by Karen Rose
‘Don’t do—’ Gunfire cracked the air and Daphne gasped, thrown backward against the concrete step as pain radiated from the center of her chest, then the back of her head. She tried to breathe, but her lungs weren’t working.
Get up. Get away. Daphne struggled to open her eyes, flinching at the loud noise. More gunfire. Screams. She’s shooting people. Fucking hell.
She pushed herself to her elbows and looked around, blinking. People, running away. People on the ground, not moving. She’s shooting people. Somebody stop her.
Daphne watched Stevie run toward her, the movement almost slow motion, then another shot cracked the air and Stevie was down, her hands gripping her thigh. There was blood. Lots of blood. Where was JD? Grayson? Don’t be dead.
Daphne rolled to one side, her lungs starting to function again. Kevlar, she remembered. The vest she’d complained about wearing. She blinked hard. Oh God. Next to her lay Radcliffe’s cameraman, his white shirt now crimson.
Fear rose up to choke her. Not now. Glancing around frantically, she saw the cameraman’s bag. It was heavy. It would have to do. She rolled farther, edging her fingers forward until they closed against the bag’s strap.
‘Stop,’ Marina barked. ‘Put it down, now.’
Daphne froze, then realized the girl wasn’t talking to her. She lifted her eyes, and her heart stopped. Grayson. He stood five feet away, the gun in his hand pointed at Marina. The laser sight of Marina’s gun was centered on his forehead.
Daphne looked past him. And had to swallow back the bile. He’d taken the gun from a dead cop. How many had Marina killed? Where was JD?
‘I said, put it down,’ Marina said furiously. ‘I will shoot you right here and now.’
‘No,’ Grayson said. He was pale, but his hand didn’t waver.
‘I can drop you before you even pull the trigger,’ Marina boasted.
This stops. Now. Daphne tightened her fist around the camera bag’s strap, gathered her energy, and flung it as hard as she could.
It went only about three feet, skittering along the ground. But it was enough. Startled, Marina spun, pulling the trigger, spraying bullets as she turned in an arc.
Back to me. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.
And everything happened at once. Gunfire erupted from everywhere as a dark blur flew through the air from her left. A man. It was a man.
The air was crushed from her lungs again as he landed on top of her, shielding her. Daphne felt the jerk of his body against hers – once, twice. Marina was shooting him.
No. Daphne tried to shout, but there was no air. She could only stare horrified as he twisted, his arm extended toward Marina in a straight unwavering line, a gun in his hand and grim resolve on his face. A final shot rang out and Marina dropped to the ground.
And then it was quiet. No gunfire, just the sound of heavy breathing. Some moans. Sobs. A voice shouting for someone to call 911.
Dazed, Daphne looked up. He hung over her, supporting his weight on his elbows. He was tall, dark, dangerous. And familiar. She blinked, wondering if she was dreaming.
‘Joseph?’ she gasped.
Tuesday, December 3, 11.08 A.M.
Stunned, Joseph pushed himself to his knees, looking over his shoulder. The woman with the gun was dead. But he’d never pulled the trigger. He looked to his right. Stevie was propped up on one elbow, her arm still extended, the gun slipping from her bloody hand. She’d fired. She fell back and Maynard was suddenly at her side.
Holstering his gun, Joseph looked down at Daphne and his heart stopped beating. She’d been hit. Bullet holes. There were bullet holes in her coat. He ripped at the buttons and his heart stopped. Her blouse was covered in blood.
The sight of it flung him back to a different day, a different place. A different woman. Same blood. So much blood. Can’t make it stop.
‘Joseph?’ The whisper yanked him back. Daphne stared up at him, her blue eyes wide with confusion and disbelief. His breath shallow and too fast, he stared back.
Different day, he told himself. Different woman. Different end. Daphne was not going to die. He simply would not allow it.
‘You’re going to be okay,’ he told her, his voice somehow steady. But she was bleeding and he needed to make it stop. Grimly he set to working on the tiny buttons of her blouse. Her eyes popping wide in shock, she smacked his hands away.
‘I’m not hurt,’ she insisted, huffing out every word on a rasping exhale.
She’d been hit by at least three bullets, maybe more. He could hear several people on their cell phones with 911. He looked over his shoulder and swore. Where were the goddamn EMTs?
