Reunited in Danger

by Joya Fields

  Margaret propped her umbrella on the front stoop, then stepped inside. “This is awful, just awful.” She took off her wet trench coat and handed it to Keely.

  “The rain?” Keely asked, draping the coat on the railing.

  “No. Something else. Come on, let me show you while I show Ben.” She pulled out her cell phone and walked to the chair where Keely’s dad was sitting.

  Ben put his empty stew bowl on the table and straightened up in his recliner.

  “Ben, look at this.” Mrs. Beyer pressed a button on her phone and handed it to him. Keely moved beside him to peer at the video playing on the phone.

  “I’m telling you…dealing drugs right there in front of me. Like they were daring me to do something about it.” Mrs. Beyer paced the floor in front of them.

  Keely squinted at the video of a young man in a sweatshirt standing on the sidewalk, leaning into the open window of a car, speaking with the driver. Another young man stood next to him, again in a hoodie. The first man passed an envelope to the driver.

  “Those boys on the sidewalk are Lenny Harper and his friend, Chayce. Can’t remember the other kid’s last name, but they’re both former students of mine. I’m positive now that they’re the ones who broke in here and hurt you. They had ski masks on when they were here, but I can tell that’s them.” Margaret’s words rushed out as she stopped to plant her feet.

  Could Margaret be right? Could they be close to bringing the attackers to justice?

  “You called the police?” Her dad’s face creased as he strummed his fingers on the armrest of his worn-in chair.

  “Of course I called the police. I hollered after them as they ran away, ‘I’m calling 911 right now!’”

  Her dad nodded, but concern etched his face. “What did the police say?”

  “The 911 operator said they’d send an officer here to look at the video I took. I specifically requested Officer Peterson.”

  Keely asked, “Are you certain those two could be the attackers?”

  “They’re the same size, and I recognized Lenny immediately. Chayce fits the same build as the other attacker, and those two are always together.”

  “Logan’s going to be here soon,” Keely said. “Let’s show him the video and see what he thinks.” Maybe the attack was a robbery after all. But still, why would two drug dealers want a briefcase with nothing but papers in it?

  She realized Margaret was shivering. “You’re soaked. How about some tea?”

  The woman blew out a breath, nodded, and sat near Keely’s father.

  In the kitchen, Keely poured the boiling water into a mug, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. But nothing seemed to fit.

  Another knock came at the front door. She could hear the rumble of voices—Margaret was letting in Dave, who’d promised to come over to update her dad on the day’s services. With a sigh, Keely pulled out the coffeemaker, wishing she could keep her father in a protective bubble so he’d be able to rest in peace and quiet. Even if that was the last thing he wanted.

  She headed into the sitting room with a steaming cup of sweetened green tea and a platter of cookies. Margaret was telling her story about the vandals again, this time to an attentive Dave.

  “I just started a pot of coffee. It’ll be done—” The doorbell rang and Keely bent to look out the front window. Logan wore a pair of black jeans, a black T-shirt, and black leather jacket. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. Next to him, Officer Peterson stood in uniform.

  She hurried to let them in. The rain had slowed to spits of drizzle, and Logan’s hair glistened with small water drops. Her fingers itched to reach out and smooth his hair.

  “Peterson tells me Mrs. Beyer has a video of the men she thinks are the attackers?” Logan asked.

  “Yeah.” She led them into the family room.

  “Look at this,” Margaret said, then handed Peterson her phone, who hit Play. Both he and Logan watched the video.

  When it finished playing out, Peterson handed the phone back to Margaret and pulled out a notepad. “Do you know their full names?” he asked. “I’ll interview them, see if I can get them to admit anything.”

  Maybe this video could lead to an arrest. If that happened, and later they got information from Melita’s dad that led to finding her, it would be a very good day.

  Logan caught Peterson’s eye. “Keely and I need to head out. Copy me on the report?”

  After the officer agreed, Logan ushered her to the door with a hand on the small of her back. Even with the thick sweatshirt between them, her skin heated at his touch, reminding her of the conversation she and Logan needed to have.

