She glanced anxiously around the backyard. This one had a basketball hoop rather than a trampoline, rock-lined pathways, and a bench under some weeping tree. In short, her worst nightmare, the outward perfection that was the most painful lie. Dez forced a deep breath. The situation screwed with her head. The shooter and his buddies hadn’t followed her trail. For that, she thanked her lucky stars. Washing her hands in the spigot off the back deck, she let them air dry in the cold while she did a quick evaluation.
Blood wasn’t a good color on her. It made the jacket look muddy, which was a mild improvement over the bright red bloodstain seeping through her white shirt. She brushed loose dirt and grass from her legs. The quick cleanup was the best she could do given the circumstances.
As she stepped through the back gate, an explosion rocked the ground. She peered around the corner of an adjacent house. The WITSEC car was still parked in front, but the house wasn’t there. The explosion blew it to hell, debris down the block, and what was left burned like a roman candle. Now the neighbors did open up the door and peek out. She flashed her badge and motioned them back like a third base coach.
Back, back, get back. What the hell is wrong with people?
She didn’t see the shooter or a sniper, but she wasn’t taking any chances. She leaned against the house and pulled out her phone.
Both Mick and Blake had tried to call and text while she’d been running. The meet Blake had with Sully had been a setup to nab the kid. The body count was high on this one, and Dez didn’t know who to trust. Someone had leaked the information about Nathan. Only way the shooter knew where to find the family. The leak meant they were in this alone. Blake was rushing to Vicki—who had been shot—while Mick wanted to know Dez’s location. She couldn’t call this in to the department until she knew who had leaked the address. Worse, she couldn’t trust the uniform police whose sirens rent the smoky air. Police and fire.
Mick was the only one she trusted. She texted him the address Kimberly had given her.
Hurry your ass.
Then she followed the GPS directions on foot, just short of running. The air was eerily silent after the bomb blast, as if everyone in a six-block radius was cowering in fear. The fact that it wasn’t a school day probably saved the lives of those who would have otherwise been walking to school this time of morning. As it was, she didn’t pass a soul on the ghostly empty streets as she wound her way through the subdivision.
The GPS gave her walking directions, but she made it in half the estimated time. Rang the doorbell on a house that didn’t look much different than the one she’d left burning. She glanced at her phone. Only twenty-one minutes had passed since the first shots fired. A busy twenty-one minutes. The family’s house was now a bombed-out shell covering too many dead bodies, including the kid’s parents, at least the people he knew as his parents. The truth of his parentage was another bad bit of news she had to tell him.
The woman who answered the door had her blond hair pulled into a slick ponytail. Green scrubs hung on her slight frame giving her a look similar to the victim at the first house. She took one glance at Dez and tried to slam the door. Dez rammed her foot between the door and the jamb; pulled out a badge.
“Ma’am, we need to step inside where it’s safe.” She wasn’t losing another victim to a sniper. She pushed inside without waiting for an answer, and then turned to lock and bolt the front door. “Do you have coffee? It’s freezing out there. I could really use some coffee.”
Dumbfounded, the woman blinked slowly as if hoping Dez would disappear, but when she didn’t, the blonde turned down the hallway to the kitchen. What people would do in the name of courtesy continued to astonish Dez, but it got her through the front door, even covered in blood.
The lady of the house went straight for the coffeemaker in the corner and poured dark sludge into a large white mug. “Cream? Sugar?”
“No, thanks.” Dez’s hands trembled as she took the coffee. The warmth did little to ease her shakes. Caffeine probably wouldn’t help much, either, but she sucked back half the cup just to warm the insides. To keep her heart pumping.
“Now, who are you and what do you want?”
“Detective Harper from the Aspen Springs police department. Dez,” she added. When you showed up on someone’s doorstep covered in blood, you moved things to the personal column pretty fast.
“Diane.” The lady nodded. “Now, why are you here, Detective?”
“I just left the house of your friend, Kimberly Cisneros.”
