“My pistol is on the top of his car.”
The officer studied the license and checked the picture. Marcus was edging toward the end of his patience.
“Hey,” an EMT called out. “This man wants to see his friend.”
Marcus turned to go check on Wayne.
“Don’t make any sudden moves,” the cop said.
“I’m just checking on my friend.” He turned his back and walked to the stretcher, where they’d strapped down Wayne.
His face was ghastly pale, his red hair disheveled and his mouth slack. Marcus had seen that expression in Afghanistan. He clasped Wayne’s hand as one of the paramedics taped down the needle and started an IV drip. The guy glanced up and lifted one shoulder. Was that his silent way of saying the situation wasn’t good?
“I’ll be fine,” Wayne managed to whisper.
“Load up.” The paramedic pushed the stretcher toward the ambulance. He paused by the open doors and lifted his gaze. “We’re taking him to Dallas General.” The grim expression spoke volumes. Marcus helped lift the gurney.
Wayne’s eyelids fluttered closed. The ambulance door slammed shut, but not before Marcus heard words that froze him in place.
“He’s coding.” The paramedic’s voice faded as the ambulance sped off.
Marcus called Tomas and broke the news.
Again, Marcus had left Chris and something had gone wrong. He was supposed to be protecting Chris. It should have been him the paramedics were fighting to keep alive.
The cop returned Marcus’s driver’s license and gun permit. “You see the shooter?”
“No. I heard the shot and then came outside.”
“Too bad.”
“Detective Kerns said a dark car pulled up, and somebody inside shot him. Bastard never said a word, just sped off. Son of a bitch was gone before I got over here.”
“Was that his family you called?”
“His partner.” Marcus sensed Chris’s presence. He knew before looking over his shoulder that she and Diablo had come outside. She stood at the edge of the walk, holding a towel in one hand and the leash in the other.
He nodded, holding out his hand to her. Chris and Diablo rushed to his side. The overhead lights cast a shadow across her face. Tension reflected in her eyes. She used the wet end of the towel to wash his hands, the other to dry them. The weight on his shoulders lifted a little. A fierce need to protect her burned through his soul.
“Thanks,” he said, unable to find the words to express how her generosity touched him.
She didn’t speak. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned against his chest. Something tight and uncomfortable unraveled inside him. Giving or receiving comfort had been absent in his life for a long time. Chris had regenerated that need in him.
“How’s Wayne?” She stepped back and cleared her throat. Her gaze traveled across the crime scene. Tears brimmed in her eyes, but she held back, proving her inner strength to him once again.
“I don’t know.” He dropped down and spoke to Diablo, calming him with words. The bloody towel was still in her hand.
“And you are?” the young cop asked Chris.
“Chris Holland.” Her shoulders straightened at the cop’s tone of voice. “And you are?”
Damn, Marcus liked her spirit. This was a woman who could hold her own.
“Billy Joe Parson, ma’am. Did you witness what happened?”
“No. I was inside with Marcus.”
“If you’re finished with my Glock, I’d like it back.” Even though Wayne had vouched for him, one of the cops held up Marcus’s pistol and sniffed.
“It hasn’t been fired,” the cop said. “I’ll run the serial number. If it comes back registered to you, I’ll give it back.”
Hell, the shooter could be halfway to Fort Worth by now. Marcus wanted to ask if they had someone canvassing the area. But he was smart enough to know it wouldn’t get him anywhere to piss these guys off.
“We’ve told you everything we know. We need to get to the hospital.”
“The gun’s his.” The cop handed the Glock to Marcus. “You can go.”
“Thanks. If you need anything else, call that number on my card.” He caught Chris by the elbow. “Let’s get your suitcase. We’ll have to take Diablo by my house. I can’t take him inside, and I don’t ever leave him in the car.”
“I’m ready.” She fell in step with him. Her soft, small hand gripped his arm. “You couldn’t have prevented this.”
