Christmas Vendetta

by Valerie Hansen

  “Okay,” Clay said. He turned to Tucker. “Let’s get the questioning over with so she can get dressed and I can drive her to the hospital.”

  Sandy Lynn resisted. “No. I have to ride with Enid. She’ll need me there when she wakes up.”

  Tucker held out an arm to block her exit. “Not so fast, ma’am. You have more explaining to do first.”

  “But...”

  Clay cleared his throat as if his words were sticking there. “I’ll vouch for her, stay with her and deliver her to your station once her friend is stable.”

  Just because they had a history didn’t mean she was willing to bow to his wishes now. “No way. If they won’t let me go along in the ambulance, I’ll drive myself.”

  “I won’t be responsible for you behind the wheel when you’ve had a shock like this,” Clay said flatly.

  “Who asked you to be?” The rancor in her tone surprised her enough to make her slightly ashamed. Blushing and fighting more tears, she looked away.

  “We can take your car, assuming you have one,” Clay said, “but I’m driving it.”

  Sandy Lynn glanced at the police officer, hoping for moral support. All she read in his expression was agreement with Clay.

  “Men.” She sniffled. “All right. I’ll let you drive me, but only because I’m shaking so much inside. Don’t think you can go back to ordering me around the way you used to.”

  “What? I never...” He broke off, clearly upset. “Give me your keys and at least go get some shoes on. I’ll warm up the car. Tucker can escort you out when you’re ready.”

  The officer nodded as if taking orders from a civilian was normal procedure. That told her how much other cops admired Clay, even though he was no longer one of them. She paused to take a ring of keys from the kitchen counter and toss them to him. “It’s the blue car in my space. You can’t miss it.”

  Wheeling, wordless, he was gone.

  In minutes she had donned jeans, slipped her feet into lined boots, grabbed a warm jacket and was back, passing Tucker. “Let’s go.”

  “I can’t leave the scene,” he said. “Have to wait for crime scene techs. They’ll be here in a sec.”

  That didn’t slow Sandy Lynn a bit. She jerked open the door to the hallway. “Don’t you have a partner?”

  “Out sick. We were shorthanded tonight.”

  “Too bad,” she called back. “I’m leaving.”

  It wasn’t until she was halfway down the stairs that she noticed how dark the passageway was. Most of the overhead lights that usually illuminated the stairs were out.

  Shivering, she did her best to stay steady as she began to hurry even more, sliding one hand down the banister. Something felt damp and tacky in spots. She recoiled and slowed for balance and stability while she stared at her upturned hand.

  Reality bit like a swarm of angry bees. Enid’s attacker had apparently left bloody fingerprints behind, and by touching the banister she had probably smudged or erased them.

  “My fault,” Sandy Lynn muttered, continuing to the first floor. “All my fault. Especially if Charles did this.”

  That thought alone was enough to weaken her knees and make her wish she’d had the presence of mind to grab another golf club on her way out. Time away from his constant threats had apparently dimmed her sense of self-preservation.

  She clamped her jaw. After tonight, her defenses needed to be fortified. Remembrance of Charles Hood comingled with memories of Clay and caused her to add, “All of my defenses.”

  TWO

  Condensation of his exhaled breaths proved how cold the night was. Clay hardly noticed. His focus was on what he’d just learned. It seemed impossible that he and Sandy Lynn actually resided in the same building, or that a good friend like Abe had known what he was doing when he’d kept insisting that this was the perfect apartment to lower living costs while Clay looked for a new job. What a cruel joke. The whole Christmas season was emotionally fraught under normal circumstances. Adding a lost love and a ruined career to the mix was going to make this season Clay’s worst ever.

  He had ducked into his own apartment for a jacket and boots before proceeding to the car. His motorcycle, covered with a tarp, stood nearby in its own spot. He’d position the car in the best spot to watch for Sandy. “Sandy Lynn,” he corrected himself. She’d always been a stickler for the Southern version of her first name. More fool him for not checking the mailboxes to see if he recognized any of his new neighbors.

  No wonder he was distracted, considering all the other things on his mind lately, he reasoned, satisfied with that excuse. Even if he was eventually able to prove himself innocent of evidence mishandling, his law enforcement days were over. Suspicion would follow him wherever he went, staining his record before he even started. As long as some shady lawyer didn’t convince a judge to freeze his bank accounts he’d be all right for a while. After his savings ran out, who knew?

  Condensation had formed on the insides of the windows before Clay found the car’s defrost control. He let the motor warm up for a few short minutes, then backed out from under the carport and drove to the rear exit. Exhaust from the idling engine billowed, its cloud obscuring the area behind the car.

  Clumps of snowflakes had already begun to accumulate on the front and rear windows. This was a wet, nasty snowfall, the kind that made riding his motorcycle feel like sloshing through icy streams. It was also treacherous, especially if other drivers didn’t see him, or underestimated their speed and braking time on slick streets.

  A single light mounted on the rear of the apartment building cast a faint yellow halo, which was another reason Clay had chosen to wait close by. Leaning over to watch through the passenger-side window, he wasn’t surprised to see Sandy Lynn come out. Unfortunately, she was alone. So much for a police escort.

