Deputy Defender

by Cindi Myers

  He retrieved the first aid kit and returned to Brenda. “I’m going to put some gauze on this wound and apply pressure to try to stop the bleeding,” he said. “It might hurt, and I’m sorry about that.”

  “It’s okay.” She blinked at him, clearly dazed. “What happened to your face?”

  He reached up and touched his nose, and winced as a fresh jolt of pain made him catch his breath. “I think the guy who shot you broke it.”

  “He ran me off the road,” she said. “My car is down by the creek somewhere. My head hurts.” She closed her eyes.

  Did she have a concussion, too? Other injuries he didn’t know about? “Talk to me,” he said. “Try to stay awake. Do you know the guy? Did you recognize him from anywhere?”

  “No. He wore a mask. Why did he shoot me?”

  “I don’t know.” He made a thick pad from the gauze and pressed down hard on the wound. Brenda cried out and tried to roll away, but he held her firm. “We need to stop the bleeding,” he said. “The ambulance will be here soon.” Or he hoped it would be. If the ambulance crew were out on another call, it could take a while before they reached them. Meanwhile, he would do everything he could to help. “Do you think the man was Robert Brownley?” he asked.

  She furrowed her brown. “Robert Browning? The poet?”

  “Robert Brownley. The man who came to see you at the museum and wanted to bid on the book.”

  “I... I don’t know.” She looked at him, eyes full of questions behind the pain. “Why do you think that?”

  “I recognized the SUV he was driving.” In which case, Robert Brownley probably wasn’t the man’s real name, but Dwight had alerted his fellow law enforcement officers about the license plate of the Land Rover and the fact that it only had one taillight. He hoped someone would stop Brownley before he had time to ditch the vehicle and switch to another.

  “I don’t know,” Brenda said. “I can’t think very clearly right now.”

  “Don’t worry about it now. Do you hurt anywhere else—besides your head and your shoulder?”

  Before she could answer the question, headlight beams illuminated them, and tires crunched on gravel as a red Jeep Wagoneer pulled in in front of Dwight’s cruiser. Still pressing down on the gauze pad, Dwight squinted over his shoulder at the vehicle and the man who climbed out of the driver’s seat.

  “What happened?” Eddie Carstairs asked, hurrying toward them.

  “Brenda’s been shot,” Dwight said. “An ambulance is on its way. Maybe you can walk down the road a little ways and watch for it and flag it down.”

  “Sure.” Eddie took a few steps closer. “Is she okay?”

  “I’m going to be fine,” Brenda said before Dwight could answer. The strength in her voice encouraged him. He reached out to stroke the side of her face.

  “Yes, you’re going to be fine,” he said. “I think the bleeding has almost stopped.”

  “What happened?” Eddie asked again.

  “Some guy ran her off the road and shot her,” Dwight said. “He wanted that book—the one about the World War II laboratories. I got his plate number and every cop in the state will be looking for him soon.”

  “Looks like he almost got the better of you,” Eddie said, leaning down to peer at Dwight’s face.

  “Eddie, what are you doing here?” Brenda asked. “You’re supposed to be at the museum.”

  “I came to find you. You and Dwight.” He reached behind him and drew his gun. “I need you to take me to the book.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dwight reached for his weapon, but Eddie lashed out, kicking him viciously. Brenda’s scream echoed around them as Dwight fell back. When he sat up, Eddie had the gun trained on Brenda. “You need to cooperate with me or I’ll shoot her.” His voice shook a little, but his hand remained steady. “Don’t think I won’t do it.”

  “Eddie, why?” Brenda asked.

  “Nothing personal against you,” Eddie said. “But I’m sworn to do my duty.” He motioned to Dwight. “Stand up. We need to get going.”

  Dwight stood, and Brenda struggled to prop herself up on one elbow. “What do you mean, your duty?” she asked.

  “I don’t have time to explain now.” He took Dwight’s elbow. “We have to go.”

  Where is that ambulance? Dwight thought. “I’m not leaving Brenda,” he said.

