Carla Cassidy

by Scene of the Crime Killer Cove

  In her hand, she clutched a key to a post office box. The key had arrived in the mail two days ago at her apartment in San Antonio, Texas.

  Melissa had just gotten home from a tiring day of conducting background checks on individuals and looked forward to a long soak in her bathtub. When she’d found the letter among the advertisements for steam cleaning and coupons for pizza, she’d checked the postmark. The only person she knew in Mississippi was Cord, and he never wrote to her. He always called or texted her.

  Excited to get any word from the boy she’d grown up with and called her brother, she’d torn the letter open and a key had fallen out onto the floor. With the key had been a single sheet of paper with the words NEED HELP written in bold capital letters across the top. Below were instructions to pick up a package at the Biloxi, Mississippi, post office between nine and ten o’clock in two days. She was to arrive in disguise, collect the package and meet him at the Shoot the Bull Bar outside Stennis at 10:00 p.m. the following evening. At the bottom of the page were the initials C. S.

  Cord never asked for help. For the most part, he rarely contacted her. His life in the Navy SEALs kept him busy and often out of the country on dangerous deployments. For him to reach out to her, he had to be in dire straits.

  Between major assignments at her job with the FBI, Melissa had called her boss, told him she had a family crisis and needed to take some time off. She’d hopped in her bright red pickup, driven all night to Biloxi and spent the next day gathering what she thought she might need in the way of a disguise before her rendezvous at the post office.

  Now as she stood in the bustling, busy post office, she wondered if her layers of disguise were overkill. Cord had played pranks on her as they’d grown up together on neighboring farms in Ohio. Was this an elaborate hoax? If so, she’d have words for him.

  But something inside her told her it wasn’t a hoax, and she kept her eyes open for anyone who looked in any way suspicious as she worked her way through the building to the rows of post office boxes.

  No one followed her, but there was a man standing at a counter addressing an envelope. He was big, somewhere between six feet two or four, had dark hair that hung down to his collar and wore a Texas Rangers baseball cap. It was the smoldering dark eyes that were at that precise moment following her that made her look at him twice.

  The hairs on the back of her neck rose. She located box 1411. As she slipped the key into the lock, she turned her head enough to catch the big guy staring at her.

  Committed to opening the box, she twisted the key and pulled open the door. Inside was a large, thick envelope. She took it out, slipped it into her purse and closed the box.

  Then she turned and walked by the big man, making note of his face, eye color and the shape of his chin and lips in case she had to have a forensic artist draw a picture of him.

  As she stepped out the door into the bright sunlight, a car pulled up in front of the building. Two men, dressed in black jeans and T-shirts, wearing dark sunglasses, hopped out. They hurried toward the entrance, and her, at the exact moment the man she’d passed in the post office exited the building behind her.

  Melissa forced a smile, performed an abrupt right turn and walked quickly away from the door, praying the men weren’t actually aiming for her.

  Unfortunately they were, and they followed. She’d parked the car she’d rented a block away, just in case. Now she wished she’d parked in front of the building. She’d already be in it and speeding away.

  That was, if her stalkers didn’t make a grab for her and try to force her into the car that had been easing through the parking lot of the post office, matching her pace.

  Melissa walked faster. Knowing she wouldn’t make it to the rental car soon enough, she turned right again and headed for the café on the backside of the post office. If she could make it there, she might be able to slip in and get out another way.

  A man and woman were walking ahead of her in the same direction. She ran to catch up and clapped a hand on their shoulders. “Oh, there you are,” she said. “I thought you were going to wait for me.”

  They turned with startled looks at her.

  The man pulled the woman into the circle of his arm. “I’m sorry, ma’am, do I know you?”

  She laughed, glancing over her shoulder.

  The two men in black were right behind her and the café was to her right.

  “Sorry. I thought you were someone else. My bad.” She smiled and shot to the right, making a beeline for the café’s front door. As she entered, she yanked off her sunglasses and called out, “Where’s your bathroom? It’s an emergency.”

  The waitress at a table pointed to the back of the building. “Back left corner.”

  The door opened behind her.

  Melissa didn’t turn to look back, making a run for the bathroom. Once inside, she thanked her lucky stars it had a sliding lock on the main door and a small window at the back. Quickly, she stripped out of the hat, wig and floral dress. Beneath it, she wore a pair of stretchy biker shorts and a thin jacket with a hood. She pulled a small drawstring backpack out of her satchel, along with a pair of tennis shoes. Stuffing the large envelope into the backpack, she traded shoes and climbed up onto the toilet seat. The window was small, but she had fit through smaller.

  A loud knock made her bite back a scream. Her pulse hammered against her ears, muffling the next rap on the door. Based on the heavy-handed taps, she’d bet her red shoes the men who’d been following her thought they had her cornered.

  Leaving the satchel with the dress and shoes hanging on the back of the stall door, she balanced on the lid of the toilet tank, levered herself through the window and dropped onto a large azalea bush below the window.

  Pulling the hood up over her head, she took off at a slow jog, trying to put as much distance as she could between the café and the men inside. Staying close to the shadows of buildings and bushes, she hurried down a secondary street, afraid to go back for her rental car in case the men who’d been chasing her caught up to her.

  A shout behind her made her turn back. The two men in black jeans had spotted her and gave chase.

  No longer trying to appear casual, she sprinted toward the next street and started to run across when a motorcycle slid to a stop in front of her.

  The rider pushed back the facemask on the helmet, exposing the piercing dark eyes of the man she’d seen watching her inside the post office. “Get on if you don’t want those guys to catch you.”

