Fatal Strike

by DiAnn Mills

  “Warren, we need to work this out before these police officers turn their weapons on you.”

  “Look where that got Everson.”

  Jon was close enough to the van now to see that Warren was holding a gun to Mrs. Rios’s head. There was no sign of the dentist, and Jon feared the man was already dead.

  “Shooting at cops will only add to your crimes,” Leah said to Warren.

  He swore. “Listen, if you get everyone to back off, including Agent Colbert, I might be open to negotiating. I’ve got a grenade in my pocket. Don’t make me toss it.”

  Jon valued Leah’s delay tactics. Keep talking, Warren. Your pride is showing through.

  She ordered the officers to clear the scene. Those in the parking lot drove away, except for a few cars and a Ford F-350 truck parked twenty feet from the van.

  Jon forced air into his lungs. He needed to take Warren out. He took advantage of the distraction the retreating officers provided to creep to the front of the van.

  “Now I’m ready to talk,” Warren said to Leah. “I’ll swap Anna Rios for you. You and I will take a little vacation.”

  Jon’s heart skipped a beat. Over his dead body.

  “What about Dr. Rios?”

  “He’s dead. Lay your gun down, nice and easy. Walk toward me. I’ll tell you when to stop. You’d better hope no one goes near that truck parked to your right.”

  “Whatever you need.” She obeyed and walked toward the van, holding her arms away from her sides.

  Jon heard the van’s door open and assumed Warren was preparing to make the exchange. Anna whimpered.

  Jon’s training kicked in. He stilled his spirit. Concentrated on the target. Tuned out what was going on around him. Prayed for accuracy—and for his coughing to abate while his lungs craved release from the smoke.

  He peered around the front of the van. Warren held a gun in his right hand. The grenade was in his left, which was wrapped around Anna Rios’s throat. But his finger was not on the pin. He pushed the woman several feet away from him and grabbed Leah.

  Jon positioned his finger on the trigger. Leah twisted out of Warren’s grasp. The man stumbled.

  Jon aimed.

  His stomach revolted.

  His vision blurred.

  He fired.

  The hour was approaching 1:30 a.m. when Leah and Jon sat in the emergency room at Memorial Hermann Hospital at the Texas Medical Center. Leah held Jon’s hand firmly in hers. Or was it the other way around? For sure, they were a team. She had no intentions of leaving him.

  The nurse had disappeared to get his discharge papers and a prescription. Jon argued that he knew how to treat smoke inhalation and refused to be admitted.

  Zachary Everson lay in serious condition at the same hospital, after being life-flighted from Galveston. He’d undergone surgery for a pierced lung. Anna Rios had been taken into custody. Pablo Rios and Warren Livingston were dead. Dylan was in a Galveston hospital, showing signs of improvement, much to Silvia’s relief. Leah felt confident Dylan would accept a plea bargain and tell authorities everything he knew about Livingston’s operation. Between his testimony and the evidence Jon and Ross Kempler had found, she was hopeful the FBI could tie up the loose ends of this case.

  Father Gabriel had brought Rachel Mendez to the hospital to meet with them. Leah still wasn’t sure why the woman had deliberately withheld information pertinent to the case, but the former attorney had come to make amends and promise her full cooperation. She was no exception to how love and fear often did strange things to those cuffed with emotion. After she left with the priest, Jon said it would be interesting to see what Rachel testified to under oath. As for Father Gabriel . . .

  “I decided I like the guy,” Jon had said.

  “Me too. He looks at life differently than I do, and I realize it’s about his priestly vows.”

  The curtain separating her and Jon from the next patient swung open, and Leah’s dad walked in.

  Her heart took a leap. Dad looked old and frightened. She rushed to him. “Dad, I’m fine. Jon’s going to be okay too.”

  He drew her into his arms, the sound of his sobs bringing on her own, like their reunion this morning. “Leah, all I could think of was losing you again.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “The news of the firefight popped on my phone’s alert. I drove here as soon as I learned where the injured had been taken.”

