by Maggie Price
He watched her go pale as realization dawned.
“I killed him?”
“Yes.”
“I…couldn’t see behind me.” A line formed between her brows. “I took a wild swing with my hammer. I knew I’d hit him because the chain went slack. I didn’t hang around, just grabbed my Sig, dove out of the car and didn’t look back.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe that one swing killed him.”
“Consider it a lucky hit,” he said pointedly. “The thing to do right now is ask yourself if you could have done anything differently.”
“He wanted to kill me. He would have.”
“Meaning, you had no choice. It was you or him.”
She rubbed her forehead. “Yes.”
“Even so, you’re going to feel shaky over knowing you took a life. That’s normal.”
“Is that how you felt—” she asked, her gaze sliding to his right shoulder “—when you got ambushed and shot while you were a rookie?”
“Yeah.” His insides still knotted when he thought about the night he’d killed the rapist who had pumped a 9mm slug into him. “If I hadn’t managed to squeeze off a round I would be six feet under instead of him. Despite knowing it was a justified shoot, it took me time to level out.”
He waited while Tory retrieved her water cup, took a sip. Then another. Her expression remained controlled but he saw the unease in her green eyes.
In an unconscious move, he rolled his shoulder against the ever-present ache that was a souvenir of the long-ago night he’d almost died. That ache had him thinking about the times Tory had straddled his back while her long, elegant fingers kneaded his shoulder. And always, always while her hands worked their magic his blood heated to a roiling boil. He would reach behind him and snag her waist, flip her onto her back and then….
“Bran?”
Pulling his thoughts from the past, he slowly relaxed his shoulders, his arms, his hands. “Sorry, what did you say?”
“I asked what else Nate said on the phone.”
“A lot.” He stabbed a hand through his hair. “It’d be best if I go back to last night and take you through things.”
“All right.”
“You, along with the spouses of two other cops involved in the credit-union shootout, were attacked within hours of each other. Only you survived.”
“Oh, God.” She pressed a shaking hand to her mouth. “God.”
“Unsell is the fourth cop from the shootout. His wife works at an appliance store. She lost a filling at lunch and took off from work to go to the dentist. Less than an hour after that a man walked into the store and asked for her.”
“Was it Heath?”
“The manager looked at a mug shot. He isn’t sure.”
“If Unsell’s wife had been there, she’d be dead, too.”
“No reason to think otherwise,” Bran agreed. “The Unsells were scheduled to leave next week for a vacation in Hawaii. They’re flying out today.”
“How did Heath and Kerr find out the names of the cops’ spouses and where they work?”
“The theory is they have some computer hacker pal who accessed the PD’s personnel files. They contain emergency contact and insurance information. Spouses’ places of employment are also listed. The department’s forensic computer guy is looking at the system to see if it’s been breached, but it’ll take a little time to find out.”
“Those files would also show the cops’ home addresses. Why not just hit the spouses there?”
“Could be Heath and Kerr didn’t want to chance lurking around and being spotted by neighbors. Or maybe risk having the cop who lives there come home unexpectedly. For whatever reason, we know for sure they conducted surveillance on their targets for a couple of days.”
“How do you know?”
“Kerr had pictures of you in his jacket. They were all taken from a distance. You’ve got different outfits on in each so we know they tracked you over a period of time.”
Bran reached into the back pocket of his slacks, pulled out an envelope and handed it to her. “Nate made copies of these and dropped them by the nurses’ station. Two were outside the library.”
He watched as she pulled out the pictures, shuffled through them.
“These were taken the first and second nights I worked the surveillance job there.” She held up another photo. “This was yesterday morning. I stopped at Pro Shooters to buy ammo for my Sig.”
“They did their homework, so you have to figure they knew you’re a P.I.” He scrubbed a hand across his face. “They’d take it for granted you’d be armed. That could be why Kerr came at you from behind. You’d be too busy struggling against the chain to go for your weapon.”
“You have to give these guys an A for their research skills.”
“Among other things. We found notes at each murder scene.”
“Saying?”
“One of four. Two of four. If they’d hit Unsell’s wife, you can bet there’d have been a note on her saying Three of four.”
Tory looked up from the pictures fanned on the bed. “I take it you found my note on Kerr’s body? Four of four?”
“It said more than that. Seems Heath wanted your murder to be special.”
“Special, how?”
“The note said you were payback for my sending him to prison.” Bran cocked a brow. “Guess nobody told the maggot that my busting him was merely an arrest and I didn’t mean anything personal by it.”
“The note tells you just how personally he took it.”
“There’s more,” he said. “It wasn’t just a length of chain Kerr used on you. It was a set of leg irons that had an ID number engraved on one cuff. We checked with the prison where Heath was incarcerated. The irons Kerr used were the ones Heath had on when the corrections cop transported him to the funeral home.”
“Okay.” She pressed her fingertips to her eyes. “That makes things really personal. Sort of an in-your-face to you for sending him to prison.”
“That’s how I see it.”
She dropped her hand. “So, if it’s that personal, why send Kerr to kill me? Why didn’t Heath come himself?”