  She bolted around him and kept running down the sidewalk. Thanks to the man on the motorcycle slowing her escape, the men who’d been chasing her on foot were closing the gap.

  Motorcycle man revved his engine, bumped up over the curb and drove on the sidewalk, racing up behind her. Melissa ran faster, her lungs burning with the effort.

  He kept pace with her, swerving to miss a woman who’d stepped out of a building. “Cord sent me,” he called out. “Get on.”

  Not sure what to do, but quickly running out of steam, Melissa glanced behind her. One of the men stopped running, reached into his jacket and pulled out a pistol.

  In that split second, Melissa made her decision. She hopped onto the back of the bike and grabbed the man around the waist. “He’s got a gun! Go! Go! Go!”

  A loud bang exploded behind her and a bullet pierced the no-parking sign beside Melissa’s head. She ducked, pressing herself into the biker’s back, hoping the men behind her were really crummy shots.

  The motorcyclist jerked the handles to the right, sending the bike off the sidewalk and out onto the street. He swerved to miss an oncoming car and twisted hard on the throttle. The front tire of the bike left the ground and bounced down again. The back tire gripped the road and they shot forward.

  The dark sedan that had followed her in the post office parking lot leaped out of a side street, fishtailing around to fall in behind them.

  Her arms squeezing around the man’s middle, Melissa glanced back. “They’re c
atching up!” she shouted.

  “Hold on!” he called out.

  Her arms already holding tight around the man, her body moved with his as he leaned low into a swift turn, taking a corner so fast, the back tire skidded sideways.

  The vehicle following them tried to take the same corner at the same speed and didn’t make it. They started out okay, but once the car started turning, the back end spun around and kept spinning until the vehicle had completed a 180-degree turn, facing back in the opposite direction.

  The time it took the car to circle around in the middle of the street gave the biker enough of a head start to turn at the next corner and again at another corner. He doubled back three blocks over, switching in and out of narrow streets until Melissa was sure they’d lost their tail.

  Her biker didn’t slow until they were deep in the heart of Biloxi. He pulled into a building with a shadowy parking garage before he stopped.

  Now that the shooters and the dark sedan weren’t chasing her, Melissa had time to rethink her decision to climb onto the back of the motorcycle with a complete stranger. Especially now that he had taken her into a dark, deserted parking garage. He could easily kill her and take the packet she’d gone to all that trouble to retrieve.

  As soon as her rescuer stopped, Melissa hopped off the back of the bike and backed away. “Who are you?”

  The man swung his long leg over the bike and stood, towering over Melissa. He pulled the helmet off his head, shook his head to clear the dark hair out of his face. He set the helmet on the seat, his intense gaze skimming over her figure. “I’m James Monahan. Cord sent me to look after you.”

  “How do I know that? You could be another one of the guys trying to kill me.”

  “You could take me at my word.” He shook his head. “I’m guessing that isn’t good enough.”

  She crossed her arms. “Not hardly.”

  “Cord said you’d be picking up a package and that the possession of what’s inside might make you a target.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Did he say who would target me?”

  “No.”

  “That still doesn’t tell me why you’re involved. How do you know Cord?” she shot at him. The man was too damned good-looking, and the way his eyes skimmed over her body made her feel deliciously exposed. Not a feeling she wanted at a moment when she should be hiding from would-be killers.

  “Rip and I used to be on the same SEAL team.”

  She raised her brows. “Used to be?”

  “I left active duty two years ago. I haven’t had much contact with the team since.”

  Her shoulders sagging, Melissa adjusted the straps of the backpack on her arms. “So you don’t know what this is all about?”

  “Not really.”

  “Well.” She glanced around. “Thanks for helping me.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Melissa turned and walked down the ramp toward the exit.

  “Hey,” Jim called out.

  Melissa turned.

  “You didn’t tell me your name.”

  She smiled. “I didn’t, did I?” She resumed her march toward the exit.

  The motorcycle revved behind her. Before she reached the street, Monahan pulled up beside her. “Need a lift?”

  She shook her head, continuing down the ramp to the entrance. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not be seen on that motorcycle. If those guys see it, they’ll home in and start shooting again.”

  “Good point. Where are you staying?”

  She twisted her lips into a half smile. “Can’t tell you.”

  “And if you did, you’d have to kill me?”

  “Something like that.” She waved. “I’ll see you around.” Melissa stepped out onto the street and walked as fast as she could in what she hoped was the direction of the hotel where she’d left her other clothes. If she was going to meet with Cord the next day, she had work to do to throw others off.

  Half a block later, the ex-SEAL was still following her. She stopped and faced him. “Are you going to follow me all the way to my hotel?”

  With his visor up, his grin was clearly visible. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Melissa rolled her eyes. “Fine. You can give me a ride.”

  “What if I don’t want to now?”

  “Are you always this aggravating?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Only when the girl is pretty.” He tipped his head. “Get on. I promise to take all the back roads through town.”

  She eyed him again. “My instincts tell me you could be as dangerous as those other men.”

  “I can be, when I need to be.” His lips curled in a sexy smile. “You should trust your instincts when I tell you that, though I can be dangerous, I’m one of the good guys.”

  Tingles of electricity radiated across Melissa’s arms as she climbed onto the back of the motorcycle. “If you’re one of the good guys, we’re all in trouble.”

  “Damn right,” he agreed.

  He was far too sexy to be a good guy. And she’d do right to remember that.

  Copyright © 2015 by Mary Jernigan

  ISBN-13: 9781460381335

  Scene of the Crime: Killer Cove

  Copyright © 2015 by Carla Bracale

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