Even after learning all of this, Aaliyah had found nothing that helped her with her investigation of the Underwood murder. Intuition told her that she was on the right track. She moved over to the computer and tried cross-referencing the two names.
Three cases came up that involved both Underwood and Lawrence. The first one she’d read about yesterday. The second one had occurred in ’93, a murder case. Apparently, it was a drug deal that went bad. The arresting officers, Detectives Jaclyn Mason and Kenneth Nelson…
Aaliyah recognized the names and pulled out her notes. Jaclyn Mason had been Underwood’s second wife. She flipped through more papers to find out the dates of their marriage. According to her information, the case was tried during their marriage. She frowned and wondered what it all meant…if it meant anything at all.
Max watched as Kennedy’s face drained of color and she seemed to teeter uncertainly on her legs. He rushed to her and caught her just before her body hit the floor.
“Kennedy.” He gave her a firm shake. He couldn’t believe it, she’d passed out.
“Come on, sweetheart. Wake up.” He propped her up, lowered her head between her knees, and spoke firmly and clearly. “Come on. You need to wake up.”
She moaned and managed to sound irritated at the same time.
He looked around and noted that there were two entrances into the bathroom. They couldn’t stay here much longer. The gunman could come charging in at any second. He shook her gently. “Kennedy, wake up. We’re not out of danger yet.”
“They got my baby,” she said in a choked sob. The pain in her voice jerked his heartstrings. Though it was not an appropriate time for it, he wanted to console her and make the pain go away.
Something moved out of the corner of Max’s eye and he dropped with Kennedy and rolled to his right side. The room exploded with the sound of bullets slamming into the concrete.
Kennedy’s screams pierced Max’s eardrum as her entire body quaked against him. With perfect speed, agility and aim, Max returned fire.
The gunman crashed against the wall. His weapon fell from his hands as a look of surprise was etched into his features.
Max dropped his head back against the floor and stared unblinkingly up at the ceiling. It took several deep breaths to slow his heartbeat and clear the scenes from his thirty-two-year life span that had passed before his eyes.
Only then was he able to remember the woman who still quivered in his arms. Her ragged sobs dissolved, but she clung to him as though her very life depended on it.
Lowering his weapon to his side, he pushed them up into a sitting position. He draped his arms around her. As she rocked back and forth, he whispered words of comfort, while wondering wildly what had happened to Thomas St. James.
Keenan strode confidently along with the crowd. By now, C-note had done his job and his troubles were over.
A heavy hand landed on his shoulder.
Keenan reached inside his jacket.
“Unh-unh-unh,” a man warned from behind him.
At the unmistakable feel of a gun pressed against the center of his back, Keenan clenched his jaw. A cop.
The man’s free hand fumbled with Keenan’s jacket, before he found the removed the Glock that was the gang leader’s favorite weapon.
“I hope you didn’t think that you were going to get away with that little stunt you pulled back in there.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, officer,” Keenan said, his voice thick with sarcasm.
“I just bet you don’t.”
Keenan smiled, his old cockiness returned. “I hope you’re not going to try to pin that shooting in there on me.”
“Can’t see why not. You went to great pains to sneak a weapon onto the premises.”
“It hasn’t been discharged.”
There was a small pause as the cop checked out his claim.
“A small technicality. How many cronies do you have inside working for you?”
Keenan laughed. “You cops are all the same. You all want to be Dirty Harry or something. Can’t a man just come and enjoy a baseball game?”
The cop slapped the first circlet on Keenan’s left wrist, but, before his second wrist was secured, Keenan spun and kicked.
Dossman had no time to react when his own gun went flying into the air. He reached to retrieve Lawrence’s gun from inside his jacket, but his movement took too long and Keenan had already drawn his backup weapon.
The first bullet entered Dossman’s shoulder. Despite the intensity of the pain he was obviously feeling, the man still reached for the Glock.
Keenan fired again.
His target jerked into the air, then slammed against the pavement. He didn’t move again.
Chapter 16
Zone Five Precinct
Friday, 11:30 p.m.
Alone, Kennedy sat in a hard wooden chair in the interrogation room. She held a cup of hot coffee, halfway hoping that its warmth would penetrate her bones and stop her shivering.
She guessed that she’d been at the police station now for about an hour. Detective Collier hadn’t asked her too many questions. He seemed more concerned about her welfare and state of mind than anything else. But she knew the hard-hitting questions would come. She just didn’t know what she was going to tell him.
She sipped her coffee, but didn’t notice its taste. In her mind she remembered the awkward smile she shared with Tommy moments before all hell had broken loose. Had he entered the bathroom on his own, or had he been snatched from right under her nose?
Kennedy closed her eyes. She wanted to believe more than anything that Reverend Warner had him and they both were long gone by the time hell broke loose inside the stadium.
But what if he wasn’t?
Thoughts of the alternatives overwhelmed her. She set her cup down onto the table with more force than she intended, causing coffee to slosh over the rim and burn her hand.