“Good questions. I plan to ask Heath after I lock him back in a cage.”
“How did Kerr get in my car? It was locked. If he’d busted out a window I’d have noticed.”
“We found a slim jim in the back seat,” Bran said, referring to a narrow strip of spring steel used to bypass the cylinder and unlock vehicle doors. “Since they watched you, they knew you habitually lock your car doors. So Kerr brought the slim jim.”
Bran paused, knowing she wasn’t going to like the rest of what he had to say. “I don’t know if you remember what we talked about last night. In case things are hazy, we agreed it’s a pretty sure bet Heath will make another attempt on you.”
“I remember. That’s why I called Sheila after I got out of the shower. You were down the hall, talking to my nurse. I asked Sheila to put me up until he’s caught.”
“If you’ve seen her in the past couple of days, they would have spotted her, too. Linked you to her.”
Tory fingered the fresh bandages the nurse had wrapped on her neck. “I haven’t seen Sheila since the night you came to the house and told me about Heath escaping.”
“Do you also remember I told you I’m not going to let him get near you?”
“If I’m at Sheila’s—”
“And that you’re not handling this on your own. Call Sheila. Tell her you’ll be with me.”
She flicked her gaze from the phone on the nightstand to his face. “Sheila’s a P.I. She carries a gun, too. I’ll be safe at her place.”
“I don’t care if Sheila is a pit bull and packs an Uzi in her purse. You’re staying with me.”
“Heath managed to dig up where all the spouses of the cops work,” she rasped, her hands now fisted against the sheet that covered her to her waist. “You think he won’t find me at your apartment?”
“He might. But we don�
��t need to worry about that. You and I are moving into a safe house.”
“No, we’re not.”
“Until we know otherwise, we assume OCPD’s files have been compromised,” Bran continued, ignoring her heated objection. “Meaning we can’t use a place owned by the department. I talked to Mark Santini. He’s arranged for us to use a house owned by the Bureau. Morgan, Carrie and Grace are going to the mall to buy some clothes for us—I don’t want them going to your place or mine, just in case. They’ll have delivered them to the safe house by the time we get there. Groceries, too. I’ll borrow a car from the department’s asset forfeiture inventory. That way, if anyone is watching, it can’t be traced to me.”
Tory stared at him. “Do you really expect me to agree to this? To move into an FBI safe house with you? Into any place for that matter?”
“You don’t have to agree. You just have to do it. What concerns me is your safety.” He leaned in. “You nearly died last night.”
“My throat reminds me of that every time I swallow.” She narrowed her eyes. “Sheila and I will move into the safe house.”
“You want to invite her along, fine. There’s only two bedrooms so she’ll have to bunk with you.”
“I’m not a fool, Bran. I won’t do anything to put myself at risk. I also understand you think you need to protect me. You don’t. I’ll be fine with Sheila.”
“You think I’m going to sit back after some worthless piece of crap put a chain around your neck and tried to kill you?” It took all of his control to keep his voice low and steady. “Not a chance. Things have shifted to a new playing field. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you. It’s a shame if you’ve got a problem with that.”
“What I have a problem with is you making all these arrangements without even checking with me. Without bothering to ask what I want. How I feel.”
He didn’t move a muscle while silence dropped around them. Her constant take-charge ways had left him battling feelings of impotence and hot fury. Those feelings had been fueled by the scrapes his ego had taken over her never coming to him for help with her brother’s constant screw-ups. Or even to ask his advice.
“Shoe’s on the other foot,” he said evenly while the old hurts sliced at him. “It doesn’t feel so good, does it? To have someone jump in and make decisions that impact on you without asking your opinion?”
The instant the words were out, he felt a pull of regret through the haze of temper that had swept over him. Hadn’t he told her last night what had happened between them in the past and what went on in their future didn’t figure into how they dealt with the present situation?
He bit off a curse, thinking maybe his frustration over those damn erotic dreams he’d had of her over the past week had snapped the tight rein on the anger he’d kept in check for months. Anger that he’d loved a woman he couldn’t make a life with, anger at her stubborn refusal to let him protect her even when her life was at risk, anger for reasons he couldn’t right this minute put a name to.
“No, it doesn’t feel good,” she answered, emotion swirling in her green eyes. “It feels like we’ve never been further apart than we are at this moment.”
She shoved back the sheet, eased off the bed and moved to the window. Keeping her back to him she said, “We’ve proven we can’t live in harmony. So it would be idiotic for us to move in together when we know we’ll wind up butting heads.” Her voice was as chilled as the air outside the window. “Staying at the safe house with Sheila is a logical alternative to my moving in there with you.”
“I agree.” He rose, moved in, pausing inches behind her. “Problem is, logical alternatives don’t mean a damn thing to me right now.”
She turned to face him, her chin angled like a sword, her hands fisted against her hips. The light streaming in the window behind her silhouetted the model-perfect body beneath the thin hospital gown. “I’ll move there with Sheila. Or your sisters. Or some other cop. But not you. You can’t force this on me.”