  “I haven’t even washed my face.”

  “It’s a beautiful face.”

  She wanted to spare him any more anxiety.

  Dad turned to Jon. “How are you doing?” He grimaced at Jon’s exposed raw flesh.

  “I’ll heal,” Jon said. “Looks worse than it is.”

  “You’re being admitted?”

  “I can handle this better at home. We’re waiting on a nurse to bring the discharge papers.”

  Dad smiled, a sweet, loving gesture she remembered from years ago. “I’ll take a seat in the waiting area until I know everything’s okay. Been through a few emergency ordeals with my kids. The doctor may pressure you to stay.” He kissed Leah’s cheek and left the two alone.

  “Close one, Agent Colbert,” Leah said.

  “For you or me?” His hoarse voice continued.

  In her concern over him, she’d forgotten he’d saved her life. “Both of us. You saved my life twice, and I owe you. But I’m glad this case is over.”

  “Now you hurt my feelings.”

  She squeezed his hand. “Except for us.”

  “Seriously.” He breathed in deeply. “I don’t want us to walk away and label our time together as a solved case.”

  She needed to be honest. “We could label the case as how we met?”

  “And?”

  He was making this hard. “The beginning of a meaningful relationship?”

  He coughed. “You got me choked up.”

  She hesitated, more truth time. “You’ve shown me a lot about life and created a desire in me to learn more about God. Thank you.” She lightly kissed his raw lips. “Hope that didn’t hurt.”

  “Bring it on.”

  “Good, ’cause I think we’re stuck with each other.”

  His phone chirped with a text. “Would you mind checking my message?” He closed his eyes.

  Jon was weaker than he realized. “It’s from Richard James. He says, ‘Thank you for saving Elena’s life and helping to end the deaths. Olivia and I are forever grateful.’ What would you like for me to say?”

  “Thanks, and treasure your family.”

  Her eyes watered. “Oh, that’s so sweet.”

  “Are you turning girlie on me?”

  “It’s not impossible.”

  “Do you have a red dress?”

  If Jon was teasing her, he’d be okay. “I’m going to stop worrying about you.” Leah touched his lips. “Enough talking. You need your rest.”

  “You’re a nurse now?” He frowned but she ignored him.

  “Remember I carry a gun too.”

  “Will you always be this bossy?”

  “Count on it. Can I have another smoky kiss?”

  “If you insist.” And he was glad she did . . . before he broke into a spluttering of coughs. “We need practice.”

  Something they agreed on.

  EPILOGUE

  FOUR MONTHS LATER

  Leah picked up her pace to baggage claim. Home at last in humid Houston, and she loved it. She’d spent three days with her family in New York, her second visit. A treasured time filled with rekindled love and tears. They’d made a strong start to place family as a priority.

  The night of the takedown, Dad had been overwhelmed at the sight of her and Jon at the hospital. His concern and her reassurance that she was okay cemented the father-daughter relationship. He’d followed her to Jon’s house. She’d slept in a chair in Jon’s bedroom, and Dad had slept on the couch. The next day, she showed him Great-Great-Grandma’s book and he took pics of her steampunk decor to share w
ith her siblings.

  In the weeks following the Livingston case, Leah had kept in touch with Silvia. Dylan had been sentenced to twelve months in prison for his role. When he’d accepted Aaron Michaels’s offer of cheap OxyContin, Warren had coerced Dylan into joining his band of hoodlums, threatening to harm his mother and girlfriend if he didn’t comply. Aaron had forced him at gunpoint to deliver Judge Mendez’s body to St. Peter’s. Dylan’s second stint in prison seemed to have changed him, though. He was taking online college courses, moving ahead with his goal of finishing a degree in social work. And this time he was willing to meet with Father Gabriel, who visited Dylan weekly as part of his commitment to minister to those incarcerated.

  Among others on the priest’s list had been Will Rawlyns. Father Gabriel had stepped in to help address the domestic concerns Rawlyns had for his son and managed to arrange for the boy to visit the prison before Senior passed away from cancer.