‘You’re hit. You’re covered in blood.’ He was always calm. Unshakable. But not now. Not with her. Not like this. He flexed his fingers, then tried to work the buttons again, glaring when she grabbed his wrists to stop him.
‘Not my blood,’ she said, her voice a rasp. ‘Came from earlier.’
Grayson dropped to his knees beside them. ‘She did first aid on the deputy who was stabbed by Millhouse,’ he said. ‘It’s the deputy’s blood, not hers. She’s wearing a vest. Do you hear me, Joseph? I made her wear Kevlar.’
Joseph blinked at his brother for a moment, his shoulders sagging with relief as the words sank in. Kevlar. Oh God. He willed his heart to slow down, then realized the blood on her blouse wasn’t spreading. It wasn’t even wet. ‘The blood is dried.’
‘Because it’s not mine,’ Daphne muttered, still rasping. ‘And you didn’t make me do anything, Grayson. I’m not an idiot. I wore the damn Kevlar . . . on my own.’
Ignoring her, Grayson checked Joseph’s eyes, then inspected his back, blanching at what he saw. ‘Bullet holes. But no blood. You look okay. Are you okay?’
‘I’m all right. I’m wearing a vest, too. Never leave home without it.’ Joseph didn’t even feel the pain. Yet. But it would come once the adrenaline ebbed. Getting shot while wearing Kevlar still hurt like hell. But it was better than the alternative.
He twisted around, taking in the scene. It looked like a lot of battlefields he’d been on. He saw one dead, a cop. Half a dozen more were injured. The crowd had scattered, only law enforcement and a few reporters remaining. Cops were checking the wounded, applying first aid. Two uniforms were crouched over the cameraman, working to stop the bleeding. Everyone who needed help seemed to have it.
Joseph looked back at Grayson to find his brother staring at him. ‘What are you doing here, Joseph? Not that I’m unhappy to see you, but ... What’s going on?’
Joseph glanced down at Daphne who stared at him as well, but her gaze was clouded with pain. She was tentatively reaching for the back of her head where she’d hit the concrete when the impact of the bullets had knocked her down.
‘I need to check her head,’ he said, but Grayson grabbed his arm.
‘Dammit, Joseph,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘Don’t you dare ignore me.’
Joseph looked around, then leaned close to Grayson’s ear. ‘I have to get her out of here. Her son’s been abducted. I was on my way to tell her when all hell broke loose.’
Grayson pulled back slowly, his face shocked. ‘What?’
‘You heard me. Keep the reporters away. They may not have picked up on the BOLO yet, but only because this story is bigger. Soon somebody’s going to connect the dots. I need to get her out of here before that happens. I can’t let her find out that way.’
Grayson visibly pulled himself together. ‘You stay here. I’ll get an EMT to you as soon as we can.’
‘I won’t leave her,’ Joseph promised, then pulled latex gloves from his coat pocket and gave them to his brother. ‘You never know what you’ll find in this kind of situation.’
Grayson took off at a jog and Joseph dropped back down to his knees, angling his body to shield her from cameras as best he could.
‘You don’t need to stay with me,’ Daphne mumbled. ‘Other people are hurt worse.’
‘Other people aren’t a killer’s ta
rget. I’m staying.’ Now that he knew she wasn’t bleeding out, his fury rose anew. ‘What the hell were you doing, throwing that bag at her? She would have shot you.’
When he and Maynard had arrived, Daphne had just started taking questions. And then bullets started to fly. By the time he’d fought his way through the fleeing crowd of reporters and protesters, she was on the ground beside a man with a hole in his chest, grappling for a camera bag. Joseph had taken a running leap across the courthouse steps and none too soon.
‘I was trying to stop her,’ Daphne said thickly. ‘Somebody needed to. Thank you. I think you saved my life.’
‘If I’d been a second later . . .’ His blood ran cold. ‘You’d be dead.’
‘How many did she kill?’ Her voice was a little less raspy, but still slurred.
‘One. Maybe a half dozen injured.’
‘Sweet Lord.’ Daphne whispered it, disbelieving. Then her memory reconnected. ‘Stevie!’ She tried to sit up, but Joseph gently pressed her back down. ‘She was hit.’
‘In the thigh,’ Joseph said. ‘Your PI’s with her now.’
