Divorced, Desperate and Dead

by Christie Craig

  Cary leaned in. “Turner called. McCune’s already lawyered up. One of his guys and one of the buyers were shot, but none fatal. They arrested four more.”

  “Marco family?” A doctor wearing scrubs appeared in the doorway.

  Danny hesitated to let Ramon’s family be first. Chloe and Cary did the same. But they moved in close enough to hear.

  “He pulled through the surgery better than I thought,” the doctor said. “The bullets didn’t do near the damage they could have. I think he’s going to be fine.”

  • • •

  After everyone in the room had been properly introduced, and hugged by Ramon’s mother, Danny, Chloe and Cary found themselves in the cafeteria drinking coffee. The pain meds were wearing off, and Danny’s shoulder had started to throb like a mother.

  Chloe kissed her husband. “I’m going to head on home.”

  “Drive safe,” Cary told her. “I’m not far behind you.”

  She rose from her chair, her gaze found Danny and she dropped back down.

  “How are you?” Chloe asked.

  “It was just a scratch.” Seven stitches, but who’s counting?

  “You sure?” Something about her tone sounded like a trick question, and he recalled she hadn’t spoken to him since she’d arrived.

  “Yeah.” Danny glanced at Cary, but he looked equally puzzled.

  Chloe smiled, but it seemed loaded with something not so pleasant. “Great. So let me preface this.” Her tone now matched her not-right smile.

  “Preface what?” Cary asked when his wife paused as if for effect.

  She ignored her husband and focused on Danny. “You know I like you. You’ve got my husband’s back, and I appreciate that. Heck, I love you for that.”

  “Now don’t go making your husband jealous,” he said, uneasy.

  “When I married my husband it was a two-way package deal. His friends came with him. And my friends with me.”

  Oh, shit. She knew. He glanced at the exit in case he needed to run. “Yeah.”

  “Liking you is one thing. Standing by and letting you hurt someone I care about is another. So when you are around my friends, you keep your best friend in your pants.”

  She stood, kissed her shocked husband’s cheek and left in a choppy pace.

  “What did you do?” Cary asked.

  “I . . . Sheri—”

  “Not Sheri!” Cary pleaded. “I told you—”

  “It wasn’t . . . I tried to fix it. She’s the one who . . .”

  “Who what?” Cary asked.

  Danny ran a palm over his face. “Nothing.” He’d screwed up. Forgiveness wasn’t a guarantee, it was a gift. One Sheri hadn’t been inclined to offer.

  • • •

  First thing on Friday morning, Danny was called into the sergeant’s office. He was ready to get an earful about how badly the bust had gone down.

  “What’s up?” Danny asked walking in, not sure he didn’t deserve an ass-chewing.

  Sergeant Adams, AKA, the boss, leaned forward at his desk and motioned for Danny to sit down. “Did you recognize any of McCune’s men?”

  “Yeah.” He had no idea where this was going. “Perkins. I’ve brought him in a few times. Small shit. I didn’t know he worked with McCune.”

  “Well, I just got a call this morning from his lawyer. He and Perkins want to talk to you. Says he has some info and wants to negotiate.”

  “Then send him to the DA,” Danny said.

  “I tried. The lawyer says he only wants to talk to you.”

  “Why?”

  “He likes you.” The sergeant’s smile said there was more to the story.

  Danny frowned. “I’m not that likable.”

  “Look, Perkins said you worked a deal once. He thinks you’ll work with him, and he swears he won’t talk to anyone else.”

  “I didn’t work a deal. I went easy on him for being honest. And that was before he tried to kill me and a few of my friends.”

  “I know, but this lawyer is a pain in my ass. He’s friends with my brother-in-law. Just talk to him. Hell, maybe this guy has something we need.”

  An hour later, Danny walked into the conference room where James Perkins and his lawyer waited.

  The guy had acquired a rap sheet a mile long since he and Danny last met. Perkins didn’t deserve a deal—not this time. Danny shot across the room and prepared himself to be pissed. Hell, he was already pissed. His arm still throbbed, and Ramon was still in the hospital—hating every moment of the TLC doled out by his sisters and his mom. The fact that his sergeant even considered negotiating with this punk chapped Danny’s ass.

