© 2004 by Patricia H. Rushford
Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
www.revellbooks.com
Ebook edition created 2011
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owners. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-3943-3
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.
“A honey of a mystery by Pat Rushford. Angel Delaney is a character with real staying power. The story will keep you flipping pages as you get caught up not only in the police procedural but also Angel’s personal life. Can’t wait for the next installment!”
James Scott Bell, author of A Higher Justice
“Pat Rushford takes Deadly Aim at the mystery lover’s mind, heart, and soul in this don’t-put-it-down read. Get a Rushford rush on this twisting, turning murder express. It’s an all-nighter read. Spunky cop Angel Delaney not only solves the crime but steals your heart in the process.”
Linda Windsor, author of Along Came Jones and the Fires of Gleannmara series
“In Deadly Aim, the action is brisk and the story is enlivened by suspense, romance, and several unexpected twists and turns. As with all of Pat’s books, the characters grapple with life’s challenges realistically. Angel may find herself the center of a whole new fan club!”
Judy Frandsen, sherriff’s office employee, Salem, Oregon
“Don’t pick up Patricia Rushford’s new mystery if you need your sleep. I couldn’t put it down and was up until 2:00 finishing it. I enjoyed Deadly Aim from its first sentence to its satisfying conclusion. Patricia knows how to create suspense by giving just enough hints of what’s to come. What a great read! I’ll look for more in this series.”
Linda Hall, author of Steal Away and Chat Room
“Deadly Aim is a tale of pulse-pounding suspense that readers are unlikely to forget. The book has it all—memorable characters, punchy prose, dialogue that zings. Rushford has wrapped all those elements in a many-layered and puzzling plot that will keep readers turning the pages.”
Dorothy Francis, author of Conch Shell Murders
“Pat Rushford has no equal when it comes to building complex characters and then thrusting them into intriguing situations. Deadly Aim is a pleasure from end to end. It provides action and emotional impact while it explores deeper issues, like loyalty and trust. I hope we’ll be able to enjoy these intriguing characters for a long time to come. Dandy plot, intriguing characters, great subtext—I loved it! Pat Rushford’s Deadly Aim nails the target dead on.”
Sandy Dengler, author
To Travis, my partner in crime
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Endorsement
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
About the Author
Other books by Author
Mist rolled gray and thick over the small coastal town of Sunset Cove, Oregon. Perfect weather for what needed to be done. Ordinarily he left it up to his manager to oversee the operations. But not tonight. Well, morning actually. It was nearly 3:00 A.M.
Though he’d worked with the same crew for over a year, he didn’t trust them, any of them. He’d gotten word that one of his dealers was skimming—and worse, stealing controlled drugs from local pharmacies. Of course, most dealers skimmed a little, but J.J. was getting far too greedy, even thinking about setting up his own business. He should know better than to pull a stunt like that. Nobody double-crossed Duke and got away with it.
Duke. Humph. A rich name for a rich dude. That’s all they knew about him, and that’s all he wanted them to know. Not even his manager knew who he really was or what he did.
He rolled his thick shoulders and massaged his neck muscles through his black turtleneck. He’d had a rough week. Not that it mattered, of course. For him, one day faded into another. But it wouldn’t always be like that. Two more years and he’d retire, at least from his day job.
Catching a glimpse of his reflection in the window, Duke smiled. To look at him, no one would suspect that he was anything but an upstanding citizen.
He left the window, moving silently to his closet, where he took the polished wooden case off the shelf. Opening it, he lifted his .45-caliber semiautomatic pistol out of its velvet-lined case, shoved in a magazine from his stockpile, and slipped the gun into his holster. He then lifted the silencer out of the case and dropped it into his right pocket.
His lips curled in a sneer. These babies were rare, and the government kept close tabs on who had them. Not his though. The previous owner was six feet under. When Duke was sixteen years old, after years of abuse, he’d finally gotten the upper hand over his father. And he’d been lucky enough to stash the silencer and the gun before the cops had shown up.
Duke looked down at the gun. He could’ve skipped the silencer. Sunset Cove’s finest would be too far away from the docks to hear anything, and most of the residents would be asleep. But he wanted the added insurance.
He donned a drab olive rain slicker and jammed his feet into iron-toed work boots. The jacket stretched tight across his shoulders as he tied the laces.
Ten minutes later he entered the condemned brick building and made his way to the far end, through what had once been an office, and out to the dock. The old dock rocked and moaned in protest as he moved into the darker shadows of the building, where J.J. wouldn’t be able to see him. While he waited, Duke watched the lights across the bay and up the hill where Sunset Cove’s wealthiest residents lived. Some day.
