by Ashley Shay
Morgan typed in a new search. “He’s a licensed private investigator. Looks like he got his credentials about a year after his sister’s death. My guess is that he lost Matthews after the killings. Matthews must have gone to ground and Bishop realized he’d need a legitimate reason for searching federal and police databases. But it still doesn’t explain why he joined the fire department.”
“Maybe it does,” Dallas said. “If he tracked Matthews here, what better way to look for someone than to be on the streets constantly? He could ask everyone on site if they noticed a man fitting that description. No one would think anything of it. He got himself assigned to the arson investigation team so he could get into any database he wanted without raising a red flag.”
“Makes sense. Parrish isn’t that big of a place. If he asks enough people about Matthews, someone will eventually know something.” Morgan thought about it. “He’s working the situation into an advantage for himself. People won’t talk to cops, but they’ll talk to a fireman.”
Jude reached over to take the computer off Morgan’s lap. “Let me check out something.” She tapped several keys, then turned the computer to face Morgan and Dallas. “Read the rest of this newspaper article. He’s not only protecting the police force. He’s protecting the rest of his family. They own one of the big cattle ranches in Hawaii. He’s got enough money to hire the Marines to take out Matthews, so why is he doing it himself?”
“Because, honey, he was Special Ops. Those guys take care of things themselves.” Dallas reached in front of Morgan to cup Jude’s face. “I’d want to do it myself. Especially if the system I worked for let me down. I doubt that Bishop Taylor trusts any institution or anyone, these days.”
* * * *
Genevieve Wheeler woke to find a hard, cold object pressing against the center of her forehead. She started to lurch upward, ready to lash out at whoever had rudely awakened her out of a sound sleep. Then realization dawned in her sleep-fogged brain as she recognized the shape and texture of the cold metal. She slumped back to the pillow. The object digging into her skin was a gun. She swallowed hard and forced out the words.
“What do you want?” Her normally elegant voice sounded whispery and afraid. She hated sounding so vulnerable. Clearing her throat, she tried speaking again, and this time, her voice was stronger, less intimidated. “I have jewels in the safe, but you won’t get them with me dead. Not without the combination.”
A low chuckle answered her, and the gun tapped painfully against her forehead. A cold and familiar voice oozed out of the darkness. “C’mon, Genevieve, what do you think I want?”
Genevieve’s mind raced nearly as fast as her heart. It couldn’t be, but it was. She recognized the mocking voice.
“Mr. Matthews? Is that you?” Her voice held a blend of outrage and pain she couldn’t disguise. Never one to show weakness, Genevieve got a grip on herself. The man worked for her. She would not allow an employee to treat her with less than respect, even if he did have a gun in his hand.
Suddenly, the lamp flared on, blinding her for a few seconds. She squinted until her eyes adjusted to the brightness. She looked up to see Harry Matthews looming over her with a mocking smile.
“I’ve come to make sure you have no second thoughts about our business arrangement.”
Genevieve had definitely had enough. She practically spit the words at him. “Of course I don’t.” Lips pressed tight, she batted at the gun, knocking it away so she could pull herself into a sitting position. “Put that thing away and explain yourself. Why would you come to my house? You’re not as professional as I was led to believe. You should be on a plane out of the country by now. I simply can’t believe you’ve invaded my home.”
Matthews looked bored, but he couldn’t fool her, not even when he lifted the gun and sighted down the barrel toward her. His insolence inflamed Genevieve. She wanted to slap that smug look from his face.
She ground out her words between clenched teeth. “I said put it away. Once again, Mr. Matthews. Why aren’t you on a plane?”
Matthews shrugged nonchalantly and lowered the gun. “I would be on a plane, Mrs. Wheeler, except the fucking bitch didn’t die. She didn’t even get hurt.”
Genevieve hissed in frustration. “You told me they were dead. I paid you for dead.”
