On His Watch (Vengeance Is Mine Book 1)

by Susanne Matthews

  Even though she’d convinced herself nothing was amiss, Nikki tiptoed to the guest room, got down on all fours, and peeked under the bed. Mandy was asleep. The child slept like the dead once she was out. Nikki reached for the flashlight, turned it off, and used the bed to leverage her body upright again.

  She picked up the cellphone she’d left on the dresser earlier, made sure it was on in case Sam called, and dropped it into the right pocket of her pajama top. Carrying the flashlight, she slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.

  Maybe getting a dog was a good idea. Not only would it offer protection, it would keep the damn cat out of the house.

  Nikki stood still in the hallway and listened. The only thing she could hear was the sound of the television in the den. Someone was buying a vowel.

  She reached Danny’s room and opened the door. When she saw his bed was empty, she relaxed and shook her head in resignation. As much as it annoyed her to admit it, this time Sam was right. Her imagination did tend to look for boogeymen where there weren’t any. Clearly her eight-year-old and his bottomless pit of a stomach had decided to have another bedtime snack. No doubt he was the culprit. She left the room and placed the flashlight on the hall table where it usually sat in case of a power outage.

  “What did you break this time?” she called as she headed down the stairs. “I swear, you’re like a bull in a china shop.”

  The sound of the garage door opening indicated Sam’s arrival. Although the clinic was nearby, since he carried major opiate drugs back and forth, Sam always took his car to work. He would enter the house through the garage, leaving his lab coat and shoes out there and washing his hands at the sink he’d had installed for that purpose.

  “Let’s get this cleaned up before your father comes in.” She turned the corner into the kitchen and stopped cold.

  The fridge door was open, the pitcher of orange juice shattered on the floor beside what was left of her crystal vase full of roses, the red petals vanishing in her son’s blood. So much blood! Danny lay there, his head at an awkward angle, his eyes open, looking into the face of death. A scream froze in her throat as arms grabbed her from behind, and the sting of the knife bit into her upper back.

  Her upper body was on fire. Danny! Mandy! She swallowed her cries and slid to the floor, trying to stop herself from placing the full weight of her body on her abdomen, her right hand slipping into her pocket and silently pressing nine-one-one on the phone. She kept her hand over the small screen to hide its glow. Breathing was agonizing.

  With what little strength she could muster, she pulled herself across the glass and juice-covered ceramic floor until she was close enough to touch her son’s lifeless hand, tears of pain and sorrow running down her cheeks. She reached out her left hand, stretching to touch his face but couldn’t manage it. She groaned.

  “What the hell? Leroy, I told you to kill her, not just cut her. She won’t bleed out from that wound. Can’t you do anything right? The boss said no survivors. Now, there should be another kid in the house, a girl. Go and look upstairs and find her and for God’s sake get it right. I’ll take care of this.”

  She tried to turn her head to look at the man speaking, see if she recognized him, but he placed his boot on her head, forcing her face into the blood-covered floor.

  “It’s nothing personal, Mrs. Hart. For some reason you need to suffer, or I’d cut your throat, too, and make it quick. Everyone has to die sometime, and today’s your day.”

  Something pierced her lower back, sending wave after wave of excruciating pain through her body, and her unborn daughter kicked in protest. Nikki fought to suppress the scream of agony for Mandy’s sake. Blackness edged around her.

  Please God, don’t let him look for her under the guest room bed. If she doesn’t wake up, she’ll be safe under there, won’t she? Sam! Oh God, Sam.

  As if the sound were coming from far away, she forced herself to open her eyes and turned her head to face the door. Heavy boots entered the kitchen. She looked up. Instead of Sam, a man dressed in camouflage pants and matching jacket—the kind of thing a hunter might wear—stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He had blood on his blue, latex-gloved hands. Sam wouldn’t be able to save them.

  She forced her eyes to stay open and stared at the third man. He was bald, with thick, black eyebrows, and a diamond earring in his left ear. His face and head were badly scarred. His lips were thin, and he smiled cruelly. That face had to belong to Satan.

