As Good as Dead

by Patricia H. Rushford

  Sending a letter bomb was risky, but it might work to flush Luke out. He’d undoubtedly read about the mishap and would head back to Sunset Cove. If not, someone would go to him—warn him. And Cade would be right there, waiting. This time there would be nothing to impede his progress.

  Cade dropped the letter with no return address in the mail receptacle. He probably should have killed Delaney when he had the chance. His momentary blip of conscience had created a major backlash. One mistake could spell death to a man in his position. And this was a mistake he had every intention of rectifying.

  SEVEN

  Three hours after Nick went into surgery, the doctor showed up, his surgical mask still hanging around his neck. He paused midstep in front of the roomful of worried people and a few assertive members of the press. “Um—family for Nick Caldwell?”

  Everyone stopped what they were doing and watched him. Looking around at the group, he finally addressed his comments to Tim. “I’m Dr. Winston,” he said, shaking Tim’s hand. “Nick’s a lucky guy. He made it through surgery just fine. He’ll be in recovery, then in intensive care overnight. If his vitals remain stable, there’s no reason we can’t move him into the ward tomorrow.”

  “Praise the Lord.” Tim heaved an exaggerated sigh.

  Angel allowed herself the luxury of breathing. “Can we see him?”

  “Only relatives while he’s in ICU. Are you a relative?”

  “We’re family.” Anna got up and stood between Angel and Tim. “Or as close as you can get without being blood relatives. Nick’s mother died two years ago.”

  The doctor nodded. “He can have one visitor at a time, but only as the nurses deem appropriate. The volunteers will let you know when he’s transferred out of recovery.”

  Before he left, Dr. Winston told the reporters that they’d have to talk to the police chief for any further details. The reporters swarmed en masse toward Joe, who didn’t seem to mind the intrusion. Angel knew better. Joe didn’t have much use for the press. While the public deserved to know certain things, media people often pressed too hard, caring more for the story and the ratings than the people involved.

  The shooting of a police officer would be headline news throughout most of the state. She’d been big news for a while; now she doubted if the public even remembered who she was. And that was something she could be grateful for.

  Angel stepped away from the crowded waiting room and, pulling her cell phone from her canvas bag, punched in Callen’s number. After she informed him of their friend’s status, Callen briefed her on the investigation. “We have no witnesses; no one saw or heard anything as far as we’ve been able to determine. We haven’t found any casings, and I’m not sure we will. This is looking like a professional hit.”

  “A hit?” Angel’s knees went rubbery. If she could trust Nick’s drug-induced murmurings, Luke was next on the list. “Callen, earlier you asked me what Nick said to me. I didn’t tell you because it didn’t make sense, and I needed some time to digest it.”

  “Tell me. It may help us find out who’s responsible for the shooting.”

  Angel shook her head though he couldn’t see her. “I think this might have something to do with Luke.”

  “Luke? Your brother?”

  She could sense Callen’s irritation. “I know I should’ve told you right away, but... it was so strange, and I didn’t know if I’d heard him right.”

  “What did Nick say exactly?”

  “That Luke was in trouble and that I should warn him. The thing is, I have no idea where Luke is or how to warn him about anything.”

  “Nick must know something.”

  “I’m thinking the same thing. Luke must have been in contact with Nick.” Angel told him about the two men she’d seen at the funeral.

  Callen admitted to spotting them as well. “I thought about checking them out at the time, but I was more concerned about you and your family. Frank’s death wasn’t of a suspicious nature, so we weren’t looking for trouble.”

  “I can’t believe Nick talked to Luke and didn’t tell us,” Angel said, suddenly feeling angry again. “He never told any of us—at least not me. I’ll check with Tim; maybe he knows something.”

  Callen sighed. “We may have to wait until Nick is able to talk to us.”

  “Could you get a warrant to search his apartment?”

  “I doubt it at this point.” He hesitated. “Do you have a key?”

