Bullseye

by Virginia Smith

  She followed them down the hall and stood watching as they filed onto the elevator. Only when the doors had slid closed and they could no longer see her stern stare did Karina allow her muscles to relax.

  Caleb leaned against the back wall and shook his head. “You handled that with your usual finesse, Brother. I’m not sure what you wanted to accomplish, but I don’t think you hit your mark.”

  A satisfied, almost smug expression overtook Mason’s features. “Actually, if that guy’d been a target, I just hit the bullseye.”

  She looked at him. “How so?”

  “You didn’t see it?” He looked from her to Caleb. “Did you?”

  “I didn’t see anything except one really ticked off dude who doesn’t like you at all.”

  “What are you talking about, Mason?” Karina asked. “What did you see?”

  “I can’t believe you didn’t see it. Doesn’t anybody read body language?”

  They both shook their heads.

  “When I started talking about Alex, he crossed his legs. A protective gesture. Then I mentioned the restaurant and store, and he folded his arms.”

  Karina stared at him, her mind blank. “So?”

  “That’s another protective gesture, this one stronger. When someone crosses their arms they’re creating a shield of protection. But that wasn’t the best part.”

  Caleb watched him, his expression clearly showing he was impressed. “And what was that?”

  The elevator stopped, and the doors slid open.

  “A tick.” Mason grinned at her. “When I said the word guns, a muscle below his left eye twitched.” He rubbed his hands together like a little boy who’d just been given a birthday present. “We’re going to nail this guy.”

  With that he exited the elevator, leaving them to follow.

  TWENTY

  The night stretched to unbearable lengths. Mason paced the confines of Karina’s small apartment, from the kitchen table where Caleb and she sat to the mini-blinds at the front window. Outside a police cruiser was parked again in the first parking space nearest Karina’s front door. Not Parker, unfortunately. Once again Grierson had assigned Graham to guard duty and Parker to cover both their patrols.

  The conversation in the kitchen had quickly grown uncomfortable. Caleb and Karina had begun by comparing notes on their pastors’ preaching styles, and then moved to the controversy over traditional versus contemporary worship music, and had finally settled on their personal beliefs in prayer. That they were both enjoying themselves immensely was obvious from their animation as they talked about their beliefs. Mason had lost interest way back at the beginning and left the table.

  He lifted the slats on the blinds and peeked outside. Officer Graham sat in his cruiser, the light from his laptop illuminating his face through the windshield. Mason could just make out the heavy forehead, the square jaw and black caverns where his eyes were located. The head lifted and faced his way, and Mason felt the gaze fix on him. He released the slats and the blinds fell back into place.

  Caleb’s voice in the kitchen carried into the room. “But I still don’t understand how anyone can say ‘I Surrender All’ isn’t every bit as worshipful as one of the more current songs.”

  “It can be,” Karina agreed. “It’s all in the delivery style.”

  It took all Mason’s strength not to shout toward the kitchen, I surrender! If you’re going to talk about church all night, just shoot me now and put me out of my misery.

  There had been a time when he could have entered the discussion with a definite opinion. But he hadn’t set foot inside a church since Margie’s death, and didn’t plan to change that any time in the future.

  “Amen, Sister.” Caleb’s voice warmed to his topic. “I wish you could hear the worship team at my church. You’d love them.”

  The walls of the apartment loomed up on either side of him and seemed to press inward. Next thing he knew, they’d start singing together. If he had to listen to another word about church, screams would be imminent.

  His hand was on the door handle almost before he’d made a conscious decision.

  “I’m going to take a walk,” he shouted into the other room. “Be back in a minute.”

  “Be careful, Brother. Don’t go far.”

  The words accompanied him as he stepped outside into the night, and then he closed the door behind him. Thank goodness the only things making sounds out here were crickets.

  * * *

  Karina looked toward the kitchen doorway, listening to the sound of the front door closing. Mason had been increasingly agitated as the night progressed. Part of the reason, of course, was the waiting. They’d prodded Russell Maddox, and now they could only wait to see how he’d respond.

  But the bigger reason for Mason’s irritability was his friend Caleb.

  When she was sure Mason had gone outside and couldn’t overhear, she lowered her voice and fixed the giant man with a gaze.

