Tainted

by Dani Matthews

  I don’t want to be at all, but that’s wishful thinking. This is about saving lives, not about saving mine. “All the way, I guess,” I say reluctantly.

  A hint of admiration flares in his gaze. “Good. Then we need to put our heads together and share all information, nothing gets left out,” he says steadily.

  “I already told you guys everything I know, it’s all on file,” I point out.

  Holden shifts closer, his eyes serious as he faces me. “This is going to work both ways, meaning I’m going to share everything with you, and your opinion is going to matter. You know him better than anyone, Ren.”

  I fall quiet. He’s right. Even though my father is completely psychotic, I lived with him and witnessed his depravity. If anyone can help push the investigation forward, it’s me.

  Holden’s eyes snag mine. “Let’s get one thing clear. You’re not bait—not to me. I’m going to make certain you walk away from this with your life, got it?”

  When I don’t reply, he continues as his eyes never leave mine. “You don’t seem to think you can walk away from a confrontation with him, and we’re going change that.”

  Now he’s piqued my interest. “How?”

  “Have you ever shot a gun?” he asks bluntly.

  His question catches me off guard. “No…” I say slowly, wondering if he’s saying what I think he is.

  “Well, you’re going to,” he says, confirming my suspicion. “When we’re not at the bar, we’re going to spend time at the gun range. It takes ninety days to get a concealed weapons permit, but we don’t have that kind of time on our hands. When I decide you’re capable of having your own gun, you’ll get it.”

  My lips part. “You’re serious?”

  He nods, his expression almost businesslike as he leans down and sets his coffee near his feet. “Yes. When we’re not at the gun range, we’ll work through different scenarios and how you can defend yourself if you don’t have the gun to rely on.”

  I don’t know what to say, and I allow everything he’s said to settle in. This offer is beyond unexpected, but most definitely welcome.

  “Ren,” he says, bringing my attention back to him. “We want to bring him in alive, but the odds of that are slim,” he says grimly.

  I nod in agreement. My father’s not going down unless he’s mortally wounded.

  Holden looks at me expectantly. “I want you to have the best odds of survival. Are you game?”

  “Yes,” I say without hesitation.

  His expression shifts as his jaw flexes. “You haven’t heard the hard part.”

  Suspicion promptly flares. Why does it feel like whatever’s going to come out of his mouth next is going to be unpleasant for me?

  “No more drinking,” he announces.

  I shoot him a sour look. “What I do on my own time—”

  “Do you think he’s going to care whether you’re sober or shitfaced?” he cuts in as his eyes harden. “The odds of him coming for you at night are greater. You need a clear head, and you’re sure as hell not getting a gun until I know you’ve put that shit behind you. Non-negotiable,” he adds in a hard tone.

  “But…you don’t understand…” Words fail me as I struggle to explain that I need the alcohol.

  His gray eyes are relentless as he says, “Help me understand.”

  There’s no way I’m going to confide just how bad my nights can be, and I remain stubbornly silent.

  “Do we have a deal?” Holden asks after a tension-filled moment.

  Shit. I’m so screwed, but I want that gun. I grimly nod in agreement even as my chest tightens.

  “Say it,” he commands.

  “I’ll quit drinking,” I bite out.

  His expression is unreadable as he watches me with keen eyes. “Today,” he clarifies.

  I draw in a deep breath and try to calm the anxiety forming deep within me. Right now, I need to prove that I’m willing to play by his rules. Later, I’ll worry about how to get through the night.

  “Fine, today,” I say through clenched teeth.

  Holden studies me, no doubt noting how reluctant I am to part with the only escape I have from this never-ending nightmare.

  “What’s changed?” I ask, desperate to switch the topic. As soon as the question leaves my mouth, I know I don’t want to know. It might be harder to process than the thought of giving up my liquor.

  Holden hesitates before coming to some sort of decision. “A package was delivered to the bar yesterday morning. It was addressed to you.”

