First Do No Evil: Blood Secrets, Book 1

by Carey Baldwin

  He worked his mouth silently, like he was looking for the words to let her down easy. “Look…Sky…”

  As he spoke, his gaze soared past her shoulders. He was going to change his mind. Tightening her grip on the Glock, she ground her boot-heels into the dirt. She had to convince Danny she could do this. “You’re worried I’ll get shot with my own gun, aren’t you? That I’ll freeze and my attacker will take the gun and turn it against me.”

  “Pretty much, yeah.”

  “Then you can relax. I know you think I’m scared, and maybe I am, but…” Now he was staring directly at her, and she didn’t like the look on his face one bit. Without warning, he moved in on her and manacled her right wrist with his hands. Holding back her shocked gasp—she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction—she tried to slip her hand free, but he clamped down on her like a vise.

  “It’s not your courage I’m worried about, Sky. If you’re going to carry a gun, you have to be willing to shoot to kill.” As he loosened his grip and slid his long fingers lower, she studied the broad backs of his powerful hands. He extended his thumb and pressed it into her anatomical snuffbox, compressing her radial nerve. She realized instantly what he’d done, but her knowledge of anatomy and physiology didn’t stop her fingers from going hot and numb.

  With only a slight tug he slid the Glock from her hand. “Because as you just pointed out, if a criminal takes your gun away, he’s going to use it against you. He’ll use it to kill you and not for any other purpose.”

  “I won’t panic. I won’t freeze.” Rubbing her sore wrist, she held out her open hand, but he didn’t return the Glock.

  “Again, hear what I’m saying. I’m not worried about your courage. I’m worried about your heart. I know you’ve got the guts to take on anything, I’ve seen you in action, but do you have the heart to kill a man?”

  She had to make Danny believe she could shoot to kill, even if she wasn’t one hundred percent sure of that herself. If she didn’t know how to handle a gun, what chance did she have against whoever was out there? She wasn’t going to defeat the devil in hand-to-hand combat—that much she did know. “I can do it.”

  “You’re a doctor, Sky. You’ve been trained to save lives. What I hear, you even tried to save the life of that motherfucker in the diner. And now, just like that…” He snapped his fingers. “Now, you say you’re prepared to take a life. You expect me to believe you will shoot to kill.”

  “Maybe you’ve forgotten that my father and my fiancé were murdered.” She didn’t allow her voice to break. Not even a little.

  Unimpressed with her answer, Danny looked away and continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Because if you can’t bring yourself to take a life, then this is a really bad idea.”

  “I will shoot to kill the devil.”

  Circling her, he seemed trying to size her up, or intimidate her, or both. She held perfectly still, pretending there weren’t shivers crawling down her spine. At last, he stopped and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I wonder if you realize that the ‘devil’ isn’t going to be dressed up in horns and carrying a pitch fork. The ‘devil’ is going to look like an ordinary person, like your next-door neighbor, or maybe like the Joe behind the counter at Safeway. Are you going to be able to shoot Joe?”

  She closed her eyes and saw bits of Edmond’s skull on her breakfast plate, her father’s blood coagulated around his lifeless body. Stuffing down a scream, she felt her lungs contract. She clenched and unclenched her outstretched hand. “When I was seventeen, I let the police handle things their way. They told me my father’s killer was dead, and that I had nothing to fear. Now Edmond is dead, the investigation closed.” She opened her eyes, raised her chin. “And no one except you even wondered whether or not Edmond’s murder might be related to my father’s. So, you see, Danny, I can’t count on the police to protect me. I’m counting on you to help me. Besides Garth, you’re the only person I trust.”

  He let out an interminable breath, and then pressed the Glock into her open palm. She turned it over in her hand. “Where are the sights?”

  “I removed them. I’m going to teach you how to shoot by instinct.”

  “You just said you don’t believe I have it in me to kill a man. Now you seem to be saying I have an instinct to do just that.”

  “I think you have an instinct to survive. We just need to unearth it. Instinctive shooting is really the only way I can get you up to speed quick enough.”

