Special Assignment

by Ann Voss Peterson

  Was she imagining things?

  No. It was there. Something different. Something strange about the feel of the place that hadn’t existed when she and Mike had arrived. If she could hear, she might have been able to detect what had changed. But with the permanent silence in her head, she could only rely on feeling. Scents. The pressure in the air. The energy she felt through some sort of sixth sense.

  Negative energy.

  The back of her neck prickled. She glanced back at the door to her room. If something bad was happening in the house, hiding wasn’t going to save her. Especially since it was her they were after.

  Besides, there was no way she was going to leave Mike to face it alone.

  She forced herself to breathe. She had to keep her head together. She had to remain calm. When they’d entered the house, she’d noticed a gun cabinet in the living room. Hunting rifles. She only prayed there was ammunition to go with them.

  She stepped down the stairs, trying to make as little sound as possible. Not that she would know it if she failed, but anyone else in the house certainly would. Light streamed from the kitchen and fell across the hardwood floor. She skirted the edge of the light and stepped into the living room’s shadow.

  The gun cabinet stood at the far side of the room. The glass doors reflected the light, making it hard to see inside. But she thought she caught the outlines of three, maybe four, long guns. All she needed was one. She scampered across the wood floor. At least she was wearing socks. That should muffle any sound her light footsteps made.

  Reaching the cabinet, she grabbed the handle and pulled. The door didn’t budge. Locked? She bent down, trying to see in the dim light. The key. She needed to find the cabinet’s key.

  She fitted her hand between cabinet and wall, groping for a hook, a nail, any place where Mike might stash a key. Nothing. She stepped to the adjacent bookshelf and repeated the process. Again, she came up empty.

  Where would Mike hide the cabinet’s key?

  If she broke the glass, the sound would give her away. But if she wasted any more time…

  The alarm prickling the back of her neck had long since turned to sheer, blaring panic. Something was wrong in the house. She could sense it throbbing in the air. Screaming along her nerves like an alarm.

  She focused on a small rolltop desk tucked into the cove under the stairs. Opening the top, she groped through the papers, address book and checkbook lying on top of a laptop computer. She felt her way through cubbyholes filled with bills and receipts. Her fingers touched something cool and metallic. She grasped the key and returned to the gun cabinet.

  Her hands trembled, so badly she could barely fit the key into the lock. It turned under her fingers. Opening the door, she grabbed one of the rifles.

  Ammunition. She needed to find the bullets and see if she remembered how to load a rifle. She yanked open the drawers underneath the gun rack. Cleaning supplies. No ammunition. Where in the world would Mike keep the ammunition?

  A strong vibration shook the air. Even though she couldn’t hear the sound, she could feel it. Loud. Sudden. Something was happening. Something was going down right now.

  She gripped the gun and made for the kitchen. She’d have to bluff. If pressed, she couldn’t do much with an unloaded rifle, but that didn’t matter. She had no idea where the ammunition could be. And she couldn’t risk that something was happening right now, that Mike would be hurt, that if she didn’t get in there she would be too late.

  She crept quickly across the wood floor, holding the rifle in front of her as she’d learned hunting with her dad and brother when she was a teenager. Her socks skidded on the floor. She struggled, regaining her balance and darted around the corner and into the kitchen.

  The bright light blinded her for a second. She squinted, willing her eyes to adjust. A man was in the kitchen with Mike, his back to her. Silver hair, broad shoulders. He spun around.

  He looked so familiar that at first she thought she must be seeing things. Almost black eyes peered out from a thin, weathered face. He had the same nose, the same chin, in everything but age and bruises, he looked like Mike would in twenty or so years.

  Cassie looked past the man and met Mike’s surprised eyes. He stared at the rifle in her hands. “Cassie? This is my dad. Dad? This is Cassie.”

  EMBARRASSMENT CREPT up Cassie’s neck and suffused her pale cheeks with color. She lowered the rifle, pointing the barrel at the floor. “Mr. Lawson… I’m sorry…I thought something happened. I thought something was wrong.”

