Last Shot at Justice (A Thomas Family Novel Book 1)

by Kristi Cramer

  Squeaky Clean Copyright © 2013-2017 Kristi Cramer.

  All rights reserved.

  www.kristicramerbooks.com

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be resold, reproduced, or distributed in any form or by any means graphic, electronic, or mechanical, without the express written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction.

  Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, business establishments, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Last Shot at Justice edited by Anne Draus

  Cover Designed by Christian Bentulan

  Last Shot

  at

  Justice

  A Thomas Family Novel

  #1

  by

  Kristi Cramer

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  If You Enjoyed This Book...

  Watch for the next Thomas Family Novels

  Find and follow Kristi online

  All titles by Kristi Cramer

  Chapter One

  Lightning lanced through the darkness, turning the heavy rain to a fleeting glitter of diamonds falling to the pavement of 16th Street.

  Mitzi Reardon and a woman she knew only as “Babs” huddled together in the doorway of a closed barber shop, clutching light jackets close around their bodies.

  Babs shuddered when the thunder rolled above them in waves of sound, and bounced off the tall buildings of the Central Business District just a few blocks away. The late September rainstorm had driven most of Denver’s nightlife indoors.

  “I’m freezing,” Babs muttered. “No johnnies are gonna come out in this. I’m going home. You staying?”

  Mitzi wrapped her arms tighter around herself. “I’d love to go, but I’m under orders.” She rolled her eyes at the older woman. “Vic gets awful pissed if I come in without his say so.”

  “Suit yourself.” Babs moved to leave the doorway.

  “Can I get a smoke off you before you go?” Mitzi asked, fumbling in her pocket for her lighter.

  “I thought you were quitting?”

  “I thought so, too. I just need it to keep warm.”

  “They don’t call it cold turkey for nothin’,” Babs said, reaching inside the little purse hanging over her shoulder.

  Mitzi’s fingers were so cold that she dropped her lighter as she pulled it out of her pocket. She bent down to pick it up, when she heard a puzzling, wet, smacking sound, then Babs fell against her.

  Stumbling back into the corner of the doorway, she caught Babs, realizing that the last crashing roar of sound had not been thunder. In a flash of lightning, she saw blood blossoming from three bullet wounds in a tight group, dead center in the other woman’s chest. Weighed down by shock along with the other woman’s body, Mitzi sank to her knees.

  “Jesus.” The word was scarcely more than a burbling prayer whispered from Babs’ lips, then blood poured from between them, and Mitzi knew she was dead.

  Scanning up and down the street, all she could see were dark storefronts and rain. Somebody was out there—someone who hadn’t been aiming at Babs. If Mitzi hadn’t moved just then, she would be the one with three bullets in her.

  The tiny .22 caliber Sig Sauer Mosquito felt cold in her hand as she pulled it out of her purse holster and clicked the safety lever off. Without sparing another glance at the lifeless body beside her, she pushed it off her legs and moved into a crouch.

  When she fell she must have moved out of the shooter's field of fire, but he would be moving by now. As she ran through her options, she racked a cartridge into the chamber. The Mosquito was her backup weapon, chosen for the way it fit so nicely in the tiny clutch purse. She wished she had the firepower of her police issue Glock 17 9mm with her.

  And where on earth was Justin? Her partner was supposed to be watching out for her. This part of town was too dangerous to be on the job alone.

  Mitzi took a chance and peeked around the corner of the building. Two men were in the street, surprisingly close and walking toward her with slow, measured steps. Another flash of lightning identified one of the men. She gasped in surprise, nearly calling out to him. In that same instant he saw her, smiled, and raised his pistol.

  Mitzi ducked back behind the wall, and her gaze flew to the door behind her. Raising her own weapon, she shot the glass to break it, then kicked it away so she could run inside. She didn't pause as she ran through the barber shop, dodging the chairs, and out through the back office to the emergency exit.

  She burst into the alley and ran to the left, trying to shield her eyes from the blinding rain and praying her blasted high heel boots wouldn’t trip her up. A dozen yards later a thin line of light caught her eye, and she skidded to a stop. A door stood slightly ajar.

  ⋘⋆⋙

  “I dunno, John. I thought it was a good idea coming here.”

  “Must be the weather keeping folks home tonight, Blue.” The bartender leaned against the counter and glanced out the window as another bolt of lightning flashed. “That and it’s Tuesday night.”

  Blue Thomas shook his head woefully. “I mean the city. I haven’t had much luck getting a permanent job.”

  “You’ve had better luck than I figured with your method, but I guess there's just not much call for a hulking, corn-fed redneck like yourself.”

  Blue chuckled into his beer glass. “Me? A redneck? You don’t mean like that comedian fellow makes us out to be, do you?”

  “Nah, that stereotyped attitude is missing, but you certainly are a poster boy for the hardworking American.” John reached across the bar and rubbed a fist over the cowboy's blond crew cut. “As for corn-fed, anyone who has sat with you night after night can vouch for that.”

