Behind the Shield

by Sheryl Lynn

  It took all his willpower to not knock the old vet aside and rush out the door. “You’re sure he said Indian girl?”

  “My eyes ain’t so good, but my ears work fine. Says she killed his boy and he’s running her out of town.” Luke blinked, looking scared. “I run all the way. Came fast as I can. He’s saying she’s out to your place, Chief, and he’s looking for men to go with him.”

  MADELINE TIED OFF the knot and wove loose thread back through the beads. She clipped the thread and used a lighter to melt off the tiny bit remaining. The phoenix vessel was done. She set it on the window ledge to catch the sunlight. It shimmered, seeming to burn, as if the beaded bird actually rose from flames.

  She practically floated upstairs. Her next project was a sculptural piece, inspired by a lava flow into the sea. She couldn’t wait to get started.

  She heard an engine and her body responded with a wave of desire, leaving her legs wobbly. Carson was supposed to be working, she should be working, oh, but she wanted him. She toyed with a button, wondering what he’d do if she met him at the door naked.

  She looked out the window. A black SUV materialized from the cloud of dust. Her heart skipped. No amount of wishful thinking convinced her the huge vehicle belonged to the Ruff PD.

  Maybe it was Tony. He boasted about owning a flotilla of expensive cars. If he showed up in disregard of Carson’s request to stay away, she would tell Carson. Tony required a good slap every once in a while to keep him in line.

  The SUV reached the house. She didn’t know the make or model, but recognized it as expensive. The man who emerged into the sunlight was gaunt and had thinning, reddish gray hair. She dropped the curtain.

  She remembered locking the front door. The back door was open to let in fresh air. Halfway down the stairs, knocking made her jump. The man pounded the door. She held her breath, willed herself invisible and waited for him to go away.

  “Madeline Shay! Open the door! I know you’re in there! Open the door!”

  A solid thud made her squeak. Another thud and cracking wood. He had kicked in the door.

  There was a telephone in Carson’s bedroom.

  Wood shattered and the door crashed against the wall. Glass shattered. Madeline had hesitated too long. The man was at the base of the stairs and aimed a gun straight at her heart.

  “Halt!” the man roared.

  Behind him, another man yelled, “Hey! What are you doing?”

  Tony! Madeline screamed, “He has a gun!”

  The man spun about and dropped into a shooter’s crouch. He fired. Madeline shrieked, shocking herself into moving. She sprang up the stairs and raced down the hall to Carson’s bedroom. She slammed the door and pushed in the lock. It would never hold. She ran to the phone.

  Her mind refused to provide Carson’s cell number. She couldn’t remember the number to the police station. Holding the phone in both shaking hands, she punched in 911.

  Boots pounded in the hallway. The man yelled her name, demanding she show herself. Doors banged.

  “Nine-one-one,” an operator said. “Please state your emergency.”

  “A man is in the house! He shot Tony. He’s trying to—”

  An explosion of wood and the door crashed against the wall. Madeline dropped the phone and pressed herself into the corner.

  The 911 operator’s voice drifted. “Ma’am? Ma’am, are you there?”

  Madeline stared at the man and saw death. His sunken eyes burned with hatred. He wore a dress shirt, open at the throat, but it was too big for him and the shoulder seams sagged. His belt was cinched tightly because his trousers were too big, too. He looked as if he had recently recovered from a long and difficult illness.

  He looked out of his mind.

  “Come here,” he said.

  She pressed more tightly into the corner.

  “I am not going to hurt you.”

  “Liar,” she breathed. She grew aware of a high-pitched noise growing closer, louder, more familiar. Sirens. Help was on the way.

  “You killed my boy.”

  Realization nearly took her to her knees. Maurice Harrigan. She shook her head again and tried to speak, but her throat and tongue were frozen.

  Pounding footsteps rocked the house. Carson yelled, “Maurice!”

  Sirens wailed and whooped. Cars surrounded the house. Red-and-blue lights flashed through the windows. Men yelled.

  Carson exclaimed, “Oh, God! Get the paramedics! Now!”

  She blinked back tears. “You shot Tony, Mr. Harrigan.”

