by Joyce Lamb
Admiration swelled inside Chase’s chest. That was his Ky, grace under pressure. He didn’t like, however, how she demanded Sam’s full attention. Maybe she thought it would help, perhaps give him an opening, but Chase couldn’t take the chance that Sam’s reflexes would be faster than his at the moment.
Sam edged to the side and, without turning, jerked open the refrigerator with one hand so he could scan the inside door. Spotting what he wanted, he grabbed a bottle of beer and shut the door with his hip. His gaze stayed on Chase and his gun on Kylie while he popped the metal top off the amber beer bottle.
After a long gulp, and apparently fortified by the additional alcohol, Sam said, “Mark couldn’t handle it. He freaked out.”
“Couldn’t handle what?” Chase asked, rewarded when his partner shifted his squinted eyes to him. That’s right, Sam, look at me, only me.
Sam drank again, so deeply that beer dribbled down his chin, but his gaze never wavered from Chase. “He wanted to do it just as much as I did. Hated that bitch”—he cut his eyes back at Kylie—“as much as I did.”
“Sam,” Chase said sharply. “I’m over here. Talk to me over here.”
Instead, Sam glanced down at his shoes, as though gathering his thoughts.
Chase’s muscles twitched, but Sam looked up. “Don’t.”
Chase raised his hands in a supplicating gesture. “Okay. It’s okay. I’m not doing anything. Just tell me about Mark.”
“He balked in the middle of it,” Sam said, giving his head an incredulous shake. “Can you believe that shit? We’ve got her on the fucking ground, and he balks.” He paused, his Adam’s apple bobbing spasmodically as he pressed the cold bottle to his temple. “Fucking asshole starts crying and arguing with me while we’ve got her on the ground. I mean, Jesus Christ! How am I supposed to get it up with him whimpering in my ear?”
Chase flinched at the implication, and a new roar began in his ears. “You were going to rape her?”
Sam gave the gun an impatient wave. “Hell yeah. We had the prettiest, smartest, most popular girl in school all to ourselves out there in the middle of fucking nowhere. You think we just wanted to hit her in the knee and run away? We had some plans. Some very hot plans. She wasn’t ever going to forget that day.”
Chase couldn’t stop himself from checking on Kylie. One glimpse of her haunted eyes told him she was back on that path, two threatening figures looming over her and a brand-new terror staring her down.
A chill raced the length of his spine, and his instinct was to step in, to shield her from that, but he couldn’t without irking the man with the gun. And that just made him want, all the more, to reach down Sam’s throat and rip his lungs out. But the time it would take him to cross the six feet between them, even at a dead run, would be all the time Sam needed to pull the trigger.
So, instead, he vowed to keep Sam talking. Eventually, he would make his partner scream. Sam, the evil son of a bitch, was going to scream and writhe and piss himself from Chase-inflicted pain very soon.
“But Mark screwed it up,” Chase said, his tone even, professional. “He freaked out.”
Sam drained the rest of the beer, then set aside the bottle with a carefulness that contradicted the gun in his hand. “He kept saying, ‘I can’t, I can’t,’ like I’d asked him to put his dick in the mouth of a shark. Fucking pussy. When he took off, I had no choice but to go after him before he ratted us both out.” He shifted his attention to Kylie, and his teeth flashed white in his ruddy face. “I got in a few good swings, so the afternoon wasn’t a total waste.”
“What did you do to Mark, Sam?” Chase asked, his voice sharp. He didn’t like the considering way Sam looked at Kylie, as though it had occurred to him that while he hadn’t gotten what he wanted that day in the woods, he might be able to get it today.
“Sam,” he said again. “Look at me and tell me what you did.”
Sam cut his alcohol-glazed eyes back to Chase. “I caught up with him at the Bat Cave. Dipshit was sniveling in the corner, sobbing and crying like a baby. Maybe it was the drugs. We tried something new that day. A joint my dealer gave me, laced with something. I’d never felt better, stronger. Everything was crystal sharp, and it pissed me off that Mark was being such a baby. So I hit him.” A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth, as though the violent memory pleased him. “It felt good to hit him, so I kept doing it, just hitting him over and over again. Blood was flying everywhere. And then I saw the bat on the ground where I’d dropped it when I got there, and I picked it up. And swung.”
