Winter Song (Seasons Pass Book 1)

by Susan C. Muller

Finally, back in fortune’s good graces. About time his luck turned. The cop must have hurt himself when he fell over Professor Morgan. His biggest fear—the cop’s size and strength—now abated. He could face him head on. So much more satisfying.

  Pops would have called him a coward, but knowing your capabilities and acting within them was a sign of intelligence.

  The dog squatted three feet from the door and rushed back inside, shivering.

  Ryan grinned as the cop tried to turn on the small porch, hopping on one foot, the other held in the air.

  He stepped out of the shadows, already feeling a tightness in his jeans. “Take your time,” he said, pointing a pistol at the cop’s head. “I’m in no hurry.”

  This was going to be fun.

  Noah glanced over his shoulder at the sound of the high-pitched voice. Ah fuck. Why had he let his guard down? He took a deep breath, pulling in the night air. He needed to keep his head clear if he was going to get out of this alive.

  The porch light reflected off the barrel of a gun—most likely a Glock, but it was hard to be sure with so little illumination.

  Glocks were dependable in the right hands, but heavier than most revolvers and hard to rack with only one good hand. But the kid was no dummy. He’d probably chambered a round before he got here.

  Sweet Pea squealed at the sound of that familiar voice and ran into the bedroom. Hiding under the bed if past experience with thunderstorms is any indicator. Good, she was one thing he didn’t have to worry about.

  The kid moved closer, the gun held steady in his left hand, never taking his eyes off Noah.

  “I’m moving as fast as I can. Don’t do anything foolish. Those things have a hair trigger. They go off if you breathe funny.” Not necessarily true, but if Derrick had been the shooter, Ryan might not know that.

  Noah fumbled with the door, hoping to slam it in the kid’s face. No such luck. Ryan never gave him a chance to close it between them.

  “Drop the crutches and move to the far side of the room.” The gun sagged in Ryan’s hand as he used it to motion toward the back of the kitchen.

  “Which is it, move or drop the crutches? I can’t do both.” Noah used the time to hobble across the room. He swung around and leaned against the counter, his left foot raised slightly and both crutches in one hand.

  He tried to prop the crutches against the counter beside him, but Ryan shook his head and laughed. “Toss them over here. Gently.”

  Noah eyed the distance between them and played along. He’d find an opportunity. If the kid didn’t shoot him first. It wasn’t so much that he minded dying—there were days when he looked forward to it—but he needed to kill this douchebag first. “So what now, kid, do you have a plan?”

  “That’s Mr. Howell to you, dickhead. I’m the one with the gun. Lace your fingers together at the back of your neck.”

  He placed his hands behind his head, but not at the back of his neck, and he unlaced his fingers immediately. “You may have a gun, but you don’t know how to use it. Besides, you don’t want to shoot me. All hell would rain down on you if you shot a cop.”

  “Wrong again. I know how to use it just fine, and what else could happen to me? You’ve already managed to screw up my life. Now it’s my turn to screw up yours.”

  He needed to get the kid to come closer. “Plenty worse can happen to you. Let’s see if we can work this out. Maybe I can help you.”

  “Cut the crap. You can’t help me. But I will tell you what I want. Pull your sweat shirt off. I want to see that scar on your chest. How’d you get it anyway, a knife? A gun? Have you been shot before?” Ryan chuckled. “Remember what it felt like before you consider crossing me.”

  Noah didn’t move. What the fuck was the kid talking about? He didn’t have a scar. There was only one thing on his chest; the date of Betsy’s death. As far as he knew, the only person to ever see it was the guy who’d tattooed it on him five months ago. And this creep certainly wasn’t going to be the second.

  Ryan waved the gun in his direction. “In fact, take it all off. I want to make sure you don’t have a weapon hidden.”

  Noah couldn’t afford for that to happen. He only had one chance. He needed to distract the kid’s attention. “Jeez, kid, I knew you had a hard on for me, but I didn’t know you had a hard-on. What is this, get your jollies day? With that squeaky voice, I’ll bet you’re still a virgin.”