  “He was interfering.” His words were all the more chilling for their calmness.

  She had suffered physical abuse from her mother and her mother’s boyfriends, and survived. She didn’t fear pain. Wounds healed. She didn’t fear death. The dead didn’t feel anything at all. She feared for Carson. If Maurice killed her, Carson would kill him. How could he survive killing his friend?

  Carson called for Maurice and for Madeline. The floor vibrated beneath her bare feet. A lot of people were in the house and outside. The sirens screamed on and on.

  She caught a movement behind Maurice. She closed her eyes to keep from warning him.

  “Look at me, you bitch,” Maurice ordered.

  “Maurice,” Carson said softly.

  Maurice whirled and fired. Madeline clapped her hands over her ears and tried to scream, but it lodged in her throat.

  “Damn it, Maurice,” Carson called from the hall. “Put down the gun.”

  “This is none of your concern,” Maurice said. “This woman is the reason my boy is dead. That evil bastard killed my Billy because of her! He did everything for his little Indian princess and now you, you son of a bitch, are helping her collect blood money!”

  “She’s got nothing to do with your boy. Put down the weapon. This is foolishness.”

  “She might as well have fired the gun that killed Billy.”

  Madeline shifted her eyes, seeking a weapon, anything to take advantage of Maurice having his back to her. He was so fast. Despite his aged, ill-looking appearance, he reacted like a rattlesnake.

  “You have it all wrong, Maurice. Madeline didn’t have anything to do with the hijacking. Nothing to do with her father. You aren’t this stupid.”

  “What are you going to do? Shoot me? Here we’re best of friends and you’d shoot me on account of this murderous, thieving bitch.”

  A low male voice spoke to Carson and he replied in kind. Madeline envisioned the hallway crowded with cops helpless to stop Maurice.

  “Hold your fire, Maurice,” Carson said, and sidled into the doorway. He held his right hand at his side, his weapon pointed at the floor. “When you promoted me to chief of police, the town council was against it. Remember? They said I was too young. But you knew me, you fought for me. Remember why?”

  “I wasn’t too young to be mayor. Besides, you were my best friend.”

  “You’re not that dumb. Never was. You hired me because I’m a good cop. You know I’m on the straight and narrow. I do my job.”

  “Arrested my nephews.” Maurice’s bony shoulders rose and fell in a heavy sigh. “Can’t believe you did it.”

  “They’re guilty as hell and even if they didn’t mean to hurt Madeline, they nearly killed her. So don’t say you don’t believe it. You knew the truth all along and that’s why you gave them an alibi. You know if I suspected for a minute that Madeline had anything to do with her father she’d be in jail, not my house.”

  “You’re blind. She’s got you whupped.”

  The sirens quit abruptly and the sudden silence took Madeline’s breath away.

  “It’s not too late to end this, buddy. Don’t throw your life away.”

  “She killed my boy. Billy was only fifteen! He had his whole life ahead of him. He was going to college, be an engineer.” A sob wrenched from his guts and his gun hand wavered.

  “He’s not coming back. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is. Nothing will bring him back. Now come on, use your
head. You’re the smartest man in Ruff. You say so yourself every chance you get. Show those smarts now. Put the gun down.”

  “She doesn’t belong here.”

  “Put it down, Maurice.”

  “I won’t hurt her.” Maurice gestured with the gun. “Just move on out of my way. I’ll give her a ride back to the reservation.”

  Carson eased another step.

  Where before everything had happened so fast, now time slowed and Madeline watched Maurice’s shoulders turn. His left arm lifted, elbow bent, balancing the turn. His foot brushed the floor. His right hand rose. His weapon was metallic-blue and the bore looked as big as a coffee can. Carson jumped. Maurice’s back arched under Carson’s weight and both men hit the bed. The mattress folded in on itself and the bed legs bounced on the wooden floor.

  Carson pressed a forearm against the back of Maurice’s neck. He pounded at Maurice’s gun hand with the butt of his .45 until Maurice’s gun fell off the bed. Madeline watched it bounce away and felt overcome with shock and relief.

