Quinn put a supportive hand on her back. “Steady,” Quinn said. She focused on dignity and balance. If those qualities hadn’t been drilled into her since she was in diapers, she wouldn’t have succeeded.
The swat team burst from the back of a truck and dark-clad figures fanned out across the area. Another news van arrived. Several police cars and an ambulance roared into the parking lot. The asphalt appeared to shudder under the blue strobe lights. She squinted through the pulsating night, for the one and only face that she wanted to see.
Suddenly PBCo’s door burst open and Marvin staggered out. “Arrest her,” he screamed, pointing at her, “She murdered Sheriff Botts.”
Kelsey gasped.
Unexpectedly, a microphone was shoved in her face and lights flashed. Spots danced before her eyes. “Do you have a statement?” The microphone nudged at her. “Why did you kill Sheriff Botts?”
Kelsey silently shook her head.
Another microphone, thrust at her. “Is the sheriff dead?” A camera flashed.
Quinn laughed as if someone had told a joke. “Oh, I’ll wager Botts is dead all right,” Quinn said. “Senator Frederickson shot him in the back of his head. That usually does the trick when he doesn't want someone for a friend any more.”
Abruptly the microphones were jammed into Quinn's face; still unsteady, Kelsey clung to the back of his chair. "What's your name? For the Record?"
Marvin shouted, “Officer, arrest that man. He’s MacLennan’s partner. See, he has a rifle.”
Quinn smiled and shook his head. “Senator, Senator, don’t you understand?” His tone was infused with amusement, as he flashed a badge. “It’s over. I’ve got the murder on tape and there is no way you will get it labeled suicide.”
Now completely confused, Kelsey leaned heavily on Quinn’s wheelchair. Since he didn't seem to mind the limelight, she tried to blend into the background, as she tried to figure out how he knew so much about what had gone on in the basement. He didn’t need makeup to look ruggedly handsome. He didn’t need to worry about how messy he looked after being slapped repeatedly and bleeding all over himself then tumbling across a filthy parking lot and getting abrasions everywhere or having blood all over the front of his shirt … and he hadn't put his shirt on inside out.
Someone grabbed her. She screamed. “You’re hurt.” a medic said. “Let me help you.”
Kelsey took a shuddering breath, then allowed the paramedic to lead her to the rear of an ambulance. In the background, reporters shouted questions and bulbs flashed. Marvin’s tone rose each time Quinn laughed. After she gratefully sat on the back of the vehicle, the medic began treating her throat.
“What happened?”
“Knife.” Kelsey looked over his shoulders to where the cameras and microphones moved between Marvin and Quinn like it was a tennis match.
“You’re lucky - it missed the carotid by a hair.”
“Ling needed me alive, as a shield.”
He nodded. “You’ll probably have a scar.”
“Better a scar than dead.” Her attention turned to PBCO’s door. Devlin, where are you?
“That’s the spirit." He cleaned the wound with something that stung like a nest of bees. She clenched her teeth against the welling scream. The medic made a pleased sound, then swabbed on something that burned like fire. Kelsey gasped and forced herself to remain still.
Was Doran staying in the background because he knew how much his partner enjoyed playing the media game? Her gaze wandered around the parking lot, trying to pick him out from the black-clad swat team. Why didn’t he come to her? Was he hurt?
“You're doing great,” the medic said. “I’m almost done.” If he swabbed another chemical on her neck, her head might come unglued.
Quinn laughed. “I also taped the part about you consorting with known drug lords,” he said.
The two reporters shouted questions. Another one shouted, “$50,000.00 for the tape.”
Quinn shook his head. Despite his casual, bantering tone, Kelsey noticed that Quinn’s attention stayed focused on Marvin’s eyes and his hands didn’t leave the rifle that lay, casual as a blanket, in his lap.
“$75,000,” The other journalist screamed.
“$250,000.”
