by Ruth Langan
Kate touched a hand to the old man’s arm. “You’re jumping to conclusions.”
“Am I?” Kieran rounded on her, his eyes dark with fury. “Nobody in Congress knows better than our Bren about the dangers a police officer faces every day of his life. That she would even consider for a single moment limiting the use of defensive weapons makes me sick. To say nothing of inviting outsiders to investigate police internal affairs. Who better than the department to clean up its own mess?”
When the phone rang Cameron snatched it up. “Hello. Yeah, we saw her.” In an aside to the others he said, “Donovan. He and Andi just saw the news.” He listened to the voice on the phone before giving a terse grunt. “That’s about the consensus here, too.” He paused. “Well now, Donovan, I wouldn’t go so far as to say she’s a turncoat. But it does sound like our sister has some explaining to do.”
He hung up the phone, then snatched it up when it rang yet again. “Hello.” His lips thinned. “Hey, Bren. We caught your dog-and-pony act on TV. What are you and your committee planning for an encore? Taking books away from teachers?”
He listened, his smile fading, then nodded and said, “Okay. I’ll tell them.”
Kieran stared glumly at the phone. “I wanted to have a word with her.”
“She was on the run, calling from her cell phone. She said she has to return to her committee meeting. It’ll probably run late into the night. She’ll try to stop by tomorrow.”
Kieran turned toward the stairs. “The soup and homemade bread are ready. And there’s a Maurice salad in the fridge.”
Micah called after him, “What about you, Pop? Where are you going?”
“Upstairs to my room. I’ve lost my appetite.”
“Kieran.” Kate looped her arm through his, forcing him to turn around. “Come on, now. We’ll eat together.”
The others followed them to the kitchen, where they gathered around the big trestle table. Their mood was subdued as they joined hands.
Kieran’s voice rang out. “Bless this food and those gathered here. Bless also those who can’t be with us this night, especially our own Mary Brendan, who needs guidance from above. And bless Riordan, who watches over us all. Perhaps he’ll give her a nudge in the right direction.”
When the blessing was concluded, Micah gave voice to all their thoughts. “I know Bren has to make a lot of compromises in her work in Congress. But I refuse to believe she’d set restrictions on this nation’s police forces.”
Kate nodded. “I agree. I intend to reserve judgment until I read the words of the bill for myself.”
Cameron buttered a slice of bread and tucked into a bowl of steaming soup. “Yeah, but you’re her mother. We’re her family. I don’t think the rest of the country is going to be as willing to wait. That little sixty-second sound byte on the news is the only thing most people will remember. They’ve already decided that Congresswoman Mary Brendan Lassiter is tying the hands of the police and making it even easier on the criminals.”
Around the table heads nodded as they realized the difficult position Bren was in. She would have to do some fancy talking to overcome such negative publicity.
“I’m leaving.” Juana Sanchez poked her head in the door of Bren’s office.
Tall and pretty, her dark hair smoothed into a neat knot at her nape, she’d been the first staff member hired after Bren had been elected to the House of Representatives from Maryland. Juana’s first introduction to the Lassiter family had come through Kate, when Juana had been struggling to keep her family together after the death of her young husband. The two women had bonded, and it had been Kate Lassiter who had gently nudged Juana toward finishing high school and then college. Now, fifteen years later, she would soon have her law degree. In the meantime she was the hardest working member of Bren’s congressional staff.
“Thanks for staying on, Juana. I’ll be leaving soon myself.” Bren indicated the stack of documents in front of her.
“From the looks of that, you’ll be here all night.” Juana couldn’t resist sounding like a mother. “Did you take time to eat anything at all today?”
“I had some fruit.” Bren saw the quick frown and laughed. “I’ll pick something up on the way home.”
“See that you do.” Juana grabbed up her coat and purse. “Getting nippy out there tonight. Take care. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“’Night.” Bren was barely aware of the door closing as she returned her attention to the lengthy document.
