Flash of Death

by Cindy Dees

  “Damn good friend to come in here guns blazing to rescue you,” Herrera grunted.

  “You’ve got it all wrong,” Don chortled. “I’m not here to rescue Chloe. I’m here to kill her.”

  Chloe stared, shocked to the core of her being. “What?” she gasped.

  Herrera seemed likewise stunned. “What have you got against her?”

  “Stupid bitch almost outed me. Thankfully, she left her little message explaining how she’d figured out old Barry’s scheme on my personal voice mail and not my work number. As soon as I shut her up, I can put some other dimwit accountant fresh out of school in her place and keep my little operation running.”

  Revelations were exploding one after another in her head like fireworks on Fourth of July. Don was Barry’s accomplice in robbing Paradeo. Of course. With his FBI resources, he’d been able to crack Paradeo’s various security codes and pass them to Barry. Poor Barry must’ve figured out that Don considered him expendable, or maybe Barry just got scared and wanted out of the scheme.

  “You killed Barry, didn’t you?” she demanded.

  “Piss ant chickened out on me. He figured out who really owns Paradeo and freaked out. Got all holier than thou about stopping the damned drug cartels.”

  More revelations exploded in her brain. Don had hired her because he thought she was so inexperienced that she would never figure out what he was doing. He’d used her as a cover in case he got found out by the FBI. And that meant he’d probably—

  “You framed me!” she exclaimed.

  His scornful gaze slid off Herrera for an instant to mock her. “Of course I did. No way am I going down for this. Not after I finally got the nice little nest egg I deserve for all my years of hard work.”

  “Nest egg? You and Barry stole almost twenty million dollars!” she blurted.

  Herrera lurched and Don’s weapon jerked. “Easy there, buddy. I’d hate to have to shoot you before I’m done with you.”

  “What do you want from me?” Herrera snarled. “My bosses are going to chew you up and spit you out when they find out you stole that kind of money from them. You better offer me a hell of a deal to keep my mouth shut.”

  “I’ll do you one better than that,” Don replied. “You kill the girl. And then I’ll kill you. I’m a hero with the FBI for killing a high-level drug cartel hit man. I’m a hero with the drug cartel for killing the bitch who was stealing from them. Nobody wants me dead, I walk away with my millions and I live out my life sipping Mai Tais on a tropical beach while some hot babe sucks my—”

  Herrera reached for his gun and dived for the cover of the table simultaneously, but Don was too fast and too well trained. Two gunshots rang out in quick succession deafening Chloe. Herrera rolled onto his back, arms splayed, still and silent, while a pool of blood slowly formed beneath him. Chloe stared at the downed man in sheer, frozen terror.

  Don’s pistol swung at her. She braced herself for the impact. “Don’t worry, Chloe. You’ve got a few more seconds to say your prayers. Gotta get Miguel’s gun first. Wouldn’t do to have rounds from my weapon found buried in your gut. The Mexican shot you, after all. I was tragically a few seconds too late to stop him. But, hey, I gunned him down for you.”

  Don moved past her to where Herrera lay, and she pivoted to face them, holding the chair in front of her like a shield. Realizing he was no longer between her and the door, she took a step backward. Another.

  “One more step and I shoot you where you stand,” Don snarled. “And I won’t kill you with the shot. I’ll let you suffer for a while first. Stray bullet accidentally hit you in the cross fire, you know.”

  He had all the answers, didn’t he? He was supposed to be one of the good guys! Rage and horror roiled in her gut as Don placed Miguel’s pistol in the downed man’s fingers, wrapping them around the butt and slipping a flaccid index finger into the trigger guard. The weapon lifted toward her.

  The window behind her exploded in a fury of flying glass and wood splinters. A large, familiar body arced through the gap, hit the floor, rolled, and came upright between her and Don.

  Trent heaved something hard and fast, baseball-pitcher-fashion, at Don. A handful of dirt smashed into the FBI agent’s face and he screamed in pain and fury, dropping Miguel’s hand to claw at his sandblasted eyes. Miguel’s pistol fired, and Chloe instinctively ducked, although the shot had already sailed over her head and into the ceiling.

