Lethal Legacy: A Novel (Guardians of Justice)

by Hannon, Irene

  “Okay. I’ll give it a shot.”

  He slipped out of his sport jacket and wadded it up to form a pillow. Jake tossed him his thermal jacket as well, and he folded that on top. Then he stretched out, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes.

  Far more quickly than he’d expected, his body began to shut down. And as he drifted toward sleep, his last conscious thought was a prayer.

  Please, God, let there be good news when I wake up.

  26

  At the soft knock on the motel room door, Alan came instantly awake. Reaching for the Beretta on the nightstand, he swung his feet to the floor and checked his watch. Two-thirty.

  Rossi’s man was punctual.

  He rose and padded silently to the door in his stocking feet. The gun was overkill, but who knew what kind of derelicts were wandering around at this hour in a dive like this?

  Pausing beside the window that faced the parking lot, he looked through a broken slat in the blinds. His car was the lone vehicle at this end of the dark lot. No surprise there. If this hadn’t been a command performance, he’d have followed the lead of most other potential customers and risked the icy road rather than stay in a dump like this. When he’d driven down to the last unit after checking in, he’d seen only two other cars, both parked near the office.

  He eased sideways and scoped out the door. The dim light above the entrance had been on earlier—one of the few that had been working—but it must have burned out since. As best he could tell, though, there was no one standing on the other side. Whoever had made the drop had melted into the shadows.

  After one more scan of the parking lot, Alan flipped the lock, slid back the bolt, and eased the dented aluminum door open.

  The note he’d left about the pizza delivery was gone.

  But no delivery had been made.

  Frowning, he surveyed the covered walkway to his right, which led back to the office. It was deserted.

  Where was his money?

  He looked again at his car. Squinted. Was that a small bundle tucked partway under the passenger door, out of sight of the office or any other guests? Yes.

  Alan blew out a breath, annoyed. Why hadn’t the guy left the package by his door? Now he’d have to venture out onto the ice-covered pavement.

  Resigned, he shut the door, grabbed his jogging shoes, and pulled them on. At least he was still wearing the jeans and sweatshirt he’d put on after tossing his hiking clothes in a convenient dumpster as he’d left St. Louis.

  Half a minute later, he returned to the door and opened it again, the Beretta back in his hand. He stepped out, edged to the left, and checked around the side of the building.

  Empty.

  Where was the person who’d delivered the package?

  Alan did one more sweep of the lot. Surely he’d hang around long enough to make certain it was retrieved, given the amount of money involved. Had he taken an adjoining room? Was he watching from behind one of the dirty windows?

  But what did it matter, as long as the drop had been made?

  Walking gingerly, he crossed the slick sidewalk outside his room and moved beside his car. A small, black, soft-sided briefcase was wedged behind the front tire. Alan dropped to one knee, reached for it, and tugged.

  If it hadn’t been for the sudden crackle of ice giving way under weight, he’d never have known he had company.

  Whirling around, he saw the dark figure looming over him an instant before the gun was kicked out of his hand.

  Alan lunged for it—but the slick surface betrayed him. He sprawled on the ice and knocked the gun with his own hand, sending it skittering across the frozen pavement. Out of reach.

  He attempted to grab for it, but a vise clamped over his ankle and yanked him back toward the car. Adrenaline surging, he twisted around—just in time for a fist to connect with his jaw, snapping his head back. Dazed, he caught the glitter of a steel blade a mere second before it was thrust into his chest from under his rib cage. Toward his heart.

  “I have a message for you.” The voice came from afar. “Paid in full.”

  Alan slumped to the pavement. He hardly felt the second thrust. Or the third.

  All he knew was that he’d finished his life the same way he’d finished his gambling career.

  As a loser.

  “Cole.”

  As Jake’s quiet summons penetrated his sleep-fogged brain, Cole fought his way back to consciousness. Feeling as if he’d been drugged, he swung his legs to the floor and tried to focus on his watch. Three-forty-five. He’d been out for three hours.

  A disposable cup of coffee appeared in front of his face, and he reached for it gratefully, cradling it with both hands as he took a long gulp. Then he looked up at his brother.

  Before he could form the question, Jake answered it. “She’s still with us. The doctor’s here with an update.”

  He turned his head. As a sandy-haired man in a white coat walked toward them, he started to stand.

  The man waved him back down. “Don’t get up. We’ve all had a long night.”

  Jake sat beside him, and the doctor pulled a chair in front of them.

  Bracing himself, Cole tightened his grip on the flexible cup, sending a surge of coffee dangerously close to the edge. “Is she going to be okay?”

  “I think so.”

  It wasn’t the definitive answer he’d hoped for. Then again, the news could have been a lot worse.

  “Let me give you the positives first.” The doctor rubbed his eyes, rested his elbows on the arms of the chair, and clasped his hands in front of him. “We expected to find spinal, neck, and/or head injuries, but the skull is intact. So are the spine and neck. There’s no bleeding in the brain, no fluid or blood in the abdomen, and her kidneys appear to be okay.” He shook his head. “All I can say is, she is one lucky young woman. She has serious injuries, but to be honest, based on what the paramedics told me, she shouldn’t be alive.”