  All eyes in the room turned to him. Danny decided not to bullshit anyone. “You better have something good, because anyone who shoots at me or my friends gets on my bad side.”

  “You’re the only cop I know who’s fair. You didn’t let them charge me last time.”

  “Then that shows how little you know,” Danny insisted. “I’m done being fair. Damnedest thing, it happens when people try to kill me.”

  Sure, Danny knew it wasn’t Perkins’ bullet that had gotten either him or Ramon, but not from his lack of trying, and only because he was a piss-poor shot.

  “It’s good,” Perkins said.

  “Not so fast,” his lawyer said. “We want a deal on the table.”

  “Don’t try to blow smoke up my ass. You know I can’t make any deals. That’s the DA’s job. And I wouldn’t even pretend to think about a deal until I know what he’s got.”

  The lawyer already looked frustrated, and Danny had even tried yet. “Someone contacted Mr. Perkins to do a hit.”

  “A hit on who?” Danny asked, vaguely interested, but only mildly.

  The lawyer held up his hand to silence Perkins. “What are you offering?”

  “I told ya, I don’t offer deals, and I’m not even gonna think of going to DA until I know who it is. You see, I might not give a rat’s ass if this guy lives or not. Because chances are, he’s a piece of shit and deserves to get whacked.” The lie left his lips easily. His job required he give a rat’s ass, even to the undeserving.

  “She,” Perkins said. “It’s a chick, probably as innocent as a puppy.”

  That knocked Danny’s argument down a notch, but he tried not to show it. “Puppies don’t usually land on someone’s hit list.”

  Perkins frowned. “This one got unlucky.”

  “Who wants her dead?” Danny asked. “Husband? Boyfriend?” Nine times out of ten, that’s who was guilty.

  “I don’t know. He said a friend of a friend gave him my name. He approached me at The Devil’s Bar.”

  “You don’t know his name or haven’t seen him hanging there before?”

  “No.”

  Danny sighed. “When did this happen?”

  “Last Saturday. He offered me ten thousand. I told him I didn’t off girls.”

  “You must be up for sainthood,” Danny said.

  Perkins snarled. “Some chick is gonna die, and it’s going to be on your ass.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong. You don’t know who this guy is, or how to get in touch with him. How’s this going to do me any good?”

  “I got her name. And if he approached me, he’ll approach someone else.”

  “What’s her name?” Danny asked.

  “We don’t give anything else until we get at least your word that you’ll help us work a deal with the DA,” the lawyer said again.

  “Okay,” Danny said, pissed he had to do it, but he knew a wall when he was against one. “Here’s what I can give you. Tell me her name. If it’s the real deal, I’ll talk to the DA about offering you a lesser sentence.”

  “Lesser? I don’t want to do time.”

  Danny shook his head. “There are no get-out-of-jail-free cards. You’re doing time. It’s a matter of two years or ten.”

  The lawyer whispered something in Perkins’ ear. He moaned. “Sheri Thompson.”

  Danny’s breath caught. �
�Is this a joke?”

  “What?” Perkins said, and Danny could read the man’s face enough to know he wasn’t pulling a fast one. Besides, how would he know Danny had a connection to a Sheri Thompson?

  Danny felt his heart play base against his chest bone and he could feel the rush of his pulse at the side of his neck. Wait, there was only a one-in-three chance it was her. He knew, because he’d personally done that search when she’d refused to take his phone calls six months ago.

  “Where does this Sheri Thompson live?” Don’t say in the Forest Hill Condos. “Answer me!”

  “I don’t know. When I told him I didn’t do chicks, he left.”

  “Do you have an age, a location, anything? Do you know how many Sheri—”

  “I gave you a name. And there’s going to be one less chick wearing that name tag if you don’t do something fast. That guy was serious.”

  Danny swung open the door and called out for another officer. “Get a sketch artist in here.” He looked back at the lawyer. “I want to know what this guy looked like down to the size of his dick!” He rushed out, telling himself it wasn’t his Sheri.

