by Dana R. Lynn
Finally, Dan nudged her toward the half-open door.
“Careful.” His breath fanned her neck as he whispered tensely in her ear.
They were going to the basement. Dan brushed past her, no doubt to protect her in case she missed her footing. Gripping the railing with both hands, Maggie prayed she wouldn’t fall even as Dan’s phone flashed a dim path in front of her. Praying? That made twice in less than two days. That was some kind of record for her, since she hadn’t prayed since that awful day...
She closed her mind to the past and refocused her attention on the steps ahead of her. Near the bottom, she did indeed slip. A gasp escaped her lips as her ankle twisted and her body lurched forward. Her fall was stopped as Dan caught her. She was aware of the muscular arms tightening around her briefly before he set her back on the floor.
In the darkness, he grabbed her hand and pulled her forward. She did her best to walk without complaining despite the pain shooting up her left leg with every step. In her mind, she remembered the way Dan had kept going, even after being stabbed and having his jacket catch on fire. Surely she could handle a twisted ankle without complaint. Hopefully, he wouldn’t notice. She knew how protective he was.
They moved through the room and out into what seemed like the longest corridor ever. Every now and then, the flashlight would land on a window. At one point she distinctly saw the words Caution: Shooting Range. She shivered. We’re walking targets right now.
“Can you walk a little farther, or is your ankle really hurting?” Dan’s husky whisper made her grimace. So much for him not noticing.
A door banged open before she had a chance to answer. The basement lights flared to life. Footsteps thudded down the steps. Out of time. Dan shoved Maggie into the first door on the left, followed her inside and shut the door behind them. A click told her he had locked the door. She doubted that would keep anyone out for long. But it gave them a few more seconds. Maybe even minutes.
Dan flipped on the light. It was pointless to work in the dark when whoever was behind them knew they were here. Maggie followed him to the far wall. There was a window near the ceiling. Despair trickled down her throat. It was only a window well, not a full window. Would they fit? Sure, she was small, but Dan... She cast her eyes at his wide, muscular shoulders, then back at the window, biting her lip. There was no way he would fit through.
Pacing the area, his face a fierce mask of concentration, Dan searched for a way out. He grabbed a pipe and swung, grunting as it connected with the window. Glass shattered. Two more swings and the window was cleared. He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it over the jagged edges of glass still in the windowsill. He turned and motioned Maggie forward.
“But, Dan, you won’t fit,” she protested.
“Don’t worry about me.” He urged her forward, dragging a table under the window. Without pause, he placed his warm hands around her waist and lifted her onto the table. “You need to go. I sent a text to Paul and Jace as soon as I realized what was happening. For all I know, they may already be here—there’s no signal down here. Take my cell and hit number two as soon as you’re in range. That’s Paul’s cell.”
She touched his shoulder gently, nodded her understanding. She slipped his cell into her back pocket. She could do this; he was depending on her. Pressing her lips together, she faced the window. With his hands giving her a boost, she dragged and pulled herself through.
She was halfway through when the doorknob rattled. She doubled her efforts, ignoring the pain as a piece of glass sliced into her right arm. Grunting, she forced herself through the narrow space. A gunshot. The stalker had shot the door. Probably to get rid of the lock. She’d almost made it when the door burst open. Just as she pulled through, the brick next to her legs pinged. The bullet had literally missed her by an inch. A second shot followed.
“No!” Dan’s voice, raised in a harsh shout.
Crack!
Silence.
Urgency made her hands shake as she grabbed Dan’s phone and dialed.
“Dan, we’re here. I heard shots.”
Maggie cut off the chief. She’d worry about her manners later.
“In the basement. Dan made me go out through a window. He’s still inside. I think he might have been shot.” Her voice was thick with tears. She hadn’t even realized she was crying.
“Get away from that window!” Maggie swung around as the cop she’d recognized earlier rounded the corner at a full-out run. Lieutenant Tucker. Dan’s friend. He reached her and dragged her away from danger. “How many shots?”
