by Jen Talty
His sister had indeed been injured, though not badly, but still, that feeling had unsettled him in a way he prayed he never had to deal with again.
“Yeah?” she responded softly.
“Be safe out there and text me every once in a while.”
“I will, you do the same.”
He wanted to say something sweet and romantic, but he wouldn’t do that in front of Declan. Not while the man had a shit-eating grin on his face.
“Bye,” Brodie said as he tapped the off button. “Louis is on the way over, then we’ll call the locals.”
“Damn, man, you’re falling faster and harder than Jax did for Scarlet.”
“That’s impossible.” Only Brodie knew, his heart would never belong to anyone but Harper.
The last thing Harper needed was Brodie freaking out on her, which is why she opted not to tell him where she was going or what she was doing.
She flashed her badge to a local sheriff as she entered the motel room in one of the shadier sides of town. It smelled like a combination of mold and urine. A detective stood at the end of the bed. He wore a dark-blue sport coat, and his badge hung around his neck. He waved her over.
“You must be Major Dawson,” the man said.
“Call me Harper.”
“Okay, you can call me Cash.”
Harper covered her mouth and stared down at the lifeless body sprawled out on a yellow-white comforter that looked like it might not have been washed for months.
“That’s definitely Edwin Gladstone.” She planted her hands on her hips and scanned the room. A few papers scattered across the floor near the desk which had been pushed up under a window that had a thick layer of soot, making it difficult to see out of. Gladstone had just been given ten grand. Why the hell was he staying in a two-star motel that often rented by the hour to prostitutes?
“Tell me what you know,” she said, releasing a long breath. Three days on the job and she had two dead bodies, a woman who had been beaten nearly to death, and two soldiers that had gone AWOL.
“The desk clerk said this man checked in late last night. According to the clerk, the victim appeared nervous and agitated. At about seven this morning, the same clerk saw a dark pickup truck pull up in front of the unit, and a man got out and knocked on the door.” Cash turned, nodding toward the entrance. “Then the clerk said he started to prepare for shift change and went into the back room. That’s when he thought he heard rapid gunfire.”
“Rapid, as in an assault rifle?” She examined the walls, the bed, and the body for bullet wounds.
“No, more like semi, but that’s not what the clerk said. He described it as seven or so pow, pow, pows. As if there was a break in between.”
“So, maybe a semi,” she said more to herself.
“I’ll get to the weapon in a second.” Cash planted his hands on his hips. “The clerk said he fell to the ground, not knowing how far away the shots were. He said about a ten-minute silence followed, but he was too scared to move until he heard the truck leave.”
“How’d he know it was the truck?” she asked.
“That’s where it gets weird. When asked, he gave a decent answer, as in, he didn’t know until he went back to the office and called the police. But the prostitute and her john in the room next door said they never saw a pickup, and after the gunshots, which they described the same way, they looked out the window and saw a nondescript four-door sedan peel out of the parking lot.”
“I take it you questioned the clerk again,” she said as a statement not a question.
“My partner did, while I took a look around the lobby. But while standing behind the clerk, I saw two fresh one-hundred-dollar bills in his back pocket. He’s amended his story, now saying he was paid by some man, medium to tall build, with blue eyes and dark hair to tell us he saw a pickup.”
Harper’s heart thumped to her throat. “Before or after the shots were fired?”
“Before,” Cash said.
“Where is the clerk now?” Harper struggled to keep her hands from trembling.
Cash pointed to the door again. “In the office. My partner is with him, making sure he doesn’t leave.”
“I want to question him, but before I do that, you said something about getting to the murder weapon in a minute.”
“We found a Ruger semi-automatic in the dumpster.”
She cocked her head while her pulse raced out of control. She knew Jonathon was behind this and wanted desperately to pin it on Brodie. But why? “What made you look in the dumpster?”
“The clerk said he saw the man who paid him toss something in there.”
“I need to talk to this clerk.” She followed Cash out of the motel room and across the parking lot with grass and wild weeds growing up through major cracks in the pavement. Inside the musty lobby was one of those fish things that sings an Elvis tune whenever anyone walks by hanging over a sofa across from the lobby desk. A scrawny young man, maybe in his mid-twenties, sat on the sofa. Thankfully the fish didn’t sing when she stepped in front of him.
She pulled out her phone, bringing up an image of Jonathon and held it out. “Is this the man who paid you to give the police false information? The man that walked into that room and shot and killed someone?”
“I didn’t see no one get shot,” the clerk said with a shaky voice.
“Did the man have a rifle in his hands when he entered the room?”
The clerk nodded.
“Then you heard gunshots.”
The clerk nodded again.
She pushed the phone closer. “Is this the man?”
“Yes. That’s him.”
“Thank you,” she said, showing the image to Cash. “This is Senior Firefighter Jonathon Battle. He’s gone AWOL. I’m putting out an official statement and would appreciate your cooperation.”
“I’ll put out an APB now,” Cash said with a frown. “It’s hard when one of our own turns on us. You can count on my department to assist in any way.”