The hour dragged into two, and then three, before she finally pushed away from her desk. Pressing a hand to the small of her back she straightened before walking to the closet to retrieve her trenchcoat and handbag. Her footsteps echoed in the silent halls. At the door she bade good-night to the familiar guard, then made her way to her car in the parking garage. Minutes later she was heading toward the apartment she kept in the heart of D.C. Though she still managed to make it to her mother’s place in Chevy Chase at least once or twice a week, she found herself spending more and more time in her apartment, in order to avoid having to deal with morning traffic.
When she passed a small convenience store, she was tempted to stop, but the thought of going home, getting out of her office clothes and into something comfortable was too tempting. She drove to her apartment complex and pulled into an empty parking slot. As she stepped out of her car she was thinking about making tea and toast and climbing into bed to watch the late news.
Smiling at the thought, she headed toward the elevator. Before she could push the button a figure stepped out of the shadows. Too late, Bren realized it was a man, looming over her. In his hand was a pistol.
“Your purse.” The two words were spoken in a tortured rasp.
“Yes. Here.” She thrust it toward him, her gaze riveted on the gun. She started to back away but his hand snaked out, catching her by the wrist and hauling her close.
“Not so fast.”
She nearly gagged at the stench of his fetid breath and unwashed body and clothes.
“I’ll take that gold chain.” He tore it from her neck with such force it broke, sending the small diamond pendant sailing through the air.
He swore viciously. “Now the earrings.”
With trembling hands she reached up and pulled them free, dropping them into his palm.
He gave a nervous, jittery laugh that sent ice skittering down her spine as he took aim. “Thanks. For nothing.”
In that split second Bren thought about her father. He’d faced death with courage and dignity. As his daughter, she would do no less. She lifted her head a fraction and stared into the stranger’s eyes, refusing to beg or plead, knowing it would only feed his sickness.
As his finger closed around the trigger he was suddenly jerked backward with such force, he was caught completely off guard. At the same instant, the gun was yanked roughly from his hands and tossed aside.
“Okay. You want to hurt somebody?” A tall, rugged man dressed in jeans and a denim jacket sent him a blow that had him staggering backward.
“Why you—” For a moment the gunman shook his head and seemed to sway. Then, realizing he was fighting for his life, he gave a hoarse cry and lowered his head, using it to drive the stranger against the closed doors of the elevator.
Bren watched helplessly as the two men exchanged brutal, punishing blows until, in a final thrust, the denim-clad man drove the gunman up against the concrete wall of the parking garage. With his breath coming hard and fast he pounded the gunman’s head again and again until, battered into unconsciousness, the gunman slid to the floor.
Keeping an eye on him the man pulled a cell phone from his pocket. “Stevens? Banning. Send a black-and-white to the Middlegate Apartments. Got a coke-head in the parking garage.” He glanced over at Bren. “You hurt, miss? Need an ambulance?”
“N-no.” She leaned a hand against the wall, suddenly wanting to feel something strong and steady behind her.
Within minutes the sound of sirens grew lou
der. Two squad cars pulled up, and four uniformed police officers leaped out and greeted the man with friendly calls as they loaded the unconscious attacker into the back of one of the cars.
“Hey, Chris.” A smiling young cop sa luted. “You just can’t get away from it, can you?”
“Looks like it.” The stranger strolled closer and spoke with the others.
From the easy camaraderie between him and these officers, Bren realized that her rescuer was one of them.
He turned to where Bren was still leaning weakly against the wall. He held out her purse. “Do you live in this building, or were you here on a visit?”
She clutched the purse to her chest. “I live here.”
“All right. Why don’t I see you safely to your apartment. When the officers are finished here, one of them will come by and take your statement.”
“Yes. That’d be…fine.” She watched while he pressed the button. When the elevator doors opened she stepped shakily inside and again leaned against the wall.
He gave her a long, steady look. “You sure you’re feeling okay?”
