Fugue Macabre: Ghost Dance (Fugue Macabre Trilogy Book 1)

by C. J. Parker

  He walked over, handed her one and flopped onto the couch. He reached for the remote and turned on the TV. Sinopa jumped up beside him and curled up on his lap. Dub scratched the cat’s head.

  The sound of ESPN filtered through the door opening into the night. Derek chanced another look into the room then pulled back. He dug his fingers into Tabatha’s arm and forced her to follow him to the corner of the house. Tabatha darted an angry gaze in his direction but followed. From the look on Derek’s face he’d seen something of importance.

  “What’s wrong, Detective? You look like you’ve been sucker punched,” Hal said.

  “It’s John Karney.” Derek dug the heels of his fists into his eye sockets. “Karney is Dub.”

  Tabatha ran the name over and over inside her brain, but came up empty. “Who is Karney?”

  Travis walked around the front corner of the house, continuing along the side yard until coming to a stop at Hal’s side. “What’s up?”

  Even in the darkness Tabatha noticed the change in Derek’s demeanor. He stared at Travis and raked his fingers through his hair. “Dammit. Doesn’t anyone obey orders any more? I told you to stay in the car.”

  “Mason’s on his way. Said to wait for him.” Travis hiked his holster higher on his hips, a movement that Tabatha thought had become an endearing little tweak of Travis’ personality. “Who’s Karney?”

  Derek paced in front of them. “Homicide detective.”

  Tabatha’s breath hitched with concern. Were Karney and Derek friends?

  Hal shook his head. “There’s your link to the department.”

  “The Lieutenant isn’t going to be happy.” Derek kicked a loose stone across the yard. “They’re tight.”

  Tabatha slunk away while the others had Derek’s attention, and along the wall until she reached the patio doors again. She pulled her blouse above her waist and drew her snub-nosed .38. Tabatha couldn’t remember ever being this scared. Her heart beat against her ribs like a sledgehammer. But her friends were in there. Shane was probably frightened. She had to get them out.

  They’d do it for her if it were the other way around.

  Tabatha kicked the latch sending the door sliding open with a crash of glass and metal.

  Dub and Dana jumped to their feet reaching for weapons, but with a shout of warning from Tabatha, they froze.

  Derek rushed in, his own gun aimed. “We’re gonna have a long talk about this later, Tabatha.”

  She’d handle that problem later.

  Dana’s eyes widened. “You’re that witch. You’re worth a lot of money dead. A lot of money.” Her eyes darted to the gun lying on the coffee table.

  “Don’t even think about it, Dana.” Derek edged closer and took the gun, sliding it inside his waistband. “Toss your guns out the door.” When Dana slid her hand into her pants’ pockets, Derek waggled his gun as if to remind her not to try anything. “Don’t get stupid on me.”

  She slid the small gun from her pocket and tossed it out the door. Karney, slipped his revolver out of his shoulder holster and followed Dana’s example.

  “Don’t let them move.” Derek glanced at Tabatha, she hoped most of the anger shining in his eyes was for the two in his aim. “I’m going to check the rest of this floor. Hal?”

  “Yeah, I’m here.” Hal and Travis stepped trough the door, their feet crunching the broken glass against the hardwood floor.

  “You and Travis check upstairs.”

  “Yes, sir.” Travis jerked his head toward the stairs. “Come on, Dillon. Time to play the good guy.”

  “Witch, Phelps is gonna have your ass when he sees that floor.” Dana’s smile held a too much glee to Tabatha’s way of thinking.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Dana, but I’m very much alive and plan to stay that way.” Tabatha took her eyes off the woman long enough to take another glance around the room. “Not that impressive. I’d think Phelps would have a mansion.”

  Derek walked back into the room. “Everything okay?

  Tabatha smiled. “Depends on who you’re asking.”

  “Bainbridge,” Dub said, then swallowed so hard it had to hurt. “I’m working undercover. You’ve blown my cover, dammit.”

  Tabatha was tempted to rub her forefinger over her thumb and play My Heart Bleeds For You, but thought better of it. She was sure Derek wasn’t in the mood.

  Dana snorted. “Lying son-of-a-bitch. He’s second in command. The boss bites the big one, Dub here takes over.”

