by Mallory Kane
As Cade watched, the woman reared back and kicked Laurel in the kidneys. Laurel cried out and scissored her legs, trying to knock the woman’s legs out from under her. But her attacker dodged her, bouncing like a boxer.
Then a movement beyond the two of them caught his eye. It was Fred. He was sitting up, one hand to his head where blood flowed freely.
Damn, what had happened here?
Cade drew his weapon. In two strides he had the barrel dug into the side of the woman’s neck.
“Don’t move,” he commanded.
The woman jerked around with amazing strength, but he was ready. He grabbed her arm and wrenched it behind her, never moving his gun barrel from her neck. Then he knocked her feet out from under her and followed her to the ground, his knee in her back.
She grunted and tried to buck him off. She almost succeeded.
He pressed the gun barrel harder into her neck. “Do you not feel this gun?” He dug it a little deeper into her muscled flesh.
She stayed still. He breathed a sigh of relief. Damn, she was strong. He hated to admit it but for a second there he hadn’t been sure he could wrest that muscle-bound arm behind her.
“Laurel, you okay?” he called without taking his eyes off the woman.
“I—think so.”
Her voice was small and quavery. Was she just scared or was she lying? He wanted to look up, to check for himself, but he didn’t dare let down his guard for an instant.
“Fred?”
“I’m okay, Cade. Just a little woozy.”
Putting more weight on his knee and not moving the gun a millimeter, Cade reached into his back pocket for some Flexicuffs and glance toward Fred. “Can you cuff her?”
Fred nodded, then tried to rise. He didn’t make it. “Give me a second,” he gasped.
“I can do it,” Laurel said. “Fred took a huge blow to his head.”
Cade tossed the Flexicuffs toward Laurel.
He rolled off the woman and wrapped his left hand around the nape of the her neck.
“I can shoot you or I can break your neck,” he said calmly. “Your choice.”
She didn’t move.
Laurel crawled over and piked up the Flexicuffs. She pulled the woman’s unresisting hands together and cuffed her.
Cade relaxed a little once the woman’s hands were cuffed, but he didn’t take her for granted. She’d pack a hell of a wallop with a head-butt or a well-placed kick.
He stood. “Get up!” He hooked a hand around her elbow and jerked her up. “You’re under arrest for assaulting a federal officer. You have the right to remain silent and anything you say may be used against you in a court of law.”
“No, wait. I just wanted to scare her—stop her from digging into Wendell’s death.”
Laurel gasped. “I know you. You’re Sheryl Posey. You’re one of the CeeGees. You really did kill Wendell, didn’t you? You and the other CeeGees.”
“No! We put that sign to his back at the graduation ceremony, but Kathy and Debra weren’t satisfied. Debra lured him out to the creek bank. She gave him this whole line about how she thought a smart man was so sexy.”
“And Wendell believed her? After everything the CeeGees had done?”
Sheryl shrugged. “He was eighteen. And Debra was really cute. He let her lure him out here. Kathy hid while I sneaked up behind him and yanked the chain of the science medal from around his neck. We were going to make him take off all his clothes before we’d give it back.” She jerked against Cade’s hold. “But the chain didn’t break right away. It choked him and he passed out. Deb and Kathy got totally spooked. They were afraid he was dead.”
“But he wasn’t,” Laurel said.
“No! I swear! The chain must have pressed on something vital. He went out like a light, but he was still breathing.”
Cade had heard enough. “Let’s go. I’m taking you in on suspicion of murder.” He took her by the arm.
“Wait!” She strained against his grip. “You don’t understand. I didn’t kill anybody.”
“We’ll see.”
Sheryl shook her head, then eyed Cade. “I’m not going down for this. I helped humiliate Wendell, but I’m not the one that killed him. If I give you his killer, will you let me go—give me some kind of immunity?”
“Depends on what you’ve got.”
“Good.” She relaxed a little. “But listen, we’ve got to hurry.”
“Why?”
Sheryl turned to look at Laurel. “Because the real killer will be here in a few minutes.”
“The real killer? Who?” Laurel asked.