“Yeah?” Damn, she’d read his mind. “And if I hadn’t brought Tomas and Wayne in on the case, Wayne wouldn’t be on his way to surgery.”
Chris came to a fast stop. Her gaze searched his face. “You can’t believe you’re responsible for Wayne being shot,” she exclaimed, her voice jumping an octave higher. “There’s more than enough blame to share. If I hadn’t involved Lost and Found, Wayne wouldn’t have been in my home. If I’d done more to help Chelsea—”
Marcus couldn’t let Chris continue. “You’re carrying a lot of weight on your shoulders. I’m betting you loved your sister and that more than once you tried to help her kick her addiction. Am I right?” He guided her to the car and held the door for her.
“I tried.” Chris buckled her seat belt while Marcus loaded Diablo.
“Go on,” he said, as he slid behind the steering wheel.
“I tried the tough-love approach that her counselor suggested. It might have worked on some people, but it drove us further apart. That distance between us might have put her in the killer’s path and brought us to today. Wayne has to make it. He has to.”
“I hope so, too.” Marcus feared the worst, but saw no reason to dash her hopes just yet. “At some point, you have to accept you can’t change the past. The only thing you really control is what you do next.” They drove in silence as his own words haunted him. How easy it was to give advice. Yet, he clung to his past, hoping that someday the guilt would fade.
The EMT’s words kept circling through his mind. He’s coding.
Marcus pressed the gas pedal harder.
Chapter 7
Marcus had been quiet since driving away from the crime scene. No doubt, his mind was on Wayne. Chris said a quick prayer that he’d pull through.
Diablo’s front feet came over the back of the seat. One paw came to rest on her shoulder. Chris wondered if she should try to get Marcus to talk. Anything to keep him from blaming himself.
“Is it okay to let Diablo come up here?”
“Sure.” Marcus, still shirtless, patted the area between them, and the dog crawled over. Marcus’s muscles flexed as he stroked the dog’s fur. His body was trim and perfectly defined.
“I think he’s a ladies’ man.” She scratched behind Diablo’s ear, wondering if she was doing the right thing to pull Marcus out of his shell. “He seemed to like Kay, too.”
“Like you, she spoils him.”
“How long have you had him?”
“A few months. I brought him home with me from Colombia. Took him from a young man who’d taught him to kill on command.”
Chris burrowed her hand deeper into the dog’s silky fur. He rested his head on her thigh. “No way.”
“It’s true. He understands fluent Spanish, which meant I had to start all over with him. He’s smarter than most people I know. And better company.”
Chris recoiled at that last statement. “Ouch. Sorry if I ask too many questions.”
“What?” Marcus glanced at her, shaking his head. “You’re being a little paranoid. I wasn’t referring to you.”
“First, I lose my family one right after the other, and now a detective who had been protecting me has been shot. I’m a lot paranoid.”
Marcus took an exit off the freeway and wound through a well-kept neighborhood. He turned down the driveway of a ranch-style house and killed the engine. “Let me wash up, grab a shirt, and get Diablo situated.”
He got out, grabbed her suitcase that he’d loaded for her, a
nd started inside. Again, the rippling muscles in his back drew her attention. Guilt rolled into a knot in her stomach. No more inappropriate thoughts while Wayne was in the hospital.
“Are we staying here?”
“No,” he answered quickly.
“You have my suitcase.”
“We have to come back so I can throw some clothes together and pick up Diablo. I didn’t want to leave your things in the car. Want me to put it in the trunk?”
“No. Leaving it here is fine.”
Marcus hesitated on the front porch. Did he not want her to go inside? He unlocked the door, opened it, and stepped back for her to enter first.
“I’ll feed Diablo and be right back.”
Alone in his living room, Chris looked around. A beige carpet paled under a royal blue couch and chair. A white oak coffee table complemented the pastel blue of the walls. Pictures on the shelves of a bookcase drew her attention. In one, a beautiful brunette stared lovingly at Marcus. Short and petite, she made Chris feel like a giant. Both their expressions spoke volumes. They had been very much in love.
