by Willow Rose
What was that? It sounded like a shot!
“Harry!”
She jumped out of her bed and stormed out the door, down the stairs and hurried toward Harry’s house, heart in her throat.
Please, don’t let them be hurt. Please, let them be all right.
She rushed up the stairs, grabbed the door handle, and tried to push it open, but it was locked.
“Shoot!”
Jean hurried back down the stairs to the front lawn and found the key inside the sprinkler that didn’t work, where Harry kept it under the loose lid in case of emergency. Then she ran back up on the porch and unlocked the door.
She stormed inside.
“Harry? Josie?”
She almost screamed their names, worried sick. Someone appeared at the top of the stairs.
It was Josie.
“Josie,” Jean said. “Are you okay? I heard a noise. What happened?”
She looked as confused as Jean felt. “I…I don’t know. I woke up. There was a loud noise. Was it a shot I heard?”
“I don’t know. I heard it too. Is your dad okay?” Jean asked, panting and agitated. “Is he all right?”
“I don’t know,” Josie said. “I don’t even know where he is. He’s not in his room. The door is open, and I can’t see him in there.”
Jean scanned the living room. The lights were on.
“Harry?”
Josie came down the stairs toward her.
“Da-a-a-d?”
Her voice was trembling. Jean struggled to keep calm, as well. She stared at the big red letters on the wall.
“Harry?”
Josie stood in front of her, staring up at the tall red letters, her hands shaking.
“W-what is this?” she asked. “Jean? What does this mean? Who did this? Who painted this?”
“I don’t know,” Jean said, then looked toward the hallway leading to Camille’s room, where the door was left ajar.
“Harry?” she asked, then walked toward it, her hands shaking. If someone had broken into the house and hurt Harry, they could still be here; they could still be here, hiding out.
As she approached the hallway, Jean saw blood on the wooden floors. A trail of blood led away from Camille’s room toward the back entrance. Jean paused and stared down at it, heart pounding in her chest.
What happened here?
“Harry?”
She pushed the door open with a shaking hand. Inside Camille’s room, she saw someone. He was sitting in a chair next to Camille’s bed. Harry was only in his boxers, bent over Camille, his fists clenched. He had blood on his chin and chest.
“H-harry?”
He lifted his glance, and their eyes met.
“A-are you okay? We heard a noise, and it sounded like a shot being fired…?”
He nodded. “I shot him. By accident.”
“Who did you shoot, Harry?”
“The intruder. We fought; the gun went off by accident. I think he was shot in the leg. Probably just a graze since the bullet was lodged in the wall.”
“So…where is he now?”
“He escaped. When the shot went off, he punched me hard, and I blacked out for a few seconds. When I came to, he was gone. I hurried in here to make sure Camille was okay. She took an Ambien before she went to bed. She couldn’t find rest, so I gave her one. Luckily, I think she slept through it all.”
Jean approached him, then bent down. Her eyes filling, Jean bit her lip and leaned her forehead against Harry’s, holding a hand behind his neck.
“I was so scared,” she whispered. “I thought I lost you.”
He closed his eyes and exhaled. His breath felt warm on her skin. His soft lips moved closer. She could feel them brush against hers.
“Dad?”
Josie showed up in the doorway, and Jean let go of Harry and pulled away with a light gasp. Josie stared at them, her eyes concerned and confused. Whether it was the blood on her father’s body or because she had seen Jean and Harry in an intimate moment, Jean didn’t know.
“Dad?”
He smiled. “I’m fine, Josie.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“Well, you should have seen the other guy,” he chuckled, trying to sound cheerful for his daughter.
“You’re not hurt?” Jean asked. “Nothing I need to patch up?”
He shook his head. “Couple of bruises, but I’ll be fine. I’ll be sore tomorrow, but nothing else.”
“You sure I shouldn’t che…”
“Hello?” a voice sounded from the front door. “Hunter? You here?”
Harry lifted his gaze.
“That’ll be Fowler,” he said and got up.
“You called Fowler? You didn’t call the police?” Jean asked, concerned. What was going on here? What was he not telling her?
“He is the police,” Harry said, walking past her. “He’s the only police I trust right now.”
Chapter 18
“You didn’t get to see his face or eyes at all?”
Fowler looked at me across the living room. I had sat down on my couch, Fowler in my recliner. He was scribbling notes on his pad. Up until now, I had been reasonably collected, but now that I was telling him everything that had happened, it was getting harder to keep my anger at bay.
I shook my head.
“He wore a ski mask. I was never close enough to see his eyes. I didn’t recognize his voice.”
“But you’re certain he was one of ours?”
I nodded with a sniffle. Jean and Josie were in the kitchen, where Jean had served Josie some ice cream. They were both eating it, sitting at the breakfast counter, chatting. Every now and then, she’d throw me a glance, and our eyes would meet. She was trying to calm Josie down and make her think about something else, and I was very grateful for that.
“He had a badge, Fowler.”