  The demon moved to the counter, grabbed her cooking shears, and rooted through the drawers until he found her plastic bags. He walked over and stared down at her. Hatred burned in the monster’s eyes. After a swift kick at her ribs, the man turned away, and walked back through the door leading into the garage.

  It was getting harder and harder to breathe. Nikki struggled against the intense pain, willing herself to stay awake, but she could feel life slowly slipping away from her. She wanted to scream, to rant at the injustice of it all. Where was her hero angel, the man who’d rescued them last spring, when she needed him most?

  Thoughts of the child in her belly, the child who’d never nuzzle at her breast, filled her with sadness. Danny would never hit a grand slam. Mandy would never attend the sleepover. Tears of hopelessness trickled down her cheeks, and her eyes closed. The sound of the door opening roused her, and she forced her eyelids open once more.

  “Good job.” Another man closed the door to the garage and stepped farther into the kitchen. “Our employer is pleased.” He nodded his head at something on the wall behind her. “It’s what we were told to print. We probably should have written it at the clinic, too, but it’s too late to go back. Everything we need is in the safe in the den. The good doctor was most accommodating when we promised to spare his wife and children.” He laughed. “The man was a fool.”

  He spoke with an accent Nikki couldn’t place, and when he walked toward her, she closed her eyes, hoping he’d think her dead and leave her alone. A bone-chilling cold had invaded her body, increasing her agony, and it was almost impossible to keep from trembling. She prayed it would be over soon.

  The unmistakable crunch of someone taking a bite out of one of the apples she kept in a bowl on the counter echoed in the room. Unexpectedly, a boot caught her in the ribs, and flipped her over onto her back. Instinctively, she gripped the phone tighter. She swallowed a groan, kept her eyes closed, and held onto consciousness by the thinnest of threads. It was difficult to concentrate on what the men were saying.

  “Boss, there’s no one upstairs. The little girl’s room is empty, the bed made. She’s not here. I tossed the master bedroom while I was up there, picked up some jewelry and a little money. For a rich man, he didn’t live very high off the hog. Are you sure we got the right guy?”

  Joy filled her, and she fought not to react to the news. They hadn’t found Mandy. Her beautiful little girl would survive.

  The man Leroy had called “Boss” cursed. “Of course we have the right man, you moron. We were told to kill everyone in the house. Since she’s not here … The safe is in the den behind the family portrait. Rather fitting, don’t you think? Go and get what we came for.”

  Fading footsteps indicated the two men had left. Thinking herself alone, Nikki released the breath she’d been holding and moaned softly. Sudden pain in her hand forced her eyes open, and she yelped. The man’s boot crushed the fingers of her left hand beneath it.

  “Not dead yet, I see. Too bad. This might hurt a bit, sweetheart, but orders are orders.”

  The pain in her hand eased slightly as he moved his foot and knelt down beside her. His lips twisted into a cruel smile. Nikki looked directly into the man’s eyes—gray eyes, cold and dead like a shark’s. He lifted what she was sure was a broken hand and tried to remove her diamond ring from her swollen finger. Excruciating pain filled her, and she saw black.

  When she opened her eyes again, she was lying on her right side, staring at a finger on the
floor inches from her face. Its manicured nail seemed strangely familiar. Numbness warred with cold and pain. Why was she still conscious, why wasn’t she dead—dead like her husband, her son, and her unborn baby? The man still knelt beside her.

  “Still not dead? I admire a woman with stamina. The owner of this pretty little bauble wants it back. I’ll admit the bastard had taste. You’re certainly worth dying for. How about a last kiss, pretty one? A little blood doesn’t bother me.”

  He bent forward and took her mouth in a cruel, punishing kiss, biting her lip, forcing his tongue inside, and her stomach roiled, filling her mouth with bile.

  “Son of a bitch!” he cried, pulling away from her and spitting the offending liquid onto her face where it mixed with Danny’s blood and her tears. “You’ll pay for that!”