  His dad nodded, his body on alert, his hand hovering near the Glock he, like many retired cops, kept at his side.

  Guilt dug into Mike’s chest. He knew what had frightened Cassie. She might not have been able to hear him and his dad yelling at each other, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t feel it. More than once, Tommy had reacted to angry or alarmed voices, and he had never known what hearing was.

  Mike stepped past his dad, and she handed him the rifle. “I’m sorry, Cass. It was just us. We were arguing.” He bit back the urge to add picking up where we left off.

  His dad scrutinized Cassie with the same narrowed gaze Mike had suffered under through countless interrogations as a teenager. And since. A gaze that saw everything. He raised his hands. I’m sorry we alarmed you. Sometimes I get carried away. We both do.

  Leave it to his dad to realize Cassie was deaf. But then, he remembered Tommy, too.

  He turned his scrutiny on Mike, as if trying to figure out what was going on between him and Cassie without asking.

  Mike wasn’t about to attempt to explain. His dad would only read things into their relationship that weren’t there. And no doubt, he’d end up disappointed in Mike for some reason or other. No, the shorter Mike could make this visit, the better. “Cassie has a busy day tomorrow, Dad. If you don’t mind—”

  “You want me to leave.”

  Mike pressed his lips together in an unspoken yes.

  “Maybe that’s for the best.” He turned to Cassie, giving her a stiff, coplike nod. Nice meeting you, Cassie. Again, I’m sorry for alarming you.

  Please, don’t apologize. Cassie offered a shaky smile. I’m sorry for pointing a gun at you.

  His dad chuckled, the sound warmer than anything Mike had heard from his lips in twenty years. I guess we’re even then.

  Cassie smiled. I guess we are.

  His dad let himself out the kitchen door. As soon as it shut behind him, Cassie’s smile dissolved into a look of concern. “What was going on?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do I mean? The tension between your dad and you was thick enough to choke on.”

  He let out a breath. He didn’t want to talk about this. Not with Cassie. Not with anyone. And defi nitely not now. “It’s nothing. My dad and I just don’t get along too well.”

  She gave him a sideways look.

  He should leave it at that, not say anything more. But somehow, the way she looked at him made him feel compelled to fill the silence with words. Like all the suspects he’d ever interrogated. “I’ve disappointed him. That’s all.”

  “Disappointed him? How?”

  It would be easier to list the ways he hadn’t disappointed his father. He grabbed at the most straightforward. “He’s a cop. Born and bred.”

  “He’s upset about your suspension?”

  “Not just the suspension. All of it. I lost my gun. I’m a suspect in a homicide. I ratted out my fellow cops.”

  “How can he be upset that you turned in officers who were stealing? Isn’t upholding the law your job?”

  “It’s not quite that easy. Not with cops. We have to rely on one another to get through each day alive. We can’t afford to turn on each other. Not for any reason.”

  “That’s what your dad thinks?”

  “Like I said, he’s a cop. Deputy chief by the time he retired.”

  She nodded, her eyebrows dipping low. “I guess I just can’t believe your dad feels that way, too.
”

  Mike let out a breath. As upset as he was with his dad, he didn’t want Cassie blaming him for some thing that was out of his control. “My dad’s right. Even the most law-abiding citizen will turn on police the moment he gets a traffic ticket, deserved or not. If cops can’t rely on cops, who can they rely on?”

  “Trusting one another and allowing each other to break the law are two different things.”

  “That’s true in theory, but people’s feelings aren’t always logical.” His feelings sure weren’t logical. Especially lately. Especially around Cassie.

  “So why did you do it? Why did you turn in those officers?”

  There was only one answer to that question. “Because it was the right thing to do.”

  “But you’re paying such a price for it.”

  “I promised. I promised I’d do the right thing. No matter what it cost me.”

  “Promised who?”

  He shouldn’t have said anything. He didn’t want to talk about this. “No one. Myself, I guess. I don’t know.”