“Kim.” Diane’s voice quivered. Her eyes took in Dez’s appearance, the blood and torn clothes. “Is that your blood or hers?”
“Both.” Dez set down the coffee.
“You’ve been hurt? Let me see.” Diane pulled off Dez’s jacket and shirt before Dez knew what hit her. Quite a skill—Dez didn’t strip for anyone.
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
“You’re not good. You’re shot, and repairing injuries is what I do.” Diane cleaned the blood from Dez’s bicep. “Flesh wound. I can suture it.”
“Ha.” Dez’s stomach curdled. “I’m good,” she said again, because field medicine was not her thing.
Diane shook her head. “It’ll keep me focused while you tell me why you’re here.”
“Uh, not without a local anesthetic.” And a tetanus shot. Shouldn’t she get a tetanus shot and maybe antibiotics?
“I can wake the boys. Drive you to the hospital.” She said it in that undeniable mom-voice.
Dez winced. The hospital wouldn’t work on many levels. They needed to get gone. Hospitals took time, and Dez wasn’t comfortable going out in public until she knew who was shooting at her. Plus, hospitals were required to report gunshot wounds, so there’d be a delay they couldn’t afford. She needed to keep Nathan secure.
A stern look narrowed Diane’s pretty features. She wouldn’t relent, and unfortunately, the wound needed treatment before they headed out. Dez texted Mick, gave him the all clear, and told him to bring a vehicle for three. “Fine,” Dez relented. Some battles weren’t worth fighting.
Diane turned, reached to an upper cabinet, and pulled out a bottle of tequila. “This will have to do for anesthetic.” She poured a healthy splash into a clean coffee cup. “We’re not formal around here.”
After the morning she’d had, Dez didn’t think twice. She took the cup and shot the clear liquor. The burn sliding down her throat turned to fire in her gut. She slammed the cup on the counter and glanced at the clock. “First time I’ve had a shot before eight in the morning.”
“Really? Not me.”
Surprise mixed with the tequila. “You don’t seem the type.” Dez wheezed against the flames licking up her throat. She hated tequila.
Diane smiled. “Sometimes, coming off shift—I work in the ER—doesn’t matter what time it is when you’ve had a day from hell. Watched a kid die, or parents identifying a body. It’s all you can do to drive home without breaking down. Doesn’t matter if it’s two in the morning or six. It’s tequila time.”
Sounded like her morning. Dez cleared her throat. “Happen often?”
“Some days are worse than others.” She gave some examples, a mix of morbid and funny stories from the ER, her hands steady as she cleaned the wound and put in several stitches.
Tequila or no, it hurt like a bitch. “Maybe I should ask if you’re qualified.”
Diane laughed. “Too late for that, Detective.”
“Since you’ve stabbed me, repeatedly, you can call me Dez.”
“All done, Dez.” Diane cut off the suture and put on a bandage. “Where did they take Kim? Do you need me to keep an eye on Nathan until she’s out of the hospital?”
This was going to hurt a hell of a lot worse than stitches. Dez poured tequila into a new cup for Diane. Added more to her cup and tossed it back like it was Cinco de Mayo. The burn of tequila stung her eyes and warmed her faster than the coffee. She wheezed out the words. “Kim didn’t make it.”
Diane’s eyes watered. “Her husband?”
“No, ma’am.”
Diane stumbled back to lean on the counter. Tears shimmered on her lashes, ready to fall, but she blinked them back. “I’ll cry later. What happens to Nate?”
“That’s the question.” Dez pulled her shirt over her now stitched arm. The blood on the sleeve had dried stiff. “The people who killed the parents are after Nathan.”
Diane swallowed the shot like a pro before a shiver shook her shoulders. “He’s just a kid.”
“Evil doesn’t much care how old you are.” Dez knew that firsthand.
“Nate can stay here. My son would love to have him and—”
“And you have no way to keep him safe, not from this. You have even less business putting your son at risk.”
Diane busied herself putting up the first aid supplies, throwing bloody gauze in the trash, and wiping down the countertops. “Doesn’t feel real.”