“My wife,” Marcus said, standing directly behind Chris. “Lynne.”
“She’s lovely. So is your home.”
“This room is exactly as she left it.”
The pain radiating off him because his friend’s life was in danger now doubled as he spoke of his wife. “Is Diablo all settled?”
“Yeah.” Marcus wasted no time leading her out of the house and hurrying to the car.
He’d washed up and slipped on a tan button-down shirt. She’d thought him handsome that first day at Lost and Found, wearing his crisp white shirt and dark slacks. Then he’d floored her by showing up in Levi’s, boots, and an Army green T-shirt. But tonight, her mouth had gone dry as she’d washed the blood from his hands while his bare chest, gigantic shoulders, and bulging biceps had been all she could see. He truly was a work of art, as perfect as if chiseled by one of the great masters.
She kept pace with him, understanding his sense of urgency. Silence between them had returned. Marcus broke speed records getting to the hospital. He maneuvered the parking lot and snagged a spot close to the emergency room entrance.
They hurried inside. Marcus’s imposing presence drew the attention of the nurse behind the counter.
“A police detective was brought in earlier. Wayne Kerns?”
“He’s in surgery. If you’ll wait here for just a moment.” She walked to the in-house phone and spoke softly with someone. She turned back to them. “His wife and partner are in the waiting room. You’re expected.”
“Thanks. I know the way.” Marcus looked down at Chris. His dark eyes were hard to read. “His wife? This just keeps getting worse.”
“You didn’t know Wayne was married?” Chris put her hand on his back, hoping to make both of them feel better. Marcus seemed to have mastered the art of not showing his feelings, but tonight the rigid frown between his eyes said differently.
“No.” The lines drew tighter. “The subject never came up.”
“Marcus, there was probably no reason for you to ask.”
“You’re right. We never got that personal.” He took her hand in his, turned it over, and stroked her knuckles with his thumb. “Let’s go see if there’s some way we can help.”
His innocent act of holding her hand sent a wave of tenderness straight to her heart. His wife’s death had caused him to withdraw, but somewhere under that cold persona Marcus used as a shield, a gentle giant hid from the world.
They caught the elevator, and he punched in a floor number. He really did know his way around this hospital. Was it because his wife had been a patient here? The wife he couldn’t let go?
The doors swished open, and he led her to the right. A soft sob came from the room at the end of the hall. Chris’s heart fell. Please, she prayed, don’t let it be Wayne’s wife who’s crying. Don’t let him have died.
****
Two uniformed officers stood outside the waiting room. A couple more were standing in the hall. One nodded as Marcus and Chris approached. “You Marcus Ricci?”
“Yes.”
“You’re cleared.”
“Thanks.” Marcus had never been in this situation, but he wasn’t surprised that the police force would close ranks around one of their own. Like the military, they were a close-knit group, brothers for life.
He stopped in the doorway. His gut boiled and clenched. Tomas held a woman in his arms while she sobbed into his shoulder. The slight movement of his head told the story. Wayne was dead.
Marcus felt Chris’s weight lean into him. “Please, no,” she whispered. “This can’t be happening.”
He wrapped his arm around her and backed her away from the door. He tucked his thumb under her chin, lifted her head, and stroked her cheek with his thumb. The pain in her blue eyes ripped right through him. “I promise you, I’ll find the bastard who did this.”
“Don’t you see? You can’t be around me. Nate, Kay, none of you. You will be killed because you’re trying to help me. Go pay your respects.”
“I’m not going in without you. Nate and Kay will be here soon, as will half the police department. Let’s do this together.” He held out his hands, waiting while Chris struggled with her decision.
She stared at his open palms for a few seconds.
“You’re right. I have to speak with Mrs. Kerns.” Chris straightened her shoulders and wound her fingers through his.
Again, she’d amazed him. Truth was, he’d known only one woman with that kind of strength. No doubt, Lynne and Chris would’ve been friends if they’d ever met.