As the bidding frenzy escalated, a young crew-cut officer approached Marvin and began reciting the Miranda to him. Frederickson turned to the officer and struck him on the jaw. Quinn’s rifle rose with the speed of lightening. Marvin tried to snatch the officer’s gun, but the officer recovered from his surprise and slapped a cuff on Marv’s wrist. Marvin broke free and dashed toward a white car.
Shots rang out.
Frederickson faltered then fell. Someone screamed. Two cameramen stood their ground as they taped the unfolding story.
Kelsey ran to Quinn, as he lowered his rifle. "You shot him!"
"Wasn't me. I only had one left after Ling got away and I wasn’t about to waste it by firing through the media." He laid the weapon across his shrunken lap.
Frederickson struggled to rise.
Two more shots rang out. Frederickson jerked, then fell twitching on the ground. Kelsey gripped Quinn’s wheelchair for support. Camera flashes illuminated the grisly scene like a floodlight. Another shot hit Marvin between his eyes. He fell face-first against the pavement, then lay still.
Gooseflesh rushed over her. “Dear Lord, they killed him,” Kelsey whispered. Weak kneed, she peered through the gathering gloom, wondering who the next victim would be. Most of the swat team members were sighting down their weapons and focused on the shadows beyond the streetlight, but some were darting shadows moving around the vehicles.
“I wanted the bastard for questioning," Quinn muttered, as he slowly rolled toward Frederickson. Kelsey stumbled along behind him, as she hung onto the chair's handgrips for support.
There were several metallic clicks. Quinn stopped. Kelsey tripped and fell against his armrest. Quinn shoved her behind his chair.
A crew-cut officer sprinted in front of them and aimed his handgun at the shadows. “Drop your weapon and surrender.” Another click. “Now!” The officer’s trigger finger quivered.
Zoë stepped barefoot from the darkness, her arms forward with a handgun balanced on her upturned palms. Oh, no! Was she the shooter? What had she done? Why had she done it?
Lights flashed. Zoë turned toward them, a blank expression in her eyes. “I had to kill him. He was evil.” She looked toward Marvin’s body and tears fell. “I had to.” More lights pulsed as cameramen recorded the event.
“Why?” a reporter shouted.
The officer seized Zoë’s gun, wrenched her arm behind her back and cuffed her wrist. Kelsey looked beyond Zoë to where black-clad figures fanned out in the shadows. Zoë snatched his service pistol and turned it on him. Chills ran over Kelsey.
He put up his hands.
“Stay back,” Zoë warned. The officer took a cautious backward step.
A reporter shoved past him and thrust a microphone at Zoë. “Why did you kill him?”
She gave the man an incredulous look. “He didn’t love me.”
“Are you saying you had an affair with the Senator?” he demanded.
Zoë’s mouth quivered and her knees buckled. She reached a trembling hand toward Frederickson. “My father… My lover…”
“Which one was he?”
Zoë’s confused expression centered on the closest reporter. “My father… was my lover.”
“Why did you kill him?”
“He never loved me because I’m nothing.” She raised the gun to her ear.
Kelsey gasped and moved toward Zoë. Quinn grabbed her wounded wrist. Pain, hot and heavy ribbed through her. With a gasp, she fell backward. Strong arms caught her, a gunshot shattered the night and the exploding light from the cameras preserved tragedy for eternity. Kelsey fainted.
She didn't know how long she stayed in the black void. When she came to, she smelled disinfectant mixed with vague scents of blood, smoke
and jasmine. The mixture was nauseating, but the worst part was the discordant sounds. She clenched her jaws together and focused on sorting out the noise: reporters shouted questions; an officer was reading the Miranda to someone; but the closest sounds were soft assurances that she'd be fine.
The stench of antiseptic suddenly became overpowering, and pain washed over her forearm. She gasped and sat up. White sparkles swirled across her vision, but strong hands supported her.
The spinning images settled into the medic, who had cleaned her wounds, two people hunkering over Frederickson's body, officers forcing reporters away from the crime scene amid flashing cameras, and swat officers in every shadow. “Is Zoë dead?” she whispered, all too certain that she knew the answer.