  Maurice grunted and choked. Carson struggled to his feet while holding Maurice down. Police officers swarmed over Maurice like terriers on a rat. Maurice went limp and he was handcuffed and hauled off the bed. Carson shoved his pistol into the holster and scrambled over the bed to Madeline.

  He caught her as her legs gave out.

  “OH, TONY, what were you doing?” Madeline pushed black hair off his clammy forehead. Strapped to a gurney with an IV in his arm and a blood-soaked bandage on his right shoulder, he managed a smile. It lacked wattage, but it was a smile.

  “Running to the rescue,” he said.

  “Chopper’s on the way,” a paramedic said, and checked Tony’s pulse. “You’ll be all right.”

  Carson stood next to Madeline. He put an arm around her shoulders. “Can you tell me what happened, man?”

  “Oh, big guy, it was beautiful in its stupidity.” He winced. “I’m out for a run when I see that Navigator racing like there’s a fire. Only guy I know with those wheels is the mayor, and I figured it was trouble.” He cut his eyes at his wounded shoulder. “I didn’t know he had a gun. He kicked in the door, I ran after him and boom, he shot me.”

  She petted his head and forgave every obnoxious thing he had ever said. “You saved my life.”

  Tony snorted. “Supercop saved you. Only thing I did was bleed on his floor.”

  The whup-whup-whup of a helicopter reached the mesa. The paramedics ordered Carson and Madeline out of the way so they could finish readying Tony for transport. When the helicopter landed, it churned up a stinging dust storm. Shielding her eyes with an arm, Madeline watched the paramedics hand Tony over to the chopper’s crew. In minutes the unwieldy-looking machine lifted into the air and headed west to Flagstaff. Madeline said a prayer for Tony.

  “He’ll be all right.” Carson squeezed her shoulders. “He’s in great shape and I’m sure the bullet missed his lung. He’ll be up and making trouble in a day or two.”

  Madeline noticed a police officer staring at her, a hard stare full of disapproval and disbelief. She noticed a lot of people stared.

  Oblivious, or pretending to be, Carson said, “Robwell. Get your evidence kit and make use of all that fancy training Ruff paid for. Collect Maurice’s gun and process the bullet he fired inside the house.”

  A very young officer met the orders with a sullen sneer. “What do you need evidence for? You already arrested the mayor.”

  Carson went rigid.

  Didn’t he see it, she wondered. The disrespect? The self-righteousness holding his officers back? The paramedics swept past to reload their equipment. Neither asked if she or Carson needed attention.

  Carson had betrayed his town.

  “Pete, escort Miss Shay into the house.” He practically shoved her at his sergeant.

  Pete hustled Madeline inside. She balked, not wanting to leave Carson alone with the mob, but Pete urged her past the broken front door and down the hall into the kitchen.

  “Don’t you see what’s happening out there?” She jerked her arm from Pete’s hold and skittered away. “His own men think he’s the enemy!”

  “Carson can handle them.”

  Appalled, she stared at his impassive face. Carson’s reputation was ruined. His men no longer respected him. He had sided with the daughter of a killer over the man who signed his paycheck. Nobody in Ruff would let him get away with it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Carson winced at grinding gears when Madeline worked the unfamiliar gearshift of Tony Rule’s Jeep. The Jeep lurched then shuddered to a stop in front of the house. Madeline climbed out. She would not look at him.

  “Don’t do this,” Carson said.

  “I promised. I have to.” She tried to walk past him but he caught her elbow. She closed her eyes. “It’s over. We shouldn’t have started in the first place. It was a mistake. I knew you’d get hurt.”

  He dropped his hold. His belly felt full of lead and his chest ached like a heart attack. “And this doesn’t hurt? I thought I meant something to you. I thought you cared.”

  She opened her mouth, closed it and sighed. “What does it take to get through to you, Carson? Your friend is in jail. Because of me. Nobody in Ruff, except Tony, will even look at you. Because of me. And you heard Pete. Half the town council wants your badge and they’ve got the other half ninety percent convinced. How much are you willing to lose?”

  Everything, he thought, but she wouldn’t believe it.

  “Tony will pay me to nurse him until he’s back on his feet. Then he’ll loan me his Blazer until after the Santa Fe show.”