  “No, but maybe Rosie does. If not, his keys would’ve been with him when he went to the hospital, or in his car. Do you think I should go in and...?”

  “Water the plants, yes,” Callen finished the sentence. “I think that would be a neighborly thing to do. He has a dog, doesn’t he? We’ll need to take care of it. I’d go with you, but I’m not sure I can get away.”

  “What are friends for?”

  As it turned out, Nick’s keys were tucked away in his belongings, and the hospital staff wouldn’t release his private effects. Angel went over to his apartment, where she talked to the landlady, Edna Grant, a woman in her sixties. Edna owned the house and had been renting out the basement apartment to Nick for the past two years. Nick’s entrance was on the side, behind the garage. Mrs. Grant, a longtime member of the community, seemed to love playing mother to Nick and his friends, always making cookies and other goodies for Nick to share at the PD.

  “Come in, Angel. How’s your mother? I’ve been meaning to call. We’ve certainly missed her at the quilting parties.”

  “Mrs. Grant,” Angel said, perhaps more abruptly than she should have, “I need to get into Nick’s apartment.”

  Mrs. Grant frowned. “Oh, dear. Something’s wrong, isn’t it? What happened?”

  When Angel explained about the shooting, the woman looked like she was about to have a heart attack. After Mrs. Grant calmed down, she was only too happy to let Angel inside. “Stay as long as you need to, dear. Oh, my, that poor boy. You let me know if there’s anything I can do. I’ll be happy to take care of that sweet dog of his too. Maybe I’ll make some of Nick’s favorite cookies. And some soup.” She handed Angel the key.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Grant.” Angel let herself in and closed the door.

  Nick’s Irish setter greeted her at the door, crying as if she sensed something was wrong. Angel hunkered down to pet her. “It’s okay, girl. Nick will be home before you know it. Mrs. Grant will take care of you.” She let the dog lick her face and hands.

  Angel called Callen to let him know she’d gotten inside, and then she looked around. She hadn’t been over to Nick’s place for a long time, but nothing had changed. The apartment was unusually tidy for a bachelor pad. She had a feeling Edna had something to do with that.

  Angel rinsed out Copper’s bowl and refilled it with food she found in the pantry, then filled another bowl with fresh water. Once Copper was taken care of, Angel examined Nick’s plants, all of which looked extremely healthy and real but weren’t real at all. The only kind to have.

  She fingered a fake plant and sighed. Being here brought too many emotions to the surface, but this was no time to ruminate over Nick. He was going to be all right—he had to be. And she would do whatever she could to figure out what had happened and how Luke was involved.

  By the time Callen arrived, she had looked through most of Nick’s drawers and was examining the index pad by the phone.

  “Find anything?” He paused to look around.

  “Not yet.”

  Callen rubbed the stubble on his chin. “I questioned Mrs. Grant before I came in. She hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. No strangers hanging around.”

  Angel frowned. She should have thought to do that. Several minutes later, they left, locking the door behind them. Angel returned the key, promising to keep Mrs. Grant appraised of Nick’s condition and letting her know when he could have visitors.

  Nothing in Nick’s apartment had given them any clue as to Luke’s whereabouts. Nor did anything reveal a clue as to who may have sho
t Nick or why.

  Angel took turns with her mother, Rosie, and Tim, sitting with Nick in four-hour shifts through the weekend. Angel had drawn the Monday morning shift and was there when Nick woke up. The nurse came in to take his vitals and inject pain medication via the IV.

  “Hey,” he said when the nurse left and he saw Angel sitting there.

  She vacated the uncomfortable recliner and leaned over the rail. “Hey, yourself. How are you feeling?”

  He licked his parched lips. “If I’d known it was this painful to live, I might’ve seriously considered just dying out there.”

  Angel frowned. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

  “Not to worry. Being roadkill wasn’t on my agenda.” He winced as he tried to scoot himself up in the bed. The tube in his chest kept his collapsed lung inflated, but Angel knew it must be horribly uncomfortable.