  A light drizzle was falling, the rain once again having let up, and Jalissa from next door danced on the sidewalk under a pink umbrella.

  “Hi, Miss Keely,” she said, splashing in a puddle with bright pink rain boots.

  “That looks like fun.” Keely smiled at the little girl, then waved to April, who stood inside, watching from the front window. A good mom. A responsible neighbor. Keely crossed the street and slid into the passenger seat of Logan’s SUV. She closed the door, tightened her ponytail, and considered her options. The drizzle increased to a steady downpour, as if reflecting the intensity of her thoughts.

  Now or never. She’d confront him before she lost her nerve.

  He slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

  She wiped a strand of wet hair from her face. “Wait. Before we go to the jail and see Padilla, can we talk first?”

  He nodded. “What’s up?”

  Unable to meet his gaze, she stared through the windshield at the raindrops hitting the sidewalk and rubbed her hands on her knees to rid herself of some of her nervous energy.

  “Keels, it’s just you and me. What is it?” he asked.

  She could do this. Like ripping off a bandage, she had to face facts, once and for all. She twisted to face him. “My dad told me.”

  Logan flinched, but only slightly, and then blew out a breath. “Told you what?”

  She tensed her muscles, guarding her body to prevent a blow to her emotions. “He told me my mother…” The words stuck in her throat. “That my mother pushed you away from me. Told you to join the Marines.”

  His jaw tightened. The dark afternoon clouds masked his eyes. She breathed in the musky, wet scent of him and fought the urge to move closer.

  “Enlisting was the best thing that could have happened to me back then. Joining the Marines gave me my future,” he said.

  “Okay.” She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, waiting for him to say more. Apparently if she wanted a deeper explanation, she’d have to drag it out of him. “Earlier we didn’t finish our conversation. You already know how you hurt me when you left.” A lump formed in her throat. She’d prepared for this conversation. What she hadn’t been prepared for was the old wounds opening raw again and the hurt smacking her as if she were feeling the pain for the first time.

  “Keely.” He laid a hand on her thigh and the heat of his palm scorched through the thin fabric. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. The thing is…I think Lillian was right. You had big plans—college, career. Being with me would have kept you from that.”

  She shook her head, blinking hard to keep her eyes dry. Better to let anger cover her feelings. She could handle anger. “Don’t you think I should have been part of that decision?”

  “I was a mess as a kid. I’d just been arrested for fighting—”

  “A justified fight, according to my dad. You were protecting some little kid.”

  “No. That’s what you don’t get. I hurt that boy more than I had to. I had rage in me just like the rage I always saw in my father. Once I started, I couldn’t stop. I got off on a technicality. Your mother asked me to do the right thing for you, and I did. I left. I would have done anything for you to have the future you deserved. Even if that meant hurting you. And myself.” He stared out the car window, his gaze focused on something in the dista
nce.

  He’d left to protect her? Not because he didn’t love her? “It’s too late to change our past.” She took a calming breath in an effort to steady her emotions. What did all of this mean? How was anything different now?

  “You’re right. It is.”

  “So after you came back from Afghanistan, and after I called you, why didn’t you—”

  Logan held up a hand and leaned forward, his attention caught by something outside. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I don’t like the looks of that.”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, straining to follow his line of vision.

  “Two dudes in that car.” He pointed with his chin to a parked beige Mercedes. “Been sitting there for a while.” He picked up his cell phone. “I need to call in the plates and check it out.”

  Before she had the chance to comment, Margaret walked out of Ben’s place. She picked up her umbrella, patted Jalissa on the head, and turned to go to her house.

  The door of the Mercedes opened and the interior light flashed, drawing Keely’s attention away from the elderly lady.

  Keely leaned forward to get a better view though the rain-soaked windshield.

  One of the occupants got out of the car, a teenager wearing a ball cap, and pointed something at Margaret.

  A gun.

  Fear ripped through Keely’s whole body. Oh my God!

