Kill and Run (A Thorny Rose Mystery Book 1)

by Lauren Carr

  “Have you tried handcuffs?” Susan was suggesting when Cameron brought the cruiser to a stop.

  Without responding, Murphy disconnected the call.

  Cameron swung open the door to her SUV and stepped out. “We need to get in there to order our lattes before the place closes.”

  Before Jessica could climb out, Murphy grabbed her by the arm to stop her. Still perturbed by his doubt about her going inside, she turned back to him.

  “Be careful in there, Buttercup. Seriously … if anything happened to you …” He brushed his thumb along her cheek before touching his lips to hers. “I love you, Jessie.”

  Keeping her eyes closed to take in the full essence of his kiss, she breathed, “Love you more.”

  “This isn’t a lovers’ lane.” Cameron’s voice from outside shattered the mood. “They’re going to be closing soon.”

  They jumped into action. “Have you got your gun?” he asked Jessica.

  “In my purse.” Jessica grasped her small shoulder bag.

  “Loaded and do you have a spare magazine?”

  “Of course,” she replied while Cameron yanked her out of the passenger seat and closed the door on him.

  In the backseat, Murphy adjusted his covert earpiece to make sure he had a clear connection. Through the rear window, he saw Jessica covertly checking her gun while crossing the parking lot. She should have done that before leaving the house.

  He glanced at the time on his phone. It was twenty minutes until nine o’clock. The shopping center was almost vacant. Judging by the few vehicles scattered around the parking lot, he guessed that the only people left in the few stores that were still open were employees who were going about their closing routines while watching the clock. As soon as the time struck the ninth hour, the manager or assistant manager would turn on the closed sign and lock the doors. With a minimal amount of work left to do, the young employees, mostly teenagers, college students, and working moms, would be out the doors and on their way home soon after that.

  Crouched down in the back of the SUV, Murphy surveyed the parking lot. Emily Dolan’s Volkswagen was parked under a lamp post. Through the café window, Murphy saw her working behind the service counter.

  He had changed out of his white uniform to his black pants, shirt, and a black hoodie jacket, under which he wore his semi-automatic tucked into the back waistband. As always, he had a twenty-two caliber semi-automatic in his ankle-holster. His Walther PPK was as much a part of his regular clothing as his underwear.

  Why is Dolan manning the counter right before closing? She’s the assistant manager. She should be back in the business office.

  Peering through a pair of small binoculars into the coffee shop, Murphy observed two men in military fatigues sitting at a table near the counter. In the Washington metropolitan area, it was not unusual to see soldiers in their fatigues.

  Even so, Murphy felt his stomach flip flop. Dolan was anti-military—claiming to have information about a cover up. What if she had uncovered something?

  Keeping a close eye on the café, he reached into his bag for his fighting knife. Quickly, he took off his belt and threaded it through the weapon’s sheath. After putting the belt back on, he tied the lower end of the sheath around his thigh.

  The vibration of his phone where he wore it in his belt caused him to jump. I knew it. Jessica is not ready for this. I should have left her at home handcuffed to the bed. Without checking the identification, he connected the call and brought it to his ear. “Don’t tell me. You forgot the bullets.”

  “Bullets? For what?”

  The familiar whiny male voice made the hair on the back of Murphy’s neck stand on end. “Dean?” Amy’s deadbeat husband.

  “Who did you think it was?” Dean asked with a laugh. “What’s this about bullets?”

  Cursing under his breath, Murphy noticed a full-sized van parked around the corner. He had almost missed it because in the unlit side lot, away from the shopping center’s general businesses, the black vehicle blended into the darkness.

  “I’m at the shooting range,” Murphy lied. “I’m waiting for a friend and thought that maybe he went home because he forgot his bullets. How did you get my number?” Bringing the binoculars to his eyes, Murphy eased toward the rear window of the SUV.

  “Amy gave it to me,” Dean replied. “Don’t they have bullets at the shooting range?”