  “You take his help but you won’t take mine?”

  “Helping me doesn’t hurt Tony. His answering machine isn’t full of death threats.”

  “He’s a user. I know what he wants from you.”

  Hot color reddened her cheeks and her eyes turned into green ice. “At least there isn’t any question. With Tony I never have to guess his motives.” She entered the house.

  “Don’t leave me,” he said, knowing she couldn’t hear and knowing it wouldn’t do any good even if she did.

  OUT OF COURTESY to his family, Carson confined Maurice in the Ruff holding cell rather than transporting him to the sheriff’s department or the state police barracks. His bail hearing was set for tomorrow morning.

  “You doing okay?” he asked.

  Maurice was stretched out on the thin mattress, with his feet crossed at the ankles and his hands hooked behind his neck. He stared blankly at the chipped, cracked ceiling. Every time Carson looked in on Maurice, he looked the same. He hadn’t said a word since he’d been booked. Mary Harrigan had begged Carson to send her husband to a hospital in Phoenix. The longer Maurice stayed silent, the more Carson thought it might be wise.

  “Mary’s coming over with supper and clean clothes.”

  Not even a blink.

  He closed the door, locked it and went down the hallway to the main station. The room quieted when he entered. He felt the surreptitious stares, imagined the unspoken disrespect. Wanda pointedly swiveled her chair so her back was to him.

  He picked up a message slip. Paul Imagia wanted to speak to him. Only a short time ago, Wanda would have scoured the building to make sure he took the call. He closed his office door and called Paul.

  “Good news, bad news.” He was his old frat-boy self.

  “Give me the bad news.”

  “I just heard from Lipton. No DNA match on Shay.”

  Eyes closed, Carson kicked his feet up on the desk. After throwing every means at their disposal at searching the Shay ranch, the FBI hadn’t found so much as a dime. Now with the DNA evidence—or lack thereof— Shay might not have been involved in the hijacking itself, but had only stumbled onto some of the proceeds. All this misery was for nothing.

  “But they did find Bannerman,” Paul said.

  Carson opened his eyes. “And where might that little squirrel be?”

  “Thailand. O
n a month-long photo safari.”

  “I’m confused.”

  “So was the FBI until they tracked your boy to the Monument Mountain RV Park where he rented a cabin a few days ago. He had split, but the FBI took fingerprints, ran them through the computer and came up with George Adam Parker of Las Vegas, Nevada. Parker quit his job four years ago and disappeared. Guess who he worked for? Worldwide Parcel.”

  His feet hit the floor with a thud. “Go on.”

  “Parker handled the manifest. That’s how the hijackers knew which shipment to hit. Parker knew when the money would be picked up and which pilot and plane would transport it.”

  “Was he one of the hijackers?” Carson asked, wondering if the man ultimately responsible for his wife’s murder had stood in this office.

  “There are witnesses who place him on the ground in Las Vegas during the hijacking.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Gone. He ditched his rental car. No recent activity on the credit cards. My suspicion is that the heat got too intense and he took off for cooler climes.”

  “What about the real Bannerman? Is he involved?”

  “The FBI isn’t saying. I bet his big trip is in trade for information and providing ID and credit cards to Parker.”

  “What about Jonas Wit? The name from Shay’s letter? Has Lipton figured out who he is?”

  “No word yet.”

  A commotion in the station caught Carson’s attention. Someone knocked on the office door. “I’ll have to get back to you, Paul. Thanks for the info.”

  “Miss Shay? Is she in a safe place?”

  No. Tony Rule was a dog and jealous anxiety made Carson’s head spin. Was she safe from Ruff townsfolk, then yes. Nobody, not even Pete, knew she was at Tony’s place. He brutally shut down his thoughts, refusing to envision Madeline in Tony’s arms.

  In Tony’s bed.

  He missed her so much he hurt. It felt worse than the flu, worse than getting run over by a herd of horses. He was angry, too, at how she had cut and run when the going got tough. She might say it was to protect him, but the truth was, she was scared. She was too chicken to let him care about her, too afraid to let him get close.