They sat next to Tomas and waited until Wayne’s wife was ready for introductions. In spite of her red and tear-swollen eyes, Alice Kerns was a pretty woman. She wore tan slacks and a yellow blouse. Her hair was strawberry blond. Her genes mixed with Wayne’s must have produced carrot-topped kids. She and Wayne had probably made a striking couple.
Words of sympathy meant as much to the people giving them as to the one who received them. Would Alice Kerns remember anything that was said tonight or even the next few days? Marcus doubted it. But it was important that he and Chris offer their condolences.
The Army had flown him home after Lynne had been killed. During a long, lonely flight, he’d rehashed their last phone conversation, which had ended on a sour note. Still angry because he’d re-enlisted, she’d accused him of caring more for his men than for her. Those words had been spoken in anger. A few comforting and loving expressions from him would’ve gone a long way. Oh, hell no, he’d clammed up and hadn’t told her that she was the most important thing in the world to him.
The next day it had been too late to tell her anything. A drunk had T-boned her car, hitting the driver’s side door so hard the steering wheel had bent almost in half.
Lynne’s funeral had been a blur. He remembered little of what happened that day. He’d crawled so deep into his misery, he’d refused the comfort that his friends and her family had tried to share.
“Marcus?” Chris’s voice pulled him back to the present. She tugged her hand out of his grip and wiggled her fingers.
“Sorry. Did I squeeze too hard?”
“No worries.” She leaned closer to him. “Wayne’s department captain and the rest of his family will be here soon. Are you ready to go?” Her whispered words brushed across his cheek.
“Yeah. Let’s give Mrs. Kerns some privacy.” Had he fooled her? Or could she tell his mind had wandered?
After they excused themselves, Tomas walked them to the elevator. Marcus had no idea how long Wayne and Tomas had been partners. Having spent some time with them, Marcus had witnessed a camaraderie that said they were also friends.
“I tried to stop the bleeding—”
“Don’t do that,” Tomas insisted. “The doctor said nothing could have saved him. The bullet nicked an artery. Wayne was bleeding inside. He died on the operating table.”
“You’ll let us know if there�
�s anything we can do?” Chris stepped into the elevator and held the door open.
“Will do.” Tomas turned to Marcus. “I’ll have a courier drop off at your office everything I’d pulled on Chelsea Holland. If this is your guy, he’s royally fucked up. He killed one of our own. Every cop in three counties will be looking for him. You understand I won’t be available for off-duty work. All my time will be devoted to catching the bastard who shot Wayne.”
“Of course,” Marcus assured him. “If we learn anything that might help you, I’ll call.”
He watched Tomas walk away as the doors closed and the elevator started its descent. Marcus replayed Chris’s last statement in his mind. She’d said if “we” can help, let “us” know. She’d referred to them as a team or couple. A cold spot buried deep inside his chest warmed.
After he drove away from the hospital, she reached across the seat and squeezed his shoulder. Then she leaned her head back and stared out the window for most of the drive.
Marcus drove down the off-ramp, made a quick turn into a busy shopping center parking area. He took the exit at the far end of the lot and took a tour through a high-end neighborhood. Then he got back on the freeway. Traffic was heavy in this area of Plano, and he intended to ensure no one was tailing them.
Finally, she turned in her seat toward him. “Where are you going?”
“You need some rest. Tomorrow, we’ll go to the office and start piecing your sister’s life together.”
“Marcus—”
“Nothing you say will make me walk away from you. I’m in. Period.”
“I know that. I’ve known that from the beginning. You’re a man of honor, and you’ll protect me at all costs. That wasn’t what I was going to say.”
Crap. He’d jumped to conclusions. “Sorry. I won’t interrupt again. Go ahead.”
“Where are we going?”
“My house.”
“Do you know where we’re spending the night?”
“Of course. I’ll grab a change of clothes, get your bag and my dog, and we’ll go straight to the safe house.”
No Chance in Hell Page 7