  His Sheri?

  What a joke.

  She wasn’t his. Except for one night.

  One damn good night.

  • • •

  He dialed Cary before he was out of the county jail, but his friend wasn’t picking up. Shit!

  The line beeped to leave a message. “Hey . . . there’s a problem. Sheri is . . . Someone’s trying . . . Oh, hell. Sheri could be in danger. Call me!”

  He tried Sheri’s number. The fact that he hadn’t deleted it from his phone said something. The fact that he hadn’t added any new numbers since then said something more.

  Her phone rang twelve times before he reached his car. He knew because he counted each one. Then he phoned his friend, Paul Manning, who worked homicide and gave him a rundown on the other Sheri Thompsons.

  Leaving the parking lot, he put his siren on his dashboard and lit out to Forest Hill Condos. He spent the entire drive trying to calm down and convince himself she wasn’t in danger. But it wasn’t working.

  His car had barely stopped in her parking lot when he jumped out. The sooner he laid eyes on Sheri, the sooner he would be able think straight.

  Jogging to unit sixteen, he realized he didn’t have a clue how he was going to deal with this. Should he tell her? He had to, didn’t he? If he didn’t, she’d think he was here for . . . something else. For penitence.

  And damn, he knew if she’d give him another chance, he’d take it in a snap. But a man could only beg for so long.

  Arriving at her porch, he noticed her door wasn’t shut. His heart picked up pace. Surely Sheri was smart enough not to leave her front door open.

  Shit! He drew his gun. He debated calling out her name, but if someone had his finger on the trigger, that might jar him into doing something he shouldn’t.

  Instantly his mind replayed parts of their night together. Hands down, it had been the best sex he’d ever had. Add the hours they’d laid in bed talking and laughing and . . . and he’d panicked. But not until she’d gone to sleep and he’d just lain there, watching her. His damn heart had swelled so big he thought his chest would explode.

  Pushing open the door a bit, he listened for any signs of movement. He inched into the living room. He’d only come here once. He hadn’t even gotten inside. She’d opened her door and, with a few choice words, told him where he could plant his flowers and insisted he had to leave because her date was waiting inside.

  She hadn’t been bluffing, because he’d stayed around long enough to see them leaving together.

  Where are you now, Sheri? He heard a slight noise coming from the room in the back. The kitchen? Someone was here. Be okay. Please be okay.

  She could tell him to plant anything, anywhere. Just as long as she was alive and breathing. He lifted his gun and cut the corner into the kitchen.

  Chapter Two

  Sheri felt the cool wall behind her. Patrick’s mouth was on hers. He was a good kisser. Just a little too much tongue. She told herself to stop critiquing and enjoy it.

  His hand moved under her skirt, going for her panties. The red panties she’d worn for this very reason. She planned to let it happen. They’d been dating six weeks. He’d been patient. It was time, but . . . was she feeling it?

  A little.

  Maybe.

  He pushed his hips against hers, and the evidence of how much he was feeling it pressed against her.

  Oh, hell. She wasn’t feeling it that much. And if there was one thing she promised herself . . . not feeling it meant no sex. She’d learned that lesson with Mark. And the only reason she’d gone there with Mark was because she wanted . . . well, she thought she could re-create with him what she’d had with . . .

  “I want you so bad,” Patrick said.

  Nope. Not feeling it.

  She pulled her lips from his. His body still pressed her against the wall. “Did you say you want a beer?”

  “Police!” a dark voice rang out, giving her a lurch.

  Patrick’s hand yanked out from under her skirt. He bolted back so fast her knees nearly gave. She caught herself against the wall while his hands shot up above his head.

  The sight of the gun had air hitching in her throat.

  The sight of the man attached to the gun had that air releasing in a big gulp. She’d just thought about him. Was this a . . . dream?

  She reached down and pinched her leg. It hurt.

  Not a dream.

  “What are you doing?” she snapped as she rubbed her leg.

  “This isn’t even my house,” Patrick said.