  “He’s got a very special weapon.” Murphy focused in on the underside of the passenger-side front fender that had a sizable dent in it. With the night vision scope, he was able to focus in on the federal license plate. “Listen, Dean, I have to—”

  “Hey, Murph, I’ve got some Navy SEALS in my book and—I know you’re not a SEAL—but I was wondering if you could answer some research questions for me. How about us getting together for lunch?”

  “I’m busy,” Murphy said.

  “I didn’t even tell you when.”

  “I just got handed this huge project that I need to work on. It’s going to mean a lot of overtime.” With binoculars in hand, Murphy swept the boundaries of the parking lot. Hearing the rattle of doors opening, he swung back around to the van. Two men climbed out of the back. With his binoculars, Murphy zoomed in to see what they were unpacking.

  “All I need is an hour of your time,” Dean insisted when he received no reply from Murphy. “How about tomorrow for breakfast?”

  Moving up close to the window, while trying to stay low, Murphy strained to see what the men were doing. He was able to make out that they were dressed in military fatigues. “What—”

  “Tomorrow morning. Breakfast at the Ritz. It’s only a stone’s throw from the Pentagon.”

  “Sure, Dean,” Murphy said. “Gotta go. My buddy just showed up.”

  He disconnected the call and thumbed Susan Archer’s number.

  Jessica was beaming on their way through the door.

  Spotting her giddy state, Cameron whispered, “Why are you smiling?”

  “This is my first undercover operation.” Jessica’s grin filled her whole face.

  “Congratulations.” Cameron patted her arm. “Now drop the smile. You look like a fool.” With a jerk of her head in the direction of the coffee counter, she urged in a low voice, “You go to the counter and start ordering the drinks. I’ll be right behind you. I need to assess the situation before approaching our target.”

  While Jessica moved up to where Emily Dolan was checking the inventory to restock for the next day, Cameron picked up a magazine from a basket next to a love seat that rested in front of the see-through fireplace. A young couple who appeared to be barely out of their teens cuddled in the loveseat on the other side. When they saw Cameron nearby, they parted, but not without shooting her a chastising look for intruding.

  Taking the hint, Cameron turned away.

  In one booth against the far wall, a young man wearing earbuds was banging away on his laptop like he was doing a speed test. One of his legs shook while he tapped his foot non-stop.

  At the booth nearest the counter, a lone customer was sipping a cup of coffee while scrolling through the screen on his cell phone. A middle-aged man, he donned a suit like the vast majority of men who worked in and around Washington. Unlike most of those men, beneath his suitcoat, he had a bulge on his hip.

  Cameron recognized it for what it was. Is he one of Murphy’s agents watching Emily Dolan?

  In the booth directly behind that of the lone customer, another couple was talking to each other in low voices. Older than the kids in the love seat, they seemed to be in their mid-twenties to early thirties. Both were dressed in jeans and button down shirts. The young woman wore her long dark hair in a ponytail gathered low on the back of her neck.

  Strolling up to the counter where Jessica was waiting for their coffees, Cameron took note of the woman’s shoes. Flat heeled lace ups. Not exact
ly date wear. Upon seeing the detective checking out her shoes, the woman caught Cameron’s eye and gave a slight nod of her head before flicking her eyes toward the counter as if to urge Cameron to move along. They have to be part of Murphy’s team.

  Moving past the lone customer in the suit, Cameron paused. If they’re both part of the same team, why aren’t they more spread out? One of them should be on the other side of the café to provide extra coverage.

  The woman agent’s cell phone buzzed. Bringing the phone to her ear, she cocked at eyebrow at her date, a slender man with dark hair.

  “Cam, our lattes are ready,” Jessica called to her from the counter. “Come and get it. You wouldn’t believe who this is.”

  The opening of the door caught Cameron’s attention.