  Ryan bristled, but didn’t step closer. “Shut your mouth, cop. I can come three, four times a night, no problem. You’re past your prime, probably lucky to get it up once a week.”

  He reached for one of the crutches and whacked Noah on his sore knee. “Those were orders, not suggestions.”

  Noah’s howl of pain was only slightly exaggerated. Had something broken in there? If he took a step after this guy, would he fall on his face? He eased his foot down and placed a little weight on it. The pain was excruciating, but the knee held him up.

  He pulled the legs up on his sweat pants. “There. You can see. No back-up piece.” He fumbled as he turned his pockets inside out, then lowered the waistband on his pants several inches and turned in a circle, using the counter for support. Was the kid watching? “Nothing hidden. Hell, I was on my way to bed.”

  The kid wouldn’t be able to hold the gun up with one hand and swing that crutch around with the other for long. He needed to stall as long as possible. “It’s just the two of us in here now, kid. Truth or dare time. No woman’s ever come near that thing, right? The only one who’s touched it is you, and with a three and a half finger grip at that. Not getting the full experience that way, are you?”

  Oh yeah, guessed it in one. Why can’t I ever find anyone with an open face like that to play poker with?

  Ryan took a step forward and shoved the tip of the crutch in Noah’s mid-section. Noah let out an oooff, and doubled over. Ryan jerked the crutch up and rapped him under the chin. It hurt, but the rubber tip on the crutch kept it from doing any real damage, although he could taste a thin trickle of blood where he’d bitten his lip.

  “Stand up, and shut up. I’ll do the talking here.” The smile that crossed Ryan’s face at the sight of his blood sent a shiver down Noah’s spine.

  The kid’s shaking already. Five more minutes, that’s all I need.

  “That’s right, I forgot about Derrick. What was he, your little butt buddy? Was blowing you the price he paid for having you as a friend?”

  Ryan moved closer and pointed the gun at Noah’s right knee. “Keep it up. Your bad knee is about to become your good knee. After that, I’ll start on your arms. I’ll save your eyes for last, so you can see what’s happening to your little dog. When I finish with you, I think I’ll look up that sister of yours.”

  Keep coming, kid. Another couple of feet should do it. “What makes you think you can manage that? You’ve already tried to kill me once. That didn’t work out so well, did it? And you’ve tried to kill the dog twice and screwed it up both times. That little dog brain outsmarted you two times. Well you’ve got us now, a cripple and a sick dog. Think you’re capable of pulling it off this time, or do you need help? Too bad you got rid of Derrick just when you needed him the most.”

  Ryan’s face turned an unhealthy shade of red. Spittle flew from his mouth and the hand holding the gun shook like a flag on a windy day.

  Now we’re getting somewhere. Make a move, asshole. Come on, you know you want to hit me.

  “I’ll tell you what I’m capable of. I’ve been killing since I was fourteen years old.”

  “Little defenseless animals. I doubt you have what it takes to kill a human. You needed to trick Derrick into doing that for you.” Noah’s leg ached and the blows he’d received were starting to take a toll on his already bruised body, but he couldn’t afford to lean against the counter. He had to be ready to spring at the first opening.

  Ryan’s eyes got hard, and he took a step back, not closer. Shit. Wrong way, kid. Move my direction.

  “Yeah, I started wi
th animals. They’re a good warm up, and they make such pitiful sounds. Always good for a laugh. It didn’t take me long to move up to bigger prey.”

  “What’d you do, beat up drunks?” Bingo. If that face gets any redder, he’ll pop an artery and I won’t have to do a thing.

  The crutch smacked against his hip. Not fun, but no real damage done. The kid’s swings were getting wilder.

  “The day I got my license, I took my mom’s car; threw mud on the plates to cover the numbers. I told her I was going to the library.” Ryan’s face paled. “She always believed everything I told her. Not like my father.”

  What the hell was that look when he talked about his parents? Maybe it’s something I can work with.

  “Yeah, I saw how proud your mother looked when she told me how you were working your way through school. Wish I could have seen her face the day she had to bail you out of jail. Now that would have been good for a real laugh.”

