He’d rather have a hundred chunks of wood dug out of his own skin than ever see her in pain again. Blood rushed from the wound. Mac let it flow for a minute to flush any dirt from the wound.
“If the bleeding doesn’t stop, we might have to get it closed with a stitch.” He started the water in the tub. When it ran warm, he guided her foot under the stream and cleaned the injury with soap and water.
“Can I just get in the shower?”
“Of course.” Mac yanked the curtain across and switched the water to the overhead spray.
Stella unsnapped her bra, shimmied out of her panties, and with Mac’s help, stepped into the shower.
“Do you need help?”
“No.”
Mac peered around the edge of the curtain. She stood with her back to the spray, head tipped back, water sluicing over her long limbs. Pink ran from her body into the tub. She opened her eyes and caught his gaze, as if just noticing he was watching her. “What?”
“I was afraid you would fall down.”
“Me, too.” Stella reached for the shampoo. “But I’m all right.”
“You and Brody weren’t wearing your vests.”
“We were just going to interview an old man.” Stella rinsed her hair.
Mac handed her the soap. She scrubbed her entire body twice. She started lathering for a third round, and he took it away. “You’re not going to have any skin left.”
By the time he helped her from the tub, the bleeding on her leg had slowed. Mac wrapped her in a thick towel. Drying the wound, he closed it with a butterfly bandage, applied antibacterial ointment, and wrapped her ankle in gauze.
“I’m impressed. Let me guess, the Colonel trained you as a medic.”
“Basic emergency first aid is crucial for any survival training.” Mac closed the first aid kit. “How does that feel?”
“It hurts, but I’ll live.”
Mac scooped her into his arms.
“I can walk.”
“I know.” He carried her to the bed. Laying her down, he stretched out next to her.
“I have to go back to the station.” She nestled her head onto his shoulder. “Chief Horner will be freaking out.”
“He can freak out for a few minutes.” He wrapped his arm around her body and pulled her close. He wanted full body contact, to feel the beat of her heart, the rise and fall of her chest, to know that she was alive. “I need to hold you. Is that OK?”
She draped her arm across his chest and wiggled closer, her legs moving as if restless.
Mac stroked her arm. “Is something wrong?”
“You confuse me.” She lifted her head.
Mac’s blue eyes worried. “In what way?”
“I’m an independent woman. I’m a police detective raised by a police detective. I’m trained in hand-to-hand and weapons. But when I lay here with you I feel safe, and I like it.”
“That works for me.” A slow smile spread across his face. He thumped the center of his chest. “Because Me Tarzan.”
“I’m serious.” She rolled onto her side and rested her chin on his belly. “What is wrong with me?”
Mac’s face went serious. “It’s eleven-thirty at night. You’ve had a hell of a day. You shouldn’t be going back to work. You should be on admin leave until you’ve had a nice long session with the department shrink and a few weeks to decompress.”
“I have to find Gianna. I have to stop him from hurting another girl.”
“I know.” He stroked her hair. “You’re tired, and maybe deep down you know I’d keep you safe while you slept.” He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. “I would. I’d watch over you. I’d kill for you.” His pulse thickened. “I’d die for you.”
Especially kill. Mac wanted to find the man who’d shot at her and slowly squeeze the breath from his throat.
She slid up on the bed until their faces were inches apart. “I’d do the same for you. It’s a little scary.”
No kidding. “For me, too.”
“I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, except for my family.”
Mac nodded. “Same here.”
“So what do we do about it?” she asked.
Mac leaned forward and kissed her, a gentle and tender caress of his mouth on hers. His lips brushed her cheek. “I don’t know. First time for me.”
“Me, too.” Stella’s phone rang from the kitchen. Hooking her towel around her breasts, she went to get it and brought it back into the bedroom.
