Means To An End

by Carol McPhee

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  Wings ePress Books

  www.wings-press.com

  Copyright ©2005 by Carol McPhee

  * * *

  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

  * * *

  Means To An End

  Lori sank to the bottom. When her feet touched the rocks, she fell to her knees. The shock of the water's coldness automatically encouraged her to hold her breath. On every side of her, long-stemmed grassy plants danced with the current and gently caressed her skin. It was peaceful here below.

  The strife of the past year passed before her eyes; her problems could end if she simply let go. Giving up should be easy. Suddenly, a brutal clamp on her shoulder distracted her thoughts. She couldn't see in the darkness, but knew instinctively—Rand had come for her. He yanked her upward. Sweet night air crept into her oxygen-starved lungs as she broke from her watery grave.

  "I've got you, Lori. You're safe now."

  Safe. His words should have reassured her, but Rand didn't understand that “safe” meant more living with guilt. When her hands tugged at his arm lock around her neck, his command was swift and persuasive.

  "Settle down! Don't fight me!"

  Lori's innate sense of self-preservation allied with her rescuer. She gave up the battle. Rand guided her toward a narrow walkway running the length of the Destiny's berth. He lifted her onto the grassy slope, then sat down wrapping his arms around her shoulders. She wrestled from his hold just in time to bring up a mouthful of water.

  "Let me g-go,” she sputtered. “I'm all right now.” Her disturbed mind resented his interference. Why couldn't he have tended to his own business and left her to die? It was a way she could put her shame to rest. “Leave me alone."

  "No!"

  What They Are Saying About

  Means To An End

  From the first scene depicting Lori Wheeler's frustration with the criminal justice system, Carol McPhee captures the reader. Turmoil and guilt abound, but Lori's courage and spunk see her through. Rand McCormick strives to bring down criminals with single-mindedness until he sees Lori. Her dislike and distrust of police compel him to show her how wrong she is. Danger, conflict, and suspense abound in this captivating romance between a woman who believes her dreams of love died with a car crash and a Mountie whose dedication makes love a complication he doesn't need. A great adventure for a stormy night or a sunny day at the beach.

  Cindy Vallar, editor

  Pirates and Privateers and author of The Scottish Thistle

  Other Works by Carol McPhee

  Something About That Lady

  A defensive Alberta rancher is determined to protect his ranch and his blind brother against a widow's unwelcome arrival.

  Undercover Trouble

  A social worker discovers her brawny neighbor is a member of the motorcycle gang that has a price on her head.

  Be Still, My Heart!

  A dedicated cardiac surgeon learns a less invasive way to mend a dietitian's broken heart.

  Jeweled Seduction August 2005

  A rejected son tries to gain his dying father's approval by recovering an heirloom gambled away under suspicious circumstance. One thing stands in his way: the winner's daughter.

  None So Blind February 2006

  Rescued, ravished and repelled by a less than heaven “scent” hero, Kate McTavish rallies and responds to her afflictions with strength and courage she didn't know she possessed.

  Natural Persuasion October 2006

  The biological clock of a marine biologist is ticking fast. Her desperation compels her to answer a personal column ad from a rancher who wants an heir.

  Wings

  Means To An End

  by

  Carol McPhee

  A Wings ePress, Inc.

  Romantic Suspense Novel

  Wings ePress, Inc.

  Edited by: Leslie Hodges

  Copy Edited by: Cindy Vallar

  Senior Editor: Lorraine Stephens

  Executive Editor: Lorraine Stephens

  Cover Artist: mpmann

  All rights reserved

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Wings ePress Books

  www.wings-press.com

  Copyright © 2005 by Carol McPhee

  ISBN 1-59088-351-9

  Published In the United States Of America

  March 2005

  Wings ePress Inc.

  403 Wallace Court

  Richmond, KY 40475

  Dedication

  Thanks to Dave Clark, Tim Conroy, Lydia Filzen, Carla Hughes, Doug Thompson, Dr. William Weaver, Mary Veelle for their faithful critiquing and Lorraine Vassallo who provided me with information on the justice system.

  One

  An ugly shouting match in the corridor ahead caught Rand McCormick's attention as he headed to the courthouse exit. A mini-skirted girl in her late teens screamed obscenities at a young woman walking down the hall. Hindered by a noticeable limp, the target of the profanity cringed and moved closer to people that Rand assumed were the woman's relatives and friends. The angry teen tried to force herself into the group, but a burly security guard stuck out his arm and restrained her. Muttering indistinguishable words, the girl's male companion pulled her away. The two groups filed through separate doors into courtroom 702 of the Halifax Law Courts.

  "What's going on, Don?” Rand asked a city policeman standing near the door.

  "Hey, Rand. Didn't recognize you out of your RCMP uniform. An accident case is being tried. Been like this all week. How Lori Wheeler can hobble in here every day and keep her cool amidst the foul words that gal spouts off, beats me. The girl's boyfriend ran a red light, killing Lori's sister. Big mouth was with him and she lied on the stand. Lori works for the Nova Scotia Department of Justice and she's convinced justice will rule."