  “Of course not,” Eddie said. “Do you think I’m stupid enough to leave her to tell the paramedics where we are and what we’re doing? She’s coming with us.”

  “She’s injured,” Dwight protested. “She needs medical care.”

  “Then I’ll just have to finish her off.” Eddie shifted the gun toward her.

  “No!” Brenda struggled to sit, one hand keeping the gauze pad in place over her wound. “I’ll go with you. You just have to help me up.” This last she directed at Dwight. He wanted to argue that she should lie still, but he didn’t trust Eddie not to carry out his threat to kill her. The security guard looked desperate and a little unhinged.

  “It’s going to be all right,” Dwight whispered in Brenda’s ear as he helped her to stand. “Just hang in there.” Eddie thought they were at his mercy, but at the first opportunity, Dwight would prove he was wrong.

  * * *

  BRENDA FOUGHT WAVES of nausea and dizziness as Dwight half carried her to Eddie’s Jeep. Her shoulder throbbed with pain, and she took shallow breaths, trying to avoid moving it. But that didn’t help much, as every step over the rough ground jarred the wound. Dwight pressed the gauze tightly against her, adding to the agony, though she knew it was necessary to keep her from bleeding to death. She fought back panic. She wasn’t going to die. Not over some stupid book.

  Not when she had finally found Dwight.

  Eddie stood beside them while Dwight helped her climb into the Jeep. She loathed the idea of sitting next to Eddie, but he wasn’t giving her any choice. When Dwight had buckled her seat belt, Eddie prodded him with the gun. “Now let’s take care of your cruiser.”

  “What about my cruiser?” Dwight asked.

  “You don’t think I’m stupid enough to let you leave it here, where anyone coming along might see it and call in a report about an abandoned cop vehicle?” He jabbed Dwight in the shoulder with the gun. “Come on.”

  Dwight looked at Brenda. Maybe if she’d been in better shape, she could have used this opportunity to run for help, but it was taking every ounce of strength she could muster to remain upright in the truck. “I’ll be right back,” Dwight said.

  She nodded.

  As soon as he had left her, she closed her eyes, but opened them again as that seemed to make the dizziness worse. She studied the contents of Eddie’s Jeep—fast-food wrappers and discarded cups stained with coffee littered the floormats, while gas receipts, maps and other papers almost obscured the dashboard. She saw nothing in the debris that gave her a clue as to why he was doing this. Were he and the man who had shot her working together—or were they rivals, both wanting The Secret History of Rayford County, Colorado for some reason?

  Maybe all this had something to do with money, she thought. Eddie struck her as a man who was very motivated by money. He was always talking about how hard up he was since he had been let go from the sheriff’s department—even though as a reserve officer, he had worked only part time and made very little. But it was probably easier to blame Travis for his woes than admit that his own actions had led to his downfall.

  An engine raced, startling her. She raised her eyes to the rearview mirror and gasped as Dwight’s SUV rolled toward the drop-off on the opposite side of the road. The front wheels left the pavement and the vehicle lurched forward, then tumbled over the edge, the sound of it hitting and bouncing off the rocks echoing in the still night air.

  The two men returned to the Jeep. Dwight’s hands were cuffed behind his back—Brenda assume
d with his own handcuffs. Eddie waited until he had slid into the passenger seat beside Brenda, then he shut the door and walked around to the driver’s side. “What are we going to do?” Brenda whispered.

  “Wait for an opportunity,” Dwight said.

  Eddie slammed the door behind him and put the Jeep into gear. He held the gun in his right hand, his left on the steering wheel. “Just remember, Dwight. If you try anything, I’ll shoot Brenda. I know you don’t want that.”

  Dwight said nothing, though Brenda felt his tension, the muscles of his forearm taut beside her. “Where are we going?” she asked as Eddie turned the truck back toward town.

  “We’re going to get that book out of the safe.”

  “Why do you want the book?” she asked.