“Damn.” She waved her hand back and mentally cursed her stupidity. What would she say when Collier eventually asked about her son? Did she dare to trust the police?
Glancing at her watch, she wondered how much longer she would have to remain cooped up in the small room. She was already beginning to feel as though the walls were closing in on her.
What if Keenan had her son? By choosing to keep her mouth shut, she might be endangering Tommy’s life.
With her head resting in the palms of her hands, she gripped chunks of her hair and actually considered pulling them out.
Just then, the door swung open with an intimidating whoosh. Kennedy stiffened and became instantly alert. Judging by the fierce, haggard look on Det. Collier’s face, she predicted the pity party was over.
“Let’s see if we can take this from the top,” he said, pulling the chair opposite her out. When he sat, his eyes took on an intensity she hadn’t witnessed before.
She forced herself to shrug. “I can’t think of anything to tell you that you don’t already know.”
For a moment, she wondered whether he’d heard her. When he finally responded, his voice was low—edgy. “I don’t know whether you can tell or not.” His eyes met hers. “I’m not in the mood to play games with you.”
Kennedy swallowed. She could definitely tell. She started to speak again, thought better of it, and then closed her mouth.
He drew in a deep breath and leaned back. The wooden chair creaked under his weight. “Good. Now that we’ve eliminated the b.s., let’s take it from the top. Why would someone go to so much trouble to try and kill you, Ms. St. James?”
Kennedy pressed her muted lips together. Her skin felt hot beneath his glare. Through the room’s suffocating tension, she almost expected him to lunge across the chair and strangle her.
“You’re trying my patience, Ms. St. James.”
Again she remained silent.
Det. Collier slammed his hand against the wooden tabletop.
She jumped, but swallowed her scream of alarm.
“I ha
ve half a mind to haul you down to a jail cell—”
“On what charges?” She jerked her head up, the fire suddenly ignited by her own breaking point.
“I kind of like the sound of conspirator to the murder of A.D.A. Underwood.”
“What? You must be joking.”
“Am I?” He leaned toward her. “My partner is fighting for his life at Grady Hospital because of you. I should lock you up for the next twenty-four hours just because I’m in a bad mood.”
He could do it, too, she realized. She swallowed again, but the lump in her throat enlarged. She searched his hard features for signs of compassion—heck she’d even settle for pity for her plight.
There were none.
Her shoulders slumped as the past week’s stress and frustration escaped her body in a long sigh. “Then I guess you’re going to have to arrest me.”
Det. Collier jumped up. His chair screeched back like a locomotive. “Fine.”
Some small part of her died when her bluff failed and she watched him stride angrily toward the door.
“Don’t you understand that I’m dead if I talk?”
Max stopped, but he didn’t immediately turn around. “You have it wrong. You’re dead if you don’t talk to me. Or did you misunderstand what tonight’s shoot-out was all about?”
“My son…”
When she failed to complete her sentence, he turned and met her opaque, yet even gaze. She looked frail and defeated. He hated himself for adding to her misery, but there was nothing he could do about it. She’d backed him into a corner. How could he protect her when she insisted on tying his hands?
“I’m sorry about your partner,” she whispered.
He found himself nodding and allowed a cloud of worry to drift across his troubled thoughts. “He’s a good cop. A good man.”
He continued to stare at her. As he waited for her to say more, his gaze danced over the subtle details of her face. Before, he had noticed the richness of her almond-shaped eyes. He couldn’t think of a man who wouldn’t drown in their depths—including him. Right now, however, he noticed the long lashes that framed her eyes as she stared down at her hands. Then there were her lips. If he had to describe them in one word, it would be fascinating.
In his humble opinion, she was simply the most beautiful woman he had ever met. And something in him died as he witnessed her shrink into herself.
“Let me ask you something, Ms. St. James.” He intentionally lowered his voice and removed any trace of sarcasm. “If I were to release you right now, how long do you think it would take for Keenan Lawrence and his army to get to you?”
She jerked at the mention of Lawrence’s name and Max gained a grain of satisfaction from knowing that his theory was correct.
A dark and troubled shadow fell over her. It was clear that she hadn’t thought that far ahead and she grew smaller by the second.
“I can take care of myself,” she answered in a whisper that sounded nothing like the spitfire he’d met two days ago.
“No, you can’t.”
Their gazes met again and he wished like hell that he could read her thoughts—wished that he knew the magic word that would get her to place her trust in him.
Kennedy was the first to pull her gaze away. “I have no choice.” And she believed that, but she had no idea how she planned to survive this.
“What about your son?”
“He’s safe,” she answered with a nod of her head.
“You don’t know that.”
“No,” she said. “But I have to believe it.”
It was Max’s turn to drop his head. Kennedy St. James was as stubborn as she was beautiful, an irritating discovery.
The room fell silent again as Max searched his mind for some type of compromise he could offer, but could find none. “I can’t let you walk out of here, knowing that you won’t make it to see the sunrise.” He looked up.
