by Dana Marton
“Go ahead. Anything I can help you with?”
Murph shook his head. “Tenant stuff. Anything I can help you with?” He didn’t specify, but they both knew he meant Stacy’s case.
“Can’t even find the damn murder weapon. No new leads,” Bing said with the weariness of a man who’d been up all night looking for some. “So the tenant’s still not out?” he asked, probably to change the subject.
“She’s fine where she is,” Murph told him, because as Police Captain, Bing sometimes handled evictions, and Murph had a feeling the man was about to offer his assistance in that capacity. “I don't mind helping her out.”
Bing's eyes narrowed.“She’s in some kind of trouble?”
Murph hesitated. He didn’t want to lie. “Not with the law.”
The man stood in silence for a minute then nodded, catching that it was the tenant’s private business, something Murph wasn’t authorized to share.
“You can handle a nasty ex,” he said at last, guessing at the nature of her difficulties. “But you know you only have to call if you want us to take care of it.”
“I appreciate that.”
Leila came around the counter, her neon-pink sneakers fairly blinding. “FBI is on line one, Captain. It’s about the bank robberies.”
Bing nodded at Murph. “Let me know if you need anything.” Then he walked away.
Murph grabbed a steaming mug of fresh coffee. “Thanks, Leila. This is great.” He walked back to his desk and plopped down in front of his computer, turned it on.
Chase was on the phone, but waved at him.
Harper lifted a mocking eyebrow. “What are you doing here? Leggy redhead didn’t work out? Too much for you, old man?”
Murph was two years older than Harper, a chasm. In maturity, in any case. “I can handle whatever comes my way, buddy.”
“Oh, yeah? Then why aren’t you at home with her?”
“She’s at work.”
“How hot is she? Seriously.”
Murph said nothing as he logged in.
Harper grabbed his chest. “That hot? Oh, man. And she just fell into your bed?”
“I found her in my bed. It’s not the same thing.”
“As long as you have hot chick and bed in the same sentence, it’s all good.” Harper grinned, then picked up his phone when Leila transferred a call to him.
Murph shook his head as he pulled his keyboard closer. He looked up Rauch Asael again to see if any new information had been added.
He scanned the few new lines of data. According to the Interpol, there was some indication that at least on two separate occasions, Asael might have worked with an unidentified partner slash love interest. They also had some clues that pointed to Asael being in Hong Kong as late as this past Monday.
That gave Murph pause. He’d come home on Monday. He’d seen someone in the dark-blue sedan down the road. If Asael had been in Hong Kong, who was watching Kate here? Who drove the dark-blue sedan?
Asael’s lover? Murph tapped his fingers on the desk.
What if Asael delegated the hit? Or maybe his lover took it upon herself to take Kate out.
The lover could be Delia, the new waitress at the diner, or his new neighbor, Wendy White, or any number of women. He scanned the rest of the report, but found nothing that could identify who they were looking for.
He did find plenty of blood in the crime scene photos from Hong Kong. Body parts. His stomach turned. Hell, he could smell the blood. And the smoke. And then, the next second, Murph could hear his teammates screaming as the IEDs exploded. Just like that, he was back in the dry riverbed, the sun beating down on him as he scrambled half-blind to save his men.
It took work, and at least a full minute to shake off the flashback. Every muscle tense, his breath came in ragged gasps as he closed Asael’s file.
He was brimming with frustration as he ran background checks on Jimmy and Antonio. Technically, Asael’s lover could be either sex. He wasn’t ruling out anything at this stage. On second thought, he ran a background check on Fred, the mechanic, too, even if he’d been crossed off the suspect list for now.
But the men all checked out, nothing suspicious in the system. Of course, a professional assassin could fake a better false identity than Kate had. Just because Murph hadn’t found anything, it didn’t mean one of her new friends wasn't hiding a dark secret.
He ran Wendy White. Squeaky clean. Kind of local, grew up in Avon Grove.
“Hey, Harper, you know the new waitress at the diner? Delia. What's her last name?” Harper could usually be depended on knowing every pretty girl in a fifty mile radius.
“Parisi.”
“Thanks.” Murph ran her name through the system next.
She came from Trenton, New Jersey, had lived there all her life until now. High school dropout. Minor trouble with the law. She'd smoked some pot in her younger days, that kind of thing.
Annoyed that he hadn’t gained more, Murph shut down the computer and hurried off after a few words to the guys. Bing was still on the phone, looking decidedly unhappy.
Outside, Robin was bringing the mail, practically flying up the walkway, bundled up against the cold and then some, barely a slice of her face showing.
“Behind schedule.” She zipped by Murph. But a second later she called back, making him turn. “Congratulations on your new thresher!” Then she disappeared inside the station.
She’d gone off the deep end, he thought. Definitely on the strange side. As soon as he had a second, he was going to take her to the diner for some pie and coffee, have a long chat and figure out what was going on with her. If this was something like Alzheimer’s, somebody needed to notice and help her deal with it.