A loud crack shattered the still morning air. A gunshot. For an instant everything stopped.
Then Cade heard a yelp of pain, and Sheryl and Laurel both collapsed onto the ground.
Chapter Twelve
Laurel! Cade dove to the ground as a second shot rang out. He whirled and fired in the direction the shots came from—the rise on the opposite bank of the creek. But there was nobody there. Whoever had fired the shot was gone.
He crawled across the damp ground toward Laurel. She and Sheryl were both sprawled on the ground. Sheryl was lying facedown across Laurel’s feet, blood spreading across the back of her tank top. He couldn’t tell whether the bullet had pierced her heart or not. It was certainly close.
Beneath her, Laurel lay unmoving, her eyes closed and her arms flung out. Her right hand and forearm were smeared with blood.
Dear God, don’t let her be hurt. By the time he got to her, she’d opened her eyes.
“Are you hit?” he demanded, brushing dirt from her face.
She shook her head. “What happened?”
Cade shed his shirt and bunched it against Sheryl’s wound, praying that when he turned her over, there wouldn’t be a gaping exit wound in her chest. There wasn’t.
He positioned her so that her weight pressed her back against the shirt. As he did, Laurel slid her legs out from under her.
Sheryl whispered something.
“Sheryl, don’t talk,” Cade said. “I’m calling an ambulance.”
“Ralph—” She gasped. “Watch out for—” Her voice trailed off.
“Save your energy.” He couldn’t tell how badly she was hurt. The bullet was still inside her and he had no way of knowing where it had lodged. “You’re going to be fine. I’ll get an ambulance.”
He dug his cell phone out of his pocket.
“Cade!” Fred exclaimed. “Look out.”
He whirled toward Fred just as Laurel’s voice came from behind him.
“C-Cade—” She sounded terrified. He looked toward her. What he saw turned his heart to ice in his chest.
Ralph Langston was standing behind Laurel, his left forearm tight around her throat, his right hand holding a gun to the side of her neck.
Cade’s mouth went dry. “Langston—” he croaked. Sheryl had been trying to warn him. She knew Langston was coming.
“Drop the gun and the phone.”
Cade did his best to put aside the paralyzing fear that Ralph would shoot Laurel. “Let her go,” he said, forcing himself to speak in a commanding tone. “If Sheryl lives, I’ll testify that you cooperated.”
“Sheryl? You think I shot her?” Ralph laughed. “I wish—but it wasn’t me. That shot came from across the creek. I couldn’t get over here that fast. Now do what I said.”
Cade didn’t move from his crouched position.
Ralph dug the barrel of the gun into Laurel’s neck until she whimpered with pain. “Do it.”
“Sheryl’s going to die if I don’t call for help.” Cade was exaggerating, but he’d tell Ralph anything to save Laurel.
Ralph squeezed Laurel’s throat. She grabbed on to his forearm with her left hand, struggling to breathe.
Cade saw blood dripping from Laurel’s right hand. Had she caught a bullet after all?
“Do I look like I care? Sheryl was black—” He stopped.
“Blackmailing you? Is that what you were going to sa
y? Why? Because you killed Wendell? That’s what she told me.”
“She wouldn’t tell you that.”
“Langston, put the gun down. What the hell do you think you’re going to accomplish? You’re just buying yourself a date with a needle.”
“Please tell me you know I’m not that stupid.”
“You set fire to the police station. You had to destroy the evidence because you knew it would prove you’d killed Debra. The fibers under her nails are from your fancy custom-made slacks. Not to mention the mud that proves you were down by the Swinging Oak.”
Cade threw that out in desperation. He had no idea what the evidence would support. All he had was a bluff. He prayed it was enough to save Laurel’s life.
“You killed my girl?” Fred yelled. “You killed Debra? I ought to—”
Ralph swung his gun toward Fred. “You shut up or I’ll shut you up for good.” He took a step backward and swung Laurel around so he could see both Cade and Fred.
Then he turned the gun back on Laurel, jabbing it into her neck with a vengeance that Cade knew would leave a bruise. But a bruised neck was the least of his concerns for her. He’d take a bruise any day, as long as he could have her back safe in his arms.