  With her right hand trapped under the weight of her body, she instinctively rolled herself into the fetal position, but the heavy boots found their targets—her abdomen, her chest, and her face. Agony filled her and one powerful blow flipped her onto her left side. As she spiraled down a deep hole, the world went black.

  Chapter Two

  “Run, damn it, run!” Jason Spark shouted at the Oakland Raider receiver racing down the field. “Yes!” He jumped up as the football player slammed the ball into the turf after scoring a touchdown. “It’s about time.” With eleven minutes left in the second quarter, the game was tied.

  He drained his can of beer just as a commercial came on the screen and headed into the kitchen to nuke a bag of popcorn. Commercials were great—just long enough to replenish the snacks and not miss any of the action.

  He was on his way out of the kitchen when his cellphone rang. Damn! He glanced at his watch—9:15—who the hell would call when the game was tied? Why couldn’t they wait for halftime? Pulling the phone out of his pocket, he checked call display, and sighed. Maybe he should let it go. This was his night off. Rick would be back in a couple of hours to resume his role as sheriff of Larosa, but since he had agreed to cover for him, even if this wasn’t his usual schtick, Jason answered the call before it could go to voicemail.

  “Hey, Molly, what’s up? Some kid jumping over the fence into Louisa Mae’s backyard again?”

  “Hi, Jason. Is Rick back yet?” she asked, an underlying air of concern in her voice.

  “No. I don’t expect him back until after midnight.” He frowned. “What have you got?”

  “I’m sorry to bother you. I know you’re off-duty, but I need someone to check out a 9 1 1 call. The operator’s in a panic. She claims someone’s getting murdered over there. She’s probably exaggerating, but the line’s still open. We’ve got an address.”

  Jason sighed. Emergency calls for the region were fielded in Santa Rosa and then passed on to local law enforcement.

  “Tell her to relax. It’s probably just a butt-dial while some kid’s watching a slasher movie.”

  Unintentional calls were a pain in the ass and happened far too often. In the three years his brother had been in Larosa, Rick had had to deal with far too many of them, tying up officers when they were needed elsewhere.

  He ran his hand through his hair. “I’m assuming you called me because Buck was busy, not to ruin my night off?”

  “He’s over at the Purple Grape dealing with a bar fight. Pete’s still on vacation, and Lisa’s on dinner break. You know how cranky she gets if she doesn’t eat. I’m truly sorry, but you’re the only one left.”

  “You guys need to talk to Rick about hiring a part-time deputy to pick up the slack now and then. Since Lisa can wrestle a full-grown grizzly bear when she’s hungry, I would rather not interrupt her supper break. What’s the address? If I don’t get the phone turned off, it’ll tie up the line all night.”

  “Sixty-five Vintner Drive. That’s at the far end of town near the lake. It’s Dr. Hart’s home, just a couple of blocks away from the new clinic.”

  “I know where the clinic is. I’ve been there a few times. This shouldn’t take too long. Tell the operator someone’s on the way to check it out.”

  “Thanks, Jason. I appreciate it. You watching the game? I heard the first one in tonight’s doubleheader was a good one.”

  “I am. I saw some of it at the diner. There’s no way the Patriots should’ve lost that one.”

  She laughed. “Hope your team wins this time.”

  “I hope so, too. I’ve got twenty riding on it. I’ll call in when I get the phone turned off. Talk to you later.”

  Jason put the can of beer back in the fridge and set the bowl of popcorn on the kitchen table, grabbing a handful out of the bowl and shoving it into his mouth. He went into the den, watched the rerun of a quarterback sack, and checked the ticker. Six minutes to half-time and the game was still tied. He turned off the television. With a little luck he’d get this straightened out quickly and be back in time for the second half.

  He went into the guest room and grabbed his shoulder holster and gun off the dresser where he’d dropped them earlier. Probably didn’t need to be armed to answer a butt dial, but it was always better to follow protocol—something he’d learned the hard way. He slipped the holster in place and went into the bathroom. Grabbing the bottle of mouthwash, he rinsed his mouth. Wouldn’t do to have beer breath even if he wasn’t actually on duty.