  He was circling the car to open her door when he saw her stop dead in her tracks. She stared into the exhaust cloud. Her lips parted. Raising both hands in front of her, she started to back away.

  She didn’t scream. She didn’t have to. One look told him all he needed to know. Clay had his gun in hand before he finished rounding the car. He didn’t know what she’d seen and he didn’t care. It was enough to know it had frightened her.

  “Where? What?” he yelled.

  She pointed.

  “I don’t see anything.”

  “He was right there.”

  Keeping his thumb on the gun’s safety, he pointed it in the general direction she’d indicated. “Get in the car and lock the doors.”

  Although Sandy Lynn did open the car door she froze again, so he grasped her upper arm and gave her a shove. “I said, get in.”

  Resistance crumbled. She opened her mouth as if she intended to argue, and then she slid into the seat.

  Clay slammed the door. “Lock it. Now.”

  The locks clicked. He steeled himself for possible attack, took a deep breath, crouched and started into the exhaust cloud.

  * * *

  To reach the master control for the door locks, Sandy Lynn had had to slide across to the driver’s seat. Secure inside her car, she decided to stay where she was and watch Clay. It was quickly apparent how impossible that was with all the condensation, so she switched off the engine.

  Counting to herself, One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, she continued to peer into the side mirror. Snow obscured some of her view, but the rest of the picture was slowly clearing. Now she could make out one person, creeping along bent over and moving away from her car. That was Clay, or at least she hoped it was. Beyond him, swirling snow and mist was masking the scene while her closed windows gathered more moisture.

  She made a fist and used it to clear the inside of one pane, searching for the large figure she’d seen when she’d first stepped outside. There was nothing there other than Clay, and even his image was beginning to fade into
the storm.

  “Should I open the door to look?” she asked herself, knowing the answer was a big fat no. Instead of accepting a logical conclusion, she decided to seek divine input and prayed, “Please, Father? I’m worried about him. Will you be with me if I open the door to see better?”

  Her left hand hovered over the interior handle for long moments before she curled her icy fingers around it. Squeeze? Don’t squeeze? Oh, how she hated indecision. “Father?”

  No clear answer came to her. At least not the one she wanted. That was the problem, wasn’t it? She’d spent the first seventeen years of her life taking orders of one kind or another, some delivered sanely but most shouted and backed up by physical violence. That was what had made her vow to become her own woman, to choose a path without listening to advice and to always stand up for herself.

  Running into Clay Danforth so unexpectedly had apparently rocketed her emotions ten years into the past and had resulted in her current lack of initiative, she reasoned. That would never do.

  Sandy Lynn closed her hand on the door handle. Heard the click as it unlatched. Still, she didn’t start to push the door open until she had rechecked the mirrors.

  Snow was still falling, but the flakes had now separated enough that they weren’t clumping, meaning it was getting colder out there. She shivered, pausing to fasten the snap at the neck of her quilted coat and lift the hood to cover her hair.

  That delay was enough to change everything.

  A contorted, ski-masked face loomed out of the dimness, its mouth a gaping leer.

  Sandy Lynn pulled in enough air to scream and managed a shrill squeak.

  Two splayed hands smashed against the car door, slamming it closed with a bang.

  She fell back, stunned, trembling, barely able to breathe. As her back arched over the padded center console and her ribs glanced off the steering wheel, her feet left the floor. Knees bent, she raised both boots to aim a kick, assuming the masked assailant intended to come after her.

  Why, oh why had she unlocked that door? She felt foolish as well as penitent. The notion that she was too stubborn for her own good came and went, followed by the realization that she had been protected inside the car until she had thwarted Clay’s plans. And God’s? she asked herself. The idea that her heavenly Father might have brought that impossible man back into her life at the precise moment when she most needed him was hard to swallow.

  However, so was dying.

  Time seemed to slow. Action outside the window took on a surreal effect.

  The eyes and mouth of the black ski mask disappeared as its wearer spun around.

  There was a clear shout of “Freeze!”

  Sandy Lynn curled into a fetal position on the seat, her arms clamping around her head, the hood scrunching forward. Men were fighting out there, and repeated collisions with the side of the car made it rock. Even through covered ears she could make out two different masculine voices.

  Someone fired a gun! She didn’t hear or feel a bullet hit the car, so it was possible the shooter had aimed away. Was Clay the target?

  Pain squeezed her chest as if her heart was cracking. She was able to deny that sensation by substituting another possible conclusion—that the shot had merely been a warning.

  She’d built a figurative stone wall around herself and so far it was holding. Barely. There had been a time when she would have been honored and delighted to have Clay stand firm in her defense. As a matter of fact, he had. More than once. But now, after all that had transpired to break them up and break her heart in the process, he was the last person she wanted to accept as her champion.

  All noise outside the car ceased. Sandy Lynn strained to listen, but nothing came through past her pounding pulse beats and ragged breathing.

