"Elsa," Harry shouted. "No one is going to help you. You'll get lost. You don't know Honey Town and I do. There's nowhere you can go that I can't find you."
Don't listen to him, she told herself. And don't stop. His voice sounded close, just across the street. If you hesitate, he might catch up with you. And if he does, there's every chance he'll be able to overpower you and take you somewhere off the street to kill you.
Snow came down heavily and already covered the ground with a half-inch dusting. The concrete beneath her feet was slippery. And overhead the sky was gray, snow clouds obliterating the sun, bringing early darkness at mid-afternoon.
If only she could find a phone booth around here somewhere. But where? Harry was right, she wasn't familiar with Honey Town the way he was. Although she'd spent a great deal of time at the community center and touring the area with the mayor and members of the MGS group, she vaguely remembered having only driven through this section one time.
Beacons along the gloomy sidewalk, the streetlights came on and cast murky shadows that made her feel as if towering monsters were watching her. There are no shadow monsters, she told herself as she ran toward a building where lights burned in almost every window. The only monster on these mean streets was Harry Colburn. How could she ever have thought he might be the answer to her prayers—her Prince Charming? Because he could be charming and presented a gentlemanly facade to the world, she reminded herself.
Elsa ran up the sidewalk toward the two-story apartment building. She tried the door. It opened immediately. Thank goodness. Surely someone inside would help her or at the very least allow her to use their phone. She went from door to door pounding, crying out for help. Not one door opened; no one even bothered to speak to her through their locked doors. When she started back up the hallway, she saw Harry coming in the front entrance. Their gazes met and locked. Holy hell!
He grinned at her but didn't speak.
She turned and ran back down the hallway in the opposite direction. She could sense Harry following her, although she couldn't hear his footsteps over the roar of her own heartbeat drumming inside her head.
"Help me! Please, somebody, help me!" She screamed.
Oh dear God, let there be a back entrance to this place. Just as she was praying, she saw a door at the end of the hall and rushed toward it as fast as she could. When she grabbed the knob, the door opened instantly onto a back stoop overlooking the alley. Oh, great, she thought. Trapped in an alley! But she had no other choice. She ran out onto the stoop, down the steps and into the dark, deserted alley lined with trash cans and littered with debris. Huge snowflakes fell in abundance, obscuring everything at a distance. The winter wind hissed up the alley, sending lightweight garbage floating into the air and then down again a few feet away.
The back door she'd just come out of slammed shut. Harry was right behind her. Shivering from the cold and almost paralyzed with fear, Elsa stood rooted to the spot for at least a minute before she heard his voice.
"Elsa, why make this more difficult for yourself than necessary?" he called.
His words prompted her into action. There had to be someplace she could hide, someplace she could get in out of the weather and think. She started running again, this time up the alley toward what she hoped was Sycamore Avenue. If she remembered correctly there was a grocery store and a cafe somewhere on Sycamore. But where? And how far away?
"Don't. . .do anything. . .stupid, Devlin." Van Fleming's voice quivered. "If you shoot me, those officers will shoot you." He inclined his head toward the two policemen.
"I'm willing to risk dying," Rafe said. "That's how important finding Elsa is to me. Are you willing to take the same risk to prevent me from finding her?"
"Tell us what we want to know and it'll go easier on you later, Fleming." Frank's comments gained the attention of the two young officers, who seemed not only nervous about the current situation, but baffled by it also.
Sweating profusely despite the freezing temperature and the heavy snow now falling, Fleming clamped his jaw shut and trembled from head to toe. "I swear I didn't want to do it, but I had no choice. He's ruthless and I know he meant it when he said he could ruin my son Anthony's life. He concocted some fake evidence that could prove Anthony is a drug dealer. And—'' Fleming gulped several times as tears gathered in his eyes. "He swore he'd make sure Anthony got all the drugs he wanted, free of charge, and get him hooked again."
Rafe nudged the Glock into Fleming's belly. "Where is Elsa?"
"I don't know. I swear I don't. But I figure somehow she got away, that maybe she and Cassie Dover were running when he shot Cassie in the back. He's following her. Maybe he's already caught her."