  Logan tossed his phone aside, bolted from his seat, and crouched behind the open door, gun in hand.

  “Police! Drop your weapon! Mrs. Beyer, get down!” Logan bellowed. “Jalissa, go inside. Drop your weapon now.” Logan pointed his gun at the man brandishing the weapon.

  Keely’s pulse rocketed. She had to do something! She threw open the car door, slid out, and pulled out her cell phone, using the door to hide behind. This wasn’t happening, couldn’t be happening. But it was. Pelts of rain stung her eyes. But she could see Margaret frozen in her spot, and her eyes wide and terrified.

  “Mrs. Beyer, get on the ground,” Logan repeated, his gun trained on the kid in the hat.

  Keely dialed 911 with shaking fingers. Her breath came in short gasps.

  The operator answered, “911, what is your emergency?”

  Two deafening explosions, like fireworks, pierced the air.

  Margaret’s eyes and mouth opened wide, then she slammed back into the brick of her house and crumbled to the ground.

  Oh God, no.

  Chapter Eight

  Keely fought back a wave of nausea. Margaret had been shot! Before Keely could answer the 911 operator, the gunman whirled to face Logan. For a terrifying second, she thought he would be next. A scream lodged in her throat when she noticed Jalissa still standing in front of her stoop.

  If Logan or the gunman fired his weapon, the girl could get caught in the crossfire.

  “Someone’s been shot,” Keely shouted into the phone. She rattled off the address.

  From her father’s row house, Peterson opened the front door, gun aimed at the kid in the ball cap. “Police! Drop your weapon!”

  The gunman turned, aimed at Peterson, and Peterson fired. The boy’s face contorted. He dropped his gun, staggered, and fell backward onto the pavement. His body twitched, and Keely’s stomach twisted.

  “Driver, put your hands up. Hands up, now!” Logan trained his gun on the driver of the Mercedes. Neighbors rushed to windows and eased out of front doors. Jalissa’s mother whisked her inside the house, leaving the girl’s pink umbrella to roll down the street.

  The kid in the car ducked low, hit the gas, and peeled out of the parking spot. Logan lowered his gun and the car sped past. Keely planted her feet, braced her right arm with her left, and aimed her cell phone camera at the car, taking photos until the car whipped around the corner and out of sight.

  Logan raced across the street, gun trained on the bleeding kid who’d shot Mrs. Beyer, and kicked the gun away.

  “I had to shoot him,” Peterson said, gun still drawn and pointed at the kid.

  “Self defense, Peterson. You did the right thing,” Logan said.

  Keely shoved her phone in her pocket. She wrapped her arms around herself and held on tight, unable to catch her breath. She’d witnessed violence before. She dealt with violent offenders every day at her job. But she’d never in her life seen anyone shot right in front of her. Bile rose in her throat at the gory scene.

  Logan handcuffed the unconscious kid and rolled him to his stomach. Then he attended to Margaret. “Stay back everyone,” he shouted. “Peterson, keep your gun on him.”

  Blood pounded through her head and Keely staggered around the SUV toward Margaret, who lay crumbled on the sidewalk, her gray church jacket bloodied by two gunshots. Rain puddled around her. Keely crossed the street on legs that suddenly felt like rubber. Her dad and Dave came out the front door, Dave holding her father’s upper arm to support him.

  Logan holstered his gun and yanked out his phone. “Signal 13! Signal 13! Officer needs assistance.” He gave the address, then added, “And a bus. Stand back, everybody.” He dove to his knees and pulled off his leather jacket, tossed it to the side. Then he yanked off his T-shirt and pressed it against the wound on Margaret’s shoulder.

  “Keely, are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’m okay,” she said automatically, staring at the slumped woman. That was a lie. She wasn’t okay. Margaret wasn’t moving. Keely crouched beside her and held her limp hand.

  The rain pounded on the trail of blood from Margaret’s body. In the distance, sirens echoed off the city buildings.

  “What can we do for her?” Keely asked.