  Trent’s gun was against the FBI man’s head in a flash. “You so much as twitch, and I’ll kill you,” Trent snarled.

  Chloe took a sobbing breath, her first since Trent had burst through the window, it had all happened so fast. But Don Fratello wasn’t an FBI field agent for nothing. He surged up and into Trent, his hands wrapped around the butt of Trent’s pistol. The two men grappled, and it looked like about an even fight.

  She dived in with the chair, swinging it at Don’s back so hard she broke off both back legs. He grunted and heaved, arching Trent backward until she feared Trent was going to break in half. Ohgodohgod. Don was winning. She had to do something, but what? Don’s hand reached down toward his ankle. He had a hidden weapon there. He was going to kill Trent!

  She wasn’t close enough to stop the FBI man. She opened her mouth to scream a warning, but a hand lifted off the floor, yanked the knife out of Don’s ankle sheath, and buried it in the FBI agent’s calf. Don crashed to the floor screaming profanities. Trent slammed his fist in Don’s temple, and the crooked FBI agent went still.

  Miguel groaned and dropped the knife with a clatter. Trent darted over to the sofa, tore off a couple strips of the upholstery and brought them back to tie up Don.

  Chloe ran forward to kick the knife out of reach and dropped to her knees beside Miguel. She put her hand on his chest to check for a heartbeat and was startled to feel something heavy and padded covering his chest. The gunshot wound in his shoulder was bleeding profusely, and she pressed the heel of her palm against it. Herrera groaned faintly. She stared down at him, grateful he’d helped Trent but mightily confused as to what had just happened.

  And then Trent’s hands pushed hers aside, and he peeled back Herrera’s shredded shirt to look at the bullet wound. “Nasty, but he’ll live. Good thing he had on a vest to catch that other bullet. Saved his hide.”

  Don shifted slightly behind them and Trent moved fast to the FBI man’s side and slugged him, hard, in the jaw. The FBI man went limp once more. Trent moved back to her and drew her to her feet.

  “Are you all right, baby? Are you hurt?”

  “Miguel never laid a hand on me. Are you okay? Don didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  Trent chuckled. “Never laid a finger on me. I’m too fast for that. Have you got your phone on you? We could use a little backup, here.”

  “It’s hidden in the bathroom.” She fished it out of the tissue box and passed it to Trent. He made two phone calls, one to the local police and another to Winston Ops. In under ten minutes, the property was swarming with flashing lights, police, park rangers and even firefighters. Their paramedics declared the two guards whose throats Don had slit dead. Don himself regained consciousness and was securely strapped down to an ambulance gurney while a medic stitched up the gash in his lower leg. He was refusing to say anything to anybody.

  It was chaos, and Trent had disappeared somewhere in the fracas to brief someone. He’d promised to return soon, but she didn’t see how he’d be back for hours. Chloe sat on the porch steps with a blanket around her shoulders. She wasn’t cold, but she desperately needed a hug—a hug from Trent to be more precise—and the blanket was better than nothing.

  And once again, she’d managed to end up alone. She must have some sort of special talent for this, and, she had to say, it sucked. She couldn’t believe Don Fratello had used her like that. She’d trusted him and he’d set her up. He’d put her square in the sights of a dangerous drug cartel and had planned to kill her all along. What a bastard. Thank God Trent had come along when he had or Don’
s plan would have worked.

  She dropped her forehead onto her knees. Why did men treat her like this? What was it about her that shouted, take advantage of me?

  At least the whole mess was over—

  Oh, God. It was over. There was nothing to hold Trent to her anymore. It truly was over. When he left, he would take her heart with him, and she was pretty sure she would never get it back. Tears came then. And racking sobs that shook her whole body. Cops stomped up and down the steps past her, and none of them gave a darn that her life had just ended.

  But then hands stroked her hair gently, and drew her off the steps and to her feet, into a warm, strong, familiar embrace. “Aww, baby, what is it?”