  I wait for him to tell me what was inside.

  His gray eyes soften. “It was a tongue. We believe the tongue belonged to his most recent victim,” he says gently.

  Bile burns the back of my throat, but I somehow manage to hold it down. I press a hand to my stomach, my eyes shifting away from Holden’s as I struggle with a turbulent tide of emotions. The memories of the basement are pulling at me, but I fight them off and concentrate on breathing in and out. While I try to keep myself together, I’m aware of Holden patiently giving me time to collect myself.

  I’m extremely thankful that I haven’t eaten yet, and I rub my face with both hands.

  “My lieutenant doesn’t think you’ve been visible enough,” Holden murmurs, bringing my attention back to him.

  I drop my hands as the focus of the conversation shifts. “Back to being bait,” I mutter sarcastically.

  “In his eyes, yes. Mine, no. Ren, what’s going to push him over the edge?” he asks intently. “What’s going to make him come for you?”

  “He’s already going to come for me,” I assure in a dry tone.

  His eyes search mine, urging me to help him figure this out. “What will speed up his timeline? We need him to make mistakes. Mistakes give us an opening—one that we desperately need.”

  I abruptly rise from the sofa and walk to the nearest window, wrapping my arms around my waist. It’s a bright, sun-filled morning, but I don’t see anything remotely appealing about it. Instead, I am thinking that with each day that passes, my life is slipping away. Now Holden wants me to put myself out there so that my father will make a move sooner? Yes, I want to help with the investigation, but I don’t want to speed up my death.

  I hear movement. “Ren, mistakes are good. We want that, and so should you. Any mistake, no matter how small or big can give you, and us, an opening we might not otherwise have had,” Holden says from behind me.

  He has a point. I release a wary sigh and turn to face him. “I don’t know what would push him over the edge,” I say honestly.

  He frowns. “The bartending doesn’t seem to faze him. Will the gun training?”

  I shake my head. My father won’t care about any of that.

  “Then what?”

  For a long moment, I chew my bottom lip and think it over. “That tongue, it was a message that he’s going to make me pay for going to the police,” I say softly, unable to believe what I’m going to say next. “Sharing my story will anger him, and…so will being unafraid of the consequences. It’ll be like I’m taunting him,” I reluctantly confess.

  Holden looks thoughtful. “We can work with that.”

  I shoot him a warning look. “I’m not going to do anything stupid until I have a gun. Non-negotiable,” I add, tossing his words back at him.

  He nods, not looking the slightest bit perturbed by my stipulation. “Understood. The sooner we begin your lessons at the gun range, the better.” His expression turns stern. “But first, I want to see you empty every bottle of liquor you have in this place.”

  I try to hide my unhappiness. “Right now?”

  “Right now,” he confirms. “Empty them all, and we’ll go straight to the gun range. Your call.”

  * * *

  Holden leads me to one of the numbered lanes at the local indoor gun range, and I look around, trying not to look like a kid in a candy store. I haven’t felt this excited about anything in a very long time.

  Partitions of bulletproof glass
separate us from the other shooters, and my eyes lift to the metal track running along the top of our lane. It must be the mechanism that carries a paper target to the other end. I peer out at the opposite wall, and it looks to be made of rubber to stop projectiles. Loud, sharp bangs are coming from all sides of us, and I have to force myself not to flinch from the harshness.

  Holden sets his duffel bag on the metal table and unzips it.

  I move closer to him, more than just a little curious.

  He glances at me, his mouth curving in one corner. Evidently, my excitement is palatable. “This is a Ruger LCP II,” he explains, pulling out a small, black hand gun. “It’s a three-eighty caliber with the ammunition capacity of seven. It’s small and handy, very easy to conceal. It’s also lightweight.” He holds it out to me. “Feel its weight.”

  I accept the gun. It fits perfectly in my hand, and the weight is indeed light. I’m certain the gun is empty, but it’s still a powerful feeling holding such a weapon.

  “Like it?” Holden asks.