Ralph’s hand tightened on the gun and Laurel’s face grew more and more pale.
Cade tossed his phone down, but he wasn’t about to relinquish his weapon. Not without a fight. He rose to his feet.
Ralph jerked in surprise. “I said drop the gun,” he yelled.
“What are you doing, Langston? Are you going to shoot all three of us? Because if you shoot Laurel I’ll make sure you never walk again.”
“You shut up. Everything’s out of control and it’s all her fault.”
Laurel coughed. Ralph was choking her.
Cade took careful aim, holding his gun in two hands. Could he take the shot? Could he risk hitting Laurel to stop Ralph? If he didn’t risk it, Ralph would kill her.
And if that happened…His gun hand wavered. He gritted his teeth and concentrated on the gun barrel against her neck.
Stop him. Save her. That’s all he could afford to think about. If he let go of the iron-fisted control he had on his emotions, he’d lose it, and Laurel wouldn’t have a chance.
He could not love her—he couldn’t care more about saving her than he did about anyone in his town.
“So if you didn’t shoot Sheryl, who’s your partner across the creek? And why do y’all want Sheryl dead? Are you afraid she’ll talk?”
Cade had no clue what Sheryl had been about to tell him. He was betting everything that she’d come upon Langston killing Wendell. Everything.
There was only one reason Ralph would threaten to kill Laurel. He couldn’t let her keep digging into Wendell’s death.
“You thought you could get away with it, didn’t you?” Cade had to say enough to make Ralph nervous, but not enough to tip him off that he had no clue what he was talking about.
“You’re not going to trick me into talking.” Ralph’s eyes darted back and forth between Fred and Cade. Fred had pushed himself to his knees and was shaking his head. Ralph pointed the gun’s barrel at him, then realized what he’d done and turned it back on Laurel.
Cade felt a grim satisfaction. He was getting to him. “I don’t have to. Sheryl told me all I need to know.”
Ralph’s eyes flickered down at Sheryl then back up. “No, she didn’t. She wouldn’t. She’d be—” He took a shaky breath. “She wouldn’t.”
But Ralph didn’t believe his own words. His voice was shrill with worry. And he was sweating. Cade almost had him.
“Anyhow, she’s dead,” Ralph cried.
“No, she’s not. But even if she dies, I’ve got everything she said on tape.” He patted his shirt pocket, hoping the other man was too shaken to notice there was not the slightest bulge there. “So no matter what happens to her, I’ve got you. Don’t make it worse. Put that gun down before it goes off.”
“What?” Ralph screamed. “What did she tell you?”
Cade shrugged. “Enough.”
“You don’t have anything. If you did you’d tell me.” He jerked his arm, cutting off Laurel’s breath completely.
Cade’s heart shattered as he watched Laurel struggle for air.
Time had run out.
Cade squeezed the gun’s handle and lined up the sights with the center of Ralph’s forehead. He had no idea if Ralph would actually shoot Laurel. All he knew was that as much as he wished it was otherwise, he’d never be able to get a fatal shot off before Ralph pulled the trigger.
His mouth went dry. He had to play his trump card. If he was wrong, it could mean Laurel’s death. “You killed Wendell. You took his medal, and Sheryl saw you.” He tensed, his finger poised over the trigger.
Ralph’s remolded face looked like it was melting. “You don’t know that. You can’t.” He switched his gaze to the ground, to Sheryl. “You can’t!”
Cade saw Ralph’s knuckles turn white around the gun. His heart bounced up into his throat and hammered wildly. Just as Cade was ready to take the hard shot, Ralph pulled Laurel closer and angled his body so that she blocked him almost entirely. There was no way Cade could shoot without hitting her.
LAUREL’S HEART POUNDED with panic. She couldn’t get enough air. She was losing her grip on consciousness. Her vision was already turning black. She struggled to breathe. Struggled to think.
She knew Ralph had the advantage. Her fists clenched in helpless rage. A sharp pain ripped through her right hand and sticky liquid squeezed out between her fingers. The glass shard!