  “You’re going to leave me now...and my heart’s breaking...and I’m always going to be alone...” Her words were punctuated by great, heaving sobs.

  A gentle kiss landed in her hair. “Hold that thought for a minute. There’s someone who wants to talk to you, but he has to leave soon. Come with me.”

  Frowning, she let him lead her across the crowded clearing to the back of an ambulance.

  Trent said, “Sweetie, I’d like you to meet undercover DEA agent Miguel Herrera. That’s not his real name, of course, but it’s good enough for now.”

  Chloe stared down at Paradeo’s security chief, a man who had scared her silly from the first moment she met him. “DEA?” she repeated in shock.

  Miguel grinned up at her from the gurney. “Hell of a time I had keeping you alive and unharmed, while convincing the cartel men that I was still a badass. Sorry I had to scare you like that. Couldn’t blow my cover.”

  Snippets of her encounters with him flashed through her head. He never had really hurt her the first time he’d kidnapped her, other than ripping off a few pieces of duct tape. Those momentary flashes of admiration in his eyes. And he’d fallen and knocked out the other thugs chasing her and Trent when they’d fled the Paradeo offices. And tonight. He’d actually been pretty calm with her. He’d let her use the toilet and never searched her. He must have known she’d have a phone and use it somehow to call in help. And most importantly, he’d helped Trent against Don.

  She clasped Miguel’s icy cold hand gratefully in both of hers. “Thank you,” she choked out. “I owe you my life. I’ll never forget that you saved Trent’s, as well.”

  He grinned and mumbled, “You’re welcome, ma’am. All in a day’s work.”

  Trent told Herrera to take care of himself, and then a pair of medics pushed the DEA agent into the ambulance.

  As its flashing lights retreated down the driveway, Chloe murmured to Trent, “He scared me worse than anyone I’ve ever met, except you.”

  “I scared you?” he asked in quiet dismay.

  She looked down at her feet, embarrassed. A finger hooked under her chin, forcing her reluctant gaze up to his silver one. “Why?”

  “You completely messed up my world. I had everything worked out and you came along and screwed up every plan I had, every notion of how my life was going to be.” She shook her head and confessed sadly, “I’m never going to be the same. My life is ruined.” She looked up hastily. “It’s not your fault. I let it happen. I don’t blame you.”

  “Actually, it is my fault.”

  Her jaw dropped open. “How’s that?”

  “I knew from the moment you told me there were some things you wanted to try that you were the one woman for me. I did everything in my power to rock your world and blow apart all your silly ideas about order and control and never letting yourself get hurt.”

  She stared up at him, not sure whether to be annoyed or intensely grateful. She chose to concentrate on the first part. “The one woman for you?” she repeated in disbelief.

  Trent spoke in a rush. “Look. I know we haven’t known each other that long. And I’m not even remotely close to the normal, boring, safe guy you’ve always pictured yourself with. But is there a chance you might consider seeing if we could make a go of it?”

  Her heart leaped and jumped in her chest like an excited puppy, but she still asked cautiously, “What do you have in mind?”

  “I’m thinking marriage and kids and old age and a bunch of grandkids.”

  Was it true that all her need for structure and order and normalcy had been wiped away by this man? She could hardly believe it herself, but she said, “That all sounds so...normal.” She wrinkled her nose at him.

  “Well then, how about we travel the world, I teach you how to surf and we have wild, unplanned adventures in between plenty of smoking-hot sex?”

  “That’s more like it, Mr. Hollings.”

  “Then we have a deal, Miss Jordan?”

  “Really? You and me?” she said in a small voice. Was it possible that all her dreams hadn’t been even a pale shadow of the reality that awaited her?

  “You and me, baby. Together forever.” He kissed his way to her earlobe, and in between nibbles on it, he whispered, “As soon I get you in bed, I’m going to tie you up and make love to you until you agree to marry me.”

  Her heart full to bursting with joy, she replied, laughing, “Where’s my car? Suddenly, I’m terribly, terribly tired and need to lie down in the worst way.”

