MERCILESS

by Christy Reece

  “No one…really. Just forget I mentioned anything, okay?”

  “Look, I’ll be the first to admit there’s no way the Slaters are as squeaky clean as they pretend. But if you are right, they’ll screw up big-time one day and get what’s coming to them.”

  “Yeah, I know that. Like I said, it was just an idea that didn’t pan out. I’m over it now. So who’s the hottie of the night?”

  The less-than-smooth effort to change the subject made Nick even more suspicious. Letting him off the hook for the time being, he said, “Louisa something or other.”

  “Where’d you meet this one?”

  “Belden’s party last week.”

  “Where’re you taking her before you take her to bed?”

  Nick snorted his disgust. His reputation of being a lady’s man was mostly fictional. Yeah, he dated a lot of different women, because he enjoyed their company. Somehow, even Thomas was under the impression that it also meant he had a lot of sex.

  “I don’t sleep with all of them.”

  Thomas gave his own snort, this one of disbelief. “Yeah. Right.”

  Knowing whatever protests he made would only be construed as modest, Nick decided to go back to their original discussion. “Seriously, let’s talk about the Slaters tomorrow. If you’ve got something on your mind, I want to hear about it. Want to meet for lunch at Barney’s?”

  “Um…yeah…sure, lunch sounds good. But I promise there’s nothing to talk about. Gotta go. Catch you later.”

  Nick cursed softly at the abrupt end to the call. Thomas was definitely keeping something from him. Tomorrow he’d get in his face and make him talk. Screwing around with the Slaters wasn’t a good career move. With their kind of influence, they could end a career with a phone call. On the other hand, if Thomas did have something significant on the family, then Nick wanted to know about it.

  Mathias Slater and his clan were Texas royalty. Few people in America, much less Texas, hadn’t heard of the Slaters. They were one of the oldest and wealthiest families in the country with descendants dating back to the first American settlers. Nothing seemed to tarnish their good image. Even the arrest and conviction of the youngest Slater, Jonah, on a major drug-smuggling charge had done nothing more than elicit sympathy. Shit bounced off of them like they had some kind of protective shield.

  Nick knew almost nothing personally about the family—just what he’d seen on the news or read in the paper. One thing he did know was they had major connections. Hell, last week he’d seen a photo of Mathias Slater shaking hands with the president. The family had the kind of influence that most people could only dream of having.

  A few months back, Thomas had handled the investigation of Jonah Slater and had given Nick the lowdown. Slater had been caught red-handed with a boatload of illegal drugs. In fact, he’d looked so stinking guilty that Thomas had said he would have suspected the guy had been framed if he hadn’t been a Slater. According to Thomas, it’d taken almost no investigation or effort to put Jonah away. He was now serving a hefty sentence in Brownsville.

  Mathias Slater had made the most of the publicity. He’d held a press conference, stating that he still loved his son and offered his full support. He’d even donated millions to a drug-rehab facility. Nick had caught the press conference on television and had seen more than a few people wipe away tears.

  Thomas had described an incident the day Jonah Slater was sentenced. Said it had given him several sleepless nights. Jonah had been about to walk from the courtroom, his hands and ankles shackled, but he’d stopped in front of Thomas and said, “Hell of an investigation, O’Connell. Hope you didn’t break a nail.”

  Nick agreed it was strange but had encouraged Thomas to let it go. Cryptic remarks from convicted criminals weren’t exactly unusual. And prisons were filled with criminals who swore they were innocent. Few freely admitted their guilt.

  As Nick pulled in front of Louisa’s apartment complex, he glanced at the dashboard clock. Yeah, seven minutes late. Jerking the car door open, Nick strode up the sidewalk. Before he got to Louisa’s front door, she had it open for him. Long-legged, honey blond hair, full pouty lips, and exotic eyes. She looked exactly like her magazine photo that had been splashed all over the country last month. Many men would have given their eyeteeth to talk with a cover model much less date one. So why did he want to turn around and walk the other way? Since he already knew the answer to that, he kept moving forward.

  Giving her one of his stock smiles in greeting, Nick listened to her chatter with half an ear as he led her to the car. Had she been this talkative last week?