He sniffled and used the back of his hand to wipe his nose—blasted fog always made his nose run. He didn’t like having to be out here in the open and so close to where the drugs were stored. Didn’t like having to deal with these punks on a personal level.
But Duke couldn’t help chuckling quietly to himself. J.J. would think he was coming up in the world. Maybe, if the kid believed in God, he would be going up. Doubtful though. The guy had done time for messing up his girlfriend’s face with a knife, among other things. J.J. wasn’t exactly what you’d call religious. But then neither was Duke.
Duke stiffened when he heard the pilings groan. He drew the .45 out of his holster, attached the silencer, and released the safety.
“Don’t come any farther,” Duke warned, lowering his voice to the familiar growl he used when he talked t
o these punks. His godfather imitation.
“Uh—okay.”
The kid sounded nervous. Good.
“Word come down you wanted to see me. What’s happenin’?”
Duke liked watching the kid squirm, just like he’d enjoyed watching his father plead with him. Too bad. He had the upper hand and intended to keep it.
“Somethin’ wrong?” J.J. reached inside his jacket.
Duke tensed, then relaxed, when J.J. pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “You tell me.”
J.J.’s hands shook as he held the lighter to his face. The whites of his eyes glowed yellow. “This don’t sound so good.” He took a drag and blew smoke out of his nose. “Somebody been rattin’ on me. Cause if they have—”
“You got the money from last night’s take?”
“Yeah.” He lifted a pack off his shoulders. “Seventy-five hundred.”
“That’s all?”
“Hey, man, what’re you saying?” J.J. set the bag on the dock and took a step away from it.
“The usual take for a weekend night is ten grand,” Duke reminded him.
“You thinking I kept some of the money? Cause if you thinking that, you’d be wrong, man.”
Duke stepped out of the shadows.
J.J.’s startled gaze went from the gun to Duke’s face. “You set me up, man. You’re the...”
The look on J.J.’s face escalated to terror, then froze as a bullet tore into his chest.
Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” Angel Delaney said as she looked over at her partner. She and Eric Mason had been driving around in their squad car for over an hour, and she needed to stretch.
Eric was one of those TDH kind of guys. Tall, dark, and handsome. He was a little shy and a little full of himself too. But then, why shouldn’t he be? His thick brown hair always settled in perfect order, no matter which way the wind blew. He had long lashes that framed his eyes and a smile that made a girl’s toes curl. Broad shoulders, tapered waist, slim hips—men spent hours at the gym carving out muscles like his. Had circumstances been different, Angel might have been interested, but she made it a point not to date any of her fellow officers.
Eric glanced at his watch, then lifted his blue gaze to Angel’s and winked. “Throw in one of those cinnamon rolls with the cream cheese frosting, and you got a deal.”
“You’re on.” Angel flashed him a grin and unfastened her seat belt. Before she could open the door, the radio crackled and a dispatch operator broke through.
“Two-eleven in progress, Bergman’s Pharmacy, Fifth and Washington.”
A robbery. In unison, they groaned and whipped back into their seats and fastened their belts. Angel flipped on the siren as Eric responded to the call. He peeled out of their parking place and headed north.
Traffic was light in Sunset Cove on that Sunday morning. Most of the town’s eleven thousand citizens were either in church, at home reading their morning papers, or making their way to the beach. At the moment, Angel would’ve given anything to be jogging along the shoreline rather than racing to a robbery.
A familiar uneasiness seeped into her veins, and her heart raced with anticipation as it often did when she and Eric responded to a call. What would they find this time?
She’d moved back to the Oregon coast a little over a year ago to escape the crime-ridden streets of Bay City, Florida, a suburb south of Fort Myers. She’d grown up in Sunset Cove, but like a lot of kids, she couldn’t wait to leave home. Her first move took her to Portland State, where she earned a degree in criminal justice. She then moved to Florida, and after three years and a lot of heartache she’d come back. But even in the short time she’d been gone, her hometown had changed dramatically; it wasn’t at all the sleepy beach town she’d left. The crime rate—especially drug-related crimes—had tripled from what it had been.
“You okay?” Eric asked.
She tossed him a questioning look. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
He shrugged. “You look a little nervous.”
Angel shook her head. “I’m fine.” She looked out the passenger side window and swallowed back the lump in her throat. Four years on the street. You should be used to it by now. No matter how many times she told herself that, the anxiety she felt en route to a crime scene never seemed to fade. Angel had heard other officers talk about the fight or flight response. An odd mix of excitement and fear pumped the body full of adrenaline. Then the body went into autopilot mode, taking whatever steps were needed to ensure its safety and the safety of others. It was a normal reaction, even for police officers. Still, she didn’t like to show it, or accept it—not around fellow officers, especially her father.