  But he didn’t answer as the flashing lights of an ambulance approached, the siren wailing. Eddie slowed and edged to the shoulder, turning his face away as the ambulance passed, bathing the interior of the Jeep in red light. When it was past, Eddie pulled onto the highway again.

  Maybe someone will be at the sheriff’s department when we arrive, Brenda thought. But as soon as they pulled into the dark, empty lot, she knew that was a false hope. The force was so small they often had only one or two officers on duty overnight, and they spent most of their time in the field, patrolling. No one else was out at this late hour, either, the streets empty of cars or pedestrians. A quarter moon rose over Dakota Ridge, stars like sequins on a cocktail dress shining around it. Under other circumstances, she would have admired the view. A new pain shot through her as she wondered if this would be the last night she ever saw these stars.

  Eddie drove around the back of the sheriff’s department and parked in the shadow of the building. Security lights bathed the area around the back door in a silvery-white glow, but inside Eddie’s truck was pitch-black. “Where are your keys?” he asked Dwight.

  “My front pocket.”

  Eddie nudged Brenda with the gun. “Get them,” he ordered.

  She looked to Dwight. He nodded and lifted his hip to make it easier for her to reach into his pocket and retrieve the keys. She handed them to Eddie. “All right,” he said. “We’re going to all go in, and you’re going to get the book out of the safe. And remember—you try anything and Brenda is dead.”

  The words sent a chill through her, but she fought back the fear. She had to stay calm and alert for any chance to help get them out of this. They climbed out of the Jeep. She had to hold on to Dwight’s shoulder to stand, she felt so shaky and weak. “Come on,” Eddie said, one leg bouncing with agitation. “We don’t have all night.”

  They made their way toward the door. Before they reached it, Eddie shot out the security camera focused over it. Brenda stifled a scream as the report of the gun rang in her ears. A second shot took out the light. Maybe someone would hear the shots and come to investigate, she thought. If only they would come in time.

  The security keypad beside the door glowed with a red light. “What’s your code?” Eddie asked.

  Dwight said nothing.

  “Give me the code.” Eddie grabbed Brenda’s arm—the wounded one—and jerked her toward him. Pain blinded her and she screamed, her knees giving way.

  “One six three four,” Dwight said. He bent over Brenda. “Are you all right?”

  It was a moment before she could speak. She struggled to control her breathing and managed to nod, then, realizing he might not be able to see her in the dark, said, “Yes.”

  “Get up,” Eddie said, then he turned and punched in the code.

  Hands bound behind his back, Dwight couldn’t help her, but he braced himself so that she could pull herself up against him. She leaned on him for a moment, still breathing hard, while Eddie opened the door. Then he motioned them inside.

  He led the way down a flight of stairs to a small room at the back of the building, and used a second key to unlock it. When he flipped on the light, Brenda saw shelves full of guns and ammunition. Eddie moved aside a cardboard box labeled “SWAT” to reveal a small safe. “What’s the combination?” he asked.

  “It’s in the sheriff’s office,” Dwight said.

  Eddie looked at Brenda.

  “I’m telling the truth!” Dwight said. “Why would I have the combination to the safe?”

  “You put the book in the safe after you took it from the museum tonight, didn’t you?” Eddie asked.

  “It was open. The book was the only thing in the safe, so when we removed the book, we left it open. All I did when I put it back in there was close the door.”

  “Then come on.” They trooped back down the hall and up the stairs to Travis’s office. The door was closed, but not locked. “Where does he keep the combination?” Eddie asked.

  “There’s a shelf that pulls out on the right-hand side,” Dwight said.

  Eddie found the shelf and pulled it out. A piece of paper was taped to it. From her position by the door, Brenda could see what looked like a list of phone numbers, but apparently, the combination to the safe was there, too.

  “I really need to sit down,” she said, and sank into the chair across from Travis’s desk.

  Eddie scowled at her. “Get up.”

  “I can’t,” she said, her voice so weak she could hardly hear it. She closed her eyes. She didn’t really care what happened to her now. She was beginning to think she was going to die, anyway.

  “Leave her alone,” Dwight said. “You’ve got your combination. Go get the book.”