  “Nick,” Angel said, resting her arms on the bed rail, “are you up to talking about what happened?”

  “Not particularly, but I doubt that’ll stop you from asking.”

  She smiled. “You know me too well.” She hesitated for a moment. Should she wait for Callen? Probably, but she couldn’t. Nick was lucid and awake and even joking. She had to know. “You said something to me just before you went into surgery. Do you remember?”

  He looked confused. “What?”

  “You told me Luke was in trouble and that I should warn him.”

  “I said that?”

  “Yeah, but you didn’t tell me where to find him.” She chewed on her lower lip. “Do you know?”

  He moved his head from side to side and closed his eyes. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “You know, don’t you? You’ve known all along. I should’ve guessed that Luke wouldn’t drop out of sight without confiding in someone. And who better than you?”

  “It’s not like that.”

  Angel could see that it hurt him to talk, and she felt guilty about that. She knew she should tell him to relax and not think about anything except getting well, but she couldn’t. “What is it like, then?”

  “He called me... six years ago,” Nick admitted. “The day he disappeared.”

  “And you never told us?”

  “He said not to. He was in trouble... needed money. I sent him three thousand. He never called after that.”

  “He never paid you back? Never contacted you again?”

  “He wired the money a year later from Cheyenne, but no note—nothing. That was it until...”

  “The funeral.” Angel straightened and sighed. “He was there, wasn’t he?”

  “Yeah,” Nick whispered.

  “The man with the beard and glasses. I saw him but didn’t think it was Luke. How did you know?”

  “Not sure... something about him. I wasn’t sure until I talked to him.”

  “Why didn’t he talk to us?”

  “Too risky. Said he’d been warned never to come back or you’d get hurt.”

  “Me? But you’re the one who was nearly killed.”

  Suddenly Nick’s comments about Luke being in trouble hit her full force. Nick had talked to him and had been shot and left for dead. Would she and her family have met the same fate if Luke had acknowledged them? “Did Luke talk to anyone else? Tim, Peter, or Paul?”

  “I don’t think so. Said he was leaving town right away.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “I don’t know; he wouldn’t tell me. Just said not to tell anyone he’d been there.” Nick seemed to run out of steam, his face mirroring the pain he was in.

  “I’m sorry, Nick. I didn’t mean to push you. I just needed to know.”

  Nick reached for Angel, touching her hand, then letting his own hand drop to the bed. “I shouldn’t have said anything, but I didn’t know if I’d make it and...”

  “You’re going to get better, Nick. And when you do, we’ll go find Luke.”

  “Might be too late.” Nick grimaced. “I heard the guy who shot me say, ‘One down, one to go, Delaney’s next.’”

  “Are you sure he meant Luke and not me?”

  Callen came in before Nick could answer. Nick flashed her a warning look, which she took to mean “Keep your mouth shut.” She now understood why Nick had confided in her and not Callen prior to surgery. Luke was still a fugitive, and Nick could get into serious trouble if anyone learned that he’d let Luke get away. Unfortunately, she’d already told Callen what Nick had said. She felt trapped between loyalty to a friend and the need to cooperate fully with the investigation. But she knew she’d have to tell Callen.

  “How’s it going?” Callen asked.

  “Tired. Hurting.” Nick’s eyes drifted shut.

  “Are you up to answering a few questions?” Callen asked.

  “No, but I will. The sooner you get this guy, the better.”

  “Did you get a look at him?”

  “Dark hair, thin. I’d seen him before.” Nick was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. “At the funeral.”

  “The gardener.” Angel moved in next to Callen, wanting to hear Nick’s response, but their friend gave an almost imperceptible nod then succumbed to the medication and drifted off.

  Callen turned to Angel. “What did you just say?”

  “The gardener who was at the funeral had dark hair. I thought there was something strange about him at the time.”