  Thankfully, the restaurant wasn’t far away. Within minutes of leaving her apartment, they were seated and had ordered their meal.

  They were almost through with their appetizer when Nick had to stifle a giant yawn. For the past ten minutes, Louisa had droned on about her weekend in St. Moritz with some Hollywood celebrity. Taking a large bite of his ravioli so he wouldn’t have to respond verbally, he chewed, nodded, and did his best to put on an interested expression, wishing like hell he’d never made this date.

  “And then Maurice said the funniest thing. He—”

  The abrupt ringing of his cellphone was a welcome distraction. Holding his hand up to stop her chatter, Nick answered, “Gallagher.”

  “Nick, it’s Lewis Grimes.”

  Before he could wonder why the captain of the Narcotics Division was calling, the man continued, “There’s been a shooting.”

  The fine hairs on the back of his neck rose. The instant he heard the victim’s name, he went to his feet. “I’ll be right there.”

  He threw a wad of cash on the table. “I gotta go. That should pay for dinner and a cab home.”

  Before she could open her mouth to answer, Nick was already running toward the door, his date forgotten. His mind screamed a denial, but Grimes’s stark words reverberated in his head, refusing to allow him to deny the truth. “Thomas O’Connell has been shot.”

  Chapter Two

  Kennedy stretched her back and winced at its tightness. This kind of work was nothing to a full day of research at her laptop. Still, she was exhausted. The first coat of paint looked wonderful. The second one she would apply tomorrow would look even better. She couldn’t wait to see Thomas’s grin when he saw that she had indeed changed her mind once more. Apparently, the ninth time was the charm, because the jewel-toned lilac was perfect. The people at Lloyd’s Paint and Wallpaper would probably be just as happy as Thomas that she’d at last made her final choice.

  She might be tired, but tonight was going to be perfect. She had taken a break late in the afternoon and prepared lasagna—one of Thomas’s favorite dishes. The delicious fragrance now wafted through the air, and her stomach grumbled—a reminder that her early afternoon peanut butter and banana sandwich was long gone. What a blessing to have hunger pains in place of queasiness.

  Thomas should be home soon. She would have to rush through her shower, but she wanted to be dressed and ready when he walked through the front door. Or undressed, in this case. On her way back from the paint store, she’d slipped into Victoria’s Secret and found a negligee on sale that would probably make Thomas forget all about dinner.

  She dashed from the nursery and ran to the master bedroom. Toeing off her sneakers, she was about to unzip her jeans when the sound of the doorbell chimes stopped her. Could she ignore it? If she’d been in the shower, she wouldn’t have even heard it. She shrugged resignedly and headed downstairs. Curiosity was the bane of her existence…she had to know. Besides, if she was still in the shower when Thomas got home, he could join her and they could get started even earlier than planned.

  The delightful thought cheering her, Kennedy opened the door with a big smile on her face. Thomas’s best friend stood before her.

  “Nick! Hey! Come on in.” Even as she said the words, she inwardly sighed, seeing the romantic evening with her husband fizzling fast.

  He didn’t speak. The odd look in his e
yes puzzled her until she realized what a mess she must look. Her chestnut hair, pulled up into a halfhearted ponytail, had more than a few streaks of lilac in it. She had a feeling that she had a few spots on her face, too.

  “I know I must look a fright, but I just finished painting the nursery.” She stepped back. “Come in and see it. Thomas isn’t home yet. I asked him to pick up a couple of things at the store, but he should be here soon.”

  When he still said nothing and just kept looking at her, she frowned. “Nick? What’s wrong?”

  * * *

  The woman before him was disheveled, messy and absolutely lovely. She was his best friend’s wife…one of the sweetest people Nick had ever known. And he was about to destroy her world.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say the words, she started shaking her head and said a very soft but emphatic, “No.”

  “Kennedy, I—”

  She backed away, head still shaking. “You are not here to tell me anything bad, Nick. You got that? Thomas is on his way home. He’s not on duty. He is fine.”