The loud bang came just as he reached his car. He hit the ground. He could smell the smoke and sulfur and the blood. For a second he could hear the screams, and his heart slammed so hard against his rib cage he thought it might burst.
Then his vision cleared, and he could see the metal garbage container the truck across the street had accidentally dropped, the chains dangling from the lever as the driver jumped from the cab swearing and rushed back to see what had gone wrong.
Murph straightened. Clenched his jaw.
He didn’t look around to see if anyone had witnessed his freaking idiotic— Jeezus. He got into his car and slammed the door shut.
His muscles stiffened as a dark mood descended on him. Maybe he was worse off than he’d thought. Maybe he shouldn’t have talked Kate into staying. What if he couldn’t protect her?
He smacked the side of his fist into the steering wheel as he swore. Doubts were the enemy. A successful op had no room for that kind of crap. He'd protect her or die trying. Because he still believed Kate's best chance was staying with him.
He dialed her cell as he turned the key in the ignition. “The hit man might be a woman.”
“What?”
“Asael was just in Hong Kong. He sometimes works with a love interest of his. So if Asael isn’t in Broslin, then the person watching you might be his lover. Are you at work?”
“Where else would I be?”
“Antonio?”
“Hasn't come in yet today.”
“Keep an eye on the women, too. Especially anyone new to town who’s been acting friendly with you.” The idea of her being surrounded by people, any one of whom could be the killer, had all his muscles tightening.
“Delia is here,” she said after a moment.
“I’m heading over there right now.” He hung up as he turned onto Main Street, into heavier traffic, praying he wasn't too late.
* * *
Kate waited at the counter for Eileen to fill the coffee mugs for the table of older women—all seven wearing nearly identical pink sweaters—on an antiquing trip. Murph sat in the corner, his back to the wall, in a position from where he could see everything. He finally finished scrutinizing the employees and the current customers, and was now staring at every person who came in.
Kate went weak in the knees every time she looked at him, their tumble on the floor the night before playing on an endless loop in her mind. She’d nearly spilled the half-dozen strawberry milkshakes when she'd served the table next to his. Good thing they'd been super thick and could take a little extra jostling.
Murph gave no sign that he even remembered what the two of them had done the night before. He was definitely in a different mood. He brought in some kind of dark energy with him that didn’t belong to the diner.
Eileen watched him with a frown as she filled the last mug on the tray. “How long is he going to stay?” she asked, just as he pushed to his feet in an abrupt movement and strode over to them.
He took the tray Kate had just picked up and set it back on the counter. “She’s leaving early today,” he told Eileen. “And she’s not coming in tomorrow.”
With that, he grabbed Kate's hand and dragged her through the diner. And she went along, gritting her teeth, only because she didn’t want to cause a scene and make everything worse.
She dialed Eileen as soon as they were in the car, and he let her go. “I’m really sorry about that.”
“Did he just snap? Should I call Bing?”
“I’m fine. I’m so sorry. I’ll be at work tomorrow. I promise.”
“Now that I’ve seen how he is, I don’t like the idea of you living with him. That man needs help.”
“I’m going to talk to him about that. I can handle this. We’re fine.”
There was a brief silence on the line. “All right. I can pick up the slack here until the second shift comes in. Call me if I can help with anything.”
“Thank you, Eileen.” She hung up, then turned to Murph, but he cut her off before she could give voice to the righteous anger bubbling up inside her.
“There was no way to keep you safe there. It’s an unsecure location. I don’t want you to go back.”
“I was among people.” She ground the words out through clenched teeth.
“And some of those people we know nothing about. So Antonio never showed?”
“He doesn't come every day.” She’d wanted to talk to Antonio about that hot chocolate machine. At the end, she’d given Eileen some cash in an envelope to cover his next several meals. They didn't have the kind of relationship where she would have been comfortable accepting a gift this big.
She turned to look straight at the road in front of them because she couldn’t stand looking at Murph. His caveman tactics, especially at her work place, were not appreciated. “I thought you said Asael would come at night. When I'm alone. Isn't that his way?”
“Except it might be his lover coming for you. And while we know Asael’s MO, we have no idea how his lover-disciple works. For all we know she’s a sharpshooter who likes to take her victims in the middle of a crowd from a distance.”
Despite the heater going full blast in the car, cold spread through her as she stared at Murph.
He scared her. Or maybe this whole situation scared her, and she just wanted to blame it on someone. She didn’t like the way he’d handled things at the diner. He looked strong and capable, but she knew where the cracks were. She knew he wasn’t a hundred percent physically. And she wasn’t sure if he was a hundred percent mentally either, if the danger here was real or paranoia from the PTSD he denied having.
He was a warrior, but an injured warrior, with problems he refused to face.
She needed to accept some hard truths here.
He couldn’t save her; he couldn’t even save himself at the moment, not until he faced reality.
The memory of him screaming in the night tore at her heart. He needed help, and not just with his arm: therapy for PTSD, possibly more surgeries, certainly physical therapy. He might look like the strongest man she’d ever met, but she was pretty sure he was broken in his hidden places.