Angel tried to focus on the storefronts that stretched along the five-block area nostalgically referred to as “Old Town.” Most of the downtown area had been built in the early 1900s. The place had become run-down, but in recent years remodeling and updating had helped restore it to its former glory, as had the city’s beautification projects. Gardens, window boxes, and hanging planters invited tourists and shoppers to browse, and the crocuses, daffodils, and hyacinths were just coming into bloom.
The town was quiet now; the shops didn’t open until 10:00. Maybe the call had been a mistake—or a prank. Eric pulled up in front of Bergman’s Pharmacy and slammed on the brakes. The store was situated at the end of the street—an old brick building that separated the newly refurbished and the ready-to-be-demolished.
Angel cut the siren, then released her seat belt and opened the door. The rat-tat-tat of automatic weapons shattered the fragile spring morning. The store window exploded, spraying shards of glass onto the sidewalk and street.
“Get down!” Eric yelled.
The world shifted into slow motion. Everything except her heart, which rammed into overdrive. She raised her arm and ducked back into the car to escape the storm of crystal shards. A bullet thunked into a hanging basket overhead. The basket creaked as it swayed, straining the three chains that suspended it. Terror pinned Angel against the seat, jerking her back to the shooting at the Bay City day care. For what seemed an eternity, she couldn’t move. She forced herself to breathe and tried talking herself out of the panic.
Don’t think about it. You’re okay. They didn’t hit you. You can do this.
Eric bolted out of the car. Using his open door as a shield, he called for backup. Angel knew that before long the street would be swarming with flashing lights. But in the meantime, they were faced with an active shooting situation. They would have to go in—and soon.
Angel crawled across the seat over the console and slid out the driver’s side. She hunkered down beside Eric. “Great way to spend a Sunday morning.” She hoped her voice didn’t reveal the panic still pumping through her veins.
“Humph.” Eric leveled a steady gaze on her, then reached out to touch her forehead.
She flinched. “What are you doing?”
“You’re bleeding. Looks like you caught a piece of glass.”
“Must not be too bad. It doesn’t hurt.” At least it hadn’t until he’d mentioned it.
Eric retrieved a tissue from the box behind the driver’s seat and handed it to her.
“Thanks.” She dabbed at the wound and stuck the tissue in her pocket, not bothering to look at it.
Sirens broke the stillness, and while Eric tried to call the store owner, two squad cars pulled up, blocking the street. One was a county sheriff’s vehicle, the other police.
“What have we got?” Nick Caldwell, a fellow officer and friend, exited his car and positioned himself beside Angel. Nick was tall, probably six foot four, thin but muscular. He was six years her senior and had been her oldest brother’s best friend. When they were kids Nick had practically lived at the Delaney house.
Bo Williams, the deputy sheriff and ex-linebacker with the University of Oregon Ducks, joined them. Bo still looked the part of a football player—six feet tall, heavyset, with wide shoulders and a mean expression.
“A war zone,” Angel
answered. “Automatic weapons. We’ll need to get in there. Someone inside made the 911 call. There may be victims.”
“Can’t establish contact with the store,” Eric clipped his cell phone to his belt. “No one is answering.”
Mike Rawlings, another officer with the Sunset Cove police department, tore up on his bike and jumped off, taking cover with the others. Angel filled him in.
“Let’s move. Eric, you and I can go in the front. Mike and Bo, cover the alley. Nick, direct things out here—set up the perimeters and contact the Oregon State Police for air support. We could use more officers. We may need them.”
“You giving the orders now?” Nick asked.
“Yeah, you got a problem with that?”
“I’ll let you know.” Nick’s face cracked in a patronizing smile.
“Hey, I got a problem with it, Delaney.” Mike frowned. “Why don’t you stay out here? I’ll go in with Eric.”
Angel bristled. The comment carried a silent message. Let the men handle it.
“Ease off, Mike,” Nick said.
Mike looked like he was about to argue the point, but he didn’t. He and Bo separated and took off down the street to cover the alley. Staying low, Eric sprinted across the sidewalk. Glass crunched under his feet.
Angel followed a few steps behind. Her heart hammered as the panic set in again. Weapons drawn, she and Eric flung open the front door and stepped inside.
Silence. An uneasy silence that affected her more intensely than the gunfire and the shattered window.
Eric moved forward.
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