  "Any other witnesses to the accident?” Rand shook his head in sympathy.

  "Yeah. Another teenager with an attitude and you know that means grandstanding more than telling the truth."

  Rand understood because he'd seen many convictions lost when there were no credible witnesses. “Suppose it would be all right for me to sit in on this? I'm in undercover work now; I'll pull my ball cap low so no one will see my face clearly. You won't throw me out for wearing a cap will you?"

  "I don't even see you, just hope the judge doesn't. Go ahead. Today's gonna be the windup of the case."

  Rand slid into the back row. He'd already watched the finish of a drug smuggling case this morning, pleased that the evidence he'd presented to the crown attorney held up. He didn't have to blow his cover by testifying. Dressed in jeans, navy shirt, and a scuffed brown leather jacket, he blended in with the crowd.

  Lori Wheeler sat directly in back of the prosecutor. Rand watched her turn and murmur something to those in the row behind her. When she looked up, her eyes darted past him and around the confining security of the paneled courtroom walls. She looked comfortable in these surroundings. And why not?
Working for the Justice Department, she would spend a lot of time in this building.

  Rand's conscience stirred. An aura of confidence always impressed him because his dangerous assignments occasionally rattled his own nerves. Her neatly coifed, burnished hair, pulled back into a simple bun, glistened under the inset fluorescent lights. As she chatted a few minutes longer, her white teeth flashed their perfection. He wished she would smile, but she didn't. And he didn't have to wonder why. The cause of the noticeable scar tracking down one of her cheeks would have scarred more than her face. He wondered why she hadn't had cosmetic surgery or at the very least worn her hair down over it. Maybe she wanted to use the damage to evoke sympathy from the judge and spectators.

  "Everyone rise.” The bailiff's voice quieted the chatter and everyone stood. The judge entered and took his seat. As the defendant's lawyer reviewed his client's case, it became obvious that the testimony given by the young witness for the prosecution had been torn apart on the stand. Under cross-examination, he'd broken down and confessed he hadn't even seen the accident, but merely happened along afterward.

  "In conclusion, Your Honor,” the legal aid lawyer droned, “no evidence has been produced to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that my client was the one who didn't stop with the change of lights.” The lawyer stretched back his shoulders and marched to his seat. The assembly stared at the judge. And waited.

  "Do you have anything further to add, Mr. Dunn?” The judge's question spiked tension into the air.

  "No, sir,” the prosecutor answered.

  The judge addressed the parties. “It always distresses me, in cases such as this, when there is no clear-cut picture as to who was at fault the day a life ended. Each side has had ample opportunity to provide the facts. Yet, I found the prosecution's witness lacking credibility, even before he admitted to his lie. In this country each person is presumed innocent until proved guilty. Only the participants know the truth here, and they are the ones who must live with the result of a rash action. This case boils down to who ran the red light? I cannot, in fair judgment, rule on the culpability. Therefore, case dismissed."

  A gasp swept through the audience as the verdict registered in their minds. One lone voice rang out.

  "You can't d-do that!"

  Rand looked over the heads of those seated in front and watched intently. He noticed Miss Wheeler trembled after she spoke out and stood, her hands fisted, probably in an attempt to maintain control. He could tell she was on the brink of losing her composure.

  "H-How can you pretend to deal out justice by dismissing the case? Where is the f-fairness for m-my sister? She had her whole life before her!"

  Rand held his breath. This was a judge who prided himself on his impartiality, but he had a quick temper.

  Miss Wheeler's voice started out steady, this time. “I've worked for justice and expect to see it put to its best use—to stop those who think it's okay to do whatever they want when driving a l-lethal w-weapon.” Her tone notched up on the last two words in a crescendo of fury that could not be mistaken.

  At the wave of voices noisily agreeing with her, the judge slammed the gavel several times. “Order in the court! I gave my ruling and it stands. I'll tolerate no further outbursts. Sit down, Miss Wheeler. Rogers, control that woman, please.” The bailiff hesitated, then with a wide sweep of his hand motioned Lori to her chair.

  She ignored the warning and stood her ground. “You can't let it go like that."

  "I can and I will,” the judge replied and added, “you'll face contempt charges if you don't control yourself."

  "Lori, sit down. It's over.” The prosecutor reached back and placed his hand gently on her arm, distracting her.

  Her hands flexed and rubbed the sides of her long black skirt. A quick glance back at the judge's fierce expression drained what little color she had. Her outburst had taken its toll on her frail-looking body. She slid into her seat and stared at the prosecutor. “I can't believe the judge is letting him off."

  Rand strained his ears and listened as she continued. “It's not over,” she muttered, “not for me, not for Mum and Dad. The driver can't be allowed to walk away. He's been caught driving under the influence before; everyone knows he's guilty."

  "Lori, he was under the legal limit, but you're free to file a suit in civil court. His past escapades can be profiled there.” The prosecutor spoke loud enough for even Rand to hear at the back—no doubt intended to put fear into the young man.