Had some dark car on their street really been acting strangely? Had someone really been inside the house? She’d seen no sign of it. Nothing. Yes, she thought she'd been followed once. But she could be wrong. She hadn't seen that car since.
Maybe Murph felt guilty for losing his men and subconsciously thought he could redeem himself if he saved her.
“So now what?” she asked with caution.
“Now we’ll hole up in the house and set the trap.”
“When”
“Tomorrow.”
“And if he doesn’t come?” What if no hit man or woman was in Broslin at all?
He rolled his good shoulder. “We wait. We stay ready.”
“I could just disappear again.” Suddenly, their plan to draw out Asael didn’t seem nearly as solid as it had the day before. She wanted to go home so badly, she would have considered anything that helped her do that, but she had to keep a clear head. “I could disappear tonight.”
“No. We’ve been through this. Going on the road now would be too dangerous. You have to see this through. And the only way to see this through is the way we planned it. Make him think you're alone, then when he strikes, I move in and take care of him.”
She had no idea what to do, what to tell Murph, so she stayed quiet for the rest of the trip home.
He pulled into the garage, rolled the door all the way down before letting her out of the car. They went into the house, Murph first, gun drawn as he disabled the security system. He armed it again behind them.
“Stay here.” He moved forward to search the place and drew down the blinds as he went.
Sunlight disappeared little by little, until they were left in near darkness, the house as gloomy as a crypt.
He signaled to her, and she moved into the kitchen.
“Is this necessary?”
There was something spooky about the way he behaved, something unhealthy. She was familiar with behavior like this from abuse survivors. She'd been like this herself at one point—irrational and paranoid. She couldn’t go back into that dark cave with him. He needed professional help. He needed more support than she could give right now, with the mess she was in.
They might both be good people. They might even be right for each other, could be good for each other. But they’d met at the wrong time, with their lives at the wrong place.
Her presence here wasn’t good for him, the thought hit her, and she couldn’t deny it. She’d brought stress to his life. Danger. He needed the opposite.
Her phone rang.
“Don’t answer. It might be tapped.” His face was grim, his forehead drawn together in concentration.
She glanced at the display. Eileen. Kate decided to call her back later.
All she could think was that Murph looked like a man who’d just gone over the deep end. They both needed healing. He needed time, but her troubles kept him busy and preoccupied. She needed to leave so he could focus on getting better and reclaiming his old life. It was what he wanted and he deserved it.
She passed by him. “I’m going to my room to change.”
“Don’t go near the window.”
“Okay.”
She went into her room and closed the door, changed her clothes, pulling on a comfortable pair of jeans and a soft T-shirt. She hesitated over the bulletproof vest that she’d worn all day under her uniform shirt. Did she really need that inside the house with Murph in the kitchen?
She didn’t want to sink into paranoia all the way and get stuck in some dark place for the rest of her life. She took the vest and hung it in her closet.
As she moved the hangers aside, her purple Christmas sweater slid to the ground and she picked it up. She could use some comfort right now.
She slipped into the sweater then glanced around. Her purse with her phone was in the kitchen.
She sat down on the bed and reached into the nightstand’s top drawer. She dug around for the disposable cell phone she kept there as backup and, when she found it, she pulled up the only number stored on it and dialed Agent Cirelli.
She’d kept the agent’s number in case things careened out of control. She certainly felt l
ike she had reached that point.
Either the killer was in town or not. Either Murph could protect her or he’d gone completely over the edge. Kate had no idea what was the right move to make. She just wanted to live.
And she wanted Murph to be able to live fully and heal from his past, which would be impossible as long as she kept dumping her troubles on him.
She’d done well until now, on the run, but maybe this was as far as she could make it on her own. Maybe Murph was right. Maybe it was time for witness protection.
Chapter Ten
Murph had just finished checking all the windows when she came back into the kitchen. The sight of her gave him a jolt as always. Her long legs were encased in slim jeans, on top she wore—
“What's that?” He stared at the orange reindeer on a wild purple background.
She touched a hand against it. “My lucky sweater. My sister made it for me for the last Christmas we had together. I had it on at the FBI stakeout so it came with me.”
He squinted. “Does he have an—”
“That’s his other leg,” she cut him off. “It’s the first sweater Emma ever knitted. It’s not perfect.” She stuck her chin out as if daring him to say something about her sister’s gift.
She was loyal. And beautiful, but his fascination with her went beyond that. She was warm, nice to people. He’d seen that at the diner. She was a hard worker. She was a genuinely good person, about as far from his mother as a woman could be, and nothing like Doug’s wife either.
He actually could imagine a lifetime with someone like her. The thought knocked him momentarily off balance.
“I called the FBI,” she said with a nervous smile, stopping a good distance from him.
The words felt like a slap across the face. His jaw snapped tight. “Why?”
“I think you were right at the beginning. This might be bigger than what the two of us can handle. Maybe I do need outside help.”
More than he could handle, she meant. She didn’t trust him, obviously, to keep her safe. “How soon will they be here?”
“Agent Cirelli is catching the next plane out of D.C.”
Because she trusted Agent Cirelli.
