by Misty Evans
“So she resigned the account.”
“Yes. She emailed Travathian and his management team telling them she’d finish her report, but that was it. What they chose to do then was on them.” Natalie glanced at the door again. “I have to go.”
She rushed out just as Beck swished through the circular door. He’d dressed down today in a white T-shirt and jeans that wrapped nicely around his long legs and lean hips. Oh, those hips. Magic. Jackie’s suddenly insatiable hormones flew into a frenzy and her nipples got hard.
God, the man.
Two women, maybe mid-thirties, walked by the table, the taller blonde angling back to her friend. “Meri, look at this one at the door. When I get home tonight, I’m telling Jake I have a new freebie. Forget Chris Hemsworth. If I had a shot at this guy, I’d totally do him.”
A freebie. Funny.
Jackie had to smile. “It would totally be worth it,” she said. “Believe me.”
Fifteen
Beck pulled up short after walking in the side door of the restaurant and just stared. Across the way, the sun shining through the plate glass window at the front of the place glinted off the auburn highlights in Jackie’s hair.
The restaurant smelled like bratwurst and noise from the lunch rush deafened his ears. Jackie met his gaze over the crowd and smiled. Her hand rose, giving him a small wave.
God damn, she took his breath away.
Gone was the gut-wrenching sadness from her face. Today, she was more relaxed, more Jackie.
The man-eater is back.
Which he’d known last night after she’d ravaged him multiple times, barely letting either of them get any sleep. But come six a.m., she was ready and raring to go.
Thank God I didn’t go with Fleming.
The thought made Beck snort as he scooted past a couple gals picking up a takeout order and paying their check. The previous harassment by the cop seemed like a lifetime ago.
Midday traffic eased by outside the window as Beck made his way past the packed tables and booths. Out front on the sidewalk, a dark-haired woman hailed a cab. Others hustled by, some on lunch breaks, others on business.
He was halfway to Jackie’s table when a noise from outside drew his attention. The woman on the sidewalk suddenly went down. Just boom, one second she was waving a hand in the air, and the next, she dropped like a box of rocks.
Before she hit the ground, Beck saw the reason.
Blood bloomed on the back of her dress. The people around her on the sidewalk screamed, the sound barely noticeable over the noise in the restaurant, but he saw their expressions, saw the way they started running and diving for cover.
Gun.
He had a split-second of oh shit and then, instincts pounding, he launched himself at Jackie.
The tackle knocked her clean off her chair and took her to the ground. The only thing that stopped her head from smacking the floor was his hand cupping the back of her skull. At the moment of impact, the window above them exploded.
Pieces of glass rained down and Beck tucked Jackie under his body, every cell inside him screaming as loud as the startled patrons in the restaurant. For half a second, no one moved. Then a stampede started for the door.
Not the door. Shooter’s out front.
Jackie sucked in a gulp of air. He must have knocked the oxygen from her lungs and his weight probably wasn’t helping, but she managed to get enough air to yell, “What the flying crap was that?”
Shifting back, he looked down into her scared eyes. “Are you okay?”
A jerky nod. He kissed her forehead, then climbed off her, peering carefully over the broken window at the street. No shooter in sight. No more bullets flying either.
Sliding Jackie away from the window and toward the wall, he helped her gain her feet. People were scattering, some pushing toward the side entrance where he’d entered. “Everyone, get to the rear of the restaurant,” he yelled. “The kitchen. The restrooms. Doesn’t matter. Don’t go outside! Stay inside!”
He gave Jackie a gentle shove. “Get to the kitchen and make sure any doors leading outside are locked, got it?”
She didn’t argue—which was a first—and took off, hustling the other patrons toward the rear of the building.
Punching 911 on his cell phone, he headed for a young woman hiding under a table with her daughter. “Come on,” he said, bending down and holding his hand out to a young girl who couldn’t have been more than three or four. “You have to move. Let’s get you to safety.”