  What did that mean? She looked at Danny. He looked just as confused.

  “Oh yeah, throw the girl under the bus,” Danny spouted out. Then he dropped his arm, pointing the gun downward, and focused on her. “I . . . Your front door was open.”

  “So you rushed in with a gun? Did they teach you that in police training?”

  Sheri couldn’t tell if Danny was embarrassed or angry. Maybe a little of both. She kind of knew the feeling. The two emotions waged war inside her, too.

  “I . . . I didn’t mean to . . . interrupt.” His tone, along with the emphasis he put on that last word, pissed her off. Then he glanced at Patrick. Or rather at the tent in the man’s khakis, emphasized by the fact that his arms remained in the air.

  Oh yeah, embarrassed.

  “Do you know him?” Patrick asked in almost a whisper as if Danny couldn’t hear it.

  “What are you doing here?” she bit out at Danny.

  “Wait? Is he a cop or not?” Patrick asked, hands still in the air, looking guilty. What was he feeling guilty about?

  “Yes.” Danny pulled open his shirt, flashing the badge attached to his belt loop.

  Sheri looked at Patrick. “You can put your hands down.”

  “I can?” He directed the question to Danny as if he didn’t believe her.

  “Yeah.” Danny frowned. “Unless you’re a criminal?”

  “I’m . . . not.” Patrick, who didn’t sound too sure, dropped his hands and eyed Sheri as if this was her fault. “Would someone like to explain what’s going on?”

  “Yeah, explain.” She’d love to hear that answer and passed the question to Danny.

  “We need to talk.” Danny’s blue eyes met hers, and he put his gun in his shoulder holster.

  “So you do know him?” Patrick asked, now looking angry.

  “Yeah, he’s . . .” She paused, unsure what you called someone who screwed you and walked out. A one-timer? An ex? Or maybe an asshole jerk who added her to his conquests list.

  Patrick let out a deep gasp of air. “If you were seeing someone, you could have just—”

  “I’m not seeing him,” she said.

  “Funny, I’m seeing you,” Danny spit out, his tone not quite pissed off but close.

  Dumbfounded by what he implied, her mouth dropped open. “I’
m not . . . We aren’t . . .” Suddenly too mad to talk, she just groaned.

  “I haven’t even slept with her,” Patrick said.

  “Could have fooled me,” Danny muttered, staring at Patrick as if to draw more information from him.

  “Seriously, you can have her.”

  What? “He can’t have me! And I’m not yours to . . . give away! How . . .” She tried to put words to her fury, but nothing came out except an incomprehensible sputter. “Yo . . . you . . . I . . .”

  “We need to talk,” Danny repeated as his gaze shifted back to her. “Privately.”

  “Yo . . . you . . .”

  “Can I leave?” Patrick asked.

  “That would be best,” Danny said, sounding like a cop.

  “You are an asshole,” she finally bellowed out.

  “Really,” Patrick snapped, swinging around to look at her. “We’ve been dating a month, you played hard to get and . . . all the while you were dating someone else. And I’m the asshole?”

  “I was calling him the asshole.” She pointed to Danny. “But maybe you are, too, because I’ve already told you, I’m not seeing him! And . . . and you just gave me to him!”

  “But he said . . .”

  “Hence the reason he’s an asshole,” she bellowed.

  “I didn’t say I was dating you. I said I was seeing you,” Danny added, as if she was gonna buy that.

  “We never dated!”

  “Well, that depends on how you define—”

  “Don’t. You. Dare!”

  Danny stopped talking but glanced at Patrick. “Leave.” He waved an arm toward the door.

  Sheri watched Patrick storm out of the kitchen. When her front door slammed with his exit, she turned her eyes on Danny. “I have a question,” she said. “It might not exactly be your forte, but . . .” She held out her shaking hands. “How much time will I get for killing a cop?”

  • • •

  Danny needed to explain. But he was mid-process of trying to explain something to himself. Why, even after assessing that the man with Sheri hadn’t been a hit man, did he still want to chase the guy into the parking lot and shoot the bastard?