  Karney backhanded Dana, sending her flying back against the couch. “Shut the fuck up, Dana.”

  “Who’s the big guy? Phelps?” Tabatha did her best to ignore Dub’s reaction. She may not like the woman, but Dana didn’t deserve to be knocked around.

  Dana pushed herself up from the couch and spit blood into Karney’s face. “He ain’t anything but a hired assassin. Should have done you myself. Phelps was always soft for pretty women.”

  “Believe me, Phelps isn’t soft on me. I’d say he’s probably ready to shoot me on sight right about now.” If Tabatha remembered correctly, the last time she’d seen Phelps he’d threatened do that several times before she was out of earshot.

  Derek motioned with his gun. “Come on, Karney. Where’s your drop gun.” He gestured to the cop’s ankle. “Cough it up.”

  Karney grabbed the gun from the ankle holster, and gunshots roared inside Tabatha’s ears. She dove for cover behind a nearby recliner. She peered around the edge not sure what to do. Afraid she’d hit Derek if she fired at Karney, she looked for Dana.

  Dana had flung herself toward the doorway, retrieved her gun and aimed it at anyone who was in her line of fire. Another shot, louder, closer, from Tabatha’s own gun sounded, and a neat, round red hole appeared in Dana’s forehead. Dana collapsed to the floor.

  Tabatha’s heart clenched. Every breath she drew ripped at her lungs. Tears flowed down her cheeks. Tabatha’s brain refused to accept she had fired the bullet that killed Dana. She whimpered, but closed her mouth to hold back the telling sound. Tabatha frantically searched the room for Derek, praying he would tell her she hadn’t done it. That it was all a mistake. But when her eyes met his, she saw the pain in their dark depths. Her gaze raked down his body but stopped at the spreading red stain covering his right leg. The black curtain of unconsciousness nearly overtook Tabatha. She drew in a deep breath. Her world tunneled down to Derek. Nothing else mattered.

  Dropping to her knees, Tabatha wailed and scrambled toward him on all fours.

  Derek slid down the wall, dropped his gun to the floor, never taking his eyes off her. “Are you hit?”

  Tabatha shook her head.

  No! Oh, God, give me a do over.

  This was her fault. If she’d not rushed in here, none of this would have happened. She should have called Lieutenant Mason. Let him handle it.

  “No. Oh, God, no! Don’t you die on me, Derek. Don’t you dare.” Tabatha reached out and snatched an embroidered table runner from a nearby table and tied it around Derek’s upper thigh to cut off the flow of blood. She struggled to contain the sobs forcing themselves from her chest as panic threatened to choke her. She’d waited too long to find him to have this happen. She couldn’t lose him now. “I need to see the wound. I have to cut off these damn jeans.”

  Hal ran down the stairs, his gun gripped in both hands. He waved it from one corner of the room to the other before racing toward Derek and Tabatha. “Well, hell, Detective. What did you do?”

  Mason and a barrage of police officers charged into the room, aiming guns at anything that moved. “What the hell happened here?” Mason looked from Tabatha to Derek. “Detective.”

  Derek drew a shaky breath. “Lieutenant.”

  “Tabatha, get out of the way and let me get a look at him.” Mason grasped her by the arms and settled her beside Derek. Mason ripped Derek’s jeans at the bullet’s entry. “Don’t worry, Tabatha. It’s still there. Just a leg wound.”

  “It?” A rush of heat flamed i
nto her face as she realized what he meant.

  Mason patted her shoulder. “He won’t walk right for a while, but he’ll live.” He reached into his jacket’s inner pocket and slipped a piece of paper to Derek. “I told you to wait for me. Here’s the damn search warrant.”

  Tabatha glanced at Derek’s blood on her hands then at Mason. “It wasn’t his fault. I started it. I wanted my friends out of here.” She drew a deep breath. “I could have gotten him killed.”

  Mason nodded. “Yes. You could have, but you didn’t.” He shouted orders to his men. Soon the three of them were the only ones in the room.

  Derek gestured toward one of the bodies. “It’s John, Lieutenant.”

  “John who?” Mason strode to the man’s corpse, knelt on one knee to look at the dead man’s face. “Oh, hell. What am I going to tell Vera?”

  Tabatha guessed Vera must be John’s wife. She had a twinge of pity for the woman.