As he carried the girl and hustled her mother to the back, his call connected with the operator. Jackie stood at the door of the kitchen, waving them in. He gave the operator the details, and then handed his cell to Jackie to stay on the line while they waited for the cops to arrive.
“Where are you going?” she asked as he started back to the restaurant floor.
“There’s a lady out front that was shot. I need to see if I can help her.”
“Oh my god,” Jackie said. She started forward with him. “Was it Natalie?”
He grabbed her by the arms and set her back. “Stay here. I’ll find out.”
He dashed for the front door against Jackie’s arguments, surveilling the area as he ventured out.
Right, left, up. No sign of any shooter. Far off in the distance he heard sirens. Someone had probably called in the attack before he did.
Random shootings seemed to be happening daily anymore, but Beck had a feeling this one hadn’t been so random.
The woman was still exactly where she’d fallen. One shot had gone through her ribs and another through her forehead. He probed her neck for a pulse.
It was faint, slowing.
A man dropped to his knees next to Beck. “She alive?”
“Barely. You a doctor?” Beck asked, checking the woman’s wallet.
“Yep.”
Watching the blood pool on the sidewalk, he doubted it would make a difference, but he stripped off his jacket and gave it to the man to apply pressure to the chest wound. “EMTs are on the way.”
A glance at the driver’s license inside the wallet confirmed his worst fear. Natalie Wong.
Leaving the doctor to tend to her, Beck scanned the street, evaluating. Where had the shot come from?
Glancing back at the woman and the direction she’d fallen, he tried to figure out where the shooter had been. He turned in a slow arc, looking for the optimal spot, and…
There, the building to the west. Three stories, sun behind it. The perfect place for the shooter. Up off the street, good cover.
First Natalie and then…
Jackie.
Shit.
Beck sprinted for the alley.
Turning the corner, he saw a guy in cargo pants, a tan jacket, and a black ski mask jumping down from the fire escape. Beck didn’t bother yelling. At this point, screaming at the guy would eliminate any chance of sneaking up on him.
The guy hit the ground and glanced behind him – shit – spotting Beck hauling ass across the street. Nixing the whole sneaking up thing, the guy took off for all he was worth. What looked like a rifle case caught on the edge of the dumpster and rather than slow down, the runner let it fall to the ground.
Same guy, same guy, same guy. The chant looped in Beck’s brain as he raced after the man. It had to be the same creep who’d broken into Jackie’s place. The one Beck had chased for blocks into the park.
B&E, evasion, and now an attempt on Natalie. Another shot at Jackie. The asshole was upping the ante.
The man disappeared into another alley. By the time Beck reached the corner, the shooter was gone.
Frustration burning in his stomach, he slammed both hands into the brick wall of the building.
Get back to Jackie.
Same guy or not, the shooter had been trying to take her and Natalie out. Sharpshooter?
Possibly. It appeared this guy had enough training to be highly dangerous.
Same guy. Beck knew it in his gut.
If Beck hadn’t knocked Jackie to the ground, would she be alive?
A cop pulled up at the end of the alley. “Doc said you went after the shooter,” the cop said through his open window.
“Guy went west and left evidence behind.” He pointed at the rifle bag. “Get someone to watch it until the crime scene techs get here.”
He didn’t wait for the officer to say anything else and sprinted for the restaurant.
Was the shooter former military? A cop? Some survivalist freak who had weaponry far more advanced than he needed and thought he was above the law? Why would that kind of guy have a hard-on to kill Natalie or Jackie? What did Natalie know that could possibly get her killed in the first place?
Or was this asshole FBI?
The idea made Beck pause.
Not Byron, but maybe a friend? Someone who’d washed out of Quantico?
Maybe the Director had thought the creep was good enough to hire to shut up Annabelle and Natalie.
Get to Jackie.
Beck ran all out. Whoever it was, they weren’t playing games anymore. They were serious about stopping this investigation.
Dead serious.
* * *
Natalie was dead.