Maynard knelt next to Stevie Mazzetti, putting pressure on her thigh. His coat was rolled up, pillowing her head. He’d taken off his shirt and ripped it into strips. He had to be freezing, but showed no sign that he even noticed the cold.
The PI had told him that Daphne wasn’t his, that they were just friends. Looking at Maynard’s agonized expression as he treated Stevie’s wound, Joseph believed him. If I look like he does . . . Might as well wear a neon sign over my head. Down for the count.
‘Is she all right?’ Daphne started to sit up again, then fell back, hitting her head on the step before Joseph could reach her. She groaned softly, touching the base of her skull. When she pulled her hand away, it was covered in blood. Fresh blood this time. She stared at her hand, not quite seeing. ‘I think I hit my head.’ She closed her eyes, grimacing. ‘I don’t feel so good. You might want to step back. Really.’
‘You need to throw up, go ahead. Nothing I haven’t seen before.’ He’d started to probe the back of her head to determine the damage when her eyes flew open.
Alarmed, she grabbed his wrist again. ‘No,’ she pleaded desperately. ‘Don’t.’
‘I need to know you’re okay,’ he said firmly, then gentled his voice. ‘I won’t hurt you, Daphne, but I need to check. You might have a concussion. Don’t fight me.’
She angled her face away and closed her eyes again. Her cheeks grew flushed, the bright red in vivid contrast to her pale face. ‘Just . . . hurry. Please.’
Frowning at her tone, he touched the back of her head. Then his frown sharpened when his fingers slid up under . . . her wig. She’s wearing a wig. Why? For a moment he wondered what he should say, then realized there wasn’t anything he could say that wouldn’t embarrass her further. So for the moment he said nothing. Later, he’d ask. ‘Open your eyes. Let me see your pupils.’
She opened her eyes, looking everywhere but at him. ‘I guess you’re wondering—’
He laid his finger across her lips. ‘Your pupils are looking more normal and you’re sounding less drunk. You’ve got a bad gash,’ he said matter-of-factly and watched her swallow hard. ‘You probably hit your head on the edge of the step and even small head wounds bleed like a bitch. I doubt you’ll need stitches, but you need to get checked.’
He needed to wipe the shame from her expression. Whatever her reason for the wig, it didn’t change the fact that she was the most beautiful, the most . . . compelling woman he’d ever met. He’d tell her someday. Because this was definitely not the time.
‘Stevie’s snarling at Maynard,’ he said, redirecting her attention, ‘so I think she’s okay.’ Daphne shot him a look of gratitude that grated. What did she think I’d do? Yank the damn thing off her head and hold it up for everyone to see? But she was hurt, so he stowed his irritation. ‘Maynard’s applying a tourniquet. Boy knows his first aid. He’s doing everything he can without a med kit.’
‘Clay’s seen gunshot wounds,’ she said. ‘He did two tours in Somalia.’
‘He told me he was in the Corps.’ The PI moved up further in his estimation. Now that Maynard wasn’t a contender, Joseph could feel all kinds of friendly toward the guy.
Now that he knew Daphne wasn’t going to die, he could breathe again. And in a minute, I’ll destroy her. I’ll have to tell her that her son is missing, his bodyguard slain.
His ears pricked at the sound of sirens, starting soft but growing louder. ‘EMTs are coming,’ he said, looking over his shoulder to the street. ‘JD’s meeting them.’ He’d get her in one of the ambulances, away from prying eyes. And he’d tell her there.
She frowned. ‘He wasn’t with Stevie when she was shot. Where did he go?’
Joseph pointed to a man lying face down on the pavement, his wrists cuffed behind him. ‘JD was subduing him when we got here.’
‘Help me up.’
Joseph guided her to vertical, placing his hand against her back in case she got dizzy again.
She sucked in a surprised breath. ‘That’s Reggie’s father.’
‘He had a Glock just like the one the girl used, plus an assault rifle. Good thing JD saw him when he did, because even after we’d stopped the girl, he might have kept on firing. We’d all be dead.’
‘Now I know why he left the courtroom after the verdict. They planned this.’
Joseph thought of the dead cop in the alley and Ford and Kimberly. This and more. ‘I need to get you out of here,’ he said. ‘They might have other surprises in store.’