  Donning dark sun glasses in the evening, two men dressed in worn military desert fatigues, complete with fully loaded utility belts, stepped through the door. Cameron turned to Jessica. Behind her, she noticed two other muscular men dressed likewise at a bistro table next to the window. Looking oversized for the delicate chairs, the muscular men sat with their long legs sticking out into the serving area with their big feet encased in dull, scuffed up combat boots.

  Laughing, the two new arrivals strolled up to the counter from which Jessica was stepping away with a latte in each hand.

  As she passed them, Jessica noticed that the taller of the two men had thick dark hair and a shock of white hair on the sides, directly above his ears, which reminded her of white stripes. Sidewalls. Trying to suppress a giggle, she smiled. She didn’t want the tall, muscular soldier to realize she was laughing at him.

  The two men at the bistro table stood up. They nodded to the taller of the two men, while his partner faced Emily Dolan behind the counter. She stepped over from where she had just completed her transaction with Jessica to take their orders.

  “Murphy,” Cameron whispered, “this is going real bad real fast. You need to get in here.”

  She sensed movement behind her.

  The young man who had been typing away had slammed his laptop shut, shoved it into his backpack, and slid out of the booth to trot toward the door to the beat of the music piped in through his earbuds.

  At the counter, in a casual motion, almost like that of a man reaching for his wallet in his pocket, all four men in their military fatigues reached for their weapons.

  Simultaneously, out of the edge of her peripheral vision, Cameron saw the café door crash open.

  The quiet evening at Starbucks erupted into a firefight.

  Chapter Fifteen

  In one smooth motion, Sidewall’s companion slipped his weapon from of its holster and fired three shots into Emily Dolan’s chest.

  Behind him, Murphy took a flying leap across the dining room. “Everybody get down!” While firing with one arm at the four assailants, he threw his free arm around Jessica. Together, in a hail of bullets and flying lattes, they dove to the floor between the loveseat and the fireplace.

  The assassin who killed Emily Dolan dropped down onto the counter. As he slid to the floor, customers screamed to see that at least one of Murphy’s shots had hit its target. He had a gunshot wound to the back of his head.

  Screams filled the air while the remaining three gun men shot at everything that moved in their effort to exterminate any possible witnesses.

  “Stay down!” Murphy ordered Jessica while returning fire at the three remaining assassins.

  Struggling to get out from where he had her pinned, Jessica extracted her gun from her purse. Her hands were shaking. “How did you—”

  “Dull boots!” Pausing to replace the magazine in his gun with a fresh one, Murphy caught sight of a man in a suit running through the swinging door to the back of the café. The men in the military fatigues made no move to stop him.

  “Latimore! Where are you?” Murphy yanked his gun from the ankle holster.

  “Back here!” Perry yelled from behind the fireplace.

  “I told you to cover Dolan!” Murphy jumped up to fire off double-taps with both guns. “Archer, get over here and cover me!”

  “I’ll cover you, Archer,” Cameron volunteered from behind an overturned bistro table.

  “Don’t leave me!” The young man who was leaving before the chaos erupted begged from where he was clinging to Cameron behind the table.

  “Get a grip and stay down!” Jessica heard Cameron order before a barrage of shots flew over her head.

  Jessica felt, rather than saw, one of the gunmen fall backwards over a bistro table only a couple of feet from her. By natural instinct, she rose up to see if he was really dead.

  With a cocky grin, the downed assassin sat up. He was so close that Jessica could see the Kevlar vest through the bullet holes in his jacket. With a laugh, he stuck out his arm. The barrel of his gun, only inches from her face, looked like a cannon.

  She froze like a frightened rabbit looking into the mouth of a wolf drooling over the prospect of a juicy dinner.

  Abruptly, she felt a strong hand clamp down on top of her head and shove her to the floor. The two shots that Murphy fired into the assailant’s head wiped the smirk off his face. “I told you to stay down!”

  Keeping low, Susan scurried up behind them. “What’s your plan, Thornton?”