Mac could hear a male voice. “We narrowed the list of Spivak’s pals down to the most likely candidate. Cyrus O’Neil. He lives on a farm on County Line Road, and he’s also a member of the White Survival Alliance. We’ve had some complaints over noise and odors on the property, and one of the neighbors says they saw Spivak on the property. I’m going over there to see what’s what as soon as the search warrant is signed. You want to come?”
Stella straightened. “I’m in.”
“Meet me at the station in thirty.”
“OK.” She turned to Mac. “Did you hear all that?”
“I did.” And he’d hated every word. Mac wanted to be the one raiding a farmhouse instead of Stella. But he respected her enough to let her do her job. “Maybe Gianna will be there.”
“Maybe.”
“No chance I could go with you?”
“None. Sorry.” She was off the bed and looking for clothes.
He took a clean T-shirt from his drawer. “You don’t want to put the blood-stained shirt back on.”
She tugged the T-shirt over her head, then went into the bathroom where her slacks were still puddled on the tile.
Mac caught her around the waist. He drew her close, pressing his body to hers from thigh to chest. She was warm and soft. He wanted to tug her back to bed and keep her there all night. “Back to what we were talking about before your call.” He tucked a long hair behind her ear. “The first thing we have to do is stay safe.”
She placed a hand over the center of his heart. Seemed appropriate. She owned it. He knew that now. There was no point in analyzing anything. He was a hundred feet over his head in love with her. But now wasn’t the time to profess anything. He didn’t want Stella distracted tonight. He held her face and kissed her hard. “Be careful.”
“I will.” She cupped his cheek and touched her mouth tenderly to his lips. Pressing her forehead to his, she said, “I’m not concerned about me.”
“I know. That’s why I’m worried.”
Stella would do whatever it took to rescue her friend. “Gianna’s in the hands of a killer. She doesn’t have much time. I have to find her.”
He kissed her again, just a slow press of his lips. When he lifted his head, fear tumbled though him like a boulder down a slope. “Be careful. Wear your vest.”
“I need to ask you a favor.”
“Anything.”
“Would you go to my house and stay there? We’ll be shorthanded tonight. If the uniform on duty gets a call, they’ll be alone. I’d feel much better if you were there to protect my family.”
“I need to return your grandfather’s car anyway,” Mac said, though he’d rather be with her than babysitting her family. “I’ll drop you at the hospital to get your vehicle. We can call Art on the way.”
His heart clenched. As much as he respected her abilities, he’d never adjust to watching her walk into dangerous situations.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The farm was in the middle of nowhere, the closest neighbor two miles down the road. A woman could scream her lungs out and no one would hear her.
A driving sheet of rain hit the windshield as they parked. Sweat dripped under Stella’s body armor and rain jacket.
Stella said a silent prayer that Gianna or Janelle or whomever had been abducted was still alive, and that they’d find her before it was too late. Darkness shrouded the O’Neil farm. The driveway was a lopsided spot of mud. She parked next to two black-and-whites.
Patrol Officer Carl
Ripton greeted her. Rain poured off the brim of his campaign hat.
“Where’s Lance?” Stella looked over his shoulder at the small group of officers behind him.
“Quit.”
“What?”
“He walked into the chief’s office and quit.” Carl checked his weapon.
“Damn.” Even though she knew Lance had been having trouble adjusting to his return to work, she’d never expected him to quit when she needed him. He had the case in his head. With him gone and Brody wounded, that left Stella and Horner.
“Yeah. Bad timing.” Carl waved toward the house. “Shall we?”
She breathed and scanned the surroundings. The house sat on the right, with a large barn and several smaller outbuildings scattered around the yard. Junk, including the carcass of a rusting convertible and a rotted mattress, dotted the weedy grounds.
“More of a junkyard than a farm,” she said.
Carl tugged the brim of his hat lower. “Ready?”
“Ready.” Nerves dried her mouth, and when she swallowed, it felt like burrs moving down her throat.