  “Right. I’ll check with whoever takes care of the cemetery grounds.”

  “Good.”

  “I have to go.” He kissed her forehead and settled an arm across her shoulder.

  She walked with him into the hallway. “How’s the investigation coming—did you find anything at the scene?”

  “Not really. Nick got a look at him. That’s the best we have.”

  “Call me later?”

  “I will.” A frown creased Callen’s brow. “When I came in, you and Nick were talking. Did he say anything of importance?”

  “I asked him what he meant about Luke being in danger.”

  “And?”

  She told him what Nick had said. “I’m sure he’s worried about what will happen to him for not turning Luke in.”

  “That’s the least of my worries right now. Nick might get a slap on the wrist, but if he withholds evidence, he could face charges.”

  “I’ll tell him.”

  The next time Nick woke up, Angel relayed what Callen had said.

  Nick didn’t seem angry with her; in fact, she’d have sworn he looked relieved. “You were right to tell him.”

  Angel nodded. “I don’t want the police going after Luke either, but if you’re right and the guy who shot you is after him, it may be the best way to protect him.”

  Nick dozed off and on until Rosie came in at 10:30. Angel talked to her briefly, then left. The overcast skies and her droopy spirits led her to Joanie’s, her favorite coffee shop. After ordering a latte and a chocolate-chip-hazelnut scone, Angel settled into one of the cushioned chairs. She liked coming here, liked the atmosphere, the gifts, and the food. It was a great place for pulling her thoughts together and hashing out problems.

  Joanie had just brought her order when Rachael walked in.

  “Hey, look who’s here.” Angel waved at her and gestured toward the adjacent chair.

  “What can I get for you, Rachael?” Joanie asked in her ever-present English accent that Angel never tired of hearing.

  Rachael plopped into the chair. “Iced latte, raspberry syrup.”

  “Sugar free?”

  “Heavens no. Not today. I need all the energy I can get.” She eyed Angel’s scone. “Bring me one of those too.”

  “Rough day?” Angel set aside the pad on which she’d been writing notes to herself about Nick.

  “The worst.” Rachael was wearing a form-fitting blue suit and looked every bit the competent lawyer she was. “I need a secretary.”

  Angel held up her hand. “Can’t help you there.”

  Rachael smiled and raked a hand through her dar
k, shoulder-length hair. “Not to worry, secretarial work isn’t in your job description.” She tugged at her short skirt. “Besides, I don’t want to talk about my work or yours. I want to hear about Nick. Tim told me he was doing better, but I want details, girl. What’s the deal with the shooter? Any idea who did it or why Nick was targeted?”

  Angel shook her head.

  Rachael thrummed her pink-tipped nails on the arm of the chair. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Angel leaned forward. Rachael had been dating Angel’s brother Paul for a while now and was practically family. Still, Angel wasn’t sure she should talk about Luke’s possible connection with Nick. On the other hand, Luke had been an attorney, an assistant DA in Miami. Rachael might have some advice or know someone who knew someone. Besides, she found herself wanting to talk to someone, if for no other reason than to go over it all again and maybe gain a fresh perspective.

  “Did Paul ever tell you about Luke?”

  “Sure. Your oldest brother, right? The one who disappeared?”

  Angel nodded.

  Rachael chewed on her lower lip, looking as though she wanted to say more.

  “What?” Angel prodded.

  “He not only told me, he had me do some checking.”

  “Checking? As in...?”

  “Paul said you guys never got a clear picture of what happened back in Florida. He said that no one would tell him anything. All he had were vague newspaper and television accounts.”

  “And were you able to find out anything?”

  “Amazingly, yes. Paul gave me some names. I recognized one of them, Andrew Larson, as a guy I’d gone to law school with at Harvard.”

  “You went to school at Harvard? When?”

  “Graduated 2000.”

  “Did you ever meet Luke?”