“Just a little light-headed.”
“Here.” He draped an arm around her shoulders and held her close until the doors glided open.
Bren held herself rigid, fighting the desire to slump against him. The feel of that strong, steady arm around her was so comforting she nearly wept.
Still holding on to her, he moved along beside her down the long hallway and around the bend until she paused in front of her closed door. Her hands were trembling as she fished the key from her purse. He took it from her and opened the door, then paused to snap on lights before leading her across the room to a sofa.
She sank down gratefully. “I owe you my life. He was going to shoot me.”
He shrugged off her thanks with modesty. “No telling how somebody will act when they’re all hopped up.” He rubbed his shoulder. “For a skinny guy, he threw a hell of a punch. They usually do when they’re that high.”
He glanced around, liking the simple contemporary lines of the place. Her surroundings seemed to suit her. Strong colors. No frills. Despite her small stature, he’d recognized, in that split second before he’d jumped into the fight, the strength in her. She hadn’t flinched at the thought of her own death. There had been something heroic about the way she’d faced her attacker.
Now that he had a chance to get a good look at her in the light, she was even more fascinating than he’d thought. A short cap of red curls framed a face as pale as porcelain. The only thing that saved her from being movie-star gorgeous was the dusting of freckles across her nose. Her eyes were the most unusual shade of blue green. There was a huskiness to her voice that made it appealing. He hadn’t decided if it was nerves, or if that was the way she always sounded. At any rate, he found it incredibly sexy.
There was no ring on her finger.
“My name’s Chris.”
“Bren.”
“Bren.” He nodded toward the wet bar across the room. “If you have some brandy or whiskey, it might take the edge off those nerves.”
She looked embarrassed. “I’m not sure what’s in there. I haven’t had occasion to use it yet. But you can check.”
He opened a cabinet and studied the unopened bottles. “You live alone, Bren? Or is there a roommate?”
“I live alone.”
He felt a ripple of satisfaction as he held up a bottle. “Here’s some fine Irish whiskey. Guaranteed to take the edge off anything.”
“It was a gift from my grandfather.”
“Really? He’s got good taste.” He poured a liberal amount into a tumbler and crossed the room to hand it to her.
As she accepted it she asked, “Aren’t you having any?”
“No, thanks. I have an appointment. As soon as one of the officers gets here, I have to be on my way.”
Just then there was a knock on the door, and he hurried to admit one of the uniformed officers. The two spoke quietly for several minutes before Chris turned.
“This is Officer Tom Reed. He’ll take your statement. If there’s anybody you’d like him to call to stay with you tonight…”
Bren was already shaking her head. “That won’t be necessary.” She held up the glass of whiskey. “If I drink all this, I’ll be out as soon as my head hits the pillow.”
“Okay. If you’re sure.” He turned away.
Before he could leave, Bren called, “Thanks again, Chris. I’m sure you know how grateful I am.”
He shot her a brilliant smile. “My pleasure.” He pulled open the door and noted the alarm system blinking on a wall monitor. “Make sure you set this.”
Bren watched until the door closed. Then she took a deep breath and began answering the officer’s questions, watching as he recorded everything in his official report.
When he stood to leave she cleared her throat. “I know a simple thank you doesn’t sound like much. But it comes from my heart.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am. I’m just glad this one had a happy ending.”
“Thanks to Chris.”
The police officer pulled open the door and nodded toward the blinking light of the security monitor. “I hope you’ll do as he asked and set your alarm. After what you’ve been through, you’re bound to feel a little wired.”
“Thanks. I will.”
As soon as he was gone, Bren hurried across the room and bolted the door before punching in the security code.
Half an hour later she lay in her bed in the dark and began to relive everything that had happened tonight. Each time she closed her eyes she could see her attacker. Could see the jittery movements as he waved the gun in her face. Could even smell him, until her stomach clenched and she cried out.