  “Promised who, Mike? You can talk to me.”

  “I know I can.” Hell, she’d probably try to reassure him. Tell him he was young. Tell him his impatience was understandable. Maybe even tell him his parents had expected too much of him. He knew all the lines, all the rationalizations. He’d tried every single one on for size. But when it got down to it, Tommy was still gone. And it was still his fault. And no explanations or sympathy or understanding would change what he’d done. Pressure built behind his eyes. “It’s late. We both need some shut—”

  The pop of gunfire sounded from outside.

  Adrenaline slammed through him. “Get down!”

  Cassie stared at him, confused and unmoving.

  Chapter Twelve

  Mike grabbed Cassie’s arm and pulled her to the floor. His heart raced, beating against his ribs with bruising force.

  Dad. Dad was outside.

  He grabbed the rifle Cassie had brought into the kitchen. Staying as low as he could, he reached for Nana’s ancient sugar canister and grabbed a handful of rifle cartridges. He loaded the rifle and stuffed a handful in his pocket.

  “Stay here. And stay low. Understand?”

  Cassie nodded. She looked pale but determined. The way she’d looked when she’d burst into the kitchen, rifle at the ready.

  He could only pray the shots outside were a similar false alarm. His dad firing to scare off a cougar prowling near the barn. A bear trying to get into their trash despite the fencing surrounding it. Something. Anything. Flicking off the kitchen light, he opened the door and slipped out onto the porch.

  He crept across the porch, remaining low. He didn’t see his dad out on the road between the houses. He didn’t see anything.

  Making it down the steps, he stuck close to the bushes near the side of the house. What he wouldn’t give for some solid rock for cover instead of these pitiful-looking bushes, just starting to leaf out for summer. He peered through the darkness, his eyes starting to adjust to the moonlight’s blue glow. No sounds came from the barn. Nothing moved.

  The shuffle of footsteps on wood came from behind him.

  He spun around, leading with the rifle barrel.

  A shadow crouched on the porch. Moonlight glowed dull on a rifle barrel and gleamed dark red on shoulder-length curls.

  Cassie.

  He pulled the barrel down and lowered the rifle. He wanted to order her back in the house. He wanted her as far from this unknown danger as she could get. But he knew she’d never listen.

  Hell, she’d probably inform him that she was his backup.

  Holding up a hand, he motioned her toward him, reminding her to stay low.

  She scampered off the porch and burrowed into the bushes beside him.

  I thought I told you to stay inside, he signed, glad to have a silent way to communicate.

  And do what? Wait for them to come in and get me? It’s not like I can hear them approach.

  She had a point. He nodded to her weapon. Do you know how to use that thing?

  My dad and brother hunt. I haven’t shot a rifle for years, but I used to be pretty good.

  Okay. Stick close. At least he’d know where she was. And whoever was out there wouldn’t.

  A shadow moved near the barn.

  Mike narrowed his eyes, struggling to see through the darkness. Was it a man? An animal?

  A flash of light. The crack of gunfire.

  Mike flattened himself to the ground, pulling Cassie with him. Damn. It was a man, all right. A man who was shooting at them. “This is Detective Lawson of the Denver PD. Put down your weapon. Now.”

  Another round fired from the shadows of the barn. The report echoed off the house behind their backs, then reverberated again off the rocky ridge surrounding the valley.

  Breath roaring in his ears, Mike raised his head just enough to look around. Where was his dad?

  No movement came from his father’s house. Just the porch light, burning steadily. There was no way his dad hadn’t heard the gunfire. And if he heard it, he’d be doing something about it.

  Unless he couldn’t. Unless he’d been hit.

  Another shot exploded. This time Mike could hear the bullet whistle above through the clump of bushes. Damn. That was close. Too close. They had to get out of here and find better cover, and they had to do it now.

  He eyed the barnyard and area around the house. He needed something solid. Something they could hide behind that was more protective than a line of scraggly bushes. The squat concrete mass of the septic tank hulked between barnyard and house, only twenty feet from their hiding spot.