“No, but you’ve got nights like that in the ER. Nights that don’t seem real. You get through them.”
“It’s like amputating an arm, losing Kim. Now you want Nate? They are the best—she was—” She shook her head, turned to face Dez. “I suppose you want me to wake him.”
“My partner will be here soon. We’re taking Nathan to a safe house.” If they could find one that no one on the task force knew about. They needed to discover the mole.
“He can’t see you like that,” Diane said, pointing at Dez’s soiled shirt. “Can’t wake up to see you covered in his mother’s blood. That’s not the kind of thing he’d ever forget.”
Probably not. The blood had dried to look like melted chocolate, but it would start to stink if it didn’t already. The tequila taste washed back up her gullet. “Can’t be helped.”
“Come with me.” Diane snapped her finger like a teacher, which worked, because Dez didn’t argue but followed Diane back to the entry and up the stairs. The temperature upstairs was warmer, sending a flush through Dez’s body. Maybe it was the tequila. Diane took out an extra set of scrubs and a towel before leading Dez to a bathroom. “Most of my clothes won’t fit you. You’ve got more leg than I have body, but the scrubs are one size fits most. They might fit like capris, but they’re better than what you’re wearing.”
When Diane turned to leave, Dez grabbed her arm lightly. “Thank you. And if my partner comes—”
“Considering what just happened—how you look—I’m not opening the door for anyone I don’t know. How will I know it’s your partner?”
Good Lord, Mick looked like trouble walking into any room, but after seeing Dez covered in blood? Diane might think he was the grim reaper. “I can have him wait outside.”
Diane shook her head no. “That doesn’t seem smart.”
“Fine. He’s as tall as your door and nearly as wide, blond hair, tattoos, and leather vest.” The man didn’t alter his costume much. “He may look scary, but he’s one of the best. We’ll keep Nathan safe.” Dez had no idea how they’d manage to keep the boy out of Sully’s hands, but she’d fake it until she could make it true.
Chapter Three
Mick rode his Harley across town breaking every traffic law in the process, weaving, speeding, hell-bent to get to Dez. She was—he shook his head. She was in trouble, and he’d feel the same for anyone. Blake texted when he got back to the club they were working as part of the undercover operation. Vicki was down—bleeding and unconscious—along with her bodyguard. Perp was dead, no one knew how. Mob hitman if Mick had to guess, and his gut told him he was right.
The entire operation had been a clusterfuck from the beginning. He and Blake had worked together for years to get Sully, Blake on the inside and Mick on the outside. Things had only gotten more complicated when Blake joined the task force. To Mick’s mind, the bureaucrats made justice too damn hard. They did better on their own, but Blake was a cop and wanted to do things by the book. The book wasn’t working. Now they had a string of innocents bleeding while the dickhead got away.
The buzz of a text had Mick pulling to the side of the road. Dez texted an all-clear, which eased the ache in his head, the blood beating like a bat in his skull. She was with the kid, and they needed transport. His bike wouldn’t cut it. He flipped around, went back to his place, and swapped out the bike for an old pickup truck he’d had since he was sixteen. Calmer, marginally, he headed to the address Dez had given him. He breathed easier knowing she was out of the line of fire. For now.
The address was in a subdivision on the upper end of the income bracket. He backed his pickup into the driveway. Neat and tidy house, winter-dead grass cut short, but you could see how it would look in the summer, a small patch of green, perfectly trimmed. Looked like the kind of place his mom had always wanted but had never been able to afford. She’d done all right, though.
The lady at the door introduced herself as Diane and invited him inside. Offered him a shot of tequila. He grinned. “You don’t seem the type.”
“That’s what your partner said, but neither of you saw what she looked like when she walked in here. Bloody as sin. I’ve seen my share of crazy in the ER, but having her show up on my doorstep like that is moving to my top five stories to tell.”
The panic that had gripped him returned, pounded through his veins. “Dez doesn’t look rough on the worst day.”
“I might argue with you there. Tequila? Coffee?”