  Blue laughed. “Hey, I resemble that remark.” He put his elbow on the bar and flexed his arm until the muscles bulged and blue veins stood out. “How’s that for hulking?”

  “Say, if you can crack peanuts like that, you could entertain a lot of girls.” John gave him a lopsided grin and flipped long bangs back out of his eyes.

  Blue was about to reply, but something on the TV behind John caught his attention. It was a breaking news story, with a picture of a pretty young girl and the word ABDUCTED? in bold letters across the bottom of the screen. “Turn it up, would you, John?”

  The bartender grabbed the remote and turned the volume up so they could hear the solemn newscaster’s voice.

  “...and hasn’t been seen since. Leigh Ann Wharton is twelve years old, and the FBI agent in charge believes she’s at considerable risk of harm. Her mother, Mayor Suzanne Wharton, is offering a reward of twenty-five thousand dollars to anyone who assists in her daughter’s safe return. Again, Leigh Ann was last seen yesterday afternoon outside her school in Cherry Hills, getting on a city bus headed for downtown....”

  “I think I saw that girl earlier,” Blue mused. “Where was I?�
��

  “Oh sure, there’s a good way to come up with a lot of cash quick. You sure it’s not just the reward you’re thinking of?”

  “No, seriously, she caught my attention. I remember thinking she looked an awful lot like my niece. Where the heck was I?”

  John’s next comment was cut short when the door behind him burst open, and a pretty little brunette came through from the back room, looked at both of them, and rushed around the counter.

  The two men glanced at each other, then back at her. Rounding the end of the bar, she stopped beside Blue, glancing over her shoulder the way she'd come. He looked her over, noting first the skimpy outfit wrapped around some serious curves, and second, her water level. She was drenched to the skin, water dripping from her in rivulets to soak into the worn carpet.

  The fierce concentration in her brown eyes and tightly knitted brows, framed by her round face, snagged his attention. Her full lips pressed into a thin line as she seemed to take his measure, as well.

  He was about to say hello when she clutched his shoulder.

  “I’m cold. Can I borrow your coat?” She didn’t wait for an answer, just pulled his long, oilskin duster off the barstool beside him and dragged it on. She bunched up her shoulder length, curly, brown hair and piled it on top of her head, then picked his cowboy hat up off the bar and put it on.

  She flashed him a crooked smile that did not reach her earnest eyes. “How do I look?”

  “You’re an aggressive little thing, aren’t you?” John said.

  Blue couldn’t believe this approach. He was about to comment that he wasn’t interested in a “date” when she spun him around and pulled him against her. He had only a moment to throw a startled look at John before she pressed her lips against his, leaning back without letting go of his shirt.

  Off balance, he stepped forward and caught her to keep from falling over on top of her. He opened his mouth to protest, and she thrust her tongue between his lips, shocking him silent.

  A sound from somewhere behind the bar caught his attention—a rattle of bottles and an exclamation from John. Before he could turn, her brown-eyed gaze locked onto his with a startling intensity, daring him to let go. Then she closed her eyes and reached around his shoulder with her right arm.

  She was holding him tighter than he would have expected a woman her size could, and he couldn’t do anything without fear of hurting her. So he held on and let himself enjoy the kiss. After all, it was only a kiss—how was he supposed to resist?

  He inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of her wet hair and clothes mixed with the faint oily smell of his coat as he tightened his grip around her. She relaxed her hold a fraction, and her body molded against his. Ready to challenge her tongue, he drew her even closer to him, but she broke away, reaching up to remove the hat that had been knocked back on its perch.

  She glanced at John as she laid the cowboy hat on the bar. “Thanks,” she said to the bartender and slumped onto a stool. “I owe you.”

  “You can pay me back by getting out of my bar,” John replied, and Blue gave him a startled look.

  “She’s just having fun,” Blue protested, turning back to see her slipping out of his coat. The black leather jacket she wore beneath it barely covered a tiny black cut-off skirt and artfully tattered tank top that clung to her curves. He averted his eyes before he looked any closer and embarrassed himself.

  The bartender shook his head at her. “I got no problem with the likes of you, but I don’t want any trouble in here.”

  “Did I miss something?” Blue noticed she was shaking, and her face had turned very pale.

  “No,” she said, at the same time John said, “Yes.”

  “I won’t be here long,” she continued, nodding at John. “Just give me a few minutes.”

  Blue frowned at John. “Can’t you see she’s cold? Give her a shot of whiskey, on me.”

  “Blue,” John warned. “She don’t need it.”

  “Really, I can’t,” she agreed. The front door swung open and she jumped, but it was only a gust of wind. With a resolute frown, she pulled her coat tighter and started to leave, but Blue snagged her arm.

  “Can I give you a ride?” he asked. When she didn’t answer right away, he added, “Just a ride. To your place.”

  She gave him a long, measured look, then nodded. “Not my place, though. Yours.”

  “I didn’t mean....” he began.