  Yup, this man was a whole lot more than a dream. He was the real deal. “I love you, Trent.”

  “I love you more, Chloe.”

  Hah. That remained to be seen. She still had a few more things on that list of hers to get through....

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt of The Cop's Missing Child by Karen Whiddon

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  Chapter 1

  The bright sun felt warm on his skin. If he’d been here for no reason other than a desire to enjoy the weather, Mac Riordan would have stopped and turned his face up to let the bright rays try to heat blood that these days always seemed chilled. Instead, he glanced around while keeping his quarry in sight, taking in the lush greenness of the park crowded with citizens enjoying the early spring air.

  He couldn’t believe the hunter’s rush he felt at this planned-for encounter. Finally, after all this time, he’d meet the woman who had, inadvertently or not, stolen everything he had left to live for.

  He’d planned this carefully, just happened to take a stroll along the tree-lined, paved walking path when the very woman he’d come to town to find strode past him on her daily walk—Emily Gilley. He’d been watching her for a week, after all, and figured an accidental meeting in the park would be a great way to meet her.

  True, if he wanted this to appear unintentional, keeping up with her confident pace without looking as though he was stalking her might prove difficult, though not impossible.

  He doubted she’d find him suspicious. From what he’d heard about the east Texas town of Anniversary, everyone was friendly and trusting and looked out for each other. If this was true, then Emily Gilley would have no reason to worry about a friendly stranger.

  He allowed himself the slightest of grim smiles. If only she knew.

  So far, he’d been careful. After all, he’d only been in town for three weeks. It was just long enough to establish his brand-new trucking business and to put out a few feelers about her, the woman he’d spent several years trying to locate: Emily Gilley, twenty-nine-year-old widow of one of the most notorious drug dealers on the Eastern Seaboard. She’d changed her name, taking back
her mother’s maiden name Gilley, and altered both the cut and the color of her hair, all to help her disappear. But for someone with the far-flung resources to which he had access, finding her had been a matter of time and a tenacious effort. He was fortunate to still have a lot of the tools from his law enforcement days at his disposal.

  Her long, blond locks were now dark, short and spiky. Instead of designer fashions, she wore clothing that looked off the rack at a big bin department store. She’d gone from a glamorous life in Manhattan to this: a tiny lakefront community ninety miles east of Dallas.

  As he hurried around a bend at the end of the trail, trying not to appear in too much of a rush, he nearly ran into her. She’d stopped at the weathered wooden bench that marked the entrance to the paved parking lot of Sue’s Catfish Hut, which was crowded with lunchtime patrons.

  She was stopped and turned to face him, apparently willing to wait for him to catch up.

  This was going even better than he’d hoped, he thought with some satisfaction. And then he got a look at her annoyed expression.

  Hands on her hips, she glared at him, her brown eyes full of anger mixed with only the barest hint of fear. “What do you want? Stop following me! If you’re trying to creep me out, you’re succeeding admirably.”

  He dipped his chin, sending her an abashed smile he hoped she’d find reassuring. “My apologies. I had no idea this was a private trail.”

  Instead of growing flustered, she shook her head, sending her shaggy spiked hair rippling. “It’s not. But I walk here every day on my lunch break, and I know almost everyone in town. Every time I look up, you’re right behind me. You never pass me or fall back. And while this is the first time I’ve seen you here, you have to understand how such behavior can make a woman feel threatened.”

  “Threatened? Interesting choice of words.” He crossed his arms. “I’m new here, and I mean you no harm. I wasn’t aware being a newcomer and taking a walk were crimes.”

  Narrowing her eyes, she studied him, apparently not buying his too-easy, confident patter. In his experience, overly suspicious or outright paranoid people usually had something to hide. But then again, she had a point. He was a stranger who was following her, and her former husband had been a drug dealer. No doubt, looking over her shoulder had been deeply ingrained in her psyche. She’d be foolish not to worry. And one thing he’d learned about Emily Gilley, formerly Cavell, was that she was anything but stupid.