Jackie sat on her office sofa, head cradled in her hands while visions flashed of the restaurant’s plate glass window exploding. She shook her head, tried to focus on next steps. That’s what DelRay’s did. They bullied their way through.
The only way to the other side is through it.
True, but...what in the hell had happened? One minute she and Beck had been talking and the next – chaos.
Beck set a mug on the coffee table in front of her, its contents sending a swirl of steam into the air.
“Drink this,” he said.
Another one of his concoctions, no doubt.
“What is it?”
“Chamomile tea. It’ll relax you.”
She looked up at him, trying her damndest not to pop off because – dammit – taking her frustrations out on him wouldn’t help. “You think I want to relax? We just witnessed a woman get murdered. Shot down right in the goddamned street.” Jackie held her hands out. “It’ll take a whole lot more than tea to relax me.”
“You don’t think I know that? Drink the tea. It’ll at least help.”
When eyeballing him for a solid ten seconds didn’t back him off from his hovering, she grunted. Reached for the effing tea because why not? Couldn’t hurt. “Fine.” She took a gulp, scalded the roof of her mouth and swore.
“Be careful.” He lit off a sarcastic smile. “It’s hot.”
“Oh, fuck you.
“What are you pissed at me for? Because I was late?”
“I’m not pissed at you.” She flapped her arms. “You’re just...hovering. I can’t deal with it. What we do is ugly business, I get that. I just don’t usually see it happen live and I need a second. That woman left my table, stepped out onto the street, and now she’s dead. Somehow, I don’t think that’s a coincidence.”
“You’re right.”
“About?”
Beck shrugged. “All of it. I can’t change it. What I can do is make sure you’re okay. You see it as hovering. I see it as taking care of you. Get used to it.”
He dropped next to her, slid his arm over her shoulder and pulled her close, locking her against his chest.
Damned man. A lame attempt at elbowing her way free failed and he tightened his grip.
“Please, Jackie. Be still for two minutes and process it. I get that you’re the big, bad DelRay chick, but I got news for you. You’re still human and we mere mortals experience trauma. Not to mention the emotional ramifications of it. So sit here, shut up and be still. Let me be here for you this time.”
That tore it. Damned man adding that little ‘this time’ in there. She elbowed him again, but shifted closer. “I hate you.”
“Excellent.”
She buried her face against him, sucking up every ounce of heat and strength she could find in his solid presence. The clean scent of his cologne settled her frazzled nerves. Sanctuary. Somehow it always came back to that with Beck.
Jackie DelRay, a woman who tore the toughest of the tough to shreds in court, had been reduced to a sniveling wuss.
Well, too bad.
She lifted her head and met his gaze, the two of them lost in those few seconds of quiet. “I can’t believe this happened,” she said.
“Me neither. It’s fucked up, for sure.”
“I think that woman died because she met with me, and she was trying to help us. We have to stop it.”
“I know. How did you communicate with her?”
“I called her office. Talked on the phone.”
“Her phone could be tapped. If the shooter knew she was meeting you, he could have followed her.”
Sitting so close, she couldn’t focus. Couldn’t wrap her mind around a strategy. She should be at her desk, advising her client. Not sitting on the couch in his arms.
This was the problem with emotional entanglements. They created mental bedlam. Intersecting lines where there shouldn’t be any.
What am I doing?
She levered away from him and slowly got to her feet. He hooked a finger around her wrist. “You leaving me?”
“I can’t concentrate when I’m trying to crawl inside you. How am I supposed to defend you with,” she flapped her hands between them, “with this. It’s too much. I’m your attorney, Beck.”
“Who’s just been through an ordeal.”
That’s what he was going with? “And that makes it right? What we’re doing? I don’t think so.”
“For a few minutes it does.”
Dream on, fella. She rolled her eyes. Idealists. Always so relentlessly positive. She pulled free of his hold and walked to her desk. “Fine. We’ll agree to disagree.”
She spun her chair, smoothed a hand over her slacks and settled into the soft leather. Much better. Shark Jackie.
