Kill and Run (A Thorny Rose Mystery Book 1)

by Lauren Carr

  She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her face into his neck. “I froze.”

  “I think you can put her down now, Murphy,” Cameron said next to them. “I just had to carry a one hundred and fifty pound sci-fi author out of the café—he’s still crying like a little girl.” She gestured at the front of her shirt.

  “Was he hurt?” Jessica asked while Murphy gently put her down next to Cameron’s SUV.

  “Only emotionally,” Cameron said.

  Her legs still shaking, Jessica grasped the SUVs door. Murphy wrapped his arm around her waist to steady her. “Are you okay?”

  “Considering that my only possible witness is now dead, Jessica’s wearing my latte, and that guy left snot all over the front of my shirt, I’m dandy,” Cameron answered.

  “I was talking to Jessie,” Murphy told her.

  “Is that any way to talk to your stepmother?” Cameron replied.

  “Anybody besides Dolan hurt?” Murphy asked Susan when she approached them. “Are the customers and employees okay?”

  “The three employees who were working with Dolan ran out the backdoor as soon as the shooting started and called the police,” she reported. “The three customers in the café are shaken up, but okay.”

  Perry was directing the police and emergency vehicles pouring into the parking lot. Cameron opened up the back of her SUV to extract her utility belt and police detective’s badge.

  “You and Latimore?” Murphy asked Susan. “Either of you hit?”

  Dismissing his question with a wave of her hand, she replied, “This isn’t our first rodeo, Thornton. We’re fine.”

  “How many of the shooters are down?” Murphy asked.

  “Two of the shooters are down,” Susan reported while snapping her badge onto her belt for the police to see. “Emily Dolan is dead too.”

  “Add to that one accomplice I left in the back room.” Murphy reached around behind his back to extract a laptop from where he had tucked it under his coat. “Once the shooting started, he ran back into the manager’s office to steal this.”

  “Are you sure that’s Emily Dolan’s?” Susan asked.

  “The guy was willing to kill me to escape with it.” Murphy handed it to Susan. “If it’s not hers, he thought it was.”

  Susan asked, “Do you want me to call Hamilton?”

  “I’ll call him.” Seeing Jessica unsteady in her high heels, Murphy urged her to sit down in the SUV.

  “Why aren’t any of you …” Jessica clutched her chest. Her lungs felt like they were going to explode and her heart was beating so hard that she thought it would pop out of her chest. Stars came to her eyes.She heard roaring in her ears.

  “We need an EMT here now!” she heard Murphy yell as she slipped away into darkness.

  The oxygen that the EMTs gave Jessica revived strength to her body. As her breathing improved, so did her mind.

  Now that the immediate crisis was over, she was embarrassed. Here she was, touting herself as a licensed private investigator and, when she gets into her first shootout, she froze … then passed out.

  What a newbie! She was no help to Murphy in solving his first official murder case or Cameron in finding out who had arranged Nick’s murder. Since Emily Dolan was now dead, so was their best lead to finding out the reason behind all these murders and learning who was behind it all.

  Removing the oxygen mask, she reached over to turn off the tank.

  “Did they say you could turn that off?” Cameron stepped over from where she had been talking to the deputy chief of Murphy’s staff and agents Susan Archer and Perry Latimore. She was carrying a blue t-shirt with POLICE emblazoned on the back. “Here.” She handed the shirt to Jessica and stepped into the back of the ambulance. “That coffee should be good and cold by now.”

  Jessica looked down to notice that the front of her silk blouse was covered with the two lattes that went flying when Murphy charged in.

  Cameron’s tone softened when she asked her, “Are you feeling better?”

  “Are you talking physically or emotionally?” Jessica said with a pout. She took the offered shirt.

  “Physically.” Cameron eased the rear door of the ambulance shut to allow Jessica privacy to change into the t-shirt. “We’re trying to find a killer who is responsible for the murder of eight people—that we know of. I love you, Jessica, but your feelings really aren’t at the top of my list. If you need a hug, I’ll go get Murphy. If you have a lead, then I’m here for you.”

  “In other words, get a grip and suck it up.” Jessica pulled the blouse off over her head.

  “Those are the words.”

  “Did you know those men in fatigues were phonies?” Jessica said through the fabric of the t-shirt while pulling it on over her head.

  “No,” Cameron said with a shake of her head. “But the guy in the suit sitting up toward the counter didn’t strike me as belonging.” She pushed open the rear door of the ambulance and climbed out.

  Finger combing her hair, which had been messed during the wardrobe change, Jessica recalled, “Murphy said something about their shoes being dull.”

  “They didn’t shine when they walked under the lamp post,” Murphy announced while coming around the side of the door. He held out his hand to help Jessica climb out of the ambulance.

  “What does that have to do—”

  “You make fun of how hard I work to make my boots and shoes shine,” Murphy grinned. “And you laugh when I say it’s regulation. But it’s true. When you’re in uniform, your shoes and boots, even combat boots, have to shine, unless you’re in a combat situation. When those two shooters walked under the lamppost and I saw that their boots were scuffed and dull, I knew.”