“The gun went off when an officer grabbed it,” the paramedic said.
“But is she alive?”
“Not a scratch on her.”
“Is the officer okay?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll tell Rams to get her a good lawyer.”
“Better get her a good shrink,” he said. Kelsey nodded. Poor Zoë had probably needed one of them for a long time.
When the medic finished applying the new bandages, she imagined she must look like an escaped mummy. While she was contemplating the medic’s gauze and adhesive patches, Quinn rolled up to her.
“You okay?”
She gave a slight nod. “When we were little, Zoë was like a sister, but then she changed, and I guess I finally know why.” She bit her lip.
“You couldn’t have changed anything.”
Quinn was probably right. Before she could ask him how he knew, an explosion rocked the ground and a section of PBCO’s roof shot upward.
People screamed and ran for cover. Quinn’s powerful arms grabbed her, then his wheelchair careened across the parking lot. She watched the scene over Quinn's strong shoulder, amazed how the roof disintegrated as it arced back to earth and how the streamers of fire lit the night like fireworks.
Devlin was still in there. “No!” she screamed.
Chapter Nineteen
Kelsey stared in immobile horror as debris rained onto PBCO’s roof and the surrounding area. Long tongues of fire erupted from the roof.
As if on cue, a fire engine roared into the parking lot.
Cameramen quickly focused their equipment on the fire, some were so bold that they endangered themselves to a better picture of doom and imperiled the police officers, who tried to save them from their foolish choices.
Kelsey stared at the fire truck. “How?”
“I called them,” Quinn said.
“How did you know?”
“Dev was wired.” The misery in his tone told her that she hadn’t been the only one searching the shadows for Devlin Doran. “I phoned in the fire when the test tubes fell over and ignited. Then, I got out of the van and was coming to help.” He looked at the building, his expression saying what he was too polite to put into words, 'but when I saved you, I lost him'.
Tears blinded her. “I should have been in there. Not him.” Kelsey tried to wrestle free of Quinn and go toward the building.
Quinn tugged her back. She fought to get free of his grip, but the man seemed strong as an ox. Finally, he yanked her off balance and plopped her back onto his lap. His rifle gouged into her bottom, and must be digging into him, but he didn’t appear to notice. With a flick of his wrists, the wheelchair sped away from the building. “Sit tight, we’ll find him.” Dear Lord, she hoped he was right, but Quinn didn’t sound any more optimistic than she felt. “He’s not stupid enough to get caught in that mess.”
“Oh, God, I hope you’re right. I never even got the chance to tell him how much I loved him.” She held on for dear life as the wheelchair raced toward the rear of the parking lot at a speed she'd thought impossible. When they were far away from the cameras and pulsating blue squad car lights, the chair slowed. Then they moved off the pavement, onto a sidewalk and from there onto the grass. To think that the paparazzi seemed to be missing this.
Moments later, they stopped on the hoist of a handicapped van. With a lurch, the hoist rose.
Of course, Devlin would know where Quinn had parked and would go there to find him. Kelsey hugged Quinn. “You’re so smart to think of this.”
He rolled the chair off the platform and into a gadget-lovers dream. A tall, bony red-haired man wearing black hunkered in front of a bank of small screens and ignored their arrival.
When Kelsey got off Quinn's lap and rubbed her bruised backside. Quinn calmly opened a locker and put the rifle inside. “I can’t believe they didn’t arrest you or at least stop you for having that.”
Quinn glanced at her. "I phoned the regional FBI branch and had them notify the locals that I was armed and on the scene." He gave her a lopsided smile. "I warned them that all hell would break loose if they shot the guy on wheels and that only the jeans and chino crowd was fair game.” He looked her up and down. “I didn't know what you were wearing.” She stared at him. Who was this man, who could deal with the past situation so lightly? He stared back at her, then focused on her clenched hand. “What are you holding?”
She opened her tight fist and showed him the crumpled photo.
He peered at it, then looked up at her, his surprise evident. “I don’t understand.”
That made two of them. “I don’t know who she is, but she represents why I’m running for office.”