  “Vera won’t get the dependent’s check if—shit.” Mason sighed. His whole body slumped, and he dropped to the rest of the way to the floor.

  Tabatha touched Derek’s arm but looked Mason in the eyes. “He’s dead. No harm to us now. Let his wife remember him as a good man.”

  “What you think, Detective. Any harm?”

  Travis and Hal came into the room and stood at Derek’s side.

  “What’s going on?” Hal Ran his fingers through his hair before replacing his cap.

  Tabatha tipped her chin toward John’s corpse. “We could say he was part of the raid.”

  Hal shook his head. “He don’t deserve it, but I know Vera. It’ll kill her. She worshiped him.”

  Travis came half way down the stairs. “Lieutenant, those girls are threatening to do us bodily harm if we don’t let them come down here. They want to see that Tabatha and Derek are alive.”

  Mason nodded. “Let them out. It’s safe.”

  Tabatha cleared her throat. “One more thing, Lieutenant. I don’t have a permit for my gun yet. Not here in New Orleans anyway.”

  “Oh, hell.” He leaned his head back on the couch. “Where’s the gun?” She handed it to him.

  “It’s legal to have a concealed gun in the car. You took it out because you heard shots inside the house. You feared for your life and the life of your friends. You saved a police officer’s life, Miss Gray. I think I can clear this.” He jerked his head up and looked at her. “You didn’t kill John, did you?”

  “No.” Just Dana she started to say but the emotion formed a lump the size of Manhattan in her throat.

  Derek raised his hand. “That would be me.”

  Mason leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “Drop gun or department issue?”

  Tabatha rubbed her hands repeatedly on the legs of her jeans.

  Derek reached over and took her hand in his. “I don’t normally carry a drop, Lieutenant, and you know it.”

  “But?” Mason release a breath.

  “It’s Dana’s gun.”

  “Thank God for small favors. Give me the gun.”

  Tabatha had a moment of guilt. Too many lies were going to be told, and all because she was involved. This whole thing could have been different if she hadn’t insisted on playing the heroine.

  When Derek handed the gun over, Mason wiped it clean, picked up Dana’s limp hand and placed a few fingerprints on the gun and dropped it on the floor. “I don’t want to know, Bainbridge.” Mason sighed, the sound heavy with fatigue. “Tabatha, you wouldn’t consider working for the department, would you?”

  Tabatha shrugged. What a strange thing to ask. “I’ll think about it, Lieutenant.” She checked Derek’s wound to see if the bleeding had stopped. She slowly released the doily-made-tourniquet, and when she didn’t see a rush of blood, she wrapped it around his leg as a bandage.

  Rhonda rushed into the room first, Shane on her hip. Her eyes looked like muddy holes peering out of her pale face. “You hurt?”

  Tabatha’s let some of the tension release from her shoulders. Shane was unharmed. He looked at Tabatha and smiled. “Bang, bang.”

  She laughed and reached up to wrap her hand around his ankle. “Yeah, bang, bang.” She returned her attention to Rhonda then. “Derek got shot.”

  Bobbie sauntered into the room, arm in arm with one of the officers. “My, my. You southern boys sure know how to make an entrance.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Tabatha sat amidst a sea of uniformed and plain-clothed police officers in the waiting room of the hospital surgical wing. On her right sat Hal, on her other, Travis. She stared straight ahead at the door, waiting for the doctor to return with news of Derek’s condition. Had an artery been hit? She tried to remember how much blood there had been at the scene, but the night’s events were beginning to blur. Her head hurt. A lump of lead sat in the pit of her stomach. Derek had to be all right. She wouldn’t accept anything less. She wanted to cry, but refused to let these men see her break down.

  With every new officer joining the growing crowd of men, the same question was asked of Mason. “Who’s the girl?”

  All but two or three had reacted with jaw-dropping disbelief to Travis’ reply. “Derek’s girl. Leave her alone.”

  Mason knelt in on front of Tabatha. She looked up expectantly. “Honey.” He swallowed hard.

  Tabatha grasped his hands. Why did he call her Honey? Is Derek dead? Was that what he was about to say? She wanted to scream at the man to say what he had to say and get it over with. She grew numb inside. “No. Derek’s going to be all right. He’s fine. Don’t you say otherwise.”