  According to Silvia, the priest had also been spending a lot of time with Zachary Everson, who decided to resign as police chief since his recuperation would take months.

  All thoughts of the tumultuous week she’d first met Jon faded as she stepped onto the escalator to take her to baggage claim. There. There was the sweet man who’d taken aim at her heart and hit the bull’s-eye. Some of the scars from the fire might never heal, others would fade in time. She referred to them as his sacrifice of love. If not for looking like a crazy girl, she’d run down the steps to grab a kiss.

  Restrain yourself, Leah.

  In one week’s time, she’d taken the journey of a lifetime, one filled with acceptance and forgiveness of herself, the gift of love, and the knowledge of a God who loved her unconditionally. In four months, her life had taken a direction toward eternal hope.

  As Leah stepped off the escalator, Jon opened his arms, and she fell into his embrace.

  “Missed you,” he said. “A good trip?”

  She nodded. Later she’d tell him about what a special time she’d had with her parents and her brothers and sisters. He was invited on the next trip. “You told your parents about your decision?” she said.

  “Yep. Can’t tell what they’re more excited about, seeing you again next weekend or our transfer to the Dallas office.”

  “For sure, it’s you. I’m your tagalong.”

  He squeezed her waist. “Dad has already expressed how he feels about you—and how I’m not allowed to mess up our relationship.”

  She’d found an apartment in Dallas with a three-month lease, and Jon had purchased a fifty-acre farm north of the city, a two-hour drive to his parents in Oklahoma. Their relationship was moving ahead with the speed of a jet, but she was ready. “And you’re positive about this. About us?”

  “Is this the gal who has to be in the driver’s seat?”

  “For sure.”

  He brushed a kiss across her lips. “Does that answer your question?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “I have reservations for dinner.”

  “Wonderful. Where?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “Do I need a dress?”

  “I didn’t think you owned one.”

  Leah had bought a tasteful red dress in New York. And she’d wear it tonight. She knew what the dinner meant. She’d say yes and welcome the future ahead.

  APRIL’S STOMACH RUMBLED, and her fridge at home looked like she’d hung a Vacancy sign on it. Donuts were the last thing she needed after the earlier emotional trauma, as though filling her body with sugar and grease might reduce the overwhelming guilt, but her car still swung into the busy parking lot of a popular donut shop a few blocks from her home.

  How sad she also looked for something sweet to soothe the ache of loneliness. The idea of calling someone special, sharing her miserable past hours, and doing the same for him tugged on her heartstrings. Maybe her future held the possibility, but right now no one stood backstage, waving.

  A slight chill blew in from the north, and she grabbed her FBI jacket from the backseat, slipping it over her blouse. Inside the shop, she took a place in line behind four other customers.

  What drove a man to give up on himself and life? Benson had invited her onto the roof with him . . . so she could watch him commit suicide? For a while, she believed she’d gained his trust. Then an absent wallet destroyed his confidence and hers.

  A young woman behind her scolded a crying baby. “I told you to hush. All this way, you’ve whined and screamed. I’m hungry, so deal with it. Should have left you alongside the road.”

  The insensitive words irritated April, especially on the heels of the earlier incident. Loving mothers treated their children with tenderness, not like they were liabilities. They protected them from a world that was often harsh. April turned to the young woman who held the crying baby in pink pajamas. Tears stained the child’s cheeks, and mucus flowed over her lips.

  “Are you a real FBI agent?” The mother looked to be in her early twenties, long ponytail, taller than average.

  “Yes.”

  The young woman shoved the baby into April’s arms. “Take her for a few minutes, please. I need to breathe.”

  April attempted to return the baby, but the mother stepped back. “She’s making me crazy.”

  “I see you’re upset. We can talk.” April patted the baby’s back, but the child only cried louder.

  “I’m done with her.” The young woman rushed toward the entrance and disappeared into a mass of parked vehicles.

  “Hey—” What just happened? April held the baby close to comfort her and detected a dirty diaper. She was shivering, too. Shrugging off her jacket, April stepped out of line to wrap the baby—who wailed louder than before.