“Dev know that?” She indicated agreement. “May I?” Before she finished nodding, Quinn plucked the photo from her hand and gently smoothed out the wrinkles. Then, he snatched a weird contraption off of the only other chair in the cramped van and gestured for her to sit down. He tossed the thing that resembled and odd mask onto the narrow desk.
“How much longer do you think it’ll take Devlin to get here?” she asked. The thin man broke his vigil and looked at Quinn, worry etched in his expression.
Quinn shrugged nonchalantly, but his mouth flattened as he looked at the monitors, which portrayed scenes that should have been restricted to Hades.
The slim man gave her a faltering smile and offered her his hand. "Trent Davies."
She shook his hand. "Kelsey MacLennan." He gave her an indecipherable look, before he turned back to the monitors.
“I’ve heard that to succeed in politics,” Trent said, “it is often necessary to rise above your principles. Have you found that to be true?”
Kelsey gaped at him, then quickly shook her head. “Have you seen Devlin on those?” She craned her neck to look over their shoulders.
Trent shook his head. Tears began rolling down her cheeks.
Kelsey didn’t know how long the three of them stared at the monitors, but by the time dawn broke, the fire was under control and Quinn’s eyes glistened with unshed tears.
Humor no longer danced in Trent’s expression. "I'm going out to do a recon."
She sniffed. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”
Trent gave her a hard look. “Not if it wasn’t for you.”
Quinn glanced at Trent, but didn’t intervene.
“I know.” She swallowed a choking lump of misery. “He came after me because he loved me.”
Trent snorted. “You were a tool, so don’t get all sentimental about it.”
Kelsey shook her head. If Devlin hadn’t cared about her, he would have stayed outside, instead of coming in to rescue her. Kelsey shook her head, again.
Trent nodded, his eyes glittered with pure anger. “The Boss thought your brother was dealing, he didn’t realize the senator was impersonating him.”
“Rams would never-“ words failed her.
“Yeah, well we finally figured that out, but don’t go all soppy about the Boss, you never really knew him. I did. Quinn did. He and Quinn have been together for years and through more than some prima donna like you could ever understand.”
“Trent.” Quinn’s tone held a warning. “Go talk to the firemen. Get their assessment of the situation.” His expressio
n looked grim as he tweaked various knobs and studied the faces of individual firefighters, who were packing up their gear. The police cars and swat van were long gone, as were the journalist’s vans. Dead fires weren’t newsworthy. Soon, only a lone fire truck remained.
Trent paused, hand on the door handle and gave her a livid look. “If he’d gotten out, he’d have been here by now.” The door slammed.
A lump of despair grew in Kelsey’s throat. “He blames me for getting kidnapped and Devlin caring enough to-” a sob cut her off.
“Dev chose to infiltrate the plant without backup,” Quinn’s tone sounded grim. He adjusted a few buttons, then tapped the biggest monitor’s face. “Watch this.” It changed to show the lab.
He hadn’t been kidding about having surveillance footage of Marvin kowtowing to the odious little oriental man. Quinn touched the image of the old man. “That’s why Dev went in, instead of waiting. He’s been out for Ling ever since his sister died.”
“Devlin told me about Ling, but I don’t think he mentioned his sister.”
Quinn gave her a sympathetic look. “There wasn’t any need. Wes’s plan was to have Dev charm you - seduce you, if necessary.”
He’d been told to do all that? “Why?” The word sounded strangled, even to her own ears.
In answer, Quinn touched Ling’s image, again. “Dev would have moved heaven and hell to get Ling behind bars so he couldn’t ruin the lives of any more kids.”
It was a noble motive. Kelsey nodded in agreement. “I wish-“ She could barely whisper, ‘I’d died instead of him.’
Quinn took her trembling hands in his two large, warm ones. “Kelsey, I’ve known Dev a long time. He was so obsessed with revenge that he endangered himself. I warned him, that something felt wrong with this op, but he wouldn’t listen.”
Deadly Rumors Page 28
