And a damn killer was in the house.
Chapter Twenty-One
DOWN, BOY.
Zack sure as hell didn’t need distractions right now. But it was his own fault that he was now all hot and hard. When she’d been threatened, he hadn’t thought, just reacted on pure instinct. When he’d lunged onto the bed and covered her body with his, his motive had been purely protective. But once her soft curves molded against him, once her sweet scent stirred his senses, once he’d felt her heart pounding against his chest, he’d shifted from protective mode to hookup mode in less than a nanosecond.
He’d kissed her—despite the explosion.
While it wasn’t as if she hadn’t dropped her own grenade tonight in the form of a baby girl, two years of trying to deny his physical needs was no excuse for his reaction to her. He needed his focus, now—even if she had a way of making him come unglued, of making him forget the reason they were in bed together.
He’d swallowed a groan and torn his mouth from hers before he could savor that she’d kissed him back. Their kiss had been no more than a tease to remind them both how good they could be together, then he’d used all his honed discipline to back off.
But it cost him. He’d paid as he’d hardened to a painful state. At least he didn’t expect to have to walk or fight. The best defense was to let the killer come to them. All Zack had to do was wait, aim, and pull the trigger.
Except he was lying on top of Mandy. Her breath smelled like coffee, her hair like strawberries.
And now they were connected for life. They had a child. He still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the concept. When Zack thought of Mandy, he thought of hot sex, all-nighters—certainly not about motherhood and a baby.
He’d never been so confused, frustrated and hot—all at the same time. At least when the killer showed—Zack could take out some tension on him. Zack would have preferred to use his fists, to beat the living crap out of anyone who’d threatened the three women in his life—his mother, his sister, and Mandy. Yet, he couldn’t take any chances of getting it wrong—not with so much at stake.
So he tried to ignore the painful throb. He tried to dump everything from his mind, a daughter he hadn’t known about, Mandy with her delicious body and her sexy mouth.
Focus.
Lives were at stake. His, and Mandy’s, and all the other lottery winners. Although Zack practiced on a target regularly, it was dark now, and his usual targets didn’t shoot back. In addition, he was prone and every time Mandy breathed, the mattress moved slightly.
A hinge squeaked as the killer stalked through the house. Then he fired two muffled shots into what sounded like the master bedroom. Obviously the guy was nervous. He’d be more on edge when he discovered no one was in the master bedroom, that the grenade hadn’t done the job.
Beneath Zack, Mandy tensed. He wished he could say something to calm her fears, pat her shoulder, squeeze her hand. But once he heard bullets smack into walls, he figured it was time to move. Staying between her and the door, he changed positions, remaining careful to remain below windowsill height—in case of a second shooter. Turning onto his side, he steadied his shooting wrist with his free hand and waited.
A bead of sweat dripped into Zack’s eyes. He’d been shot at before. He’d had to wait before, but he’d never had to worry about the safety of a woman he cared about . . . Cared about?
Don’t go there.
The killer was likely moving down the hallway, stopping, probably to look in the third bedroom. He couldn’t be certain. Zack heard nothing.
Come on. Don’t stop.
With the door open, he’d appear suddenly.
Zack breathed in a deep silent breath, steadied his hand. Waited.
Mandy didn’t make a sound. She didn’t move. Didn’t take a breath. Either she was doing exactly as he’d asked, or fear had paralyzed her.
What was keeping the guy? Did he suspect something? Had they made a noise that had warned him?
Zack heard the killer’s clothing scrape against a wall.
Amateur.
Don’t get cocky, Zack reminded himself. An amateur’s bullet in the heart was just as deadly as a professional’s. If the guy got off one lucky shot . . . it could kill either of them. Besides, although neither Dana nor Ben had indicated this was anything but a one-man hit, there was still a possibility there could be two or three men out there. No way would he go stalk a killer and leave her vulnerable, not while there was the possibility of a second assailant.
Jeez. A snail moved faster.
Was their assailant in pain from Ben’s shot? The cop thought he’d nicked this guy, maybe he was hurting, tired, angry, not thinking clearly.
Or just plain scared.
It was one thing to hide like a coward in the bushes and throw a grenade into a building or shoot people in their bed. It was another to enter the premises and scout out every dark room for a target—one that might shoot back.
Or was he simply so confident of the kill that he wanted to appreciate the moment? Some men got off on other people’s fears. Some men liked the actual killing since it made them feel powerful. Some did it for the money. But most men killed out of an uncontrollable rage.
This was likely his third attempt to kill tonight. He’d already killed two bodyguards, shot Sam, trespassed at Sylvia’s, and he’d possibly killed Lisa. It would end now.
Zack would wait as long as it took.
He just prayed Mandy wouldn’t move. The slightest rustle of clothing could give away their position. So far, she was acting like a pro—if he discounted her reaction to his kiss. A steamy, heart-pounding, knock-your-pants-off kiss that had left him smoking hot.
Concentrate.
A lunging footstep into the doorway was Zack’s only warning. The shooter’s silhouette loomed.
Zack took the head shot, drilling him. The guy’s head snapped back, his legs buckled. The gun in his hand fell to the floor. Zack put a second bullet in his heart before he hit the floor.
