the side to the jagged lava rocks below. She brought the heel of her hand up and jammed it against his nostrils. He let go of her throat and slammed his fist into her side. For a moment the blow, hard as brass knuckles, knocked the air out of her. Before he could hit her again, she twisted and captured Al in a headlock against the railing.

  ****

  Damon raced out into the deck into the full fury of the downpour and squalling wind. He widened his stance against the blustery weather and zeroed in on Malia and Al. They were a pretzel of blows, twists and kicks. Her quickness, agility, and training had balanced out Al’s bulk and power. But for how long? He wanted to jump Al and pull him off Malia, but his weight might send them all over the side.

  “Freeze,” he shouted. When no one paid any attention to him, he itched to tightened his finger on the trigger. But with all the jostling between Malia and the killer, he couldn’t get off a clear shot. Al kicked Malia backwards, then leapt onto her. On her back, Malia bent her knees, brought her legs to her chest and kicked out, sending Al sprawling backward. Now Damon could get a clear shot. “Freeze!” he shouted again, this time standing right over Al with the barrel aimed right at his heart.

  ****

  With Al in handcuffs, Malia nudged him down the stairway with her gun, alert for any false moves. Damon followed. She still didn’t know how badly he was hurt. There hadn’t been time for more than a few words, all of them in the line of duty. No time for a quick hug, no time for confessions of love. Would there ever be? Could he love her as much as she loved him? She hoped it with all her heart. Even if he loved her, after experiencing the personal danger of her job, could he live with her, not knowing if she’d live to come home at night? They were both alive, but would their relationship survive?

  Until she slammed the jail door closed and locked it forever, she couldn’t worry about salvaging her heart. When she reached the bottom step, she heard heavy footsteps outside the entrance. Relief shot through her. It had to be Ku and her backup. Finally.

  But she’d never been more wrong. The door crashed open, and five rain-drenched masked men armed with machine guns charged in, riddling the walls with a barrage of bullets. Damon tackled her, shoved her to the floor and shielded her body with his. She felt him wince in pain, felt his heart pounding against her back, sharing the same rapid beat as her own. His hot breath feathered against her neck. His heat merged with hers as his weight pressed her into the rough, cold concrete.

  He tossed his .38 across the floor and shouted in a strong voice, “We’re unarmed.”

  Malia clung to her gun and tucked it closer under her breast.

  One of the masked men had grabbed Al, shoved him to the floor, and pointed a machine gun down at his head. Another pointed his gun at the back of Damon’s head, and asked in a heavy Middle Eastern accent, “Which one of you is Al?”

  The accent and question told Malia that these men were members of the terrorist cell that Al had been trying to contact. Whether Al answered the question or not, they probably intended to kill them all.

  For several seconds the only sounds were the storm raging outside. Then Al growled, “I’m Al. And I don’t do busniess from the floor with a gun to
my head. No one bullies Al Lee.”

  Malia couldn’t believe he’d said that, or that admitted who he was. Was he arrogant enough to think they were here to do business with him?

  “How did you find me?” Al asked.

  The man who appeared to be in charge shot back, “How did you find out about us? Who else did you tell?”

  “I told you, I’m not talking with a gun to my head.”

  The man scoffed. “You have no rights. Now who else knows about us?”

  With all the attention on Al, Malia bucked against Damon’s weight. He took the cue, lifted himself with one strong arm just enough to allow her to roll to her right and slide out from under him. She couldn’t let his groan of pain deter her. She leapt to her feet and in one fluid movement, she yanked the tear gas pellet from her belt, slammed it to the floor and brought her gun up, and through the filmy haze of rising gas, fired at the cell leader and winged him.

  All eyes – and guns – turned to her.

  Damon took that opportunity to tackle his guard and yank his gun away from him.

  When the gun discharged, Malia’s heart skipped a beat. Seemingly unhurt, Damon rolled and fired at the two terrorists who had her in their sights.

  Everyone had begun coughing, and tears poured from their eyes. Two of the terrorists ran out the door, gasping for air. She reached for her cell phone – it was missing. She must have lost it during her struggles. She needed to go after the escaping men. They were members of a globally dangerous group, and if they had anthrax on them, she needed to get them off the streets before they launched a local attack. She stood paralyzed by indecision. She had her prisoner and the remaining three injured terrorists to deal with.

  “Don’t anyone move,” she croaked between racking coughs. She kicked their guns out of reach while wondering where the hell her backup was.

  The tear gas haze thickened. Her lungs were on fire, and she was coughing her guts out. Everyone was hacking. She wanted to get low where the air was less polluted, but couldn’t risk getting jumped. Through the blurry haze, she could only identify the men by size and shape. Before she firmed up the best course of action, Al dove for Damon’s pistol. Through blurred vision, Malia opened fire. She heard Damon groan. Oh, dear God…what have I done? Had Damon gone for the gun at the same time?