“Now you’ll pay me more,” Matthews stated matter-of-factly. “I took a chance and it didn’t work. There’s no guarantee in this business. You pay me for the risks. I’ll take care of it tonight, but I want more money. The original price was for the bitch only, but now there are two extra targets. That means extra risk and more money.”
“You’re trying to extort me,” Genevieve said. “I won’t be dictated to by the likes of you. Your language is deplorable, and you are nothing more than a street thug and murderer.”
Matthews snorted out a laugh. “Well, your highness, you’re a killer, too. You may not get your manicured nails dirty, but you’re as much of a thug as I am. So don’t push me too far. You won’t like the results.” He pointed the gun at Genevieve again, and this time she felt a tinge of fear course through her veins. Still, she knew she must keep the upper hand when dealing with the likes of Harry Matthews. She had faced difficult situations before. In her opinion, everyone could be bought with cash, and fortunately, she had plenty of it.
“I want more money to kill the men,” he repeated.
“Just as I thought. It all comes down to greed. Very well,” Genevieve snapped, throwing the silk covers back from her elegant designer pajamas. “I have enough in the safe to cover your expenses. Don’t ask for more, do you understand, Mr. Matthews? I have reached my limit.”
Matthews carefully moved back from the bed, keeping the gun trained on her. “I understand. This will be the last time we meet, Mrs. Wheeler. I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure.”
Genevieve held herself stiffly erect as she went to the safe and dialed in the combination. Making no effort to hide her impatience, she pulled out a banded wad of one–hundred-dollar bills and held them out to Matthews. “Here you are. Does this quite satisfy you?”
“Not even close.”
Matthews reached out with one hand and lifted the other holding the weapon. Genevieve saw that the pistol now had a silencer screwed into the barrel. He must have put it on the gun while she worked the combination of the safe. She barely heard the soft pfft and only realized she’d been shot when the pain exploded through her chest.
* * * *
Harry Matthews stepped over the lifeless body of Genevieve Wheeler to look at the contents of the still-open safe. He pocketed another load of cash and several pieces of jewelry. There were a few items left in the vault, but nothing he wanted to take with him. In an afterthought, he scattered the remaining contents on the floor as if the safe had been hastily searched. The police would hopefully think it was a burglary gone bad. He grinned at the thought. All the society drones would be quaking in their designer shoes. He reflected that now would be a real good time to invest in a home alarm company. Tomorrow, after watching the news, everyone would want to upgrade their security systems.
Glancing at his watch, Matthews decided he still had time to grab a quick bite to eat before driving out to the ranch. It wouldn’t be daylight for a couple of hours. By now, the firemen would be fighting exhaustion. The mental tension of the motor vehicle accident would be enough to drain them, never mind the stress of protecting the woman and missing work. Matthews knew that emotional anxiety was far more debilitating than physical exhaustion. He would strike just before dawn when they were at their lowest. Then he would leave the country as Genevieve Wheeler suggested.
Patting the thick wad of currency in his pants pocket, Matthews thought about Paris. He needed a vacation after putting up with the old bitch and her ever-changing whims. He told himself he would be careful after this job and more selective of his clients. He could afford to be choosy now with the money he made from Genevieve. This job would be his calling card, his resume
when someone needed a hit. He would move up to the international level, picking up clients from all over the globe. Maybe he would even pick up a few government jobs from foreign interests. Sure, they all had their own special operatives, but it wouldn’t be the first time a killer worked for a government that didn’t want any ties to an assassination.
Only one small detail worried Matthews. He knew the old broad found him through her son, the attorney. She told him that much when she called for his services. Steven Wheeler represented Harry several years ago in a kidnapping case. At that time, Matthews hadn’t made up his mind where he wanted to focus his criminal talents. The business of illegal adoptions seemed lucrative and easy. Harry turned his attention to kidnapping babies. He got into an altercation with the law south of the border, and Steven Wheeler saved him from doing jail time. A grateful Matthews told Steven if he ever needed a favor, he should call.