Clasping his gun hand with his left, he brought both back to his shoulder then swept out with a smooth, slow-motion follow-through, knocking an imaginary ball out of the park.
“Oh, God,” Kylie whispered.
Chase glanced at her, alarmed at the way her head sagged forward. Was she going to be sick? Had she fainted? He stared at the top of her head, willing her to look up, to look at him. As if feeling his pleading gaze, she raised her head. She was so pale, her blue gray eyes wide with pain and horror and fear. He swallowed back the gush of rage, quickly followed by a groundswell of helplessness. She needed him to do something, and all he could do was stand there and let crazy, insane Sam call the shots.
“Afterward,” Sam said, drawing Chase’s frustrated attention back to him, “I found a tarp inside the house and rolled him up in it. My hand was bleeding pretty bad by then, so I used my shirt to bind it up real tight before I buried him out back. That left the bat. I went looking for something to use to wipe off my fingerprints and found a gym shirt, Quinn’s shirt. When I was done, I wrapped them both in a garbage bag and buried them, away from the body.”
He smiled without humor, his eyes looking hollow now, fogged over. “Murder made me strong. Within a year, I was no longer the scrawny loser girls saw when they looked at me. I bulked up, had muscles worthy of a football player. I met Tina, and we fell in love. After school, I became a cop. Believe it or not, I wanted to be one of the good guys. I became one of the good guys. I maneuvered my way into place as your partner, figuring that if you ever got a break in the case, or Mark’s body was found, then I’d be in a position to steer the investigation. Everything was great for a long time.”
He turned his gaze to Kylie, and renewed anger sent a fresh flush into his face. Raising the Glock, he pointed it at her forehead. “Then she fucked up everything again.”
She cringed back, gasping when the chair almost tipped backward.
“Sam! No!” Chase took a lurching step toward him, but Sam rounded on him, and Chase froze so fast he was on the tips of his toes, his whole world trembling on a very slippery edge.
Chase raised his hands, his eyes steady on his partner’s. “It’s good. Everything’s good.”
The Glock wavered, and Sam firmed his grip. “All she had to do was drop the tennis center and go back to LA. That’s all it would have taken.”
Chase’s mind groped for something, anything. “How are you going to explain the shooting of an unarmed woman bound to a chair? Huh, Sam? How?”
Sam swallowed audibly. “This is your fault, Chase. You know that, don’t you? You forced my hand. Gave me no choice but to do this now.”
“The ER records.”
Sam compressed his lips into a tight line and nodded. “While I was getting my hand stitched up, the doctors were working like mad to save her leg. I practically had a front-row seat.”
Chase glanced at Kylie, took in the gray of her complexion. She didn’t seem to be in the same room with them anymore, and his heart skipped a beat. Was she going into shock? Oh, Jesus, he needed to do something. He swung his attention back to Sam, determined to end this. “So what’s it going to be? You’re just going to shoot us? That will open up a whole other, more intense investigation.”
The corner of Sam’s mouth tipped up. “I’m not going to shoot you.” He reached back and twisted the knob on the first burner of the stove. “It’s a gas oven. You’re both going to die because of an un
fortunate, accidental gas leak. And then I’m going to decide the ER records were a dead end and solve the case. Pity that Kylie won’t be here to see her brother go to prison.”
58
AS THE FAINT, ROTTEN-EGG SMELL OF GAS HISSED into the kitchen, Kylie raised her head and, struggling to regain her focus, saw Sam blowing out the individual pilot lights. She needed to help Chase, distract Sam so he could do something. But what if Sam shot him? What if Sam killed him? No, she thought. She couldn’t risk it.
Eye on the ball, Kylie. Get this right, get it right.
Sam gestured at Chase with the gun. “Grab a chair and sit.”
This is it, she thought. She had to distract him now, while Chase had permission to move. Time was running out.