“Thanks. If you don’t mind, I’m going to send my forensics team out here. We can split the workload based on which one of us will get faster results.”
“Works for me.”
“Do you mind staying here and seeing this through? I need to go warn the soldier that Jonathon is trying to set up. I think he’ll go after him next.”
“It will be my pleasure.”
She shook Cash’s hand and made a beeline for her car. “Hey, Siri, call Brodie Welch.”
The phone went straight to voicemail.
“Fuck,” she muttered as she punched the gas. “Hey, Siri, call Brodie Welch.”
Same thing.
“Hey, Siri, text Brodie Welch. Where are you?”
Her heart raced as she sped through the streets. She gripped the steering wheel so tight her knuckles turned white.
Five minutes passed and finally a response.
“Hey, Siri, read my texts.”
“You have one new text from Brodie Welch. I’m at your house.”
“Thank God. Hey, Siri, send a text to Brodie Welch. I’m on my way.”
Chapter 14
Brodie twisted the key to the front door of Harper’s house. When he left the base, she’d given him a set of keys, so he could get in and fix a leaky faucet. Since he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep well, he figured he’d do that before even trying to take a much-needed snooze.
The lock stuck slightly, and the door squeaked as he pushed it open. Another thing he could tinker with to occupy his time, and mind.
He closed the door and stepped into the family room. A breeze tickled the back of his neck, and he turned toward the hallway.
“What the—“
The crack of metal smashing into the side of his head sent a sharp pain from one temple to the other. It was as if someone pushed a cold knife through his head and yanked it back out. He reached for the wall, blinking, trying to focus, but everything blurred.
His knees hit the floor with a loud thud. S
econds later, another sharp pain vibrated through his skull, and the world faded to black.
Harper slammed the gear shift into park before yanking the keys from the ignition and bolting to her front door.
Without thinking, she twisted the knob and raced inside, skidding to a stop in the middle of the hallway.
“Brodie,” she whispered, staring at his body slumped over on a chair in the middle of the living room. His hands were behind his back, and his ankles were taped to the wooden legs. His head flopped forward, and a trace of blood trickled down the side of his cheek. The smell of gasoline lingered in the air.
“You got here quickly,” a male voice said from behind her.
She turned on her heels and gasped. Jonathon leaned against the wall between the dining room and the foyer with a lighter in one hand and a gun in the other.
“This isn’t going to end well for you,” she said, balling her fists. She should have listened to that tiny voice in her head that told her something wasn’t quite right when she pulled into her driveway.
“That’s where you’re wrong.” He rolled his finger over the silver wheel of the lighter. A tall flame flashed in front of his face. “You might have put a few pieces of the puzzle together, but at the end of the day, the world is going to think Brodie over there lost his mind. He killed Edwin—”
“That little set-up has been thwarted. The clerk sung like a canary and ID’d you. Besides, Brodie had been reinstated, so he was either on base at the station, or at a call.”
Brodie groaned in the background.
Jonathon’s smile faded a tad, and she could tell his mind was churning over what that meant for his current situation. “Looks like I’ve underestimated you,” he said, still flicking that damn, stupid lighter. “But at the end of the day, it’s not going to matter. He’ll be dead. You’ll be dead. And I’ll be gone, because you know I’m dead.”
“Everyone knows it was your brother who died in that fire, which you set. Give it up, Jonathon, you’re fucked.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe I’ll end up a fugitive, but you’ve got to love countries that have no extradition laws, and I’ve got the cash to get me a private jet to take me there.”
“You still have to go through customs and Archer Battle won’t make it through any security checkpoint as a wanted man.”
“Now you underestimate me,” Jonathon said, inching closer. “Do you know how many millions my brother heisted from that bank?”
Another audible moan by Brodie.
As Jonathon inched forward, she took a few baby steps backward, toward Brodie.
“All marked bills.”
“Not anymore. Well, all but five hundred thousand.” Jonathon pointed to a large bag. “Which will be strategically placed across the street where the authorities will find it. They will either think Brodie, and maybe that idiot Declan, took a deal from me, or they will think they had something to do with my disappearance. There are enough unanswered questions and very little substantial evidence to prove that I was involved in anything.”
Wow. Jonathon was more delusional than Edwin had been. The things she and her team had uncovered would not only prove Jonathon committed murder, but it would get him sent to Gitmo. She decided there was no point in arguing with him. He believed he’d walk out of here unscathed. Who was she to try to burst that bubble. Of course, she’d enjoy the fuck out of it when she slapped handcuffs on that sorry piece of shit.
“So, let me guess. You found a way to launder the money through an LLC in an off-shore account.”
“Oh, look at you, all full of yourself because you think you’re so smart. Doesn’t take a detective to figure that one out, but hey, I’ll pat your backside and stroke your pretty little ego so you can feel good about yourself.”
She gritted her teeth, making a growling noise. His sarcasm made her want to spit in his face, after she broke his nose with a quick jab.
Brodie grunted.
Two grunts.
And then a moan.
She let out a long sigh.
Brodie did too.
Hot damn, he was awake. While that didn’t change the situation much, it made her feel better. Hopefully, Jonathon hadn’t caught on to that little game.