Over the years, Steven occasionally hired Matthews to put pressure on an opposing lawyer or to solve certain problems before they made it to court. Steven didn’t have an ounce of integrity. Like mother, like son. Apparently, Genevieve wasn’t above snooping in her son’s private safe. She called Matthews after finding his name and number with the simple label of “problem solver” beside his name. Matthews had to hand it to the dragon. She might have been a bitch, but she wasn’t stupid.
Steven Wheeler wasn’t stupid, either. Matthews knew that given enough time, the lawyer would eventually piece together what happened. Unfortunately, that meant Harry had to tie up all the loose ends before he left town. He hated to kill Steven, but some things couldn’t be avoided. Better to be safe than sorry. Besides, there were plenty of other lawyers to take his place.
* * * *
Dallas looked at the clock resting on the mantle. It read four a.m. His eyelids felt heavy with sleep, but he didn’t dare allow himself to rest. Jude and Morgan were in bed, both asleep. The loaded pistol lay in easy reach. Dallas wiped a hand across his face as if he could clean the sleep from his fatigued mind. It didn’t work as well as he’d hoped.
He stood, crossing to the door of the bedroom. Leaning against the doorframe, he watched Jude sleeping in the arms of his best friend. Two people he loved more than life itself. He would die to protect them, but hoped he didn’t have to.
Morgan half opened his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he whispered. He tightened his arms around Jude protectively.
“Nothing. Get some rest, bud. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay in here.” Dallas turned to go back to the front room, ready to resume his vigilance. Glass exploded across the floor, and he felt the hot sting of a rifle slug crease his shoulder.
“Damn!” Dallas made a dive for the floor. If he hadn’t turned when he did, the bullet would have caught him in the chest. Cursing himself for leaving the pistol behind, Dallas crawled across the floor to retrieve it.
He could hear Morgan whispering urgently to Jude. As they had discussed earlier, Morgan would go for the shotgun hidden under the edge of the bed. But first, Dallas knew he would make sure Jude was safe and out of the line of fire. Dallas heard the closet door open softly, and then he heard Morgan pump cartridges into the double-barreled shotgun. Within a moment, his friend was at his side.
“You’re bleeding,” Morgan said hoarsely. He had the shotgun aimed at the window. That would be the most likely place of attack.
Keeping his head low, Dallas reached up with one hand to snatch the pistol. He glanced at his shoulder. “The bullet grazed me. I’m fine. Stay with Jude.”
“We’ve gotta stop this son of a bitch,” Morgan hissed. “He’s going to—”
The sharp crack of a rifle broke the predawn silence, and a heavy thud jarred the house.
Neither Dallas nor Morgan moved for a long moment.
“I have a feeling the problem’s been taken care of,” Dallas said. “Cover me. I’m going to try to get a look outside.”
“Not with you being shot,” Morgan protested. “I’ll go.”
He opened the door carefully. “Shit, I can’t see for the chairs and the flowers,” he whispered. “There’s a dark shape on the porch. Someone’s down, but I can’t tell if it’s Bishop or Matthews.”
“We’ve got to find out,” Dallas said quietly.
“I know,” Morgan agreed. “I’ll take cover behind the chairs and try to make it to the body.”
Before Dallas could protest, Morgan slipped through the door and crouched behind the furniture, staying in the shadows until he made it to the man sprawled face down on the boards.”
Dallas was about to go after his friend when he heard the snick of a bullet being chambered from somewhere behind him in the darkness. He froze and held his hands up, turning around slowly. Dallas saw Bishop holding a rifle pointed in the direction of the body that was still lying belly down on the porch.
“Don’t shoot, that’s Morgan standing down there, not Matthews. I think Matthews is dead. ”
“Matthew’s isn’t dead.” Bishop answered. He moved like the wind, silent, swift, and invisible as he made his way to where Morgan was getting ready to bend over Matthews and check for a pulse.
“Stop,” his voice rang out. “Move away from him.”
Morgan hesitated, but he stepped back from Matthews. “He needs help, man.”