  The mother might have gone to her car for a diaper bag.

  Seven minutes ticked by. April pushed through the entrance of the shop into the cold air, cradling the crying baby girl. At least the jacket kept her warm. April scanned the parking lot and walked to the rear. The young woman had disappeared.

  “Well, little one, looks like it’s just you and me,” she whispered and walked toward the front of the shop with the intention of calling Child Protective Services. “Wish I knew how to ease your tears.”

  A man jogged her way. “Stop! You have my daughter.”

  What had she been hit with now? April sized him up for a potential struggle. Trim build. Wore a brown leather jacket and a cap pulled down over his forehead. And a distinct frown.

  “Why did you kidnap my daughter?” Despite the cool air, sweat beaded his brow. Before April could respond, the baby whirled to him with open arms. “Isabella, Daddy’s here for you.” He attempted to take the baby, but April stepped back.

  “You can’t take this child. A woman gave her to me, and I’m sure she’ll return in just a minute.” He was close enough to inflict harm.

  His face reddened. “Just give me my daughter, and we’ll be going.” He grabbed April’s arm.

  She kicked him in the shin, and he winced but didn’t release his hold. She held the baby tighter and kept her away from the man’s grasp. “Stand down. I’m FBI.” April couldn’t protect Benson, but she could keep this child from potential harm. The baby’s tears settled into a sob.

  He looked at the jacket and released her arm as though he’d been burned. “This is yours?”

  “Yes. I’m Agent April Ramos. This baby is under my care until I find her legal guardian.”

  “I’m Isabella’s father.” He reached into his pocket. “She was kidnapped last night, and I followed the car here. My driver’s license—”

  “Only proves your name.”

  “I’m asking you for the last time to give me my daughter.”

  “Or you’ll do what?” She made eye contact.

  He rubbed his hand over a stubbly chin. He trembled. “What if she were your daughter? How would you react?”

  “I certainly wouldn’t accost an FBI agent.”

  He hesitated. “I need help with a serious situation
.”

  The moment the words were uttered, April’s instincts kicked in. “Is this about the woman who left me with the baby?”

  He glanced around the parking lot as though he planned to grab the baby and bolt. “Can we talk? The diaper bag is in my truck, and Isabella needs to be changed. I smell her.”

  Fat chance of that happening. “Why don’t you get the bag, and I’ll change her inside the donut shop while you tell me your problem.”

  He shook his head and opened the inside of his jacket just enough for her to see a Beretta. He closed his jacket, covering the weapon. Her Glock was tucked in her shoulder bag. “Don’t reach for your gun,” he whispered. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Sir, it’s difficult for me to be sympathetic when you’ve pulled a gun on a federal officer. What about endangering your daughter?”

  A muscle twitched below his eye, and he patted the gun inside his jacket. “Follow me to my truck, and I’ll explain.”

  “No.”

  “You have no choice.”

  She always had a choice, but not when an innocent child was placed in danger. She’d fight for this baby when the only risks were her own. He gestured for her to take the lead and pointed to a 2018 green Chevy pickup, extended cab. He slid her shoulder bag down her arm and placed it in his opposite hand. There went her Glock and phone. All she needed was an opportunity to seize control. They passed a woman with two small children. No point calling out to them when the man beside her had a gun.

  They neared the truck, and out of habit, she memorized the plates. He clicked a key fob. “Open the rear driver’s-side door,” he said. “A diaper bag’s inside with everything you need to change Isabella. And a clean sweatshirt and pants.” He looked into the baby’s face, and his facade saddened. “Sweetie, I know it’s cold, but that diaper has to come off.” The baby jabbered some unintelligible language.

  April obeyed him, and he backed up six feet, eliminating the opportunity for hand-to-hand combat. She laid the baby with her head nearly touching the car seat midway across. Her diaper-changing skills were at ground zero, but she managed and used a wet wipe to wash the baby’s face. “She is beautiful.”