  “I’ll never make fun of you shining your shoes again.” Jessica held onto him as if she never wanted to let him go. Fighting back tears, she murmured into his ear. “This is the second time you’ve saved my life. I just wish I could have been more help to you in there.”

  “We’re working on identifying all of the assailants,” Boris stepped over to tell them. “Plus, all may not be lost. Since we were here on the scene and Emily Dolan was a material witness in the Baxter case, then we’ve got the lead in this case. Not only did you save Dolan’s laptop, but the accomplice missed her cell phone. The employees confirmed that Dolan was on that laptop all the time. So if she had anything, it will be there. I’ll get Latimore to take a look at it.”

  “Speaking of Latimore,” Murphy said, “I told him to cover Dolan.” Seeing Perry Latimore coming into view, he turned to him. “You were right there. I called both you and Archer when I saw the shooters going in.”

  “There were two already in there,” Perry said. “How were we supposed to—”

  “Men walking into a coffee shop carrying weapons and we know that a possible target is in there,” Murphy said. “You should be ready and expect anything. Didn’t they teach you that at Quantico?”

  “Yes, but maybe they didn’t teach it as well as they did at your Naval Academy,” Perry replied. “You pinned them as hit men before any of us did. You could have taken out the main shooter before he killed our witness, but instead, you saved your debutant wife and left the rest up to us.”

  Murphy stepped forward to find Jessica’s hand on his chest.

  “Stand down, Latimore!” Boris ordered. “That was out of line.”

  “When did Thornton become our boss?” Perry asked Boris. Seeing no response, he turned to Susan whose face was void of emotion. “He’s the navy liaison. He’s the go between for NCIS and the military. Now that he’s Patterson’s golden boy and has decided he wants to play detective, we have to play along, but when he screws up and people get killed, we take the blame for it.”

  “Why didn’t you cover Dolan?” Susan asked. “You were right there. The shooter had his back to you. You could have
taken him down before he fired the shot.”

  “So could you,” Perry said.

  “I was following Thornton’s orders to cover the civilians.”

  Stepping into Perry’s face, Murphy said, “During the firefight, when I asked where you were and you answered, you were behind me. If you had done as I had ordered, you would have immediately moved up toward the counter, which would have put you in front of all of us—close enough to take out the shooter as soon as he pulled his weapon.”

  Perry backed away from his gaze. “I don’t take orders from you.” He turned to walk away, only to find Boris Hamilton’s hand on his arm.

  “But you do from me,” Boris said. “I’ll be expecting a full report from you tomorrow.”

  Perry’s lips curled. “You’ll get it.” He cast a glance back in Murphy’s direction. “And so will Chief Koch.”

  Gritting his teeth, Murphy turned around. With his back to his team, he took a deep cleansing breath. It took all of his restraint to keep from punching the side of the ambulance with his fist.

  Jessica grasped his arm in both of her hands. “None of this was your fault,” she said in a low voice.

  Murphy’s eyes met hers. In spite of her words of encouragement, she saw guilt permeating from him.

  “Excuse me, Thornton.” Susan had stepped away from the group to confide in a low voice, “Sorry about Latimore. He is my partner, but you should know, when the chips are down—it’s every man for himself in Latimore’s book.”

  “I think I just found that out,” Murphy said.

  “But you can count on me to have your back,” she said.

  Boris clasped his hand on Murphy’s shoulder. “And me.”

  “Thanks,” Murphy said.

  “Okay, so where do we go from here?” Jessica asked. “Is it just a coincidence that Emily Dolan writes an anti-military blog and that the men who walked into the café to gun her down in front of customers were dressed in military uniforms?”

  “The military did not do this,” Murphy said.

  “I’m not saying that they did,” Jessica said, “but to the average customer, witness, who saw this go down, that’s what it looks like. Think about it. All over the Internet, Emily Dolan has been promising a big breaking story exposing a military conspiracy on her blog. Her sources were all murdered. And then, before she can reveal her story, four armed soldiers wearing military fatigues walk in and gun her down.”

  “I have a feeling this is one military conspiracy story that’s not going to go away soon,” Boris said.

  Looking around the edges of the parking lot, they saw that the media was already out in full force. On the other side of the crime scene tape, Murphy spotted the long white limousine. Bernie was strolling toward them. Excusing himself, Murphy broke away from his team to meet the bodyguard where the crime scene tape was stretched across the length of the parking lot.

  “Does she want to see me?”

  “No, Lieutenant,” Bernie said. “They want to see you for a debriefing. Nine o’clock tomorrow morning. Seventh floor. She wants a report about what happened here ASAP so that she can brief the Joint Chiefs before your meeting. Wear your service dress whites.”

  Without another word, Bernie turned around and strode back to the limousine. Murphy watched him climb into the driver’s seat, start the car, and pull away.

  With no sign or clue from his commanding officer, Murphy could only guess what the Joint Chiefs of Staff had planned for him on the top floor of the Pentagon the next morning.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “They certainly don’t blame you for what happened,” Jessica told Murphy.

  He didn’t seem to hear her. Saying nothing, he stared up at the ceiling over their bed with his hands folded behind his head.