“But,” she said, “I’m going on record that we’re being bad here. Really bad. I should turn your case over to someone else.”
“No.”
Idiot. “Yes. I’m no good to you when all I can think about is putting my hand down your pants.”
He laughed. Did someone say something funny? “I’m not kidding. The Bar Association has a problem with this sort of thing. Rule 1.8, letter J to be exact, of the Rules of Professional Responsibility. I looked it up.” She grabbed her phone, held up the note where she pasted the rule. “I quote ‘A lawyer shall not have sexual relations with a client unless a consensual sexual relationship existed between them when the client-lawyer relationship commenced.”
Beck didn’t miss a beat. “Technically, thanks to spring break, a sexual relationship already existed.”
“That was twelve years ago. You’re trying to spin this and it won’t work. We weren’t in a relationship when I took your case. Nice try though.” She tossed the phone on her desk. “How can you be so calm?”
“I’ve been handling shitty situations my entire life. Starting with my family. I’ve learned to deal with it. And, yeah, if it makes me feel better, sometimes I twist it to work for my benefit. I’ll admit that. With the crap I see – saw – at the Bureau? If I didn’t develop coping skills, I’d be insane by now. For shits and giggles, let’s consider you a coping mechanism. One I care very much about.”
Coping skills, she understood. As a criminal attorney, she’d seen her share of rapes, murders, and crimes that had no place in the world. She’d learned to separate herself. To become clinical in her approach. Anyone in this business would have to. Survivalist mentality.
Sitting back, she dug her heel into the floor and swiveled her chair side to side as she tried to ignore the part about him caring. That was beside the point. She cared too. Probably too much or they wouldn’t be in this mess. “I’m crazy about you,” she said. Before he could speak, she held up her hands. “Don’t say anything. We’ll deal with that later. Right now, as
your attorney, going with your theory that Natalie was followed to the restaurant, I think it’s safe to assume, given her business partner was just murdered, they both knew something the killer didn’t want them to.”
“Reasonable assumption. Walk it back. Natalie was coming to meet you and you’re defending the guy accused of murdering Annabelle. You’re investigating. And not quietly. Killer thinks by following Natalie, he can…”
Beck stopped talking, blew out a hard breath.
He didn’t want to say it and that was the problem with sleeping with one’s client. Suddenly, the filtering, the limiting of information, started. And that had no place in a murder investigation.
Might as well help Beck along here. “He could take us both out,” she said.
Jesus.
Beck gave her a hard look. Too bad. She pointed at him. “Hey, don’t give me that. Trying to spare my feelings will put you in a cell for the rest of your life. Then what? Conjugal visits? I think not.”
“Christ, you’re tough.”
Damned straight. “You’ll thank me when I keep you out of Sing Sing. Natalie told me Annabelle resigned the DTC account because the inventory valuations and personal expenses didn’t jive. When Annabelle questioned Dikko, he couldn’t provide documentation to support the numbers.”
“So he’s cooking the books. He’s not gonna kill two people over it.”
“You don’t think? Please. I’ve seen people murdered over ten dollars. We’re talking hundreds of millions here.” She sat forward, propped her elbows on the desk and held up a finger. “I want everything we can find on DTC’s financials.”
Beck lifted one hip and dug his phone from his front pocket. “Hang on. I’ll text Taylor and Matt. See if they can get us copies of DTC’s 10-Ks from the past few years. That’ll give us everything.”
The Securities and Exchange Commission required businesses to report a company’s financial performance, including audited financial statements, every year. “Yes, good idea.”
“We’ll start there. See what we can find. I already talked to her about the shooter.”
“What about him?”
“If it’s the guy I saw running from the building, he took Natalie out with two shots.” Beck pointed to his head, then his chest. “Boom, boom. From that distance, he’s not a weekend warrior. He knows his way around a weapon. Someone who spends a lot of time at the range. Either as an amateur marksmen or – ”