  I glance at him and flash a smile. “I do.”

  He nods and holds his hand out for it. Almost reluctantly, I hand it back. “There’s a lot that goes into learning to shoot,” he tells me. “Just pointing and shooting is going to get you in a load of trouble. It takes time to work on aim and to learn how to handle the gun and clean it.”

  I nod, showing that I’m more than willing to learn.

  “Whether the gun is loaded or not, I want you to always treat it like it is. It’s a powerful weapon, and it easily kills. Never point the muzzle at anything unless you plan to destroy it.”

  For the next five minutes, I avidly listen as he informs me of everything he thinks I should know. Finally, he hands me the gun—which is still empty.

  “I want you to practice holding it properly,” he explains.

  With both hands, I hold the gun, pointing it towards the opposite wall as Holden remains close to me, touching my arms or my fingers and nudging them where he wants. I can’t help but think that he smells nice—more than nice. He’s a sexy distraction, and I struggle to focus on my lesson and not on the man that’s giving it.

  Eventually, we move on to loading the gun. Holden’s patient as he thoroughly takes me through all the steps, making certain that I understand how the safety lever works.

  When he finally allows me to shoot the gun for the first time, I’m wearing protective headphones and eyewear. My adrenaline is pumping, and I calm my breathing before I pull the trigger for the first time. I instinctively blink when the gunshot sounds, and my shoulder jerks slightly from the recoil.

  A low hiss escapes my lips over firing such a deadly weapon, and a tingling rush of exhilaration shoots through my veins. With a slow building smile, I aim for the target and pull the trigger again.

  Eleven

  Holden

  I’ve just stepped out of the shower when I hear my phone ringing from where I’d left it on the bathroom counter. After grabbing a towel and wrapping it around my hips, I glance at the screen.

  It’s Martinez.

  A muttered curse escapes me before I put the phone to my ear. “Brooks,” I say curtly.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” Martinez barks in my ear, causing me to wince.

  I move out of the bathroom and enter the bedroom. I’d known this was coming, but if I’m going to protect Ren, I’m going to do it my own way. “Do we want her dead or alive?” I grab my large duffel bag and set it on the bed, taking out a fresh pair of briefs.

  “She’s not getting a gun.”

  “I didn’t give her one.” I set aside the bag, propping the phone between my ear and shoulder as I drop the towel and slip on the briefs.

  “If you’re taking her to a gun range, you’re planning to. Get her a damned Taser if you feel she needs a weapon.”

  I sit on the edge of the bed and rake a hand through my wet hair. “A Taser won’t save her from Donahue.”

  “We want him alive, remember?”

  “At the cost of her life? Look, I know it’s not the way you wanted this to play out, but she needs to be able to protect herself. The most important thing is getting Donahue off the streets. It’d be nice to put him behind bars, but if it comes down to his life or his daughter’s, I’d much rather see an innocent survive.”

  “Just how close are you getting to her?”

  I close my eyes and rub them. “She’s a victim, Lieutenant. She’s not an object that doesn’t have feelings and is there to be used. She’s my job and responsibility to protect. I’m only trying to keep her safe.”

  Silence thunders on the other end of the line, and I wait to see if he’s going to back off.

  “You’ve been nothing but a thorn in my side since you brought her to Little Rock.”

  “She’s here and still breathing,” I point out.

  “If you’re getting too close to think straight, I’ll pull you and put someone else on her,” Martinez warns.

  “Do that and you lose her willingness to help draw him out.”

  “If this turns into a shitstorm…” he threatens.

  “I’ll hand in my resignation,” I assure. “Lieutenant, I have a job to do, and I’m going to do it. We’re taking this bastard down.”

  “It’s not just your ass on the line, Brooks,” Martinez says before he ends the call.

  I toss the phone aside and scrub my hands over my face. I’d known he’d balk at the idea of putting a gun in Ren’s hands, but if things go south and Donahue somehow gets his hands on her…

  My gut clenches.