  Any other night, she would have been aroused by the sight of his firm chest and toned stomach. She found it hard to resist stroking his chest with her fingertips, working her way down his stomach.

  This night, she was more concerned with how quiet he had been since talking to the mountain of a man after the shooting. The only information she had been able to extract from Murphy was that he was being ordered to the Joint Chiefs of Staff on the seventh floor for a debriefing first thing in the morning.

  That was not good. Not good at all.

  Murphy had been so distracted that he didn’t even notice that Tristan and Izzy had spent the evening pigging out on pizza and chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream while watching a Scream marathon with all of the critters, except for Monique, surrounding them. The tarantula preferred making people scream on her own.

  As soon as they dragged themselves home, Murphy went straight up to their room and closed the door to write an incident report on the special secured laptop the Joint Chiefs had given him for his Phantom operations. After completing it, he sent it via their secured network to his commanding officer.

  After responding to Izzy’s questions with vague answers, claiming that it was an open investigation, Jessica hurried upstairs to find Murphy already in bed.

  Usually, the newlyweds slept in the nude, but with so many house guests, they had both opted to wear some clothes in case a situation called for them to be needed in a hurry. Murphy had slipped on a pair of sweat pants while Jessica wore panties under an oversized William and Mary t-shirt.

  “They can’t blame you.” Slipping up against him to rest her head on his shoulder, Jessica wrapped her arms around him. “You didn’t go into the coffee bar and shoot it up.”

  “They need a scapegoat,” Murphy said. “As soon as Emily Dolan’s name is released, then conspiracy theorists are going to point to the military. The media is bound to find out that the shooters were dressed in fatigues. Questions will be asked and Latimore will spin things around like he did tonight. I put saving my wife ahead of the lives of others, including an important material witness to a mass murder.”

  “He’s jealous of you. Everyone can see that.” She looked up at him. “Why else did he bring up the academy and me?”

  Murphy swallowed.

  Laying her head down on his chest, she listened to the beating of his heart. “I should have listened to you. I never should have gone in there.”

  “I should have handcuffed you to the bed,” Murphy agreed.

  “I don’t understand how I froze,” she said. “I’ve taken gun classes and Dad sent me through a battery of self-defense classes when I was in school—”

  “None of that prepares you for the real thing,” Murphy said. “Civilians and the media have no idea what happens—physically, emotionally—when real bullets start flying and someone is hell bent on killing you. That’s why they send me out at night for training—simulating real situations. In the past couple of years, I’ve been shot at hundreds of times. I’ve had knifes thrown at me. I’ve even been snatched off the street when I wasn’t expecting it and thrown off a bridge—all by members of my own team.”

  “Talk about a tough job,” Jessica said. “They threw you off a bridge?”

  “All to physically—and most importantly mentally—prepare me for when the real thing happens. So that when I do get into those types of situations, my reactions will be second nature.”

  “Everything happened so fast,” Jessica said. “It was impossible for me to process. I kept thinking I should know—”

  “But then you stepped up to bat to cover me while I went after their accomplice,” Murphy said. “You just needed time to get over the initial shock.”

  “Then I fainted like a girl.”

  “You are a girl,” he said with a chuckle.

  “Cameron didn’t.”

  “Cameron has a lot of experience under her belt,” he said.

  “I want experience under my belt,” she said. “I don’t like being a wimp.”

  “You’re not a wimp, Buttercup. Basically, what you need to do
is learn how to press your bitch button.”

  She lifted her head to look up at him. He was grinning down at her. “My bitch button?”

  “Everyone has one.”

  Looking him up and down, she arched an eyebrow. “You have a bitch button?”

  “I have a bastard button,” Murphy said. “You have a bitch button.”

  “No—”

  “I’ve seen you when someone pressed it,” he said with a grin. “It can be quite effective when activated.”

  “When have you seen my bitch button activated?”

  “In the middle of the night when you beat the daylights out of me,” Murphy answered with a chuckle.

  “That was an accident,” she said with a whine. “I was sound asleep.”

  “You gave me a black eye on our honeymoon,” Murphy said. “So I know for a fact that you know how to throw a punch. You just need to wake up the bitch buried deep inside you … the one who seems to only come out at night.”

  Still embarrassed by the recent events of their honeymoon and the discovery that she was a sleep “fighter,” Jessica covered her face, which had turned bright pink, with both hands while Murphy continued laughing at her nighttime antics.

  More than once since their marriage, Jessica woke up to find bruises on Murphy’s arms, legs, or back. Three days into their marriage, Murphy woke up yelling. His nose was bleeding and he had a black eye—both resulted from a single punch swung by his new bride. Two nights after that, he landed on the floor after she had pressed both of her feet to his back and kicked him out of the bed. Some nights he would wake up to her knee making a forceful contact with his groin.

  One night, he woke Jessica up while she was twisting his hand so hard that he thought she was going to break his wrist. She had such a grip on his hand that he had to pinch a pressure point on her arm to make her release him.

  So far, the only source to which they had been able to trace her violent actions during the night was a recurring nightmare during which she was surrounded by menacing figures wearing black robes and white masks.