The pain in her foot earlier had been that shard stabbing into the flesh behind her ankle. She’d had to pull the damn thing out. It was sharp as hell.
She’d forgotten she was still holding it.
Ralph’s arm relaxed a bit, enough for her to breathe. She gulped in a huge lungful of air.
His arm muscles flexed and panic squeezed her chest again. She didn’t have long. Staring at Cade, she willed him to look at her.
Finally his gaze met hers briefly. If she’d had breath, the look in that hot blue gaze would have sucked it right out of her. He knew she was going to die.
She cut her eyes to the side, hoping he’d get the message.
He did. His blue eyes widened and his jaw bulged with tension. He gave his head a shake—almost unnoticeable.
But Laurel knew it was their last chance. Their only chance.
Squeezing the piece of glass between her fingers, she bent her elbow like a spring and stabbed Ralph in his gun arm.
He screeched. A shot rang out.
She dove for the ground and rolled away from Ralph as Cade rushed him and tackled him. He slammed him down to the ground.
“I’m bleeding! I’m dying!” Ralph cried. “You shot me!”
“Shut up,” Cade growled as he jerked Ralph’s arms behind him and cuffed him. “The bullet barely grazed your shoulder. You’ll live to stand trial.”
Laurel’s breath caught in a sob of relief as Cade quickly read Ralph his rights. Maybe it was finally over.
Cade turned to her. “Laurel, honey. Are you okay?”
“I think so.” She rolled over and sat up. “What about Fred? And Sheryl?”
“You’re bleeding,” he croaked.
She looked down. The hem of her jeans and the whole side of her tennis shoe was soaked with blood. “A lot of that is Sheryl’s blood. But I did step on a piece of glass.” She stuck her leg out. “Oh, yeah, I cut my hand, too.”
“You stabbed Ralph with that piece of glass?”
“It was all I had,” she said as she pushed herself up off the ground.
Cade scrutinized Laurel closely. Satisfied that she was okay, he went to check on Fred, who was pushing himself up to his feet.
“Sorry, Cade,” Fred muttered, holding a hand to his bleeding head. “I let a bump on the head keep me from helping you.”
“Looks to me like that’s quite a blow. You might need som
e stitches.”
“Nah. I’m fine. I’ll take Ralph in for you.” He glanced around and spotted his weapon a few feet away. He retrieved and holstered it.
“Okay, but I’m going to get the EMTs down here to look at everybody. You make sure they check out your head.”
“Sure thing, Cade.” Fred grabbed Langston’s arm.
Cade pulled out his cell phone and dialed Kit Haydel. “Hey, Kit, I need the EMTs down here at the creek bank. Got several injuries. Hurry.”
Then he called Shelton to bring the crime-scene kit. He pocketed his phone and bent over Sheryl. He felt for her pulse. It was weak but steady. He did his best to staunch the bleeding.
Within five minutes, the EMTs showed up. They took over Sheryl’s care, hanging an IV and carrying her out of the clearing on a stretcher. Fred went with them, guarding Langston. Cade sent Laurel over to have them tend to her ankle and hand.
For the moment, he was alone. He leaned against the Swinging Oak, shaky with relief now that the danger was over.
He wiped his face and gave in to the abject fear that had taken hold of him when he’d seen the gun at Laurel’s throat. He clenched his fists. She’d nearly died, and the whole time she’d looked to him to save her.
He hadn’t known there was that much fear inside him. Or that much love.
“Crap,” he muttered. What the hell was he doing—falling for her? She’d be heading back to D.C. as soon as she could.
Oh, she’d have to stay around for a few days. There would be paperwork to complete, evidence to process and statements to take before she could leave. But none of that would take long. He predicted Langston wouldn’t survive an hour of intense questioning before breaking down. They’d have a signed confession before dark. They might not even need the evidence, except to confirm Ralph’s story.
He heard footsteps. He cleared his throat and straightened, still clutching his weapon. He watched the path to see who was coming.
It was one of Kit’s voluntary firemen. He carried the camera and the crime-scene kit.
“Hey, Joe. What’re you doing with that stuff? Where’s Shelton?” Cade asked him.