  Perfect.

  He grasped Cassie’s arm and nodded at the tank. When I count to three, I want you to run for that tank, he mouthed.

  She nodded.

  He released her arm. Stay low. He picked up his rifle.

  Cassie did the same, moving her feet under her and tensing her muscles. He brought the rifle to his shoulder and trained the barrel slightly high, but in the area where the shots had originated. He couldn’t see the shooter any longer, not a shadow, not a movement, and he didn’t want to chance hitting one of his dad’s horses in the pen beyond. He didn’t have to hit anything, actually. He just needed to send the shooter ducking for a few moments.

  Using his trigger hand, he held up his fingers, one at a time, counting to three. As soon as his third finger rose, he slipped his finger into place on the trigger and fired.

  Cassie sprinted for the concrete tank and dove behind it.

  Mike released a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. Thank God, Cassie had made it. She was safe, at least for now.

  She scrambled to her knees and brought her rifle to her shoulder. She did exactly as Mike had done, aiming the barrel high as not to hit anything she couldn’t see.

  He hadn’t considered how he was going to get across the open span to the tank. But he should have known he could count on Cassie. He gathered his feet under him, ready to run.

  She gave him a look and lifted her knee. She tapped it on the grass three times.

  He pushed into a dead run, keeping as low as he could. A shot exploded from Cassie’s rifle.

  It seemed to take forever to cross the short distance. With each stride, Mike braced himself for the sound of gunfire, the sting of the bullet. He reached the tank, diving to the ground behind Cassie.

  Mike’s breath roared in his ears. Eyes on the shadows around the barn, he sucked in a breath and held it, struggling to hear over the thrumming of his heart.

  The roar of an engine cut the stillness. Tires spun over gravel. A dark sedan raced from behind the barn and fishtailed onto the driveway. There was no way they could catch them, but Mike didn’t care. He just wanted them out of there. Away from Cassie. He just wanted her to be safe. He didn’t take a breath until the taillights disappeared over the ridge.

  Cassie lowered her rifle. Are they gone?

  I think so. But stay alert.

 
; He and Cassie waited, wordless, for several moments. The night was silent except for the light rasp of their breathing, sending clouds of steam into the cold air. The moon lit the valley. Everything was so quiet, so peaceful, it felt like shots had never been fired, as if the past few tense minutes were a dream.

  Something stirred in the shadow of the barn.

  Cassie gasped. She held her fingers to her lips as if trying to keep the sound in.

  Mike tensed, brought the rifle up. He strained to see through the dark shadow. He fought to hear the sound of movement, of anything.

  A low moan reached him. The moan of a man.

  The shadows moved again. Moonlight glinted off silver hair.

  Mike’s throat pinched. “Dad!”

  CASSIE HANDED MIKE a foam cup filled with steaming coffee. The surgical waiting room of the hospital was vacant except for the two of them. No surprise. Only emergencies would send people to the surgery floor in the middle of the night. And while there were several people in the E.R. when they’d arrived, apparently only one needed surgery.

  Mike’s father.

  Cassie met Mike’s worried eyes. “Did you hear anything?”

  Circles cupped under his eyes, nearly as dark as his fading bruises. He looked so tired. So worn down. “No. Not a word.”

  She ached to reassure him. To tell him his dad would be okay. But she didn’t have any way of knowing if that would be the case. And she respected Mike too much to offer empty words. She sat down next to him on the stiff couch.

  “If I lose him…”

  She understood where his thoughts were leading without him finishing his sentence. It was a tragedy that Mike’s father had been shot. It was a double tragedy that the last conversation Mike had with him was an argument. “If he’s anything like you, he’s strong. Strong enough to pull through.”

  “Why did I have to fight with him tonight? Why couldn’t I have just kept my mouth shut and let him speak his piece?”

  “This wasn’t your fault. You can’t beat yourself up over it. Your dad was the one who was critical of you. Your dad was the one who didn’t support you, even though you did the right thing.”