He tugged her arm, but she didn’t move. Eyes wide, she was viewing the scene, not realizing that, for her, the worst part was still to come.
‘Oh my God,’ she whispered, flinching when she saw the dead shooter.
A lot of shots had been fired in those final few seconds. There was a lot of blood. He expected her to look away, but she shifted to her hands and knees, crawling down one of the steps by the time he’d recovered from his surprise.
He grasped her shoulders. ‘Stop. She’s dead. There’s nothing you can do.’
‘But what about the baby?’ Daphne grabbed his arm. ‘Her baby might be saved.’
Baby? Joseph whipped around to stare at the dead shooter. ‘She was pregnant?’
‘You didn’t notice?’ she asked, dumbfounded. ‘She was due any day.’
‘I was busy noticing the modified Glock she was using to shoot people.’ It had been more than five minutes. If by some miracle the baby had survived all the bullets shot at its mother at the end, it would almost certainly be dead or suffering brain damage by now. He almost told Daphne this, but her eyes were pleading with him.
‘We don’t have much more time,’ he told her instead. ‘Another minute or two at the most.’ Pulling on a pair of latex gloves, he turned the shooter on her back. And sighed. ‘Aw hell. She’s just a kid.’
‘She’s sixteen. Reggie Millhouse is the baby’s father.’
Joseph rapidly unbuttoned the girl’s coat. ‘What was her name?’
‘Marina Craig,’ Daphne said. She crawled closer, grimacing. ‘Good God. How many times did you shoot her?’
‘Me? None. The others shot six times. After you threw the camera bag, she lost focus and wasn’t aiming at anyone. That’s when everyone got a clear shot.’ With his pocket knife, he sliced the girl’s shirt open and did a double take. ‘What the hell?’
‘Is the baby dead?’ Daphne asked, peering over his shoulder. ‘Please say no.’
‘No.’ He lifted the pad she wore, designed to look like a nine-month-pregnant belly.
Daphne’s mouth fell open. ‘She faked being pregnant?’
Underneath the pad the girl’s belly was soft and fleshy. ‘I think she was pregnant, and recently. But not today.’
‘But why?’ she asked, bewildered. ‘Why would she do that?’
‘So people wouldn’t consider her a threat or they wouldn’t shoot to kill. Which most of
the cops didn’t. There are no bullet holes in her torso, only in her legs and arms.’
‘And her head. Who shot her there?’
‘Stevie did,’ Joseph said, waiting for her to look appalled.
Instead her lips firmed, her eyes hardening. ‘Good. She saved a lot of lives.’
EMTs were everywhere, but he could now see there weren’t enough ambulances for the wounded. He’d take her to the ER himself. ‘Do you think you can walk?’
‘Yes.’ She said it defiantly, as if trying to convince herself.
He gently pulled her to her feet. ‘Come on. Let’s get your head taken care of.’ She leaned into him, resting her forehead against his chest.
‘Give me a second. The world is spinning and . . . God. I’d really like to not throw up in front of all these people.’
He indulged himself, wrapping one arm around her protectively, keeping his free hand on his weapon. Just in case.
‘Hey, Carter, wait one second.’
Joseph checked over his shoulder, relieved to see JD Fitzpatrick approaching. Joseph had known Stevie Mazzetti for years, as she’d been among his brother’s circle of friends. JD had quickly joined that circle the year before. JD was a damn good cop.
‘I’m taking her to the ER,’ Joseph said.
‘Good.’ JD met his eyes and Joseph knew that he’d had been apprised of their situation, that Ford was missing. ‘I’ll find you at the ER to take your statement.’
Joseph glanced down at Daphne. Her eyes were tightly closed and she clutched his coat like a lifeline. He mouthed his next words to JD, not wanting her to hear. ‘Send someone to get her mother. Take her to Daphne’s house. Set up a guard. I’ll call you.’
‘Got it,’ JD mouthed back, then said aloud, ‘You okay, there, Daph? You’re looking a little green around the gills.’
‘Mostly,’ she muttered. ‘What are you two are talking about over my head?’
‘Joseph just asked me to make sure your mother knows you’re okay.’
‘Oh. That’s sweet. Ford, too? He’ll be worried sick. Ask him to walk Tasha for me.’