“You’re a strong, tough woman, Victoria Lynn,” he said quietly. “And I’m a tough cop. Even so, I’ve got this sick feeling inside me over knowing how close you came to winding up at the morgue. For as long as I live, I’ll see that chain garroting your neck. Hear you fighting to breathe. See you ripping at your throat. Because of me.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t blame you for this. You shouldn’t blame yourself. It wasn’t your fault.” Her voice hitched. “You know that.”
“Feels like it was.” Regret roughened his voice. “The bottom line is, I’m just not tough enough to let you go off with someone else. I can’t trust them to make sure Heath doesn’t stumble over you.”
“There’s no way he’ll find me at the safe house.”
“Probably not. But I won’t chance that happening while I’m not there with you. Dammit, Tory, I can’t.”
“Bran—”
“The bastard wants revenge.” He took a step closer. “He wants you dead. Four of four. I’m going to protect you, no matter how much you dislike it or disapprove of it or fight it.”
When he saw no easing of the stubborn determination in her eyes, he played another card.
“You don’t want to go with me willingly, fine. I’ll charge you with Material Witness to a Homicide.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You’ll what?”
“That’ll put us before a judge. All I have to do is tell the truth: there’s reason to believe Heath will make another run at you. That you need to be in my protective custody, even though you object to it. The judge will side with me, Tory. He’ll put you under court order to stay with me.”
A flush rose in her cheeks and she shot him a look that could have caught a bush on fire. “You wouldn’t dare, McCall.”
“Watch me. Your getting torqued doesn’t make one hell of a difference to me. I’d rather have you mad than dead.”
When she didn’t respond, he swept his hand toward the nightstand.
“Call Sheila. Tell her you’re staying with me for however long it takes to bring down Heath.”
Chapter 6
“Santini told me there’s a full rick of firewood stacked in the backyard,” Bran commented as he followed Tory through the front door of the small brick house with the steep-pitched roof.
Beneath her heavy leather jacket, she gave an involuntary shiver. The air indoors held a definite winter chill and the safe house itself smelled musty from having been closed up for a period of time.
The living room in which she stood was about the size of two large pantries, but with the earth-toned love seat and padded armchair grouped in front of the brick fireplace the room looked cozy instead of cramped. The scarred coffee table and end table matched. A braided rug pooled bright color over the wood floor.
The deadbolt sounded a firm snick when Bran set the lock. “I’ll get the heater going, then bring in wood and build a fire.”
“Fine.”
He strode past her toward the hallway that led toward the house’s rear. With her eyes narrowed on his back, she yanked off the leather gloves he’d insisted on buying her from the hospital gift shop.
Just because the place looked welcoming didn’t mean she had to like it, she thought, jamming the gloves in her jacket pockets. Any more than she liked the strong-arm tactics Bran had used to get her here.
It doesn’t feel so good, does it? To have someone jump in and make decisions that impact on you without asking your opinion.
It felt like hell. Especially since she’d gone out of her way during the entire time they’d been married to take care of all “Danny” screw-ups and not dump them on her husband’s shoulders. The actions she’d viewed as saving him major headaches had left Bran seething. Which circled back to the core problem of their both being too independent and take-charge to live together without wanting to throttle each other on a continual basis.
And now, thanks to a revenge-hungry killer, she and Bran were again living under the same roof. Not even in her wil
dest imaginings could she have come up with this scenario to cap off the end of their huge mistake of a marriage!
She lifted a hand to unzip her jacket. When her fingers brushed the bandages half concealed by her sweater’s high neck, she felt her anger waiver.
Again, Bran’s voice echoed at the back of her mind. For as long as I live, I’ll see that chain garroting your neck. Hear you fighting to breathe. See you ripping at your throat. Because of me.
She pressed her eyes shut for a moment. Her aggravation over his playing hardball couldn’t erase the memory of the raw regret those words had put in his eyes. Or the bleakness in his voice that had twisted something inside her. She understood it hadn’t been the tough cop, but the man who’d tried to explain his need to put her in a protective bubble.
And it hadn’t been the P.I., but the woman who had trembled upon hearing those words. Not because of Vic Heath—she trusted her own abilities and Bran’s to survive that threat. But she was very afraid of the currents that had churned inside her when she woke this morning in his arms. Scared to death that the volatile physical pull she’d always felt toward him might be impossible to resist during their enforced closeness.
Which was why she’d been so insistent on staying here with any person on the planet except her soon-to-be ex.
Since her protests had gotten her nowhere, she resolved to keep tight rein on her control. She would resist the hot-blooded attraction she still felt. Their situation was already bad enough without tossing sex into the mix. Getting tangled up again physically would just rip scabs off wounds that were far from healed.
“I stuck my head in both bedrooms on my way to the back door,” he said when he reappeared out of the hallway, his arms loaded with logs. “If you don’t like the room my sisters stashed your suitcase in, we’ll switch.”
For the sake of harmony—and because sulking brought thoughts of her mother to mind—Tory bit back the comment that she wasn’t liable to like much about the overly cozy house.
“Doesn’t matter which bedroom I’m in,” she said, shrugging off her jacket. Even that slight movement had her hissing out a breath. The muscles she’d wrenched during the attack seemed to get stiffer with each passing hour.