  Reaching out his hand for her, he wasn’t surprised when she tried to close the door. Unfortunately, closing him out wasn’t going to stop the truth.

  He grabbed the edge of the door to keep it from slamming in his face, the words grinding from his mouth, “There was a robbery at the grocery store. Thomas tried to stop it. He was shot.”

  Her head continued to shake. “No. You made a mistake. Thomas will be home any minute.” She looked wildly around the room, as if trying to hold back reality. But her face had paled to a sickly color, and her mouth trembled with emotion.

  He took a step inside the house, and she backed away again. Tears swimming in her eyes, she whispered, “This is all wrong. This can’t happen. It. Can’t. Happen. Do you hear me? It can’t.”

  He reached for her. Wanting to hold her, comfort her. When she jerked away, his hand dropped, and he whispered hoarsely, “I’m so sorry, Kennedy. So damn sorry.”

  * * *

  Kennedy turned away from the sorrow on Nick’s face. This couldn’t be happening. It just couldn’t. As a cop’s wife, she knew this kind of news could come at any time. She lived with that knowledge daily. Having lost both her parents as a child, she knew more than most people about unexpected tragedies. But this? This wasn’t something she could ever have expected. Thomas had been in a grocery store, off duty. Just like any other citizen.

  Nick’s gruff voice penetrated her blurred thoughts. “I’ve called Julie…she’s on her way.”

  Julie was her best friend, also a cop’s wife. She had been in Julie’s place before. Last year, Sara White’s husband, Rick, had been killed in the line of duty. Kennedy had been there when they’d told Sara. Had held Rick’s widow in her arms and whispered to her that everything was going to be okay. Kennedy now realized she had lied. Everything wasn’t going to be okay. Never would be again. How Sara must have wanted to wail and scream those very words.

  No! She refused to accept it. Kennedy whirled, shouted, “He’s not dead, dammit! I won’t allow it. I will damn well not allow it. You hear me? It’s a mistake.”

  His eyes glittering with tears, Nick pulled her into his arms and whispered, “It’s going to be okay, Kennedy. I promise.”

  Hysterical laughter bubbled in her chest, and Kennedy jerked out of his arms. “No, it’s not. That’s the funny thing about those words. They’re only said when it’s not going to be okay.” Tears blurred Nick’s face as Kennedy felt them come. She froze, held her breath…willing them away. She couldn’t cry. If she did, it would be admitting the truth.

  She gazed blindly around at her house, her happy home. The home she and Thomas shared together. The one their baby would soon share with them. This couldn’t be happening!

  A female voice, filled with sympathy and sadness, said, “Kennedy?”

  Julie stood at the door, tears streaming down her face. Agony shot through Kennedy, almost bending her double. It was true. Oh God, it was true.

  Thomas was gone.

  * * *

  Nick watched as Julie led Kennedy into the living room. As they got to the entrance, Julie twisted around and mouthed, “Hot, sweet tea.”

  With a nod, Nick headed to the kitchen, grateful to have a task. He’d never felt more helpless in his life. Nothing he could say or do would change the situation. Hot tea was about as good as anything.

  He entered the kitchen and then stopped for a moment. How many times had he been in this house? Dozens. And they had all been happy times. Cookouts, dinners, the occasional brunch. Laughter had filled the rooms, and Kennedy had been the biggest cause of that. She had a dry, witty sense of humor and could deliver punch lines like a pro. She also had a smile that could light up the darkest of hearts, and not once had he heard her say an unkind word about anyone.

  Every room in the house bore Kennedy’s vibrant personality, but he’d always felt the kitchen showed the soul of the woman—sunny and inviting but with a calm serenity. He shoved his fingers through his hair. Hell, grief was turning him into some kind of lame-assed poet.

  Nick opened a cabinet. Tea bags and sugar were to the left of the stove. Kennedy had once mentioned that her need for organization was rooted in the chaos of her childhood. Nick identified with her need to control her environment. Control gave power. And when your life goes to shit, control means everything.

  He filled the teakettle, set it on the burner and sat down to wait for the whistle. As he waited, the memory of sitting beside his best friend as he bled out ran like a horror movie through his mind.