Her gaze fell and she bit her lower lip in concentration. He wondered if she was thinking where she could lie low. Were there friends that could take her in and protect her? Judging by the way her eyes suddenly brimmed with tears, he concluded that she had no one she could depend on.
He was starting to think that locking her up for the night was the only way he could protect her.
What would happen to Tommy if something were to happen to her? Sure, her grandmother would try to raise him, but she was nearly eighty. She wouldn’t be able to care for him for long.
She tried to think of another solution, but that was difficult to do under Collier’s tight scrutiny.
“Kennedy?”
She lifted her head at the tenderness he used when he called her by her first name. This time, when their eyes met, she saw empathy in his expression.
“You have to trust me.”
For first time since they’d met, she wanted to trust him; wanted to share her burden and receive some type of protection from this craziness she’d found herself in.
Collier retrieved the chair he’d abandoned and placed it in front of her.
Kennedy followed his every move. She caught the faint scent of his cologne and when he spoke, she heard the exhaustion.
“What can I do to get you to trust me?”
She didn’t have the answer to that. She didn’t have an answer to anything. “I just need time to sort all this out,” she said truthfully.
“We don’t have the luxury of time.”
Her eyes brimmed with tears. She closed them, ashamed that she’d lost control of her emotions.
His hands encircled hers and an undeniable warmth spread throughout her and had an amazing affect on calming her fears. She resisted the urge to lean forward and rest her head against the broad span of his chest, as she had done earlier at the stadium.
In that singular experience, she had cried until all her tears were spent, and a peace she had never experienced had settled in her soul.
“You can’t go home,” he said softly. “You realize that, don’t you?”
Kennedy nodded.
His fingers gently rubbed the palms of her hands, and something tingled at the base of her spine then spiraled upward.
She pulled her hands away, troubled by what she was feeling—what she had felt since the day she’d laid eyes on him.
He frowned, and then sighed. “Okay. We’ll play this your way. It’s painfully obvious that I’m not going to get you to talk, am I?”
“I can’t, not until I know that my son is safe.”
“And when will that be?”
She remembered when the Warners were due to drop off Tommy. “Noon tomorrow.”
Collier nodded. “All right then. Then we have to hide you for—” he looked at his watch “—twelve hours. I have a suggestion.”
Hope flashed as she stared up at him.
He held up a hand, as if expecting her to reject his idea. “It’s the only way I can keep an eye on you while you wait to find out about your son.”
Suspicion replaced hope, and Kennedy waited for him to drop his bombshell.
Max met her direct gaze. “I think you should spend the night at my place.”
Chapter 17
A waterfall of tears cascaded down Lieutenant Kelly Scardino’s face as she looked down at Dossman’s motionless body. The doctors had assured her that the worst was over. The rest was up to Dossman and his will to live.
She stared at him, unnerved by his coloring. Their last argument echoed in her mind and a sour taste formed in her mouth. Marriage. He had actually proposed marriage.
The cocky laugh she had given him died in her throat. If she’d ever doubted that she loved this man, she stood corrected. She slid her hands toward his, and cringed at the lack of warmth they possessed.
What had she been thinking when she’d turned him down? The small voice in the back of her head answered clearly and succinctly. Her career. She had been thinking about her career.
Shame swept over her, along with regret. She wished that she could turn back the
hands of time and change her answer.
She focused on their hands. Their colors were different and beautiful.
Dossman’s eyes fluttered open and, for a moment, confusion reflected in their depths. Then he focused on the woman by his side and a lazy smile curved his lips. “Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in,” he said, then licked his parched lips.
“You should look in a mirror,” she teased, and squeezed his hand.
He laughed, then winced as pain shot through his chest. “Damn, did I survive the hit or not?”
“What do you think?”
“It sure doesn’t feel like it. It feels like someone drove a Mack truck through me.”
“I’d say, judging by the size of the hole in your chest, that’s a possibility.”
“Were you worried?” His smile widened.
Her expression grew somber. “You know I was.”
“Really?” he asked, surprised that she’d come clean so easily. “How much?”
Tears crested and followed the previously laid tracks.
“Hey.” He lifted a trembling hand and caught one of her tears in midstream. “There’s no need for these. I’m going to be just fine.”
She nodded as her smile wobbled. “I know you are.”
“Then what’s with all the tears?”
“They’re for us.”
Dossman took a deep breath, and this time ignored the pain that caused. “Are you planning on dumping me again?”
She laughed. “I don’t think so. After what happened tonight, I doubt that you’ll be able to shake me anytime soon.”
“That’s always good to hear.”
She looked down, played with his fingers as she spoke. “I keep thinking about the other night.”
“Kelly—”
“Let me finish,” she said with a stern look. “I keep thinking about the other night, and thinking that I made a mistake.”
“Don’t do this to yourself, hon. These types of situations always seem to elevate—”
“Elevate what I already feel for you—have felt for a long time.”
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