  “No, Tabatha, I’ve not had news about Derek yet. But Phelps has vanished. His guard was found unconscious in the room, so we’re thinking someone got Phelps out.”

  Her gaze frantically searched the room. Rhonda. Bobbie. Shane. Not again. “Where’s...”

  “I sent them home. The girls were about to drop, and Shane needed some rest.” Mason patted her hand. “I just checked up on them. They arrived there safely, and I’ve got a car stationed in front of your house and men out back. No one is going to get to them again. I promise.”

  Tabatha released a shaky breath. She didn’t know how much more she could take. Her stomach ached. Her shoulders were so tight it was a struggle to turn her head. At least knowing the girls and Shane were safe was some relief. She wanted to go to Derek. Needed to see him. She’d be all right then. “Thank you.” Silence surrounded her. She looked up.

  A doctor dressed in green scrubs walked into the waiting room. He nodded to the officers. “Bainbridge family?”

  Mason stood. “This is his fiancée, Dr. Tabatha Gray. I’m Lieutenant Mason.”

  Tabatha looked away to hide her shock at Mason’s statement. Where did Mason get such an idea?

  “I’m Dr. Vissman.” He looked Tabatha in the eyes. “Detective Bainbridge is resting comfortably. There was minimal damage to his leg. No main arteries, no nerves involved. The muscle was torn pretty badly, and he’s going to be sore for a while. But it’s nothing that won’t heal soon enough.” He shifted his attention to Mason. “He won’t return to work for a few days. I want him to stay off his feet and keep his leg elevated. I’m keeping him overnight. After which time I’ll decide if he can go home.”

  Tabatha fell back against the sofa and covered her face to hide the tears that refused to be held back any longer. The tension flowed from her body like a wave drifting over the ocean. “What time will you see him in the morning?”

  “I start my rounds at seven.”

  “I’ll be here at seven to take Derek home.” Tabatha knew she sounded arrogant, but she didn’t care. She wanted Derek out of this hospital and home where she could look after him.

  He frowned. “Dr. Gray, it will depend on his condition whether I release him or not.”

  “Dr. Vissman, if you did your job well and didn’t leave any leaking veins, you can release him to me. It’s not like you’re sending him home with a fretful wife. The doctor in my name isn’t an honorary tit
le. I’m medically trained, and I know how to take care of an injured man.” She returned his hard stare. “I’ll be here at seven. Please have the necessary papers signed for me to take Detective Bainbridge home. Now, may I see my fiancée?”

  The doctor opened his mouth several times only to shut it again. Tabatha guessed he wasn’t used to anyone talking to him in such a manner. She didn’t give a flying flip.

  Dr. Vissman cleared his throat. “He’s resting. I’d rather he not have any visitors this late.”

  Mason gently placed his hand on the doctor’s shoulder, drawing his attention away from Tabatha. “We’d appreciate it if you’d give us a few minutes with Detective Bainbridge.”

  Vissman’s jaw clenched.

  Tabatha drew a shaky breath and waited until she was sure she could speak without her voice breaking. “Dr. Vissman, I know I’m coming across as a hard ass, but we’ve been through hell tonight. I need to see with my own eyes that he’s as well as you say. I need to touch him.”

  The doctor’s expression softened. “Five minutes.”

  She took his hand in hers. “Thank you. That’s better than nothing. Thank you, Doctor.”

  Derek lay in bed with his leg propped on a stack of pillows. His ashen complexion concerned her, but his breathing was deep and even. Tabatha touched his forehead and smiled when he opened his eyes and looked at her. His returned smile was like a drug to her system. Her shaking nerves settled down to a mild tremor. Her headache retreated to a gentle nudge.

  “It’s about time. I thought I’d have to get Bertha down here to wake your butt up.” Tabatha kissed his forehead, his eyes, his cheeks and chin.

  “Hi, baby,” he whispered in a horse voice. “I knew you’d be here.”

  “I’ve been here the entire time. I wasn’t about to leave without seeing you. The doctor’s going to release you in the morning. You’re going to stay with me. No arguments.”

  He nodded. “I’m too tired to argue about anything.”

  She laughed softly. “Good. We only have about five minutes, and I don’t want to waste it.”