“No thanks, ma’am. I’ll just wait for Dez.”
Diane fussed around the kitchen, wiping down counters and putting away dishes while Mick prowled the lower level. Nerves tore him up inside. The day was supposed to bring some justice for the death of his brother Tommy. If Mick was lucky, nailing Sully would give him a little redemption, but everything had been shot to shit. They had two unconscious victims across town, status unknown, and a bad guy DOA. Happened the same time Dez was attacked, which told Mick it was a coordinated effort and the fucker responsible would walk.
When Diane opened the garbage to toss something, Mick noticed the bloody bandages, and his nerves amped up another hundred volts. “Dez was injured?”
Diane closed the lid, turned. “She didn’t tell you.”
“No, damn it.” If he’d known, he wouldn’t have turned around for the truck.
“She doesn’t seem the type to complain.”
“She’s not.” Restlessness stirred in his veins. He wouldn’t feel right until he saw her safe. “How bad?”
“GSW, flesh wound really. As cops, I’m sure you’ve seen worse.”
Mick didn’t disabuse her of the notion, but he was no cop. Didn’t mind hanging with them if they helped him get justice, but no way in hell did he wear a badge. Too restrictive. So was the wait. “Where is she?”
“Upstairs, in the show—”
Mick took the stairs two at a time, followed the sound of running water to a tidy bedroom, not a stick of clothing on the floor, bed made. The door in the back was closed, nothing but the sound of running water. He pushed through the door and noted the clothes on the floor covered in blood. Jacket was toast, just like the pants. He lifted the white shirt. Blood fucking covered it, down the front and down the sleeve. And she hadn’t said a single word. Anger and fear thrummed through him. Mick yanked the shower curtain open.
She had her head tilted into the flow of water, her wet hair nearly black as the water poured over her like something out of a fucking dream. She was naturally thin with just enough curve to her hips to give him pause. The hips led to long slender legs that he’d often imagined wrapped around his waist. Everything about her flat turned him on.
The moment she registered his invasion, she gasped and covered her pert breasts. The sight of her covering herself was nearly as arousing as the flow of water caressing bare skin.
“What the hell?” Moving swiftly to yank the curtain closed, Dez fought for control of the slight fabric.
“You didn’t say you were injured.” He noted the bandage on her bicep and reached through to yank it free
.
“Shit. Asshole.” She stepped out of the stream of water. “I’m supposed to keep it dry.”
He pulled her closer, no longer noting her nakedness, but focused on the angry skin and puckered stitches.
“Diane do that?” he asked.
“No, idiot, I stitched myself.” Sarcasm was her go-to response. She yanked her arm, but he didn’t let go. The bullet had done more than graze skin but had gouged into her arm so Diane had to force the flesh together with stitches. It would leave a thick scar, but if she kept it clean, it wouldn’t get infected. He manhandled Dez, turned her around in the shower, taking note of bruises and scrapes, but no more bullet holes.
He took a deep hit of air and let her go. “You get shot and don’t bother to tell—” Me. He wanted to say she didn’t tell him, but she didn’t owe him a damn thing. Blake, on the other hand, was Dez’s partner. “Us. You didn’t tell us you’d been hit. That’s not what partners do, Detective.” He used her job title to build the distance he desperately needed. They both needed to remember that she was a cop, and he wasn’t a squeaky clean civilian she could get involved with.
She yanked the curtain closed and raised her voice over the water. “I was on the run, loser. I didn’t have time to make a social call.”
“What the fuck happened?”
While the water ran, she relayed the details of the ambush. His gut tightened with each detail, each moment that could have been her last. “I was lucky to get my ass out,” she concluded as the water shut off. Her arm slipped from behind the shower curtain. “Hand me the towel.”
He passed the soft blue towel through the gap and thought of her naked skin on the other side of the curtain. Drops of water on smooth skin. His body went hard and his mouth dry with want. He cupped the back of his neck, rubbed the muscles there. Not the time nor the place.
Unstoppable (The Untouchable Series) Page 2