From the terrible smell, Zack knew the guy was dead. Sam had gotten his wish.
With each fired round, Mandy had flinched, but she hadn’t made a sound. He’d half expected her to yelp. She hadn’t. But now, she was trying to shove him off her, trying to sit up.
“It’s okay. He’s dead.” He gathered her into his arms, and rocked her against him, relieved that she wasn’t trembling, although her skin did seem a bit cool. “It’s all right. Close your eyes. Let me get you into some fresh air.”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine. Give yourself a few seconds,” he spoke low and easy.
She pulled back and kicked her feet. “Put me down. I want to see him.”
Zack hesitated, and listened hard. He heard nothing, no sound of breathing or steps to indicate someone else might be in the house. However, he was quite certain that there was messy brain spatter against the wall, as well as blood from two bullet wounds. “It won’t be a pretty sight.”
“I’ve seen grisly crime scene pictures.” Her voice shook, but she didn’t sound hysterical.
“A picture is different from—”
“I need to know,” she insisted, “if he’s the same man who ran me off the bridge.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“THE YARD IS clear. He appears to have been working alone.” Zack returned to the hallway where he’d left Mandy. He flicked the flashlight on the body.
“That’s him.” Mandy eyed the dead man sprawled on the floor, trying to focus past the neat bullet hole Zack had drilled between his eyes, beyond his broken nose and the bloody wound from a recently missing earlobe, to his facial features. “He’s the guy who shoved my car off the bridge.” The stringy blond hair and his cold eyes that remained open in death made her certain of his identity.
He’d fallen onto his back, and gladness that he could never harm anyone again mingled with relief that she couldn’t see the exit hole, which would be much larger than the neat red circle on his forehead. He looked so young, too young to die, too young to be in the business of taking lives. She reminded herself he’d killed two bodyguards, shot Sam, and had likely killed Lisa.
Blue and red lights of cop cars flashed in the yard, signaling that the police had arrived. One moment she was fine, the next her stomach heaved. She lunged for the bathroom, making it to the commode in time to lose her dinner. Shaken by the fact that she wasn’t as professional as she’d thought, she brushed her teeth and turned around.
She only saw concern in Zack’s expression as he matter-of-factly handed her a damp towel. “Let’s get you outside for some air. I didn’t want you to go through—”
She blotted her mouth. “It wasn’t the sight of him. The smell set me off.” She shuddered. She didn’t think she’d ever forget the stink of gunpowder mixed with the metallic reek of blood and feces.
“Police,” a deep male voice shouted.
“DEA agent Zachary Taylor here,” Zack spoke in a strong voice. “This is my mother’s house. I just shot and killed an intruder. I’m placing my weapons on the floor and my hands behind my head. I’m here with Mandy Newman, an unarmed civilian.” He placed the weapon he’d fired on the floor next to another one he pulled from his ankle holster and a third from the small of his back, then turned to her. “Put your hands up. We don’t want to make the cops nervous.”
“You certainly don’t.” A cop entered the room, his gun drawn. Bald, lean, and tough, the black cop appeared about forty years old. He had the face of a pro, cautious, yet not jumping to conclusions. “I’m Officer Denby. Hold still and easy.”
“Zack Taylor,” he said again. Mandy kept her hands behind her head, where she’d placed them earlier at Zack’s instruction. Zack spoke in a normal tone as if he’d done this many times before. “Officer, all of my weapons are on the floor.”
She let Zack take the lead, wondering how he could be so calm. She was shaking. Yet, she was glad the killer was dead. Before tonight she would have been certain that if she’d been holding the gun, she would have fired, too. Now she wasn’t so sure.
Intellectually, she was glad the man was dead. Yet contradictorily, his death sickened her. She was appreciative Zack was beside her, clearly well versed in handling shootouts.
“Sir, you said you’re DEA? You have any ID?” Officer Denby asked.
“It’s in my wallet. Right rear pocket.” Zack didn’t move. He appeared to be waiting until the officer told him to get his ID.
“Slowly, sir. Take it out, please.” The officer kept his gun aimed at Zack, but he didn’t take his gaze off of her, either.
Zack plucked out his wallet, flipped it opened, and held it up. Officer Denby verified the credentials and then reholstered his weapon. “All right. Lower your hands. The neighbors called in a disturbance.”
“They probably heard the explosion from the grenade the deceased threw in the bedroom window.”
“You don’t know his name?” Denby asked.
Mandy spoke for the first time, but she didn’t sound normal. There was a quiver in her voice that she couldn’t control. “He’s the same man who tried to kill me last week. He followed me from the parking garage and—”
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Denby’s eyes narrowed in recognition. “You’re the lady that went over the Harbour Island Bridge?” The officer focused almost solely on her, and for the first time since he’d walked into the room, the tension eased from him. In fact, he looked almost happy.
“Yes.”
“And you won the lottery?”
“Yes.” She supposed the media deserved some thanks for once. Denby had obviously seen her picture in the newspaper or on television and knew she’d been a target.
“You’re the winner who lost the ticket?”