"Who?" Rafe demanded. "Who killed Cassie and Ellison Mays?"
Emotionally crumbling before their very eyes, Van Fleming admitted total defeat when he said, "Harry Colburn."
"Damn!" Rafe cursed a blue streak.
"He's cunning and mean," Fleming said. "And he uses people to get whatever he wants. He threatened Ellison's life to make Cassie call Elsa. God, if he kills Elsa, I will never—''
Frank spoke up, interrupting Fleming. "Officers, I believe you've just heard your chief admit to breaking the law, so I think one of you should take him into custody and the other should help Mr. Devlin and me find Ms. Leone."
The tall, African-American officer, whose name badge read K. Wilkins, said, "Jody, why don't you take Chief Fleming in to headquarters while I help these men search for Ms. Leone."
The other officer nodded agreement, removed his handcuffs and took a couple of hesitant steps toward Fleming. Rafe moved aside, but he kept the gun pointed at the police chief until the young officer had him handcuffed, then Rafe slipped the Glock back into his coat pocket.
"I'll need your cell phone, Fleming." Rafe reached over and yanked the cell phone out of its belt loop and shoved it into his pocket.
Not waiting for Jody to march Fleming to the police car, Rafe turned to Officer Wilkins and said, "We'll be able to cover more territory if we three split up."
"We have four directions," Frank said, "and only three men. But my guess is that Elsa didn't head south, since that direction is to the back of the house."
"Right," Rafe said. "Three directions, three men. And no time to lose."
"You issue the orders," Frank said.
"Wilkins you go straight east. Frank head straight west. I'll head south at the corner at the end of the block. Let's memorize one another's cell numbers, and whoever finds Elsa can contact the others." He reached out and gripped Frank's shoulder. "Before you and Wilkins head out, get him to contact headquarters and ask for backup."
Frank nodded. Rafe flipped up the collar on Monday's leather coat before he broke into a run, heading up Twelfth Street, doing his best to search right and left through the flurry of fast-falling snow. Although it was only midafter-noon, the cloud cover and thick snow gave the world a twilight appearance.
"I'm going to find you, Elsa. I swear." He murmured the promise moments before he reached Sycamore.
Elsa hit a patch of ice as she rounded the corner of the alley that led back to Sycamore Avenue. Her steps faltered. She tried to catch her balance. Unsuccessfully. After she hit the sidewalk with a thud, she struggled to get up. When she managed to stand, she looked behind her through the falling snow and saw Harry coming toward her. He aimed his gun. Her gaze darted in every direction while she kept running. He fired the pistol. The bullet hit the facing of the door Elsa was trying to open—a door to the front entrance of a dark, probably abandoned house. She jerked open the door and just as she rushed inside, another bullet hit the door, splintering wood, raining the pieces down all over her.
As he made his way up Sycamore, Rafe heard a peculiar sound. A muffled rumble. Nearby. Somewhere to his right. He was pretty sure he recognized the sound—a gun with a silencer had been fired very close to him. He scanned the area through the falling snow and saw a man not ten feet away, his ba
ck to Rafe as he headed up the sidewalk of a house that appeared unoccupied.
Harry Colburn! Even through the snow, Rafe recognized the son of a bitch. He drew his Glock and followed his prey until he was almost upon him. Then he called out his name.
"Colburn!"
Harry made a mad dash toward the porch, and just as Rafe fired his first shot the guy did a nosedive so that the bullet missed him by less than an inch.
Elsa heard gunfire. Loud. Not Harry's gun with the silencer on it. Was somebody shooting at Harry? Or had someone joined him in his quest to kill her? She ran from one dark, empty room in the house to another, searching for a back exit. When she finally entered what had once been the kitchen, she thought she'd found her escape route. But when she opened the back door she realized she was trapped—the door had been boarded up from the outside just as many of the windows had been.