  No question Danny was smart, and he knew a lot more about firing a weapon than she did, but removing the sights from a gun made absolutely no sense. At least not to her. “But how will I aim?”

  “You won’t. You point. You shoot.”

  “Is this the way they teach you to shoot at the academy?” It was her turn to size Danny up. Her eyes met his and held. Neither one blinked. But she had her answer. No way. This was not the way they taught rookies to shoot at the academy.

  “You trust me or not?”

  Actually, she did. “Yes.”

  “Good. Then listen up. There’s no time to waste in a life and death situation. No way can you get yourself into an academic stance and sight your target. A split second determines whether you live or die.”

  “A split second. Yeah, I see that. But how am I supposed to aim without sights.”

  “You’re not listening. You’re not going to aim.”

  Her trust was thinning. “That’s absurd. If I don’t aim, I’ll miss, and then I will definitely die.”

  “What’s absurd is standing out here in this meadow with a frail, tender-hearted woman, trying to teach her to defend herself. You don’t need a Glock. You need a protection detail.”

  Her heels dug deeper into the ground. “I’m not frail. I’m stubborn.”

  “I’ll give you the stubborn, but as for the frail, I could knock you over with a photograph of a feather.”

  At that, she couldn’t keep her smile under wraps. “Not true. You’d at least need the actual feather.”

  He didn’t return her smile. But she wasn’t quitting. “I have a right to protect myself, Danny. You don’t get to make this decision for me. You did, however, promise to teach me to fire a gun, and I expect you to keep your word. Are you going to Welch on your word?”

  By way of an answer he moved behind her and used his foot to shove her stance wider. His rock hard thighs pressed against the backs of hers. The heat from his body was startling, arousing, and she had to bend her knees to keep them from buckling.

  “See there. You got great instincts. You’re crouching just enough. But you need to bring your stance in a little. Guess I kicked your feet too far apart. I want them planted shoulder width, no wider.” His hands slid down her hips as he nudged her into a more compact position. “How does that feel?”

  Forcing herself to focus on the weight of the gun in her hand, and the position of her body, rather than on Danny’s touch, she said, “Natural. It feels natural. How can I feel natural crouching down with a gun?”

  “Because, in this position, you’re using your instincts. If an attacker came at you, by instinct, you’d face him and crouch down.” He layered his arms over hers. “And then, you’d stick the gun straight out in front of you.”

  Together they raised the gun.

  “Like this?”

  “Good,” he rasped, and then cleared his throat. “Now, squeeze the trigger.”

  “But the gun’s not loaded.”

  “Right. And you know that because we safety checked it first.”

  “About a thousand times.” She was growing tired of the preliminaries. She wanted to fire the thing, and with bullets already. But obediently, she squeezed the trigger of an empty gun.

  “Damnit, Sky.”

  “What?”

  “You gotta keep your eyes open.”

  “Sorry.” She straight-armed the gun and pulled the trigger again.

  “Better. How did that feel?”

  “Okay I guess, but I still don’t understa
nd how I’m going to hit the guy, if I don’t know how to aim.”

  He trotted out in front of her and tacked a man-sized paper target onto a bale of hay, returned, and took the Glock from her hand. “I’m going to put a magazine in like I showed you before…remember, the magazine is where the bullets are.”

  She gave him the eye roll.

  He gave her the Glock. “Keep your finger off the trigger, and keep the gun pointed away from any living creature until you’re ready to fire. Take it easy. But don’t be scared of your weapon. Just use your common sense.”

  He stepped behind her. “Now, raise your gun. Get the grip like I showed you before. Good.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Now. When I tap your shoulder, point at the center of the target and fire. Focus on the center of the target. Just one shot this time.”

  She put on her earmuffs, pulled in a breath and squeezed the trigger. Her arms jerked up and light blazed out of the muzzle. The burnt powder smell was strong enough to taste, and her arm stung from the gun kick. She lowered her weapon and removed her earmuffs.

  Danny brought her the target for inspection. Her bullet had hit the paper, but it went considerably high, above the outline of the head.