  If she loses her life, it’ll be something I’ll carry with me the rest of mine. She’s here because I used her past and guilt against her. Because of me, she’s reliving her worst nightmare, and I’ll be damned if I allow her to be a defenseless target.

  Twelve

  Ren

  It’s three AM.

  I’ve been pacing the length of the living room since eleven. I’m tired and aching to drop into bed, but I know that if I give in, the nightmares will come. It’s too easy for my inner demons to rule my mind, and learning about the package weighs on my soul.

  A dull ache has taken hold of my heart and squeezes it as I walk the length of the room. Another person dead—a teenager who’d had her entire life still ahead of her.

  Tears burns the backs of my eyes, and I shake my head and focus on the floor with each step that I take. I’d lost count, so I start over.

  One, two, three, four…

  The numbers build inside my head, but half my thoughts are still on the day’s events. Instead of allowing the bad to infiltrate my mind, I try focusing on the gun range as I continue pacing.

  I can’t wait to pull that trigger again.

  * * *

  I take aim at the target and focus.

  A sense of calm overcomes me as I steady my breath and pull the trigger. The gun fires, and the pressure in my shoulder is expected as I feel the concussive thud in my chest from the gunshot.

  The satisfaction from firing the weapon is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Being here is like being swept away to another world—one where nothing exists but me and the gun.

  After emptying the gun’s bullets into the target, I slide the safety into place and carefully set the gun on the table. Holden’s standing against the wall behind the table, casually leaning against it as he watches me like a hawk.

  Eager to see how I did, I press the button on the wall so the mechanism will bring the target back to me so I can look at it. The track hums above us until the target is hanging in front of our cubicle. I’m disappointed that only one of my bullets managed to hit the paper, but I remind myself that this is only my second visit to the gun range.

  I look up as Holden straightens and comes over. After easing the protective headphones from my ears, I look at him expectantly.

  “You’re pulling the trigger instead of squeezing it, and you’re also bracing for the recoil,” he says lightly. He picks up the gun,
double checks the safety before grabbing a small box of rounds from the duffel bag. I watch as he inserts red, plastic-looking bullets. When he’s finished, he hands me the gun and motions that he’d like me to move back into my firing stance.

  I turn and face the target area using both hands to hold the gun as if aiming at a target.

  “I loaded it with snap caps, they’re dummy bullets. You can shoot and not have to deal with the recoil or the sound.” Holden moves in behind me and puts his hands over mine. He adjusts my grip, and his finger gently presses on my index finger where it rests on the trigger. His breath brushes the fine hairs on my ear as he says, “You lightly squeeze, not pull. Like this.” His finger presses into mine, and the trigger releases.

  It’s hard to concentrate when the warmth of his back is pressing into mine, and his cologne infiltrating my senses. It feels good having his strong arms wrapped around me, and I find that I don’t want this moment to end.

  “Try it,” he says before his hands leave mine, and his warmth disappears.

  I’m disappointed but hide it. This attraction is becoming harder and harder to ignore. As much as I hate to admit it, the man is sexy. Sexier than any man I’ve ever been with.

  “Ren?”

  Shit.

  “Got it,” I say firmly. I adjust the gun, and then gently squeeze the trigger like he’d shown me.

  He nods his encouragement. “Much better. Dry fire a few more times and focus on not tensing. Bracing for the recoil pushes the gun down and interferes with your aim. Keep your wrist straight.”

  I focus on his advice, and he intently watches me dry fire until he gives the okay to switch the snap caps for live ammunition. After the first few rounds, it appears that my aim has improved. When the target makes its way back to us, I find that I’d hit the paper every time. Maybe not the bullseye or even close to it, but hey, I’m finally hitting paper. I can’t complain since there’s improvement.

  When Holden calls it a day, I’m disappointed but say nothing as I slip off the earphones and protective eyewear. I glance at him curiously. “When are you going to begin teaching me how to defend myself?”