Bishop moved closer and motioned for Morgan to distance himself. “Keep your gun on him. I’ll check his vitals.”
Morgan held the gun on Matthews, ready to shoot him if he so much as twitched in the wrong direction. Using the tip of his boot, Bishop rolled Matthews over onto his back. He kicked the gun Matthews had dropped off the edge of the porch before leaning over to put a hand to his neck.
“The son-of-a-bitch will live. Call the sheriff and an ambulance.”
Dallas already had the phone in his hand and was dialing the numbers he knew by heart.
“You okay?” Bishop tossed over his shoulder at Dallas.
“Yeah, it just grazed me.” He looked down at his shoulder. “It’s already stopped bleeding.”
Dallas and Morgan exchanged looks. “He should be the one to take him down after what he did to his family,” Morgan said quietly.
Dallas nodded. “That’s why I didn’t get in his way.”
Bishop dropped down to his knees beside Matthews as if he hadn’t heard the exchange. He leaned down to whisper something in Matthews’s ear and Matthews jerked away, his face becoming a mask of fear.
“Don’t leave me alone with him,” Matthews begged them when Bishop snapped a pair of hand cuffs on his wrists.
“You have the right to remain silent,” Bishop was saying when Dallas heard the first siren in the distance.
Chapter Thirteen
“Paniolo. That’s what they call Hawaiian cowboys,” Tracey said over the phone. “Bishop said I’d love riding at the edge of the ocean. And you should see the pictures of his home, Jude, it’s incredible. There are all these red flowers everywhere.”
Jude broke into Tracey’s speed talking. “Whoa, slow down. So you’re definitely going to Hawaii with him?”
“Well, duh.”
Jude cracked up at her sister’s flippant reply. “You’ll at least stay around for the wedding, won’t you?” She heard muffled talking and knew that Trace had put her hand over the phone to talk to Bishop.
“Bishop said he would love to be a witness at your wedding.”
“I just bet he said that.” Jude laughed again. She seriously doubted that Bishop Taylor had any idea of what he was getting into with her sister. Maybe she’d been wrong to worry about Tracey’s well-being. Maybe it was Bishop she should have been worrying about all this time.
She and Dallas had put off their wedding for a couple of weeks while the town got past the death of Genevieve Wheeler and the near death of her son, Steven. It seemed that Matthews decided getting rid of Steven was more important than breakfast. He’d left Genevieve’s house on Dogwood Lane and drove four blocks over to Corinth Drive. The police said he
disabled the alarm system and shot Steven in his sleep, but the bullet didn’t kill him. Steven would live to inherit his mother’s considerable estate, however, he would spend weeks in the hospital recuperating.
To everyone’s surprise, Bishop didn’t kill Matthews despite the fact it was obvious he wanted to. He explained to the police that he’d tracked Matthews for several states before lucking out and finding him in Arizona. When he realized that Matthews had killed an influential Parrish citizen and gravely injured another he didn’t think the man would be getting out of jail this time. Harry Matthews would go stir crazy in a maximum security prison. It would be the ultimate punishment to watch him slowly wither away behind bars.
“Are you sure you don’t want a big wedding, Jude? This thing with Genevieve…well, no one is going to judge you. If you want a wedding I’ll help you plan it. We can whip something together fast. It will be fun.”
Jude smiled even though Tracey couldn’t see her. “We’ll save the big wedding for you, Trace. Marrying Dallas and Morgan is enough for me and the court house is fine.”
“If that’s what you want,” Tracey answered in a voice filled with doubt.
“Really. Truly. It’s what I want. With you there it will be the perfect day.”
Chapter Fourteen
Jude looked at the wedding band on her left hand. Made in a Celtic knot pattern, it had one gold and two platinum bands woven in an interlacing design. One strand could not be removed without destroying the others. She thought the interwoven design was an appropriate symbol of the love she felt for both Dallas and Morgan. Although the three of them had been lovers only a short time, she couldn’t imagine life without either one of them.