  Cole’s hands began to tremble, and he carefully set the cup on the small end table beside him. “Define serious injuries.”

  “Besides two fractured ribs, she has a broken kneecap that will require surgery. We’re going to wait on that, though, until the swelling goes down. She also has a severe concussion, a sprained wrist, minor frostbite on her nose and the fingers of her right hand, and major bruising. To use an old cliché, she looks like she’s been run over by a truck. And I’m sure she feels that way too.”

  “What’s the prognosis?”

  “None of her injuries are life-threatening, unless she develops complications.”

  “Such as?”

  “Pneumonia. Hematoma from the bruising. New symptoms that appear in the next twenty-four hours suggesting latent damage. Barring any of that, the biggest issue is the kneecap. It’s broken in three places and will have to be put back together with screws and pins. She’ll require physical therapy, but even with that, there may be some permanent loss of motion, including the ability to fully straighten or bend the knee. The orthopedic surgeon will give you more details.”

  “Is she back in the treatment room?”

  “Yes. And she’s waking up, but she’s very groggy and disoriented. Partly from the concussion, partly because she’s hurting. We’re limited in how much pain medication we can give her, because narcotics interfere with the ability to breathe, and restricted breathing can lead to pneumonia. Do you want to come back?”

  “Yes.” Cole grabbed his coffee, rose, and turned to Jake. “Would you call Alison? And Kelly’s best friend, Lauren, if I give you the number?”

  “Sure.”

  Cole dug Lauren’s number out of his pocket and handed it over. “You don’t have to stay, Jake.”

  His big brother took the slip of paper and pulled out his phone. “You’re stuck with me. Deal with it.”

  Cole tried to say thanks, but the word got stuck in his throat. So he just nodded and started to follow the doctor—until Jake’s question stopped him.

  “What’s wrong with
your leg?”

  Only then did he realize he was limping. “I twisted my ankle in the woods.”

  “Get it checked out.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Cole . . .” Jake’s warning tone was accompanied by the big-brother look Cole remembered from their childhood. The one that said Jake would sit on him if he didn’t fall in line.

  “Okay. Fine. Later.” With that, he resumed his trek to the treatment room.

  His aching ankle probably did need attention, but he stopped feeling the pain when he got to the threshold of Kelly’s room and took in the purple discolorations on her jaw and temple, the angry scratch running down the side of her face, the IV drips in her arms, her elastic-bandaged wrist, and the outline of her elevated leg beneath a sheet.

  And that was just the damage he could see.

  Taking a steadying breath, he rounded her bed and stopped beside her.

  Unfortunately, she looked even worse up close. Under the harsh lights, her pallor beneath the oxygen mask was more pronounced than it had been in the woods. And her eyes were closed.

  “I thought she was conscious.” He directed the comment to the nurse standing beside the IV but kept his gaze fixed on Kelly.

  As he spoke, her eyelids flickered. “Cole?”

  Her voice was a mere whisper, but it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. “Yeah.” He leaned closer. “I’m here.”

  She blinked. Wrinkled her brow. Blinked again. “Everything’s fuzzy.” The words came out slurred.

  “That’s okay. Things will clear up later.”

  “Caw revin cosh.”

  Cole leaned closer and took her undamaged hand. “What, sweetheart?”

  “Caw revin cosh.”

  “She’s been saying that ever since she started coming around.” The nurse adjusted the drip.

  “Soo kishin.” She squeezed his fingers.

  Soup kitchen. That’s what she was trying to communicate. And revin cosh must be the name of the minister in charge. His throat tightened. Despite her injuries, she was worried about her commitment to serve Thanksgiving dinner to the homeless.

  As Mitch had said earlier, amazing.

  “Don’t worry about that, Kelly. Just rest.”

  “Call. ’Kay?” She peered at him, obviously trying to focus, and tightened her grasp.

  “Okay. I’ll take care of it.”

  She relaxed her grip, but her features contorted. “Hurt.”

  “I know.” His stomach clenched, and he smoothed the hair back from her forehead. The soft strands were dry now, the ice crystals long gone. He wished he could make her pain melt away too. Bear the hurt for her. Fix all the broken parts. But that was beyond his ability.

  He could stay by her, though. Hold her hand. Comfort her. And he would—for as long as she needed him. Just as soon as he enlisted Jake to call Lauren again and see if she knew how to track down the minister at the soup kitchen. Got his foot looked at, as he’d promised. Checked in with the office to see if there were any results from the BOLO alert they’d issued on Carlson.

  And said a prayer of gratitude for the blessings he’d received on this aptly named Thanksgiving Day.

  Someone was holding her right hand—about the only spot on her body that didn’t hurt.

  Kelly opened her eyes. The room was bright, but not from artificial illumination. She eased her head to the right, moving as little as possible. Sunlight was filtering through the blinds on a large window, so sometime during the night she’d been transferred to a regular room.

  But what she noticed most of all was Cole, sitting close beside her bed, one foot propped on a pillow on a straight chair.

  “Hi.” With a smile and a gentle squeeze of her hand, he eased his foot down and stood.