Now what was she going to do? She could hear Harry already inside the house, his footsteps heavy, creaking the dirty, wooden flooring as he searched for her. In the semi-darkness of the kitchen she hunted for a weapon. Something—anything—she could use to defend herself. After jerking open the cabinets and pulling out the drawers and finding them all empty, she gave the room a visual search. Nothing but scarred linoleum floors, trash littered about by vagrants who'd used the house as shelter, and two or three wooden boards that were probably leftover remnants from whenever the windows and back door had been boarded up. There were four boards, three short pieces, each less than two feet long. But the fourth piece was a good three feet long. A one-by-four. She rushed over, picked up the board and held it with both hands.
A weapon!
She stood to the side of the door that led back into the other rooms, her heartbeat booming, her body shivering. But her hands were steady as they gripped the wooden plank. Waiting for Harry to walk into the kitchen, she listened. Silence. No approaching footsteps. Where the hell was he?
"Colburn!" a deep male voice bellowed. "It's all over for you."
Rafe. Oh, thank you, God. It was Rafe's voice, issuing a warning to Harry. She opened her mouth to call out to Rafe, but caution stopped her. What should she do?
"You're too late, Devlin," Harry said. "I've already killed her. If you don't believe me, come on in and see for yourself."
No, Rafe, don't listen to him. Don't let him goad you into acting irrationally. "You're lying, Colburn." "There's only one way for you to find out."
Hovering to one side of the front door, making sure he was protected from Colburn's line of vision, Rafe waited, knowing Elsa was still alive and somewhere in this house. All he had to do was kill Colburn before the bastard killed Elsa. Hunching down, he crept to the boarded window nearest him, then peered through the cracks. He could just barely make out Colburn's shadow, but it was enough to give him a shot. He took aim and fired. Colburn yelped when the bullet hit his shoulder.
Rafe stormed the front entrance, but came to a quick halt when he didn't see Colburn anywhere in the room. He'd hit the guy. He should still be right here, in this room. But he wasn't.
Damn! Where was he?
Cautious, keeping his back to the wall, he eased farther into the room. Listening, he searched visually, instinctively knowing Colburn was hiding, waiting to attack. The semi-darkness in the old house worked both to his advantage and Colburn's.
Rafe knew he couldn't stay in this room, waiting for Colburn. He had to find the man before he found Elsa. There were two other doors leading from this room, other than the front entrance. Which door had Colburn taken? He had to choose the correct door and he had one chance to get it right. The door to his left was shut tight; the one in front of him, leading to the back of the house, was slightly ajar, as if someone had opened it recently. Elsa? Colburn?
Keeping his Glock ready to fire, he edged his way slowly toward the partially open door. When he heard the click of a gun behind him, he knew he was screwed.
Elsa made her way out of the kitchen through a side door that led into a small square hall between the single bathroom and a bedroom. If she could somehow circle around and get back to the front door, she could find Rafe and let him know she was all right. And together they could capture Harry. Holding her only weapon as if it were a sword, she crept down the hall, which ended at the front bedroom. There was no door, only a frame surrounding the opening where a door had once been. She entered the bedroom, empty except for more vagabond trash, and after checking the area to make sure Harry wasn't there, she rushed to the closed door that she figured led back into the living room and the front door. With a trembling hand, she reached out and opened the door. It creaked slightly. Please, don't let Harry have heard.
"You're dead, Devlin," Harry said.
Realizing what was about to happen, Elsa ran across the living room and in the same instant Harry fired his gun, she whacked him across the back with the one-by-four. Grunting, he fell forward and hit the floor.
"Rafe!"
"He's dead." Harry Colburn rolled over and, still clutching his gun, aimed it directly at Elsa.
She froze. Was Rafe really dead? She hadn't seen what happened when Harry's gun went off. She'd been too busy walloping him. Staring at the spot where Rafe had been standing, she didn't see him, then looked down to where he lay on the floor.
"He's dead and now it's your turn." Harry's finger squeezed the trigger.
Elsa closed her eyes.
A gun fired.
But she hadn't been shot. Her eyelids flew open. Harry lay, facedown, on the floor. Sitting up, blood oozing from his chest, Rafe dropped his gun hand to his side, and the pistol he'd used fell onto the floor. Elsa raced across the room, past Harry's dead body and straight to Rafe.
She knelt down beside him. "How bad is it?"