  Whack. That blow wasn’t as hard, but it hit the same spot. Noah shifted slightly, lowering his hip a few inches. If Ryan kept hitting him in the same spot, he wouldn’t be able to move in a few minutes, but if he turned away, that left his family jewels exposed and one good blow there could put him on the floor.

  “Those bums laughed too, when they saw me. But they didn’t laugh for long. You know, it’s risky to drive around with a gun in the car, but no one thinks twice about a baseball bat. Especially if you throw a glove in the back seat.”

  “So you beat up a few drunks. Big deal. Men too old or too wasted to fight back. You think that makes you a killer? It only makes you a little weasel.” Noah gritted his teeth as Ryan swung the crutch again.

  Son of a bitch. That blow came way to close to his ‘nads for comfort. Not that he’d needed them lately, but he wasn’t ready to give them up. Time to get this wrapped up before it was too late.

  “I always watched to make sure they got up afterwards. Didn’t want the cops looking too closely. Until one guy got up and looked fine, but died the next day. I must have hit him on the head. The paper said his brain swelled from a blow. He was my first, but there’ve been others since. I’m not like you, too chicken-shit to actually complete the deed.”

  Noah’s breath caught in his throat. He was well aware what a subdural hematoma could do. When he’d gone after his father’s violin, the guy had tried to yank the money from his hand. He’d shoved him and the guy tripped, hitting his head on a chair. The guy was already on his feet when Noah slapped the money down and grabbed the violin and a couple of bottles of Oxycodone for his mother.

  When his body was found two days later, the police considered it a drug deal gone bad. And in a way, it was.

  If he’d stayed, gotten the guy some help, it would have been nothing. Self-defense. But taking the drugs put it in a different class.

  At least his mother had died in peace, his father’s violin beside her and agonizing pain a distant memory. Unfortunately, the memory of the guy’s death had never left Noah in peace.

  Ryan jabbed him again and Noah cursed himself for letting his mind wander when he needed to be at his sharpest.

  “What have you ever accomplished, cop? You dropped out of Juilliard. You quit music. You’ll never succeed because you never finish what you start.” Ryan lowered the crutch, but kept the gun pointed at his mid-section.

  “What would you call success in the music business? Singing at Carnegie Hall? Winning a Grammy? I had both of those before I was your age.”

  Ryan took a step back and blinked several times.

  That got him. He never expected that answer.

  “With your little teenage choir? Big whoop. All the parents came.”

  “What’d you do, Google me? Shows your research is not very thorough. It was albums in those days, not CDs, but my picture was on the cover and I was listed as soloist. I still get a couple of calls a year from opera companies asking if I’d like to join them. But hunting down slime balls like you gives me much more satisfaction than standing in front of an audience singing.”

  “I don’t believe you. Sing something for me.”

  “Sing? Now? Are you kidding me?” This kid was fricking unbelievable. Didn’t they teach him in hit man school to do the job and get out of there? That was fine with him. He’d learned in cop school to keep the perp talking until help came or you saw an opportunity to take him out. Whichever happened first.

  Noah swallowed and cleared his throat. How long since he’d sung a note? Funny thing, he’d kind of missed it lately. He almost chuckled. Hard to believe, but the kid was actually doing him a favor.

  He pulled in a deep breath and let the notes of Ave Maria roll out, his voice rusty at first, but picking up depth as he went on. Damn, he’d totally missed that note, and hadn’t held the next one long enough. The kid didn’t seem to notice. A definite low-brow.

  His mom had been right when she nagged him about practice—Use it or lose it. I sure hope that doesn’t apply to other things I haven’t been using.

  This wasn’t working. He was tiring while Ryan was resting. “You don’t look like you’re enjoying this. Do you want me to sing something else? Rock? Country? Anything but Rap.”

  “I want you to tell me the name of that fucking witness.” Ryan’s eyes bored into him and Noah could almost taste the hatred rolling off his body.

  If he couldn’t get the kid to move closer soon, he was in trouble. I don’t want to die, he thought with a start, surprised at the realization. Besides, it wouldn’t be only me. He’ll keep killing, just for the fun of it. And he’d start with Sweet Pea. That was not going to happen. “You can try to beat it out of me, if you think you’re man enough.”