They crossed the yard. Her SFPD cap shielded her eyes from the downpour as she crept up the wooden porch steps. They approached the front door, the buzz of adrenaline deafening. The house was two stories of peeling white paint. She glanced at Carl. His hand was poised next to his weapon as he motioned two uniforms around the house to cover the rear exit in case anyone inside decided to bolt. The situation was eerily like the one in November. And with the shooting of Brody so fresh, visions of Brody and Lance, bleeding and pale, flashed through Stella’s mind.
She shook the images away. Lance and Brody were both alive. No uniformed chaplains had visited their loved ones.
“Stella?” Carl stopped her with a hand on her wrist. “You were just in a shooting this afternoon. Are you all right?”
She wouldn’t be sidelined in the search for Gianna. “I’m fine.”
Stella shook off the mental slide show. No one was going to get shot tonight. They weren’t going to be surprised.
Carl took one side of the doorway. Stella stood on the other. The third uniform crouched behind them. She wiped water from her forehead and knocked on the door. No one answered. She rapped again. “Mr. O’Neil? This is the police. We have a warrant.”
The only answer was the sound of rain beating on the porch roof.
Stella gave knocking one more try. “Mr. O’Neil, open the door.”
Next to her, Carl drew his weapon.
Stella shielded her eyes and tried to peer through the glass panes in the door. “I can’t see much. It’s dark in there.”
Carl walked to the end of the porch and looked in another window. “Same here.”
“Are you ready?” Stella asked.
Carl nodded. The uniform brought the battering ram and swung the heavy black rod by the handles. It hit the door next to the lock. The door burst in. Carl and Stella led the entry. The uniforms followed. They swept the house, clearing each room floor by floor. When the entire house was declared empty, they met on the front porch again.
“There’s a vehicle parked in front of the barn. Let’s check it out.” Stella moved off the porch. Their warrant included outbuildings. The rain beat on her shoulders and dripped down the back of her neck as she skirted a mud puddle. The barn doors were closed. The windows were high and boarded over. The two uniforms jogged across the yard.
Stella sniffed. Over the wash of rain, a faint but caustic odor lingered.
“Doesn’t smell like a body. Smells like cat piss.” One of the uniforms wiped his face.
Stella scanned the front of the building. High windows were covered with plywood. “Can you boost me up to the window? Maybe I can see through those boards.”
“Careful,” Carl warned as he moved under the opening.
But they both knew going in blind was dangerous. It was better to know what they were facing than to rush in.
Stella put a hand on his shoulder and stepped into his locked fingers. He boosted her a few feet into the air. She grabbed the sill and got a toehold on a loose board. She put her eye to the space between the boards. A distinct odor wafted through the tiny slit. She recognized the smell with one sniff. Ammonia.
“Can you see anyone?” Carl asked.
“Give me a minute.” She squinted into the dim, but all she could see was piles of junk and shadows. “It’s too dark inside.”
“I’m sorry.” He reached for her hand to help her down, then scanned the front of the barn.
“Can you see anything between the board over the other window?” Stella gestured to the other side of the door.
“Let’s just open the damned door.” Carl reached for the long, metal handle on the sliding door. “There’s probably nothing inside but fertilizer and old junk.” He pointed to the rusted hinges of the barn door. “This barn doesn’t see much action.”
His fingers closed around the handle.
Turning, Stella saw a thin metal wire running along the doorframe.
“Don’t!” Stella shouted.
But it was too late. He was already pulling.
“Get down!” Stella dove at him, looping an arm over his chest and taking him to the ground with her just as the front of the barn exploded.
Mac drove toward Stella’s house. His phone chimed with a text message. Stopping at an intersection, he checked the screen. It was from Gianna.
He pulled over to the shoulder and opened the message.
can’t find stella. can u pick me up?
Stella would have her phone off.
Mac typed back, yes. where r u?
Bridge Park.