  Slowly, deliberately, she raised herself to a sitting position. Condensation again coated the window she had cleared. The car door remained firmly closed but, she realized with a start, it was still unlocked.

  “If I can’t see out, nobody can see in,” she assured herself, wondering if that was true. Not that it mattered, since the guy in the ski mask already knew where she was. If he remained out there, she needed to relock the car.

  “But suppose Clay needs help?” she added. A lump of concern blocked her throat, and tears clouded her vision. If he was okay he’d come back to the car, wouldn’t he? And he hadn’t done so. Therefore, the logical conclusion was that he could not.

  So, what did she have handy for a defense weapon this time? Enid had bought her a can of pepper spray a long time ago and she had tossed it into the glove compartment. If it was still there...

  Papers, manuals, the car’s registration, packets of condiments and various fast-food napkins hit the floor as she pawed through the detritus. There!

  It was impossible to read the faint expiration date on the bottom of the small canister, but having it in hand was enough to provide the courage she needed to open a door once more. This time she exited on the passenger side.

  Listening and scanning the snowy night, she thought she heard a moan. With one finger on the spray nozzle she crept around the car. The single yellow circle of light from the apartment building illuminated the snow. A figure was slowly rising from the ground. He held a gun.

  Sandy Lynn aimed the spray directly at his head. If he did or said one tiny thing wrong, she was going to let him have it.

  Instead, he put a hand to his head and leaned against her car.

  “Clay?”

  Instead of answering, he started to turn.

  Reflexes tightened her grip on the canister. She stifled a scream.

  The man’s free hand shot out and grabbed her wrist just as a weak stream of pepper spray sputtered out ineffectively.

  That freed her voice and she shrieked, loud and high.

  “It’s me,” he shouted over her scream. “Stop trying to blind me.”

  “I thought...”

  “Yeah, I hoped you weren’t trying to spray me,” he said roughly. “Let go of that thing.”

  “It was all I had,” Sandy Lynn protested. If he had not been grasping her wrist, she didn’t think she could have kept from falling back onto the car for balance.

  “I told you to stay locked in. What part of that didn’t you understand?”

  “I know what you said. But I heard a shot.”

  “And you were coming to the rescue?” He huffed. “That doesn’t say much for your confidence in me.”

  His off-putting attitude was helping her recover. “You’re bulletproof? What a helpful skill.”

  The canister left her grip as he wrested it away and stepped back. She could see he was upset and wanted to tell him that she’d only tried to help because he still meant something to her, but she figured that was the last thing she should admit. Having him around again was bad enough without complicating matters by dredging up the past.

  “I shot into the ground when he tried to escape,” Clay informed her. “Nobody was in danger.”

  “Right.” By this time she was stable enough to fist her hands on her hips, certain he could see her by the yellow light. “So you decided to lie down in the snow and rest while you waited to see if he’d surrender?”

  “I slipped, that’s all.” He shoved the gun into his waistband and opened the car door. “Get in.” When she stood firm, he added, “Do you want to go see Enid, or not?”

  “Of course I do.”

  He closed her door as soon as she was safely seated and got behind the wheel.

  “Are you sure you’re fit to drive?” she asked, thinking of his head. “How hard did he hit you?”

  “I told you. I slipped on the melting snow.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do.”

  The sight of Clay’s strong, capable hands on the wheel and the firm set of his jaw stopped her from nagging. She migh
t be holding a grudge about the way he’d abandoned her in the past, but she didn’t doubt his innate capabilities. Nor was she worried that he would purposely put anyone in jeopardy.

  If she got the chance, she intended to ask about the ending of his career in law enforcement. The cop at her apartment had intimated that Clay’s dismissal had been unfair, and that was all she’d managed to glean. Considering her concern for her dear friend Enid, Sandy Lynn was surprised she’d retained even a tidbit about Clay.

  And yet, she had. That was probably not a good sign. Not good at all. Especially since she was going to have to get away from him ASAP, before the best of her memories softened her heart so much he could break it again.

  THREE

  Stalling for time, Clay parked in front of the hospital instead of by the emergency entrance.

  “I said, drive around the back.”

  “I heard you. This is better.”

  “Oh, for the love of...”

  “I’m not trying to keep you from being with Enid. I’m thinking of her. The less distraction the hospital staff has, the better they’ll be able to do their jobs.”

  The look in Sandy Lynn’s eyes when she turned to him again was devoid of her earlier ire. When she asked, “How bad was it?” he wondered if giving his opinion was wise.

  He cleared his throat. “Um, bad. It looked like she’d lost a lot of blood. Starting the IV and transporting was critical.”

  A slow nod of Sandy Lynn’s head showed that she understood much of what he was not putting into words.

  Clay climbed out and met her at the passenger door. Starting to take her arm, he decided there was no need. If she showed signs of being faint he’d be close enough to reach out and catch her. Truth to tell, she was recovering better than most of the victims he’d encountered as a cop. Her problem was the opposite. Instead of becoming hysterical in the face of tragedy, she went too far the other way. Right now, she looked basically shut down, emotionless. That wasn’t good, either.