  Nick’s car had slid almost sideways into the parking lot, while the words “it’s a mistake, it’s a mistake” drummed like a mantra in his mind. The identification was wrong. It was someone who looked like Thomas.

  He’d jumped out of the car and shoved open the store door, barely slowing to flash his badge. Uniformed and plainclothes cops had hovered around, their faces wearing the same bleak look of hopelessness.

  “Back here, Gallagher,” a voice called out.

  Nick ran to the sound and then skidded to a stop. Thomas lay on his back, the front of his shirt covered in blood. His eyes were closed, and two EMTs were working on him.

  “Dammit…no,” Nick whispered.

  Amazingly, Thomas must have heard him. His eyes flickered open, and he muttered a faint, “Nick…need to talk…Nick.”

  “We need to get him to a hospital,” one of the EMTs stated.

  The other EMT scooted out of the way. “Sit here. I’ll get the transfer ready.”

  Nick knelt beside his best friend and could literally feel his own heart breaking. They’d known each other since college—cheerful, charming Thomas and angry, sarcastic Nick. Their friendship shouldn’t have worked, but somehow it had. He gave Thomas all the credit. The man had tenaciously pursued him as a friend. For which Nick would be forever grateful.

  Thomas’s eyes glittered with a strange, intense light. Pain? Fear? Somehow, Nick got the idea there was another reason

  “Need you…do me a favor,” Thomas whispered.

  “Anything. Name it.”

  “Take care of Kennedy for me. She’s going to take it hard.” He swallowed and added, “And our little girl. Please…take care of her.”

  His eyes stinging, Nick said, “I promise, Thomas. I’ll take care of both of them.”

  “You’re a good man.” A small smile lifted his mouth. “Despite what your ex-girlfriends say.”

  Nick forced a laugh. “Always joking.”

  His eyes opened wider, and Thomas said softly, “Tell Kennedy…” He drew in a rattling breath. “Tell her…best…thing…ever happened to me. Love her...” His eyes closed, and then he opened them even wider. Grabbing Nick’s arm in a surprisingly strong grip, he rasped, “Don’t let them hurt—”

  The hand on Nick’s arm went slack, and Thomas gave a final gasp.

  “Thomas!” Nick shouted.

  “Back away.”

  Nick
jumped out of the way and watched as the two EMTs worked frantically. When one of them said, “It’s no use,” Nick yelled, “What do you mean it’s no use? Do something. He’s a healthy man. He’s got a wife…a kid on the way. Do something!”

  “I’m sorry…he’s gone.”

  Nick looked blankly over at Lewis Grimes. “What happened?”

  Grief filled his eyes as he muttered, “Robbery. Thomas tried to stop it.” He gestured to a black body bag. “At least he got the little bastard.”

  The whistle of the kettle drew Nick back to the present. Feeling like he’d aged a hundred years in the last hour, Nick prepared the tea and headed to the living room. Kennedy sat on the sofa, staring into space. Julie was talking softly to her, but he doubted any of the words penetrated.

  He’d seen this reaction dozens of times. Had been there himself. First, there was the denial. The push back against a truth so horrific, your mind refused to acknowledge its existence. Then came the inevitable numbing shock. That was actually a welcoming place. Everything went on shutdown. You didn’t think about the agony ripping at your heart. There was no knowledge of reality. You didn’t think, period. You breathed in and out. You swallowed, occasionally nodded at the soft murmurings around you, even though you didn’t comprehend the words. You just existed.

  Nick had been eighteen years old when he had experienced that pain firsthand. His mother had been driving home from work, and some drugged-out bastard had decided to do a little target practice. Eight people had been shot. His mother had been one of three who’d died.

  He had been home, cooking dinner, when the doorbell rang. Unaware that his life was about to be completely changed, he’d casually opened the door and faced two policemen. He still remembered their words, their solemn expressions…the sympathy in their eyes. He remembered the bellowing cries of their next-door neighbor, his mother’s best friend. He even remembered the dog across the street that barked incessantly at all the cars and people who’d showed up a few minutes later. Those kinds of details—innocuous and unimportant—were ingrained in his memory.