  Ryan shifted his grip on the crutch and his gun hand wavered. That was all the opening Noah needed. He grabbed his mother’s cane from between the counter and the refrigerator and swung it with all his force, burying the brass dog’s snout into Ryan’s gun hand. A satisfying crunch told him bones were broken. The weapon flew across the room and hit Sweet Pea’s water bowl, making it ring like a bell and splashing water over the floor.

  Ryan raised the crutch in the air and swung it at his head, but with fingers missing on one hand and broken bones in the other, his aim was off. The blow hit Noah on the shoulder that had been dislocated when he fell over the professor and painful tingles ran down the length of his arm.

  Noah gritted his teeth and watched as Ryan tried to swing the crutch again. He held the cane up with both hands and blocked most of the blow. The cane broke with a resounding crack.

  A strangled bellow came from Ryan as he threw the crutch at Noah. With Ryan’s strange, squeaky voice, the sound would have been laughable at any other time.

  Noah raised an arm to deflect the blow and took two steps forward, his hip protesting more than his sore knee. He drew back his fist and socked Ryan solidly on the jaw. Pain from his sore hand shot up his arm, but so what? It was the most satisfying thing he’d done in months.

  Ryan went down like a puppet with the strings cut.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. I pulled my punch. Big scary killer, put down with a little tap like that.” He nudged the kid with his toe, but he didn’t move. Pathetic.

  Noah retrieved his back-up weapon from the top of the fridge and stuffed it into the waistband of his pants. He grabbed his handcuffs and slapped them on the still unconscious felon.

  “Okay, Sweet Pea,” he called. “It’s safe to come out.”

  Sweet Pea danced circles around Ryan’s prone body. Then she stopped to pee near his head.

  “That’s okay, girl. I wanted to do the same thing myself.” Noah sat on a chair, catching his breath. He scooped Sweet Pea into his lap. “I’m not going to tell you what he wanted to do to you, but he could never have caught you. I’ve spent too many mornings trying to round you up to think an amateur could corral you.”

  He set the little dog back on the floor. “I need you to watch him for me for just a few minutes. Can you do that? Bark if he wakes up,
but don’t bite him.”

  Noah eased to his feet. Everything hurt—his chin, his solar plexus, his bad knee that had been almost well, his good knee, his hip, and other parts that he hadn’t identified yet. Was it possible to limp on both sides?

  He pulled his cell phone from the pocket where it had remained hidden when Ryan thought his pockets were empty. “You still there, partner?”

  “I’m here. Already on my way to the car. Couldn’t figure out what was going on at first, but the minute I heard that kid’s obnoxious voice, I had Jeannie call 9-1-1 from the hotel phone. They should be there any second. You all right?”

  Noah hobbled into the living room, the phone still pressed to his ear. “I will be after a long soak in Epsom Salts.”

  “How’s our little friend? You didn’t kill him, did you? I don’t want to have to do the paperwork.”

  “Nah. I sure wanted to, but I thought better of it.” He stopped. No, he hadn’t even really wanted to. Not anymore. It didn’t seem important enough to go through that anguish again. Maybe he’d finally come to grips with what he’d done. Learned a lesson. Even forgiven himself.

  Noah stirred the embers in the fireplace and added a couple of pieces of kindling. The fire blazed up, destroying any last traces of the violin. His heart lifted as it disappeared. “You need to send an ambulance though. He’s out cold.”

  “A bus is already on the way. I knew one of you would need it. Where’d you have the phone hidden? Everything was muffled.”

  “In my rear pocket, except when I had my back to him. Then it was in my front pocket and I was blindly trying to find you on speed dial. Just get here as fast as you can. I don’t want to face the lieutenant on my own.”

  Sweet Pea barked and Noah flipped the phone closed before rushing back to the kitchen.

  Ryan was sitting up, trying to shake the cobwebs from his head. He kicked at the dog and she darted away.

  “You hurt my dog again, and I still might shoot you.” It felt distasteful even to talk to the guy.

  Ryan looked up, his eyes pleading. “Do it. Shoot me. I can’t spend the rest of my life in jail. I couldn’t stand it. I’ll go crazy.”