Focus, Maggie. Dan needs you. Dan.
“Four. The first shot through the lock. One hit the window just before I escaped. The other two...” She choked off, unable to continue. What if Dan was dead? It would be her fault.
* * *
Dan was frozen. Numb. His hands continued to shake, even after he dropped the gun. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the man lying on the floor. Dead. Because he had shot him.
The man had been aiming for Maggie, he reminded himself. The first shot had hit the wall inches from where Maggie had been pulling herself through the window. Then he had shifted, fired at Dan, forcing him to dive behind a filing cabinet for cover. Then he had lined up a third shot. Aimed at Maggie. Dan knew he’d never reach the man in time to grab him before he could fire. He had had no choice. He’d pulled out his gun and shot. The first time he’d shot at anyone since his disastrous second tour in Afghanistan. It was a clear-cut case of self-defense.
But someone was dead, and he was to blame.
Again.
Even worse, he knew the man. Not very well, granted. Dennis had been a competent dispatcher for the police department, but he had been surly on his good days. Still, Dan never would have pegged him for a killer. Yet, here he was. Dead.
Dead, dead, dead.
A tortured groan escaped. Images flooded his mind. Shells falling. Faces surrounded him, silently begging him to save them as the shelter burned around them. A young woman, hair on fire—
No! He was more than that one moment in time. He couldn’t let himself dwell on it. It would drown him, pull him under if he let it. Maggie. Oh, no, where was Maggie? Had she gotten hold of Paul? Pointedly ignoring the prone body on the dirty floor, he strode toward the door. He needed to make sure Maggie was alive and well. He quickened his pace, ignoring twinges in his side. Pain was irrelevant. All that mattered was making sure another citizen didn’t die on his watch. Not ever again. An image of Rory and Siobhan came to mind. He couldn’t let any more kids become orphans because of his failure.
He was met in the hall by Jace. His friend grabbed his arm. He winced. He had slammed against the brick wall to get behind the filing cabinet. He had escaped being shot, but barely.
“Dude! Are you okay? We heard shots. Maggie’s in hysterics. She thinks you were killed.”
“She’s okay? I was afraid a stray bullet might have hit her.”
Jace placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “She’s fine. Shook-up. She’s very worried about you, though. Paul is making her stay in his office, getting a statement, that kind of thing. He can’t let her come down and interfere with a crime scene. But it’s about killing him to stay up there. He’s pretty shook-up, too. Hold on.” Jace used the radio clipped to his shoulder to let Paul know he had found Dan, to all appearances safe. Dan could hear Maggie talking in the background.
He needed to sit. Hearing Maggie’s voice, knowing she was safe, had the strangest effect on him. He started shaking, and his balance was off.
“Dan? Buddy, you are white as a ghost. Did I miss something—are you hurt?” The warmth and concern in Jace’s voice was a new thing. So was his pleasure at hearing it. Dan liked his isolated life. Instead of friends, he was used to having only acquaintances. He had not confessed his fears to a soul. Yet, here was Jace, act
ing the part of a good friend despite Dan’s reticence.
And he was glad.
Because right now, he could use a friend.
Jace was talking.
“...and the perp? What is his condition?”
Dan swallowed around a tongue suddenly too large for his mouth. He couldn’t tell if he was going to vomit. Fortunately, he was disciplined enough to keep his reactions and emotions under wraps. He focused all his attention on the details. The details always helped him to distance himself.
“He’s dead. I shot him after he got off two shots and was going for a third. He was aiming for the window when I fired.”
Maggie’s legs, still visible as Dennis started to pull the trigger...
He gave his head one hard shake to clear it. “We’re gonna have to call Chuck to come get the body before we can get a team in there to process the scene.” He wasn’t going to be happy. The coroner was a man of integrity and honor. He was also a bear before 8:00 a.m. and three cups of coffee. He was downright scary in the middle of the night.