“Since we’re on the subject, let me see if I have all this straight.”
Jonathon glanced at his watch. “You’ve got ten minutes. Then you can kiss your dick boyfriend goodbye.”
She’d make good use of the time while she figured out how to take Jonathon down.
“You helped your brother get out of prison just so he could be your dead body double.” She moved even closer to Brodie, standing about two paces away and directly in front of him. Planting her hands on her hips, she lifted the back of her shirt, just so Brodie could see her weapon. Jonathon’s biggest mistake hadn’t been underestimating her but overestimating himself.
Now, she just needed a plan. One that Brodie would understand through osmosis or some such shit.
“You’re really going to bore me with this crap,” Jonathon said as he moved his leg behind the wall in the foyer before kicking a gas can into view. “Just so you know, I’ve doused—”
“I can smell it. Can we get to the details? There are a few things my tiny little brain hasn’t been able to wrap my head around.”
Jonathon laughed. “You’re a feisty lady. I bet you’re a good fuck.”
She waggled her finger behind her back, hoping Brodie could actually see it and understand that he should do nothing, even though he was the kind of man that was fiercely protective of what he might consider his. But it was more than that with Brodie. His sense of honor and duty pulled him to protect, no matter the cost to himself.
He proved that the day he nearly died saving the General’s life.
Jonathon leaned to the side. “Shocked that didn’t rouse the poor bastard, but I did clock him good, and he is a pussy.”
“My time is running out, and I really have a few more questions.”
“Fine.” Jonathon shoved the gas can toward her feet. “While you talk, I want you to pour that around the sofa. Feel free to douse some on yourself as well as Brodie.”
Like hell.
“Why beat the crap out of your girlfriend?” Harper asked.
“She wasn’t really my girlfriend. Just a means to an end. At the time, the investigation was still looking like Brodie would be blamed for everything. Actually, if you hadn’t shown up, he would have. Kudos to you for thwarting that.”
If she wasn’t so disgusted by the man standing in front of her, she might have been flattered. “What about Edwin? Didn’t you need him on the inside?”
“Again, you showed up. But when he went AWOL, I had to kill him, and since he accused Brodie a little too quickly, I thought it might lead the investigation back to Brodie if I made it look as if he could have done it.”
“So, you stole his guns,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Such a smart girl.”
His sarcasm wasn’t lost on her. “Why give Edwin money?” She bent over, careful not to reveal her weapon and picked up the gas can, using it as an excuse to get closer to Brodie.
“So he’d think I was coming back to help him get out of the country.”
“You took a big risk coming back.”
“Perhaps, but I really want Brodie dead.”
She swallowed. “Why? What did he ever do to you?” This was the one piece of the puzzle she hadn’t been able to figure out. Other than basic male ego, she’d seen nothing substantial regarding their history to lead her to believe Brodie had done anything so horrible that even Jonathon would hold a grudge.
Jonathon’s face contorted as if someone stabbed him in the heart. His lips pursed, and his eyes narrowed into tiny slits shooting daggers in her direction.
“Brodie and I aren’t much different. We both love fires and have an odd thrill for setting them. He says he doesn’t, but you should see him when he sets a bonfire. It’s like he’s an artist st
anding in front of a blank canvas waiting for the first stroke of the paintbrush.”
Something touched the back of her foot. She stood very still, hoping it wasn’t a cockroach, but instead Brodie.
“That still doesn’t explain why you want him dead.”
“I wish he was awake to hear this, because I’d love to see the look in his eyes when I tell him what he prevented me from doing.” Jonathon wiped the perspiration beading across forehead. “You see, when he was seventeen, he happened to be at the same ski lodge my family went to. I had just found out my mother had been having an affair with the General, who was there with his wife and kids. Imagine that. My mother and the General, sneaking off to fuck in the snow somewhere.”
“Shit, you started the fire at the Cambridge Ski Lodge?” In one thought, everything snapped into place. She remembered reading in Jonathon’s records that his parents divorced a year after he enlisted.
“I wanted the General to burn. I had locked him in the bathroom and then stood back and watched that lodge go up in smoke. What a fucking hard-on that gave me. But then the fake do-gooder goes and runs in and saves the day. Asshole.”
Chills ran up her body, coating her skin like snow falling from the sky. “Your mother died in a house fire.”
“Jesus,” Brodie muttered from behind her. “You’re a fucking piece of work.”
“I wondered if you were faking.”
“Fake this, you dirt bag.” Brodie snagged the gun from her holster and shoved her to the floor.
Two shots rang out as heat erupted all around her.
“Get out,” Brodie yelled.
She stood, jumping over a flame as her house quickly turned into a fireball, and thick, black smoke bellowed to the ceiling. She covered her mouth, blinking wildly through the smolder.
“You bastard.” Brodie swung, his fist landing square on Jonathon’s jaw.
Jonathon laughed as he wiped the blood from his face, rushing forward and crashing into Brodie. Flames flickered around their bodies as they rolled on the floor. She took a pillow and swatted at Brodie’s pant leg, which had caught fire.