She took a shaky breath. “What about the guy at the safe house, Sam? Did you hire him to do your dirty work?”
Chase gave her an almost imperceptible nod of approval. That’s it, he seemed to say. Keep him talking.
Sam rolled one shoulder. “He was a snitch and dopehead. I paid him to sabotage the grounds of the construction site, got him to try to run you off.”
“Why’d he approach T.J. to bust the windshield?” she asked. “He’s just a kid.”
“Who the fuck knows what an addict like that thinks? Maybe he set him up by getting his prints on the bat. Maybe he saw the security cameras and freaked. All I know is that the kid could ID him, so he tried to take him out with the fire. He was as much of a numbskull as Mark. I should have just done it all myself.”
“So, what, you killed Benny because he didn’t get the job done?” Chase asked.
“He left behind his fucking weapon,” Sam sneered. “Fingerprints all over the fucking thing.”
“You didn’t know that at the time.”
“I sure as hell did. I saw him with that knife the day before when I paid him to scare the shit out of her at the safe house. He had his fingers all over it. Once he was ID’d, he would have sung like a canary.”
“So he never made a play for your Glock,” Chase said.
“You’re the only one who questioned me on that one. How sad is that? My own partner.” He jerked his chin toward the dining room. “Bring another chair in and set it beside hers. The tiniest wrong move puts a bullet in her head.”
“How will you explain the security guard, Sam?” Chase asked, still stalling. “It’ll be obvious he didn’t die from a gas leak.”
“I’ll take the body with me. Figure something out later. Or maybe I’ll just blow the whole damn place. All it’d take is a spark.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Chase said. “There’s still time to—”
“I’m done talking!” Sam pressed a clenched fist to his temple, fighting for control. “Get the chair. Get it now.”
Kylie held her breath as Chase did as he was told, and Sam turned away from her to crank the burners on the stove full blast.
He’d left her uncovered, was entirely focused on the stove, as if he didn’t consider her a threat in the least. Surely there was something she could do. And it had to be now.
Kylie heaved herself up, taking the chair with her. Sam spun toward her, gun flying in her direction, and she jerked her body sideways, striking him with the chair’s legs. He grunted and stumbled back, catching his balance with a hand against the counter. Chase roared into the kitchen, ramming Sam in the belly with his shoulder and sending them both crashing against the refrigerator. Sam somehow managed to hang onto the gun and brought it down with a crack against the back of Chase’s head.
Kylie saw blood spurt. “No!”
“Get back!” Chase shouted at her. He slammed his fist under Sam’s chin.
Sam’s head snapped back, and he stood there for a stunned, suspended instant. Chase went in for another jaw-jarring punch, spinning Sam around with the force of the blow.
Kylie, suddenly facing Sam and realizing she was back in the line of fire, shoved back with her feet, only to have the chair legs hit a seam in the tile at a forceful but awkward angle. The splintering crack of wood echoed throughout the kitchen, and the dizzying sensation of falling spun through her head. She landed on the tile on her side, and pain shot through the elbow that took the brunt of the impact. That was nothing, though, when she realized through the stars bursting in front of her eyes that Sam loomed over her, breathing hard, his face shiny with sweat. Oh, God, oh, no, she was so dead—
But then Chase seized Sam by the shoulder, twisting him back around, and grabbed for his gun hand. They struggled for a long, sweaty moment, smashing through the pantry door and against the shelves inside, sending a rain of cereal boxes and canned goods down on their heads. The house seemed to shake from the force of their bodies hurtling into the opposite wall.
Kylie, secured to the chair and on her side, could do nothing but hold her breath, wincing every time Chase took a blow. She couldn’t tell who was winning. They seemed evenly matched, both just as desperate. She was the difference. She could put the odds in Chase’s favor. If only she could move.
She jerked at her wrists, biting into her lip at the resulting pain. This pain was nothing in the scheme of things. She’d endured worse ten years ago. And if Sam killed Chase . . . that was the agony that would kill her.
Come on, come on.