“He’s gonna be real happy,” Jace groaned, echoing Dan’s thoughts, his hand going to his radio to call in the necessary personnel.
“Jace.” Dan halted him before he could activate their response team. “Dude, it was Dennis. Dennis Purchard.”
“Dennis! The dispatcher?” Jace jerked his head toward the room Dan had vacated. He started to speak, shook his head, then looked Dan in the eye. “I know he wasn’t a very pleasant fella, but man, I never thought he was the kind to gun down someone in cold blood.”
“Me, neither.” A thought struck him. “When did he start working here?”
Scratching his head, Jace scowled thoughtfully. “You know, I’m not sure. It’s been at least seven or eight years. We’ll check. But after this scene is processed and you give your statement.”
As expected, Chuck arrived stomping and growling. His growling stopped, though, when he spotted the body. The sight of any young man dead by violence was always a shock. Add to that the fact that everyone who worked in law enforcement in the county had known and trusted Dennis.
Wordlessly, Chuck motioned to his assistant. The young woman stepped forward, hands trembling as she took out a digital camera and photographed the scene. Dan and Jace stood inside the doorway making sure no one entered or left the scene. At one point, a young officer started to unwrap a piece of gum, no doubt because of nerves. Dan barked out a harsh reprimand. Proper procedure demanded no eating or drinking while processing a crime scene. In his book, that included gum chewing. All they needed was for some young kid to contaminate the scene by accidently dropping the wrapper or spitting out his gum.
When Chuck was satisfied that his assistant had done a thorough job, he had the body hoisted onto a stretcher. Dan couldn’t stand it anymore. He bolted for the stairs, taking them two at a time. He burst through the door at the top of the stairs and headed straight for Chief Kennedy’s office. After poking his head in, he took in the scene. The tightness in his chest eased when he noticed Maggie sitting on the desk while a paramedic tended a cut on her arm. He frowned. It looked pretty deep. She’d probably got caught on the glass as she’d slid through the window. It had ripped her shirt from shoulder to elbow. But she had escaped.
A hint of blue ink on her right shoulder snagged his attention.
“You have a tattoo?” he blurted.
“Dan! Are you okay?” Maggie made a move as if to jump off the table.
“Hey, don’t move!” The paramedic’s sharp voice stopped her. Dan recognized her but couldn’t recall her name. Cindy? Susan?
A grimace crossed Maggie’s face. “Sorry.”
Feeling more in control now that he had found her, Dan sauntered into the room and leaned his uninjured shoulder against the filing cabinet. He made note of the fact that the cut on her arm seemed to be her only injury.
“I never figured you for a tattoo girl. What is it?”
The paramedic finished and backed away. Maggie murmured her thanks in a distracted tone, her eyes still on Dan. She grabbed a flapping bit of the ripped fabric and eased it back, revealing an intricate tattoo. The blue was the sky surrounding a butterfly. There were letters around the wings of the butterfly, but they weren’t in English.
“Uh, Maggie? What does it say?” He squinted, tilting his head so he could see it better.
“It says Is maith an scáthán súil charad.” The foreign words flowed smoothly from her mouth, the cadence definitely Gaelic. The corners of her lips were tucked in. He was willing to bet she was biting back a grin.
“Yeah, I kinda figured. In English?”
“It means ‘A friend’s eye is a good mirror.’” She hesitated. “I got it when I was sixteen.”
“Your mom let you get a tattoo?”
There was that grin again, although it was a little strained. “Well, she didn’t exactly know about it. I got it in a fit of rebellion. And to honor my grandmother.”
“Is that something your grandmother used to say?”
“Not really, but it’s an Irish proverb. She made me a quilt once with a bunch of proverbs embroidered on it.” She smirked. “My favorite is Ná glac pioc comhairle gan comhairle ban, which means ‘Never take advice without a woman’s guidance.’”