  Logan lifted the shirt from Margaret’s shoulder, checked it, then held it against her again. At least she was bleeding. That meant her heart was pumping. Rain hit Keely’s eyes, mixing with her tears as she glanced around at the scene. The gunman was handcuffed and on his stomach, his blood mixing with the soaking rain to form a bright red river down the sidewalk and into the gutter. Sirens wailed, getting closer.

  When Logan didn’t move, Keely squinted up in the pouring rain to look at him. He shook his head slowly. “Ambulance is on its way. Let’s not move her. We don’t know what kind of injury she has.”

  Her thoughts raced to her father. Ben was already traumatized, and now he’d have to deal with this new trauma.

  A squad car squealed to a stop in the middle of the street, followed by two more marked cars. A uniformed officer held his gun on the handcuffed shooter as another one checked for a pulse. Logan stood and moved behind Keely, squeezed her shoulders as the ambulance double-parked in the street and two EMTs raced toward them.

  “Come on, Keels. Let’s move so the medics can do their job.” He helped her to her feet. Her entire body was shaking so hard she could barely walk. “Come on, baby,” he whispered. “Be strong.” His words and hot breath gave her the strength she needed.

  “I’m okay. I have to help my father.” Keely straightened her back and lifted her chin. Logan held her arm for support. Even though he was shirtless in a chilly rain, heat radiated from his body, warming her.

  And yet chills still chased down her spine.

  Her dad stood on the stoop. With glazed eyes, he stared at Margaret through the crowd of medics who surrounded her.

  “She’ll make it. She’s a tough lady,” Logan whispered in her ear.

  Keely closed her eyes for a second, then made her way to Ben and wrapped her arm around her father’s waist. Logan spoke with the EMTs as they loaded Margaret into the ambulance and hooked her to machines. A few minutes later, the siren blared and she was whisked off to the hospital.

  Keely grasped her dad’s elbow with shaking hands. No doubt he wanted to go with Margaret and be with her, but she knew in his condition he couldn’t.

  “Let’s get inside.” She didn’t know if she was helping him inside or holding onto him for dear life.

  …

  Inside her dad’s house an hour after the shootings, Keely’s hands still shook. How could Margaret Beyer be si
pping tea one minute and in critical condition the next?

  Logan stepped into the foyer, his wet hair matted to his head, his mouth set in a grim line.

  Keely handed him a towel.

  “Thanks.” He blotted water from his clothes, including one of her dad’s sweatshirts Keely had given him, since he’d used his own shirt to stop Margaret’s bleeding. It, too, was soaking. He’d stayed outside until the police officers called to the scene had left.

  Keely’s eyes stung with unshed tears. Her head pounded with frustration over Margaret’s injuries and her father’s worry. Her dad had finally begun to find happiness with another woman after losing his wife. And now that woman’s life was in the balance. Revenge burned hot inside Keely’s gut.

  “Where’s Ben?” Logan passed her the wet towel.

  She motioned with her head to the living room. “In there with Dave and Charlie. Thanks for sending your friend Beatrice. Makes me feel better to know he has a bodyguard watching over him.”

  Logan nodded and closed his eyes for a few seconds. As if steeling himself, he straightened and strode into the living room to speak with her father.

  Keely bit her bottom lip to keep it from shaking, and after regaining control, followed Logan.

  Her father sat in his favorite recliner with his feet propped up. His wide eyes made her wonder if he was in shock. Beatrice, the off-duty policewoman Logan had hired to protect him, sat erect on the sofa, as if ready to pounce at a second’s notice. Charlie sat in a chair to one side of her dad, glancing around the room as if unsure what to do to help, while Dave barked out orders that went unheeded.

  Keely looked at Logan and thought about the one thing that would snap her dad out of his worries. Helping others. “Dad, should I get some of your clothes for Logan?”

  Sure enough, her father blinked and focused on Logan. “Oh, for crying out loud. You’re soaked. Keely, go get him some sweatpants and a new shirt.”