  “That’s not good.”

  “It’s not bad either. You hit your man.”

  “In the hat. Is he going to be wearing a hat?”

  Finally, he pulled a grin. “Try again. You’re taking your eye off the target and letting your arms jerk up.”

  “I’m not letting my arms jerk up.” She got her feet shoulder width, crouched a little and stuck the gun out in front. This time, she focused all her energy on the target.

  Point.

  Shoot.

  Incredibly, she hit the target in the chest. “Can we move back a few feet? I’m ready to try this for real.” She started backing up.

  Danny pointed at the same old spot. “Get your ass back here.”

  “But anybody can hit the target when it’s only ten feet away.”

  “With practice, anybody can. You missed the first time, remember?”

  Reluctantly, she moved back into position.

  “You’re not going to fire at a guy from fifty feet back anyway. You’re going to be firing up close and personal. You won’t be at a shooting range. You’re not getting going to get into a Weaver’s stance. You’re not going to sight your target. You, Rocky, have got a bonafide motherfucker coming at you; he’s in your face. Focus on him. Bring up your arms. Now, hold tight to your life. And this time, I want you to empty your gun.”

  Danny placed her earmuffs on her. She brought her arms out in front and let the bullets fly. And when her Glock was empty and her arms were jelly, she looked at the target. The bullets were all over the map.

  Danny planted his hands on his hips. “Still think you’re ready to back up?”

  She smiled at her teacher. “Maybe I’ll just stay put a while. But I am ready for another magazine.”

  He shook his head. “I’ll bring you out here again tomorrow…and the day after that, and the day after that. But right now, let’s go up to the cabin. I’m real ripe, and I need a shower and a shave.”

  She didn’t put up a fight. Neither one said it, but they both knew the real reason for cutting her lesson short: They still had a DVD to watch.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Christian’s cabin reminded Sky of Danny’s home. The décor was more rustic, the furnishings more sparse, but despite the fact that this was a rarely used vacation home, the mementos and family photographs scattered throughout the living room lent it a welcoming air. While Sky had showered and changed, Danny had built a fire. Visible waves of heat and the spice of burnt cedar wafted off a potbellied stove in the corner. As she padded over to the DVD player, the wood floor heated the soles of her bare feet. Her jeans and thin cotton T-shirt were toasty and comforting, as if they’d been pulled from a blanket warmer in the OR.

  And yet, snuggled into this warm home and comfortable clothing, she felt ill at ease. In her hand, she carried the DVD that Edmond had taken such pains to hide from her. With superaunt Faith chaperoning, Danny’s home was currently filled with teenage girls watching vampire movies. So it was good Danny had brought her here, to his brother’s place in Munds Park for target practice. Here they could uncloak Edmond’s secrets in private. She pulled the DVD out of its cover. Steadying her hands, she blinked her eyes until the words came into focus. The label, which appeared to have been printed off a cheap ink-jet printer, read simply: Edmond.

  She couldn’t imagine what might be on the disc. Unlike Danny, she found it hard to believe that its contents held clues to Edmond’s murder. If Edmond had suspected his life was in danger, he would’ve told her, and if the DVD contained vital information about the clinic, he would’ve left it with her, or with his attorney. Instead, he’d squirreled it away like stolen goods in a bus-station locker. It simply made no sense.

  After studying the unfamiliar remote, she pressed power on the player and inserted the DVD. Her heart tripped at the whirring of the disc engaging, and her vision darkened. Reaching one hand out to the wall for support, she hit the stop button on the remote. For one crazy moment, she told herself that if Edmond didn’t want her to view the DVD, she should simply respect his privacy. That lunacy lasted less than a heartbeat. Her world had literally been blown apart. Edmond was dead. Her brother might be next. She had every right—every duty—to turn over this stone.

  Then something occurred to her. Maybe Edmond had taped himself in a video will. The thought of hearing his voice again, seeing his face animated with life, triggered a wellspring of emotion in her, and moisture dimmed her vision. Her finger skated over the play button. She and Danny had agreed to watch the disc together, but she regretted that decision now. There might be something deeply personal on it, and that was why Edmond had hidden it. She felt achingly protective of Edmond.