  She studied his face. Purple smudges formed half circles beneath his lower lashes, and his five o’clock shadow had turned into a bad-boy stubble. Creases were etched into his forehead, at the corners of his eyes, and beside his mouth, and his clothes looked as if they’d spent a week crammed into a too-small overnight case.

  “You need sleep.”

  He lifted one shoulder. “I caught a couple of hours last night.”

  “You need more. Go home.”

  “Sound advice.”

  At the vaguely familiar voice, Kelly shifted her attention to the foot of the bed. When she found Jake Taylor occupying the other chair in the room, she sent Cole a silent question.

  “He kept me company last night.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Eight-thirty.”

  Kelly looked back at Jake. “Make him go home.”

  His lips quirked into a grin. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll step into the hall and you do your best to convince him.” He crossed the room and exited, pulling the door shut behind him.

  “I promised I’d stay, and I never break my promises.” Cole stroked his thumb over the back of her hand.

  She already knew that.

  “I’m releasing you from that promise. You’re dead on your feet. Just tell me three things. Did you get Carlson, what’s wrong with your foot, and what’s my prognosis?”

  He gave her a skeptical once-over. “Are you certain you’re ready to deal with all that?”

  “I’m a lot stronger than I look.”

  “I’m finding that out.” He smiled, and some of the tension in his features eased. “Nothing on Carlson yet, but we have a BOLO alert out on him. It’s only a matter of time. My foot had a close encounter with a tree root last night. It’s just bruised. You, however, are a different story.”

  She listened as he gave her a recap of her injuries, trying to take it all in. The knee was a problem, but other than that, it sounded as if time would cure everything. Phenomenal, considering how far she’d fallen.

  “They want to hold off on the surgery for a few days to let the swelling in your knee go down. I think you’re stuck here until then. But after that, you should . . .” Cole pulled the phone off his belt and checked caller ID. “I need to take this, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Kelly couldn’t pick up much from the monosyllabic conversation on his end, which consisted mostly of “where?” “when?” and “I agree.” But given his grim tone and the granite set of his jaw, the conversation concerned recent events.

  He didn’t linger on the call. After he finished, he slipped the phone back onto his belt and shifted toward her, his features hard. “That was Mitch. A maid discovered Carlson’s body beside his car at a motel about an hour outside of St. Louis. He’d been stabbed multiple times. His wallet was gone, so it appears to have been a robbery.”

  Stunned by the news, she almost missed Cole’s emphasis on the word appears. “You don’t think it was a robbery.”

  “No. I think Rossi took care of him. He had to be furious that we managed to connect him to your father, all because Carlson wasn’t there to run interference with you when you came to the office with the tulip note—a piece of information I guarantee he ferreted out. And during our conversation with him on Wednesday, it was evident he had no idea there’d been an attempt on your life. Twisted as his ethics were, he never sanctioned punishing innocent people. That would have been a black mark against Carlson too.”

  Kelly released a long, slow breath, trying to block out the burning pain in her ribs. “My guess is it will be as difficult to connect Rossi to Carlson’s death as it is to connect him to my father’s.”

  “I agree. CSU technicians are at the site, but I doubt they’ll turn up anything. Most of the hired guns employed by people like Rossi are pros. Carlson was the exception—and he paid the price.”

  “He was a pro in other ways, though.” She told him how he’d damaged her auto-injector, disguised himself at the coffee shop to spike her drink with peanuts, and conned her father into ingesting alcohol and drugs.

  A muscle in Cole’s jaw twitched as she finished. “How did you find all that out?”

  “He told me. I guess he figured he didn’t have
anything to lose, given his plans for me. He seemed proud of how he’d pulled it all off.” She fought back a wave of nausea. “When I asked him why he did it, he said he needed the money.”

  “Yeah, he did. We found out he was a compulsive gambler with a lot of losses to pay off. He may have been delusional too. In other words, he was a mess.”

  “I can think of a less polite term to describe him.” She didn’t even try to disguise her anger or bitterness.

  Cole took her hand. “I’m with you. But let’s talk about something happier, okay?” He touched her cheek, his fingers warm and gentle, and when he continued, his voice took on a husky, intimate tone. “You remember a few days ago, how I said I’d like to spend the next holiday with you, assuming we wrapped up your dad’s case?”

  The tenderness in his eyes helped her switch gears. “Yes. I’m already looking forward to Christmas.”

  “No need to wait that long. We deferred Thanksgiving until a week from Sunday. I’d be honored if you’d join my family for the celebration.”

  Happiness welled up inside her, softening the anger in her heart and alleviating her pain better than any drug a doctor could prescribe. “If I can get there, it’s a date.”

  “We’ll get you there—if you’re out of the hospital. I have two strong men I can round up to help me if necessary.” He leaned closer still, until his breath was a whisper of warmth against her cheek. “However, I think we should begin the celebration sooner.” His lips aimed for hers. “And I know just how we—”

  A discreet knock sounded on the door, and he jerked back as Jake stuck his head in the room. “Any luck convincing him to go home?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “Good.” Jake eyed the two of them, grinned, and retreated.