"Bad enough."
"Oh, Rafe. . .Rafe. . ."
"Hey, don't fall apart on me now," he told her. "Get the cell phone out of my pocket and call Frank." He recited the number. "Tell him where were are. And I guess he'd better get an ambulance here as soon as possible."
Elsa removed the cell phone, dialed Frank's number and gave him his instructions, then she ripped open Rafe's shirt to examine his wound. She gasped. The bullet had barely missed his heart. Fading fast, Rafe coughed several times and bloody spittle oozed from the side of his mouth.
Elsa caressed his cheek. "Now you listen to me, Rafe Devlin, don't you dare die on me. I've got plans for you. Big plans."
He coughed again, then said, "What kind of plans?"
"Marriage plans," she told him. "Children and grandchildren and growing old together plans."
"Then I guess I'd better not die."
"You got that damn straight, mister!"
With Harry Colburn dead, Van Fleming behind bars and the entire town of Maysville in shock, Elsa made preparations to leave the small Mississippi city she had come to think of as home. She and Rafe had agreed that they both wanted a fresh start and that she needed to put the nightmare of Harry Colburn behind her. So they had decided to leave their jobs and start over together in Rafe's hometown. Although she had risked her life for a cause in which she believed—cleaning up Honey Town—she felt confident that the members of the Maysville Good Samaritans would carry on and eventually succeed. Since Ellison Mays's death, his aunt Nella had sworn not only to spearhead a campaign to finish the job Elsa had started, but she had promised to use her own money to finance MGS projects in Honey Town. As much as Elsa loved Maysville, her job at WJMM and all her friends, her future wasn't here in Mississippi. Her future was with Rafe Devlin. And as soon as Grace Tyree found a replacement for her, Elsa and Rafe were moving to his hometown of Knoxville. Rafe had already resigned from Dundee's and had put in a call to friends in Knoxville to see what the chances were of him getting his old job back as a KPD detective.
Until they moved, she and Troy were sharing a hotel suite with Rafe. When she'd questioned him about how he could afford the price of a suite for several weeks, he'd laughed and told her he was
using some of his savings.
"Do you think Troy will go with us?" Rafe asked as he sat on the sofa beside Elsa, his chest bare except for the bandages that covered his healing gunshot wound. He'd spent a week in the hospital and had been released only two days ago.
"I'd say that depends on Alyssa. If she stands up to her father, then Troy will stay here. If she gives in to Dr. Alden's demands, then Troy will move with us."
"Even if he stays here, Knoxville isn't that far."
"You know, I don't have a job and you don't have a job," Elsa said. "Money is going to be tight for a while. I might have to bring Milly to live with us, at least temporarily."
"Well, now that you mention it, I was thinking of her living with us permanently, of hiring a live-in companion for her. And Troy should live with us, too, if he wants to. And if Sherrie and Chris want to move closer, I can probably find them both jobs in or around Knoxville."
Elsa stared at him in puzzlement. "You're confusing me. How do you think you can—"
"And as far as neither of us having jobs. . .technically, that's not true."
"Huh?"
"I happen to have a great deal of influence at WKNB in Knoxville and I'm pretty sure I can get you a job as the manager there, if you want to work after we're married."
"Hello. Who are you and what have you done with my fiance, Rafe Devlin?"
Rafe laughed. "I'm afraid there are a few things about me that I've neglected to tell you."
"Such as?"
"You know that package I had Kate deliver before she left to go back to Atlanta yesterday?"
After the other agents had left town, Kate had stayed on to handle Dundee's interests and tie up any loose ends connected to their assignment.
"The package over there on the desk?" Elsa eyed the small black jeweler's box. She thought she knew what it was. Her engagement ring. Under different circum-stances, she'd have been upset that Kate Malone had chosen the ring, but since Rafe hadn't been—and still wasn't—in any shape to go shopping, Elsa didn't mind that another woman had chosen her ring. And it didn't matter to her, not anymore, that the diamond wouldn't be large and terribly expensive. Whatever type of ring Rafe could afford was just what she wanted.
Downright Dangerous Page 20