“You know a lot, Officer Denby.” Zack kept his gaze on the cop, his tone easy.
“The mayor’s been pressuring the chief, who’s been after us for answers. I might get myself promoted for this.” He gestured to the dead man, then radioed for a homicide detective.
Mandy refrained from saying that Denby hadn’t done anything. He’d arrived after Zack had shot the killer.
“Sir, leave your weapons where they are for now,” he instructed Zack, but his I’m-on-your-side attitude suggested that his instructions were due more to proper procedure than to suspicion they’d done anything wrong. “I’ll return the unfired guns if your statements check out. Ma’am, if you could step around the body without touching it, forensics will be grateful.”
Zack held her hand, and she tried not to look directly at the body. Still, blood was starting to congeal, and the man’s skin tone had grayed. Holding her breath, she stepped away and didn’t look back. Once they reached the living area, she realized she’d been holding her breath and had to consciously draw air into her lungs. The house reeked of smoke, but the air was better here than in the bedroom.
Another police officer arrived. This man was younger than Denby and in superb physical shape. The two men conferred quietly, and she couldn’t hear what they said. Then the new policeman, a homicide detective, took Zack into the dining room to talk while leaving her with Denby in the living room.
At Denby’s request, she sat on the couch and summarized the past week, starting with the incident at the bridge, continuing with the attacks that had led up to the moment Denby had arrived. Meanwhile forensic teams entered and began working, taking photographs, measuring blood splatter, gathering DNA evidence, and examining the body. Finally a team carried out the dead man in a black body bag. He’d end up at the county coroner’s, where an autopsy would be performed.
“Ma’am,” Denby asked, “there’s only a few points I need cleared up. After you thought the grenade exploded, why didn’t you immediately leave the building?”
“It wasn’t a grenade?”
He shook his head. “Your assailant blew the transformer and caused the fire.”
So she’d been right, but Zack had been right, too. “Zack said if we ran out, the killer could shoot us too easily. He said our chances were better if we waited for him to come to us.”
“Smart man. And if the shooter’s gun matches the bullet that struck Sam Hansen, maybe all your troubles are over.” Someone from forensics handed Denby a piece of paper. He read it, then told her, “Looks like a bullet recently struck the deceased in the ear.”
“That would tie him to Ben Jacobson, too.”
“According to forensics, we’ve now got a blood sample from Mr. Jacobson’s backyard fence. We’ll have to wait for lab results to tell us if the blood types match.” He paused, then looked up at her. “We also found ID in the deceased’s wallet. Looks real enough. Ever heard of Nick Vizzi?”
“Nick Vizzi?” The name sounded familiar. She was about to say she needed to check her files, and then she remembered and started to shake. “Nicholas Vizzi was married to Terry Vizzi, one of my clients. I represented her in their divorce about eight months ago. Oh . . . no.”
“What?”
“Lisa and Terry were friends, and Lisa referred Terry to me. Do you think Nick Vizzi killed Lisa because she befriended his ex-wife?”
“I don’t know, ma’am.”
She started thinking in lawyer mode. “It fits. The crime scene was violent—as if the killer was in a rage. But his divorce was completed six months ago. Why would he come after us now?”
Denby closed his notepad. “We may never know. The homicide detective will follow up. It would be best if you didn’t leave town.”
His tone pulled her from her thoughts of the crime. “Officer, my daughter is in Clearwater. If it’s now safe, I’d like to go get her and bring her home.”<
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“That shouldn’t be a problem.”
Mandy’s head was spinning. She wanted to call Dana and find out how Sam was doing. She wanted to go get her baby.
After the police left, Zack phoned a cleaner to take care of the mess from the dead body as well as a contractor to board up the house. While she waited for him to complete the arrangements, he gathered her things from the room so she wouldn’t have to go back in there, a gesture she appreciated.
An hour later she and Zack both got in her car. She pulled out of the driveway. “Where can I drop you off? Do you want to go to the hospital or to your mother’s or Dana’s?”
Zack turned his head and frowned. “This isn’t over.”
What? She pulled to the side of the road and shut off the car to give him her full attention. “Nick Vizzi’s dead. What do you mean, it’s not over?”
“Remember the guy who assaulted my sister at the airport?”
Like she could forget the black man with his deep acne scars and dreads. “What about him?”
“He’s still out there.”
Frustration zinged through her. “But he was after the ticket. He’s got it. We’ll probably never see him again.”
“I’m not betting your life on probably.” He leaned toward her . . . too close. “I’m calling for more protection, but I can pretty much guarantee that the security company won’t be able to put anyone in place until morning. I’ll take you to my mother’s beach house, and we can both keep an eye on our daughter.”
Our daughter.
She could feel his words in the pit of her stomach. Maybe it was the husky tone of his voice when he said it, but the words evoked a reaction far too potent for a man who’d claimed he didn’t want to be involved. “I thought you said you should stay out of our daughter’s life.”
“I said I wasn’t sure.”
She recalled him lying on top of her in that bed, his too-quick hot kiss, his arousal. He was doing it again, turning on that charm. She was reacting to his protectiveness and restrained herself from leaning into his scent.
Kiss Me Deadly Page 18