  "I don't want money. I want him in a place where he'll have a long time to think about what he's done. I just can't go through another trial. I have to concentrate on getting better."

  Rand scanned the rows of distressed onlookers. When he turned back, she had stood again. Her eyes searched the spectators in a silent plea and came to a puzzling halt when they met his. Motionless, she stared at him.

  He realized he was filled with anger and probably showed it. Anger for all the cases he had seen lost for lack of clear evidence. Anger for the pain she must feel now. Pain he'd felt when his brother had died of a drug overdose and left him obsessed with stopping the destructive availability of illegal drugs. He noticed there were no tears in her eyes. It impressed him that she had not given way to hysterics, but had pointed out her position with passion and daring.

  "Be quiet and sit down. My last warning, Miss Wheeler!” The judge would brook no more disobedience.

  Her pale skin now ghostly, she sank to the chair, clearly numbed. Rand understood there had been another death today—the death of her conviction that justice would prevail. She had to accept the inevitable, let go of her resolve, and surrender. She would have her own private battles to fight for some time, as he was still fighting his, and he hoped she came out of it with the same strength and moxie she showed in court.

  She looked like a wounded animal caught in a trap with no place to run if she could get free. Rand could have told her it would end this way when he'd heard in the summation how damaging the witness's inaccuracies had been. Did she have no one to advise her? Why hadn't the prosecutor known he couldn't rely on the witness?

  The driver looked relieved. Rand figured he'd been shaking in his boots until the judge ruled in his favor. The girlfriend, hanging tightly onto his arm, grinned with smug satisfaction at the victory. Rand was tempted to go up to the teen and wipe the Cheshire smile from her face. How many times had he seen that same victorious smirk cross the faces of those he thought he'd nailed?

  Perhaps he should express words of condolence and understanding to Miss Wheeler, but with her downcast eyes, he was afraid he might only add more misery. Clearly devastated, she wouldn't be receptive to a stranger's distilled explanations.

  Rand wished this woman could let the defeat roll off her back. No, it was better not to get involved. Her supporters would bolster her confidence. She'd be okay. When she left the courtroom, she would be out of his life.

  * * * *

  Seated in Lochaber Haven's restaurant, Lori Wheeler watched a spooky sight round the bend of the mist-shrouded river in front of her—a large yacht navigating to the resort's dockside. She shelved her glum mood just as a waitress approached.

  "We've never had a yacht that big try to dock here,” the waitress exclaimed, looking out the window. “If the captain takes her any farther up the channel, he'll never get her out.” She pressed her hands to the small of her back in awe of the spectacular appearance.

  Lori's eyes widened and she glanced up at her. “He's taking a risk to escape the heavy fog, isn't he? It must be scary out on the Atlantic.” She peered back at the skilful progress of the yacht. “It looks like he's trading one hazard for another."

  As the craft sliced through the mirror-black water, Lori's curiosity pushed her misery to the back of her mind. The apparition slowed and inched forward. “He probably has every navigational instrument known to man on board."

  "That won't help him in these tight quarters.” The waitress, dressed in a white blouse and a Nova Scotia ta
rtan skirt, stood beside Lori and, mesmerized by the vision, suspended the water pitcher she carried in midair.

  Lori didn't need to be told that this narrow river, carved inland from the rugged Nova Scotia coast, would cause problems for the boat. The rock-bound cliff rising on the far side of the channel screamed danger. On this side, the resort's dockside hosted small pleasure boats, not long luxurious ones. The risk of damage to the yacht and surroundings intrigued her.

  The yacht's engines stopped.

  Lori's interest honed in on a hazy figure as it leapt from the wheelhouse down onto the main deck. She could barely make out the captain's cap. Two green-shirted lodge employees rushed to the wharf, yelling out suggestions. There simply was no room to tie up, let alone latitude for the boat to turn and leave. Reversal, skirting the bend, begged for trouble in the deepening fog.

  The yachtsman's white sneakers stood out as he tracked from one end of the craft to the other, surveying the water's glassy surface. He climbed back up to the wheelhouse and disappeared.

  Lori squinted and concentrated on the boat's ultra-white gleam piercing through the opaque vapor. The eerie motion of the yacht started again, but was so slow it was almost impossible to detect. If it hadn't been for the few ripples of dark water kissing the Fiberglas sides and the slight bubbling wake, she would have thought the mirage had anchored. Nudging closer to the cliff, the yacht edged along the rock base. Suddenly, the water stilled.

  A second shadowy form appeared on the deck. She watched as he checked the sides of the yacht and appeared to holler up to the boat's captain, his words muted by the dampness in the air and the barrier of the restaurant's glass. A few minutes later, the phantom slung a rope over the rail. He accurately scored a hit from the bow as the looped end draped over one of the four pylons fastened to the cliff rock. Embedded there for tying up the overflow when the main dockside was filled, tires dangling from the posts protected boats from scrubbing against the hard surface.