  He’d been to the clinic a few times since coming to Larosa to recuperate from his injuries. While Dr. Hart was a good physician, the man seemed short on civility. The doctor had been furious at a salesman flirting with the red-headed receptionist the last time he’d been there. The woman had looked familiar, but he hadn’t been able to place her. No point in giving the doctor something to bitch about now.

  He reached for Rick’s brown sheriff’s jacket on the coat tree and changed his mind, snatching up his own navy jacket instead. If the doctor’s kid or a babysitter was responsible for this, seeing his FBI jacket might scare the bejesus out of him or her and they would be more careful next time.

  Locking the door on his way out, he crossed to the police car, unlocked it, and put the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life.

  The late summer night was cooler than usual for this time of year. Where were those warm California nights he remembered from his youth? The sky was cloudy. It would rain soon. His shoulder ached as it usually did in this kind of weather—a permanent reminder to always play by the rules. It would take about ten minutes to get to the Hart house. He would go in, get the phone turned off, and get out. If he were lucky he would be back within a half hour. Putting the vehicle in gear, he backed down the driveway.

  The streets of Larosa were quiet—nothing much ever happened in the small town. It was why, after years working the streets of LA, his brother had chosen to come here. Hell, this place didn’t even have a regular Saturday night drunk to lock up. Way too sleepy for him. He might not want non-stop action, but peeping toms and treed cats were just a little too mundane.

  Stopping for a red light, he noticed Ed’s Convenience Store still open across the street. He’d pretty much finished the beer on hand and might as well pick up another six-pack while he was out. Rick would appreciate a cold one when he got home.

  He pulled into the small parking lot and got out of the car. The convenience store was deserted. The teenaged boy behind the counter nodded at him.

  “Hey, man. I didn’t know you were FBI.”

  “Yeah. What can I say?”

  “So that’s how you got shot? We’re you taking down a terrorist?”

  “Sorry, confidential information,” he mumbled.

  How the hell did this kid know he’d been shot? He was damn sure he hadn’t told anyone and Rick wouldn’t. Did that pretty little redhead at the clinic have loose lips? That was what he disliked most about small towns. People stuck their noses where they didn’t belong.

  Jason walked over to the cooler and grabbed the brand of beer he preferred and returned to the checkout counter.

  “Anything else?” the clerk asked, ringing up the sa
le.

  “Give me a pack of spearmint gum, too.”

  Jason paid for his purchases and returned to the squad car. He put the beer in the trunk and opened the pack of gum, slipping two pieces into his mouth. He looked at his watch—9:35.

  Crap! At this rate, he’d miss the kickoff. He got into the vehicle, drove out of the parking lot, and flipped on the siren, allowing its shrill scream to pierce the night. Someone was sure to file a noise complaint in the morning.

  Five minutes later, he pulled up in front of the brick and clapboard two-story house and turned off the siren. The garage door was open, and a late model BMW was parked inside next to a small minivan. The outside porch light was on, as were those on the main level and the one in the room upstairs. Jason took the steps to the veranda two at a time. He admired the porch swing hanging from the ceiling. Rick should have one of these. He’d talk to Junior down at the lumber store and see if he could buy him one as a wedding present. He’d have to think about moving on soon—either going back to work or retiring and starting a new career. His sick leave was almost up. The last thing newlyweds needed was a crusty, unemployed bachelor invading their privacy.

  The lush baskets of flowers beside the doors bespoke a green thumb. The place was neat and tidy—well cared for as his mother would have said. Even the kids’ bikes were standing straight in their rack. From what he remembered of the doctor, the man was fastidious and would insist on everything being just so. He’d never been in such an orderly medical clinic in his life. Even the magazines had been lined up and stacked according to date. Talk about obsessive.

  The doorbell rang loudly, easily heard through the open living room windows. Jason frowned. The sheer curtains blew into the room. It was windy and cool out. Why hadn’t they shut the windows? If they’d gone for a walk, they’d have locked up the house. Larosa might be safe, but people still had to be careful. The hair on the nape of his neck stood on end.