  “I don’t mean that either,” she said briskly, handing him his coat. “I need a place to go.”

  Blue dug a wrinkled ten-dollar bill out of his pocket and put it on the bar to cover his tab.

  “You be careful you don’t get messed up in her trouble, Blue.” John waggled his finger at his friend. “She’s a corpse waiting to happen.”

  Blue stilled in the act of settling his coat, then pulled his Stetson onto his head with a practiced flip. He tugged briefly on the brim in John’s direction. “All the more reason to make sure she’s safe.”

  The woman was waiting at the door, peering cautiously outside as he approached. Blue began to realize she really was in some kind of trouble as she impatiently waved him closer.

  “Where’s your car?” she asked.

  “Around the corner,” he answered. “Here.”

  ⋘⋆⋙

  Mitzi looked to see the cowboy holding his coat open, inviting her to step under it. “I’m all right,” she demurred.

  “You’re wet enough,” he said. “Walk with me under here and you won’t get worse.”

  She almost protested, then realized she might be less conspicuous outside if she accepted his offer. She stepped under his proffered arm and stretched one arm across his waist to latch onto his belt, the other pulled his coat close around her. He was so much taller than her that she fit right under his arm, and his coat formed a tent above her. Most important to her at the moment was the fact that he was warm, and big enough to offer real protection against the danger she was in—though it went against all her training to involve him.

  In the moment before they moved, she studied his face again. Lightly tanned skin, high cheekbones, strong chin, straight nose. Fair-colored brows slightly furrowed above curious brown eyes that softened his otherwise angular face. His mild, vaguely bemused expression suggested she had nothing to worry about, from him.

  Stepping out the door into the pouring rain, he guided her to the right. There was no one on the street outside the 8-Ball Tavern, and she breathed a sigh of relief before urging the man along. He looked down at her from beneath his cowboy hat and walked faster.

  Lord, he’s a monster, she thought. He seemed pretty clueless about what was going on though. She figured he must be one of those more-brawn-than-brains football lineman types, which was just as well. He wouldn’t ask questions, and she could go on her way in the morning without worrying that he would get in trouble on her account.

  A man in a gray raincoat rounded the corner, looking the other way, and bumped into them. Mitzi thought he looked like the man she hadn’t recognized at the murder scene.

  “Pardon us, mister,” the cowboy whom the bartender had called Blue said, turning her aside to pass him. She tried not to physically shrink away.

  The man grabbed her escort’s arm, and Blue turned.

  Mitzi peered out from inside the coat as the man sized Blue up, then glanced at her.

  “She all right?”

  She tightened her arm around his waist, and Blue nodded slowly, spoke even slower. “My sister’s just a little drunk. I gotta take her home to Daddy or he’ll skin me alive.”

  The man gave her another glance, then nodded. “Better take care of her, then.” His tone dripped with sarcasm that the cowboy didn’t even acknowledge.

  “You can be sure, mister.”

  The two of them walked around the corner and Mitzi suddenly found it hard to stand on her own two feet, much less walk. When she stumbled, Blue scooped her up as easily as she might pick up a bag of Mr. Tuggles’ cat food and carrie
d her to a beat-up brown Dodge pickup.

  Without setting her down, Blue pulled the passenger door open and set her inside. He peered at her briefly from under the brim of his hat, a small worried frown turning thin lips down. Then he withdrew and closed the door, shutting her inside while the rain poured down like bullets on the metal of the truck.

  Shivering, she reached over to unlock his door only to discover it wasn’t locked.

  He opened the driver’s door and slid onto the seat, glancing at her as he closed the door. Without a word, he turned the engine over and started driving away. She slumped down in the seat so she couldn’t be seen from outside and looked up to see him adjusting the heater setting.

  “Is that your real name? Blue?”

  He nodded without taking his eyes from the road. The wipers flashed across the windshield to sweep away the heavy rain.

  “Where’re you from, Blue?”

  “Kansas, ma’am. Close by Syracuse.”

  “Well, thank you for doing this for me.” The truck had picked up speed after making a few turns, and she figured they were far enough away that she could sit up. It was nearly impossible to tell where they were, though judging by the increasing hills they were heading west, away from Mile High Stadium. “How well do you know Denver?”

  “Not very. I’ve only been here a couple weeks.” He squinted out the window, searching for street signs.

  “Do you know where we are?”

  “Well now, I think I missed my turn a ways back.”

  Headlights appeared in the darkness behind them, and Mitzi turned to look out the back window. The car was coming fast, and she let out a creative oath.

  “Faster, Blue.”

  “I need to turn around,” he said.

  “Do it later.”

  “But....”

  “I’ll find our way to your place. Right now, I want you to lose the car that’s behind us.” She put as much authority in her voice as she could and hoped he would do as she instructed.

  Before he could say anything, the car behind them turned on police lights and flashed headlights to signal him to pull over.

  “It’s the police,” he said in surprise, starting to pull over.