Why would Gianna be sitting at the park where Dena Miller’s body had been found? As if she knew what he was asking, she texted, was thinking about jumping. Changed my mind. :)
Shit. He pictured her standing on the bridge in the rain, looking over the edge, the water rushing and swirling in the dark below. Gianna was depressed, sick, and suicidal. As Stella had pointed out, without constant intervention, the girl was always a few days from death.
He tried to call her, but she didn’t answer.
On my way, he answered, then he sent Stella a quick text. Gianna texted me. I’m going to pick her up at Bridge Park.
She’d want to know Gianna was alive the second she finished her op and turned on her phone. Should he call the station and have them call off the search for the girl? No. Not until he had eyes on her. If she was a no-show, Mac wanted the cops looking for her.
How the hell did she get out to the park? That was a long walk in the rain, but desperation could provide plenty of fuel.
The storm picked up as he stopped before the bridge. Mac squinted through the windshield. His headlights gleamed on wet pavement and driving rain. Gianna wasn’t on the bridge. Where was she? Her text had specified the park. He backed up and turned into the park entrance, drove down the embankment, and parked near the monument. Thunder cracked, and lightning slashed across the sky as the drizzle became a downpour. He didn’t see her, but the rain had increased considerably from when she’d texted him. She must have sought cover under the bridge. He parked the car as close to the stone foundation as possible.
Mac searched in the backseat of the sedan and found a jacket. Wind whipped the rain sideways. He tucked the jacket under his arm. Leaving his phone in the car, he found a flashlight in the glove box and stepped out into the rain. Water drenched his clothes in seconds. He splashed through a puddle, his mind conjuring images of the pale, thin girl under a heap of blankets in her sauna of an apartment. The night was muggy and warm, but if Gianna were wet, she would be freezing.
“Gianna!” he shouted over the storm and jogged toward the bridge. Through the downpour, he saw a figure lean out of the shadow and wave, then duck back under. Thank God.
Hunching against the wind, Mac ran under the stone arch. Something hit him in the shoulder. A slice of pain, then a paralyzing jolt, rammed through his body. His muscles seized.
He saw the ground coming toward his face but was unable to move a hand to catch himself. He hit the dirt like an oak struck by lightning. The flashlight landed next to him, its beam moving as it rolled down the slope toward the river.
Had he been struck by lightning?
The pain eased. Mac twitched. The figure stepped out of the dark.
Up close and out of the driving rain, he could see the person was too big to be Gianna.
Warning blasted through him. Not lightning. Taser.
Mac shook off his paralysis and planted a hand on the ground. He needed to get up. The muscles of his arms trembled as he forced his torso off the packed earth. A second jolt ripped through him. His body went stiff as stone, and his face smacked into the dirt.
A boot landed in the center of Mac’s spine. He struggled, his limbs still twitching, as his hands were yanked behind his back. A third jolt slammed his teeth together. But the most frightening sight was the needle aimed at Mac’s neck. The second his muscles relaxed, the needle bit into his flesh. His muscles went lax in an instant. He blinked. He could feel every inch of his body, but his muscles did not respond to commands. He wanted to protest, but he couldn’t make a sound.
Fear raced through his blood. His heart sprinted inside his chest.
A hood was drawn over his head. Blind and paralyzed, Mac felt his limbs being moved, his wrists and ankles bound. His body was rolled onto a tarp and dragged across the ground. Mac was rolled down the hill and into something metal and concave. His legs flopped uselessly over the edge.
He was in a fucking wheelbarrow.
Probably the same wheelbarrow that had been used to dispose of Dena Miller’s body.
“You have quite the tolerance for pain. We’re going to have an interesting night.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Stella was airborne for a few long seconds then landed facedown in the mud, one arm still looped over Carl. The impact with the ground slammed her teeth together and knocked the breath from her lungs.
Ears ringing, she lifted her head. Carl lay on his back. His eyes were closed, and he wasn’t moving. Blood trickled from a gash on his temple.
Seconds to Live (Scarlet Falls) Page 26