Fowler glared at the red letters on the wall, shaking his head. “I told you to watch your back.”
“This was in my home,” I said. “They were in my house, Fowler. In my own darn house!”
He lifted his hand. “I know. I know. We’ll get them. And he was shot in the leg, you say?”
I nodded. “In the thigh, I’m pretty sure. It all went by a little fast.”
“So, we’ll call all the hospitals and see if they got anyone in tonight with a gunshot wound.”
I exhaled and leaned back, closing my eyes. “It was just a graze, or he wouldn’t have been able to run out of here. I can’t believe they would go this far. I can’t believe he was inside my house.”
“How did he get in here?” Fowler asked. “Front door was locked, right? When Jean got here, she said it was still locked.”
“Back door,” I said. “It’s been broken up. It’s old, and one kick or even a mild push would have opened it.”
“Might wanna get that fixed,” he said.
I lifted my gaze and looked at him. “You think they’ll be back?”
“I don’t think they’ll leave you alone till you stop talking, no. It’s a dangerous game you’re playing.”
“But I can’t back down now,” I said. “These people are bad seeds; there’s nothing worse than a corrupt cop. You have to agree with me on this. I have to clean up this mess.”
He gave me another look. “Even if it means risking your family getting hurt? Because I have to tell you. I don’t know what you’re up against here, but it seems like they’re willing to take it as far as they can. They’re not backing down as long as you’re not. Maybe you should consider backing off. I’m sure the FBI can run the case without you talking.”
I wrinkled my forehead, then rose to my feet.
“How can you even suggest that?”
“I’m just worried about you, that’s all,” he said and rose to his feet as well. “I don’t want you or your family hurt. You’re risking losing everything, and I want to make sure it’s worth it.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “They’re not gonna break me. I am not letti
ng them win.”
He threw out his hands. “All right, Hunter. The choice is yours. I’ll make the calls and see if we can locate the cop who was in your house tonight and got himself shot. Until then, please be careful, will you? Stay alive for me. And get some sleep. You look terrible.”
“Thanks,” I said, smiling while letting him out. “I mean it.”
Chapter 19
I parked the motorcycle in the alley and walked up to the backdoor of Al’s building. She had moved locations since she recently had been attacked in her home, when I decided to hide Josie at her place, thinking she’d be safe there. She had only moved a few blocks further south, to a location just as remote as the former and even harder to find. It was the next morning after a night with next to no sleep. I had driven through town to get to her first thing.
Al was a former CIA hacker and the only one who could help me out. She was also slightly paranoid and kept herself hidden. From what, exactly, she had never told me, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
“Yes?” she asked over the intercom.
“It’s Harry,” I said.
“I can see that, you fool; there’s a camera in this thing,” Al said dryly. “What do you want?”
“Just let me in, will you?” I said.
“Last time I did, my place ended up like a warzone. Not only was I knocked out, but I was also compromised and had to move because of it. I want to make sure it won’t happen again.”
“I need your help,” I said with a deep sigh. “I can’t tell you the details in the street. Someone might hear me, and where will that leave us?”
“Okay. You make a valid point. Are you sure you’re alone? Did anyone follow you here?” she asked.
“No. I’m sure I’m all alone,” I said, yet still looked around me to be certain. It was more of a reflex than because I believed there would actually be someone there. “I rode here on my bike and took a couple of detours before I ran around the block three times until I was certain no one was following me. Just like you have instructed me to.”
“And you’re not bringing trouble my way?”
“That, I can’t promise you. You know I can’t,” I said.
“At least you’re honest,” she said, then buzzed me in.
“Finally,” I mumbled, and pushed the heavy door open, then rushed up the four flights of stairs. I knocked on the door and heard Al fumble with the many locks behind it before it was pulled open, and she peeked out through the crack.
“It’s still me, Al.”
“Just checking,” she said, then opened the chain and the door and let me in before she closed it behind me and locked it thoroughly.
“Okay, you’re in. What’s up?”
I walked to her desk and wondered if she had gotten a few new monitors since I was last there. I counted at least three new ones. On one of them, it showed a place where it snowed, and people wore furry hats. I wondered if she was spying on some Russians. On another, they were all wearing masks inside of a supermarket, and I realized it had to be somewhere in Asia, maybe even China, where they had the outbreak of the Coronavirus. It had gotten pretty bad over the past few weeks, and the sale of masks had exploded even here in the States.
“I need you to take a look at this,” I said and pulled out a small bag from my pocket. Inside it was the small device that Fowler had handed me in his office.
Al grabbed the bag and stared at it between her hands, studying it. “A microphone?”
“I need to know who owns this. Who installed it? I don’t know how, but I thought maybe you could track it down somehow.”
She stared at the small device, then nodded.
“I can do that.”
Al emptied the bag and poured the microphone onto her desk, then picked it up with a pair of tweezers.
“Small one,” she said. “A newer model. It’s amazing how small they make them now, huh? Not much bigger than a pin. This looks like a pretty advanced model, though. This is not a cheap piece of equipment.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” I said. “It’s not something everyone can get their hands on.”