And then Chase—her hero—slammed an elbow against Sam’s temple, and Sam’s eyes rolled back in his head. He slid to the floor, limp.
“You’re going away for a long time, fuckwad,” Chase growled as he stooped over to snatch Sam’s gun out of his hand and holster it. Going down on one knee, he used plastic straps to secure Sam’s wrists behind him, his hands steady. She had to admire his efficiency.
“The gas,” she gasped. “Chase, the gas.”
He lunged at the oven to shut it off, then flashed a grin at her. “Good call, babe.”
She smiled, and tears burned her eyes. Other than being a bloody mess, he looked beautifully, wonderfully intact. Her miracle.
He scrambled over to press a quick kiss to her forehead. “Let me get some windows open, then I’ll get you out of that chair.”
“Okay.”
He made fast work of the windows, and as fresh air spilled into the kitchen, Kylie closed her eyes. It was over. Thank God, it was over. All of it. For the first time in ten years, she could breathe easy.
Chase grabbed a steak knife out of a drawer then knelt behind her. As he prepared to saw through the plastic binding her hands, he asked, “Are your hands numb?”
“Some.”
“Wiggle your fingers for me.”
She wiggled.
“Good.” He leaned over her, bracing an arm against her belly to keep her from tumbling forward as he began to work at the straps. “You did good, Ky. Really good. You saved the day.”
“So did you.”
As her hands popped free, he gently guided her away from the chair and helped her sit up, where he took her right hand into his and began to stroke her wrist. “Are your fingers tingling?”
“A little.” Not that she cared now that she saw up close the shape his wrists were in. She grasped his forearm to still him, stomach jolting at the sight of his mangled, blood-coated flesh. “Chase, my God. What did you do to yourself?”
“Messed them up pretty good breaking the thing off in the truck. But it’s all superficial. They’ll heal.” Before she could protest, he grasped the sides of her face with steady palms and kissed her.
Her eyes slid closed, and she fell into the warm, moist glide of his tongue against hers. Nothing in the world existed except this moment.
“I love you,” he murmured against her lips. “I’m never letting you go. Never.”
“Good, ’cause I love you, too, and I’m sticking around. Always and forever.”
59
SIX MONTHS LATER
“NERVOUS?”
Kylie glanced askance at Chase’s legs as he lowered himself onto the metal riser next to her. His khaki shorts showed off spectacular muscles, and her
breath stalled as she remembered how he’d taken her mind off the big day that morning. Oh, yeah, baby. Funny how after six months, he could still make her heart race and her palms sweat just by looking at him.
She raised her gaze to his face, seeing her own reflection in his sunglasses, and smiled. “Nervous about what?”
He chuckled and nudged her arm with his shoulder. “Nice try.”
She clasped her hands together and stared hard at center court. “Yeah, I’m nervous as hell. Is this what it was like when you watched me play?”
“Not really. I was too busy checking out your boobs.”
Laughing, she shielded her eyes as T.J. walked onto the court with his rackets and bag. “He looks terrified,” she said. “Does he look terrified to you?”
“Nope. He looks like a tennis player.” Chase slipped an arm around her shoulders to give her a quick, reassuring hug. “A really fantastic one.”
The tension flowed out of her. He was so good at that.
“I ran into the Coopers in the parking lot,” Chase said, referring to T.J.’s foster parents. “You’d think the kid was in the finals at Wimbledon.”
Kylie nodded. She knew exactly how they felt. “You’d think.” She linked her arm through his and edged as close to him as she could get without climbing onto his lap. “Did I ever thank you for getting him placed with them?”
He chuckled, grazing the tips of his fingers over her forearm until goose bumps rose on her skin. “Many times, but I’m willing to let you thank me again any time.”
She kissed his cheek. “You’re really wonderful, you know that?”
“Well, just for the record, Tom and Annette fell for T.J. on their own. I didn’t pull those strings.”
“Still wonderful,” she said, smiling and resting her chin on his shoulder.
He turned his head and kissed her, slowly and leisurely, until the chill bumps returned and her nipples pressed against his upper arm. “Somebody’s cold,” he murmured against her lips.