  “Keep them busy.” Murphy tucked one of his weapons into the waistband of his pants. “I saw a guy in a suit run to the back.”

  “But—”

  “He’s with them,” Murphy said. “Most likely, he’s after Dolan’s laptop. I need to get to him before he finds it and wipes it clean.”

  “On the count of three, go,” she told Murphy.

  “Count me in.” Jessica held up her gun for the agent to see that she was armed and ready.

  Susan grinned. “The deb’s got guts.”

  After catching Cameron’s attention Susan counted off with her fingers, not unlike a catcher giving signals to a pitcher. On the count of three, Susan, Cameron, and Jessica sprang up and fired off a barrage of shots at the two gunmen who were now pinned behind the counter.

  While the gunmen were ducking the hailstorm of bullets, Murphy sprung for the door leading back to the business office and supply room. Bursting through the swinging door, he collided with the man in the suit coming out of the manager’s office with a laptop tucked under his arm.

  Not only did the collision cause the suited man to drop the laptop to the floor, but it caused Murphy to drop his gun. Both the laptop and gun skidded across the floor in opposite directions.

  Spotting the intruder reaching for the gun he was wearing under his suitcoat, Murphy grabbed his wrist and squeezed it while delivering a knee to the man’s groin. When he doubled over, Murphy followed up with another knee to his chest.

  Instead of collapsing, the intruder quickly recovered to grab Murphy’s leg and yanked it out from under him, plunging Murphy flat on his back. Even with the air knocked out of him, Murphy could see his assailant reaching for his gun to finish him off. A swing of his leg sent the gun flying. Another swipe knocked both of the gunman’s legs out from under him.

  Spotting his gun a few feet away, Murphy scrambled across the floor for it.

  In the instant that he took his eyes off the assassin—less than a foot from his weapon—he heard the click of a gun behind him. He dove for the floor and rolled while feeling the rush of the bullet speeding over his shoulder to pierce the wall in front of him.

  Tucking his legs up under him in the roll, Murphy came back up on one knee—knife in hand.

  Before the man in the suit saw the knife, it hit its target—the point drove through the front of his neck. The path of the blade severed his spinal cord before coming out the back to pin him to the wall behind him.

  The explosions from their guns were almost drowned out by another burst that went off in the middle of the floor—directly in front
of the loveseat where Jessica and Susan were seeking cover.

  Smoke filled the air. Instantly, tears came to their eyes and smoke filled their lungs.

  The shooting stopped.

  “Jessica, we need to get out of here!” Susan called out through the smoke. “Head for the door!”

  Unable to see through the smoke, Jessica rose up to run in the direction of the door. The smoke cutting off her breathing, she fell to her knees.

  “Time to go, Buttercup!” Murphy’s arms were around her. She felt her legs shaking when he lifted her to her feet. “Can you stand?”

  As if to answer him, her knees crumbled under her. Before she could hit the floor, he lifted her up into his arms and carried her out of the café.

  Unable to see through the tears in her burning eyes, she dug her face into his chest while he carried her out into the night air. While she gasped for air, Murphy seemed to only be breathing hard and coughing slightly. As soon as she caught a wisp of the fresh air, she took in a deep breath, only to let go with another round of coughing.

  “Take it easy, Buttercup,” Murphy soothed her while carrying her across the parking lot. “Don’t overdo it. Obviously, you’ve never experienced a smoke bomb before.”

  Her vision clearing, she squinted through her tears to see that he was smiling at her. “And you have?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have, in training,” he said. “Once you know what to expect, then you can handle it better.”

  “And since I didn’t, then you must be having a good laugh,” she said.

  “No I’m not,” Murphy said. “My chief witness is now dead.”

  “Then why are you grinning?” Sometimes, she hated how the sight of his dimples and that sexy grin got the best of her.

  “Because you’re not, Buttercup.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “We’ll find a way to solve this case,” he whispered, “but if anything had happened to you …”