  Steeling her jaw, she sat down on the couch. The sound of footsteps overhead meant Danny had finished his shower and was dressing. If she wanted to screen this before Danny came downstairs, she couldn’t hesitate any longer.

  She hit the play button.

  The image on the screen jounced back and forth a moment, and then the picture came into focus. Edmond was sitting at the foot of a bed in a room she didn’t recognize. The walls were washed in pastel rose. Bridal-white satin drapes fluttered against an open window. A crystal vase filled with fresh-cut flowers stood on a nightstand. The ambience was soft, seductive, and distinctly feminine. As she watched Edmond remove his shoes and socks and arrange them carefully beside the bed—heels together, toes pointed straight ahead, a veil of confusion descended between her and the television screen. The familiar ritual set Sky’s heart pounding in her chest.

  Looking directly at the camera and raising his manicured eyebrows, Edmond said, “You’re not really going to film this are you?”

  “Why not? I can’t think of a better engagement present.”

  Engagement present. A wave of nausea hit Sky hard. As the sound drifted toward her in slow motion, her brain decoded the unmistakable voice of Halston Reece. This wasn’t what it seemed.

  It couldn’t be.

  But it was.

  A moment later, Halston appeared on screen. Clad in nothing but a lace thong, she bounced onto the bed on her knees, straddled Edmond and peeled off his trousers and briefs.

  Sky’s hand fluttered to her chest. Every beat of her heart brought with it a throbbing ache. As long as her heart continued to beat she couldn’t stop the pain.

  Gripping the remote, she began blindly pressing buttons, waving her arm up and down at the television, but the disc kept playing, and she kept watching—hoping against hope that Edmond would push Halston away and put an end to this nightmare.

  Edmond sat up. He grabbed Halston’s toned arms and rolled her off of him. Sky’s breath caught, and for an instant, sweet relief swam over her. Then Edmond’s hand parted Halston’s thighs. He dragged her thong down, and with that sc
rap of lace still dangling from one trim ankle, he buried his face between her legs.

  First Sky’s cheeks startled to tingle, then the numbness spread down her neck onto her chest and arms, finally settling in her fingertips. She squeezed her eyes shut to black out the sickening image of Edmond and Halston naked on the screen. But closing her eyes didn’t block out the moaning.

  Then, from behind her, a low growl cut through her agony:

  “That Goddamnmotherfuckingsonofabitch.”

  A steel hand wrenched the remote from her grip. The moaning stopped. And then strong arms closed around her, gathered her close against an iron chest.

  Danny.

  Danny huddled against the arm of the couch watching Sky sleep. Like a talisman keeping Edmond’s ghost at bay, he meant to guard even her dreams. As soon as he’d recognized the man in the sex-tape as Edmond, his only thought had been to get Sky out of that room and away from the pain. He’d scooped her into his arms, carried her up to the loft, and ordered her to rest. His left arm protested his gallantry, but he’d carry her up those stairs one hundred times over if that’s what it took to wipe the hurt from her eyes.

  As he rubbed his arm to ease the soreness, serial pinpricks fired across his nerve endings. He tried to close his left fist and couldn’t. Flexing his trigger finger, he felt its tendon jerk stiffly through its sheath. Not good. A guy liked his trigger finger to be fully operational.

  As petite as Sky was, lifting her had put too much strain on the already inflamed nerves of his brachial plexus. He’d been warned by his Ortho not to put those critical nerves to the test: Permanent injury might result.

  Danny wasn’t worried about that. He didn’t intend on staying down for the count…but he knew, unfortunately, he’d never get away with returning to work on Monday now. His disability would be apparent, and he didn’t want the captain calling his mommy to come pick him up.

  He was going to have to admit to his Ortho that he’d omitted one little detail about his condition: His left hand was his gun hand. On the bright side, more leave meant more time to chase down Sky’s devil.