“I’ll look into it,” she said, furrowing her brows beneath the dreadlocks while turning the device in the light.
“How’s the family? How’s Josie?”
I lifted my eyebrows. “You’re asking about my daughter now? You never cared much before?”
She shrugged. “Well, you might say I feel closer to her these days. After what happened.”
That made me smile. Al was far from as cold-hearted and uncaring as she liked to pretend to be.
“Josie’s good,” I said. “She’s okay.”
“And her heart?”
“No problems there. Her body seems to be accepting it well, and she’s back in school.”
Al looked at me, smiling wryly. “So, everything is back to normal? Then how come you didn’t sleep last night?”
“Are you spying on me too?” I asked.
“No, you fool, I took one look at that face and knew. You have like no color in your cheeks.”
“Ah, I see. Well, let’s just say whoever put that microphone up has it in for me. They tried to attack us last night in our house.”
“And I’m guessing it’s all connected to what happened last month, to Josie’s kidnapping and the refugees being smuggled in the appliances.”
I wrinkled my forehead. “I never told you about that.”
She smiled. “You don’t have to. I have my ways.”
“I know you do. That’s why I’m bringing this to you. Not a word to anyone.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “I never speak to anyone for that same reason. Except for you who keeps knocking on my darn door. Now, get out of here and let me work. I’ll let you know when I have something.”
Chapter 20
My finger was shaking a little as I rang the doorbell. Not because I was nervous, but because of the many cups of coffee I had practically inhaled before I left the station. I had kept to myself all day while working, trying not to talk to anyone except Fowler in his office. Yet, I still couldn’t help but see suspicious behavior everywhere and felt like all eyes were constantly on me. I kept listening in on conversations between my colleagues, trying to figure out if I recognized the voice from the night before. I was becoming paranoid, and it was about to drive me nuts.
I could hear someone coming down the stairs inside. The footsteps paused for a few seconds before they continued the rest of the way to the door.
A set of blue eyes landed on me as it swung open.
“Yes?”
“Kristin Holmes?”
She smiled politely. She had pretty eyes that looked up at me with wonder, reminding me of a child.
“It’s Grant now,” she said. “I took my husband’s name when we married last summer. How can I help you?”
I showed her my badge. “Harry Hunter, Miami PD. I wondered if we could have a little chat?”
Seeing the badge made her eyes begin to flicker, and she was suddenly slightly flustered. It wasn’t an unusual reaction when I came to people’s homes like this. They all worried if they could have done something wrong.
“I…I was about to leave…for yoga…” she said and rubbed her neck under the ponytail nervously.
“It won’t take long.”
I walked past her inside, and she closed the door, still slightly worried. “What is this about?”
“Can we sit?” I asked and pointed at her dining room table. She nodded, still fiddling with the small hairs on her neck.
“Sure. Do you want anything? Coffee?”
I smiled politely. “I don’t think we have time for that if you don’t want to miss your yoga class.”
She shrugged. “I can make some real quick.”
“Then I won’t say no to that.”
Kristin disappeared into the kitchen and came back with two cups of coffee. She placed a cup in front of me, spilling a little on the table as she did, then wiping it away with
a paper towel and a nervous chuckle.
I sipped my cup. “Wonderful coffee.”
She sat down in the chair next to mine while I opened the case file and showed her a picture of Kate Taylor taken ten years ago, just a few months before she disappeared.
“I believe you know her?”
She swallowed when seeing her friend. “K-Kate? Is that what this is about? But it was so long ago.”
“I know, but the case was never closed,” I said. “I take it you’ve heard about her son, Nick?”
Kristin nodded, warming her hands on the sides of the cup, even though it wasn’t very cold in her house.
“Yes. Awful tragedy. I can’t believe it.”
“Well, it has me wondering too, and that’s why I am here. I was hoping you could shed some light on the family. What would make Nick bring a gun to church and try to shoot his father?”
Chapter 21
“I…I don’t really know much about them,” she started, fiddling with her cup. “I mean, it’s been so many years now, and I hardly knew much even back then. I’m not sure I can be of much help, to be honest.”
I nodded. “I understand. I was just…well, worried that there was something we were missing here.”
She sipped her cup. “Like what, Detective?”
I exhaled and folded my hands on top of the file. “I don’t know. That maybe Nick tried to hurt his father for the simple reason that he knew he had killed his mother?”
Kristin stared at me, her eyes growing big. She shook her head. “Detective, I don’t really think…why would you say that? He was cleared back then. He had an alibi.”
I looked at the papers in the file. “He was at a conference, yes. In Atlanta.”
She nodded and smiled. “Yes, that was it. He was very far away. I don’t really see how he could have…”
“But what if he did?” I asked, deliberately provocative. “What if he somehow managed to kill her anyway? How was their relationship? You said in your statement that she needed to blow off some steam. Both you and your friend, Joan, used that same expression, oddly enough. But what does that even mean?”