  Eddie glared at them, as if about to argue, then jerked his head up. “Is that a siren?” he asked.

  Brenda heard nothing, but Dwight said, “Someone must have heard those shots you fired.”

  Eddie sprinted out of the office and down the hall. Dwight bent over Brenda. “Hang on just a little longer,” he said.

  She opened her eyes and focused on his hands, the wrists bound with the silver cuffs. “Do you think someone is really coming?” she asked.

  “I didn’t hear anything,” he said. “I think Eddie might be cracking up, but we’ll take advantage of that. Can you get the key out of my pocket and unlock these cuffs?” He turned so that his other side faced her.

  Energized by the prospect of freeing him, she found the key. He turned his back and held out his hands to her. She fumbled with the lock at first, but after a moment, he was free.

  He rubbed his wrists, then put his hand on her uninjured shoulder. “Come with me to my office and hide there,” he said.

  He helped her up and together they made their way as quietly as possible across the hall to the office Dwight shared with Gage. She sat in his chair while he slid open the bottom drawer of the desk and took out a pistol. He checked to make sure it was loaded, then bent and kissed her cheek. “Wait here,” he said, then slipped quietly out of the room.

  Brenda clutched her wounded shoulder and rested her head on the desk. She prayed this nightmare would be over soon—and that Dwight would come out the winner. Eddie definitely seemed unbalanced, but that just made him more dangerous.

  * * *

  DWIGHT MOVED AS quickly and as soundlessly as possible toward the door of the armory. Eddie probably had the safe open by now. What would he do when he had the book? Would he simply leave? The supposed siren had seemingly spurred him to grab the book and make his escape, but maybe he would come back to finish off the witnesses to his crime.

  Dwight stopped outside the door to the room. Eddie had turned on the overhead light and he stood beside the safe, the book in his hand. He was tearing pages from the book, a few at a time, and dropping them into a metal trash can. As Dwight stared, he took a cigarette lighter from his pocket and touched the flame to the edge of one of the pages. The paper flared, and Eddie dropped it into the trash can with the rest.

  Dwight braced himself and aimed the gun. “Eddie Carstairs, you’re under arrest,” he said.


  Eddie turned, openmouthed, and started to raise his gun. Dwight fired, and Eddie lurched away, so that the bullet caught him in the shoulder—almost exactly the spot where Brenda had been shot.

  Eddie dropped the gun and sank to his knees beside the trash can, the contents of which were burning brightly, filling the small room with smoke. Dwight scowled at the blaze, then kicked Eddie’s gun out of the way. He grabbed him by the arm and hauled him up. “Get up!” he ordered. “Or do you want to give me an excuse to shoot you again?”

  Eddie said nothing, but stood and let Dwight push him down the hall to the holding cell. He cuffed him by one hand to the metal grating of the cell and locked the door behind him. About that time the smoke alarm started blaring. Dwight grabbed a fire extinguisher and ran to douse the trash can in the armory, then pulled out his phone and called for an ambulance as he jogged down the hall to Brenda.

  He stopped in the doorway of his office. She had her head down on the desk, and she was so still he went ice cold. “Brenda?” he asked.

  No reaction. Heart in his throat, he crossed the room and knelt beside her. When he laid his hand on her back, she stirred and raised her head. “What happened?” she asked.

  “It’s over,” Dwight said. “Eddie’s locked in a cell.” He didn’t tell her that he had shot him. She’d find that out soon enough. “Are you okay?”

  She tried to smile, though succeeded only in lifting the corners of her mouth a scant half inch. “I’ve been better.”

  “Hang on,” he said. “The ambulance is on its way.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” She rested her cheek against his hand and closed her eyes. “Not when I’ve finally found you.”

  He wanted to ask her what she meant by that, but had no time, as someone was pounding on the door, demanding to be let in. He stood and went to answer it, light-headed and a little unsteady on his feet, but how much of that was the adrenaline that had flooded him earlier draining away and how much was sheer love for this woman who had endured so much, he couldn’t say.