She sat up and turned on the light, knowing she would need its comfort throughout the night. She mounded the pillows and leaned back, thinking about the stranger who had saved her life. If Chris hadn’t come along, she knew with complete certainty that she wouldn’t have survived.
For the first time since that awful ordeal had begun, she gave in to the need to weep.
Chapter 2
“Yeah. Banning here.” Chris snatched up the phone on the second ring.
“Sorry to spoil your day off, Chris.” The Chief of Police, Roger Martin, had a voice so loud Chris found himself holding the receiver away from his ear. “How would you like to represent the department on Meet the Media this morning?”
Despite the fact that he’d been awakened from a sound sleep, Chris managed a laugh. “Do I have a choice?”
“No.”
He gave a sigh and sat up, running a hand through his hair.
The chief’s voice boomed. “I just had a call inviting our department to send someone to debate a freshman congresswoman looking into the excessive use of force by police. I want someone who can think on his feet, Chris, and cut this power-hungry politician down to size.”
“Why me? Why don’t you handle this, Chief?”
“I’m too mad right now. I’d probably forget my manners and make a fool of myself. Not to mention that I’d probably make an enemy of this congresswoman for life. Besides, your records show that you were the captain of your debating team at Georgetown. I want someone who’ll make our position clear to the viewers.”
“Does our department have an official position on this?”
“Our Internal Affairs office does a credible job of investigating questionable behavior by one of our own. That’s why the office was created. We don’t need outside investigators coming in to do the same job. As for firepower, we’re against brute force, but in favor of giving our officers every advantage against the criminal element. Hell, if I could give our men and women on the street rocket launchers, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”
The two men shared a laugh.
“Okay.” Chris got to his feet and started across the room. “How soon do I have to be at the television studio?”
“They’d like you there within the hour. The show g
oes on at ten.”
“I’m on my way.” Chris disconnected as he headed toward the bathroom.
Minutes later he stepped out of the shower and toweled dry before tossing the towel into a hamper. He tore away a plastic dry-cleaning bag and slipped into a perfectly starched shirt. It wouldn’t do to show up in a rumpled uniform. As he dressed he found himself thinking about the woman who’d been on his mind most of the night. He loved the cool way she’d handled herself under fire. Most women would have begged and pleaded for mercy. Not that it would have done a bit of good. When a junkie was as high as that one, he was beyond making a rational decision. For a man who was brain-dead, taking a life meant nothing at all.
Chris paused in his routine, eyes narrowed on his own reflection. He couldn’t help admiring the way that one small female had been prepared to accept death at the hands of a gunman. That wasn’t something that could be taught. There were veteran cops who weren’t beyond freezing in fear when confronted by an armed attacker. But that little redhead had held her ground, prepared to accept her fate with courage and dignity. That took real guts.
As he stepped out of his apartment and headed toward the parking garage, he squared his shoulders. At the moment he’d rather be facing an armed coke-head than the grilling he anticipated from the team of reporters on Meet The Media.
“Hi, Pop.” Bren answered her cell phone as she was shown into the TV studio’s green room. She flashed a smile at the production assistant who offered her coffee. “Sorry. I was looking forward to Sunday brunch with the family, but I accepted an invitation to appear on Meet the Media instead.”
She shook her head when the young assistant offered her cream or sugar. “Black is fine,” she whispered in an aside. Then into her phone, “Sorry. Just getting some much-needed caffeine. Tell the family I’ll blow them a kiss on camera.”
When she rang off, the young woman said, “If you’re ready, I’ll take you upstairs to makeup.”
“Fine.” Bren trailed along, grateful that the coffee was hot and strong. After the night she’d put in, she needed all the help she could get. When she hadn’t been thinking about her close brush with death, her sleep had been disturbed just thinking about the denim-clad angel who’d saved her life. When she had time to get her wits about her, she’d find out his full name and then find a way to properly thank him and the others in his department who had responded so quickly.