Dan laughed, shaking his head.
The paramedic packed up her bag. Maggie slid off the desk and walked over to Dan. Voices in the hallway signaled that the coroner was leaving. Dan heard Paul’s voice. He went to the door and looked out. Paul and Chuck were standing together in the hallway. Paul’s face was white and drawn, his normal, cheerful demeanor dimmed by the night’s events.
“Chuck, is it true? Dennis was our shooter?”
“I’m afraid so, Paul. Here, see for yourself.” Chuck gently uncovered Dennis’s face so Paul could see. Dan saw a white face, then looked away. A sharp gasp had his head swiveling in the opposite direction.
Maggie was standing in the doorway next to him. The blood had leeched from her face, and her hand was covering her mouth. She swayed, and Dan reached out, afraid she would faint.
“Maggie, you don’t need to see this,” Dan started, concerned.
She didn’t appear to hear him.
“That’s him. That’s the man who shot Phillip.”
SEVEN
Maggie held the coffee cup between her hands. She wasn’t normally a coffee drinker, but at the moment she welcomed the heat seeping into her chilled palms. Each sip of the bitter coffee seemed to calm her jangled nerves just a little more. She closed her eyes briefly but popped them open again a second later. She couldn’t get his face out of her mind. And even though he was dead, she could hear his voice as if she had just heard it, instead of a year and a half ago.
“Ms. Slade, are you sure the man chasing you was the same man who killed your husband?” Chief Kennedy sat across from her, his gaze serious. She felt bad. He looked like a man who’d had a really rough night.
Maggie nodded. “Yes, sir. I have seen that face in my nightmares for a long time now.”
“It explains one thing, Chief.”
Dan pulled a folding chair over and swung it around so he could straddle it, his arms resting on the back. If she weren’t so tired, she might have smiled. It was so typically male.
“Yes, Dan? What does it explain?”
“The man Maggie saw shoot her husband was dressed in a LaMar Pond PD uniform. Purchard could easily have snagged a uniform from a locker and returned it before it was noticed.” He narrowed his eyes. Maggie could almost hear his mind racing. “It also explains how Maggie was found. He had access to a lot of intel. It was no secret that I had gone to Pittsburgh several times on leads. I suspected yesterday that my car might have a tracking device on it. Or maybe it was a bug. Can’t prove it, since it’s a pile of ash. But I’m pr
etty convinced.”
Chief Kennedy pursed his lips, stirring his own coffee as he deliberated. Finally, he nodded. “Yeah, I can see that. Ms. Slade, what did he say to your husband?”
She did not want to have to do this again, but what choice did she have?
“He said Phillip had something and needed to give it back. To his boss,” she added, remembering suddenly. “He never identified who the boss was. Or what exactly Phillip supposedly had.”
“What do you think he might have stolen?” The chief’s question was casual, but Maggie heard the underlying question. And were you involved, too?
Her spine stiffened in outrage. Jutting out her jaw, she glared at the chief. Then she turned her furious gaze on Dan for good measure. “I don’t think he stole anything, sir.” She was too angry to care how rude she sounded. She had been hounded, separated from her babies, shot at, attacked and finally awoken in the dead of night to flee another attack. And now these men sat here practically accusing her of wrongdoing. Well, no more. She had had enough.
“Sir,” Dan cut in, “I think we need to follow our original plan. The man who is in jail for breaking and entering the chapel might have known something. I think Maggie and I should go there and talk to him.”
There was a knock on the door before Chief Kennedy could answer. Lieutenant Tucker. He looked exhausted, but determined. As he passed behind them, she noticed he clapped a supportive hand on Dan’s shoulder. He handed a file and a camera to Chief Kennedy. Briefly, she wondered if she should excuse herself so they could conference. But they would ask her to leave if they needed to, wouldn’t they?
“Lieutenant Tucker,” Chief Kennedy said with a stern glare, “we have a civilian present.”