  “Tell me about Mason these days. He’s so different from the man I used to know.”

  Caleb’s gaze followed hers. “He’s a hurting soul, Sister. I’ve known that since I met him a few months after he moved to Atlanta. I could sense the pain in him. I just didn’t know how deep his wounds went until your call came on Monday.”

  “He doesn’t go to church at all?”

  He shook his head. “Won’t even consider coming with me. I’ve asked several times. But every now and then he says something that shows me he knows more about Scripture than he lets on.”

  “Oh, he definitely knows his Bible. Or at least he used to.” A memory surfaced, and Karina’s lips twitched with a smile. “The first year I met Mason, he was the Bible Bingo champion of our youth group. He used to stand up there in the front of the sanctuary and spout verses from memory that I’d never even heard of.”

  Delight lightened the big man’s features. “Bible Bingo champ, huh?”

  “Oh, yes. And it wasn’t just head knowledge, either.” She traced a finger around the rim of the tea mug in front of her. “I once saw him lead three street gang members to the Lord using nothing but Scripture, explained in a way they could understand.”

  “Mason?” Caleb’s stare was incredulous. “The guy who was just here a minute ago?”

  She laughed. “The same. Only…” Her laughter faded. “Not the same, either. He’s changed.”

  “His wife’s death?” Caleb asked, his voice gentle.

  Karina nodded. “I wonder if he blames the Lord for letting her die.”

  “He wouldn’t be the first to question why bad things happen to good people. Or the first to blame God, either.” He dipped his head, and forced her to look into his eyes. “How about you, Sister? Are you okay with the bad things in your past?”

  The tea had grown cold. She tilted the mug toward her, watched the cool liquid swirl inside. “If you’re asking if I’ve forgiven Mason for dumping me and marrying someone else, then yes. I’m past that.”

  His next words came as softly as feathers floating on a breeze. “And what about your feelings? Have you been healed of the pain?” His tone dropped to almost a whisper. “Have you gotten over him?”

  Regardless of the volume, his question hit her like a slap in the face. Was she over Mason? Could she truly say she had moved on, had put her love for him behind her?

  A prickle started behind her eyes, and she couldn’t lift her gaze from the cold tea in her mug. “Does anybody ever get over their first love?”

  A mitt-sized hand snaked across the table to cover hers. “Not if the Lord gave it to them.”

  Her vision blurred. “If our love came from the Lord, then why did Mason throw it away for someone else? We shared something precious, and he killed it.” She blinked back the tears and rushed on. “I have forgiven him, truly. But I wan
t to know why, especially if…” She didn’t finish the sentence, though it burned in her mind. Especially if I’m going to ever trust in love again.

  His hand pressed on hers. “I wish I knew. But I can tell you that every human being in the world has done something they regret. We’ve all thrown away the blessings God has in store for us, thinking we were choosing something better. That doesn’t mean the blessings stop coming, though. Remember, God is in the business of bringing dead things to life.”

  She didn’t have time to fully consider the meaning behind his words, because at that moment, they heard a shout coming from the vicinity of the front porch.

  And then a gunshot.

  * * *

  Mason closed the front door behind him and stood for a moment on the concrete, enjoying the silence. Well, not really silence. The neighbors’ stereo boomed in the night air, and from one of the apartments on the right a woman’s shrill voice was raised in an argument. But it was a comfortable, domestic sort of argument, with no hint of real anger. The kind of argument a mother has with her kids when they ignore her request to brush their teeth and get ready for bed.

  A sudden light in the interior of the police cruiser drew his attention. Graham had opened his door, and the dome light illuminated him. Mason eyed the guy. Probably just walking around the area, following Grierson’s directions. But no. Instead of turning left or right to pace the sidewalk as he’d done many times the night before, he headed straight for Mason.

  Mason narrowed his eyes and watched his approach. What was Graham’s role in all this? He was hiding something, of that Mason was sure. Was he in deep with Maddox, or just a paid placement on the force, somebody to keep an eye out on police activity and report back? Or maybe to turn a blind eye at just the right moment, like when a teenager is walking down the street, carrying a heavy package from the Superette to the restaurant?

  He arrived at the concrete slab that served as a sort of porch for the first floor apartments in this building, and greeted Mason with a cautious nod.

  “Everything all right inside?”

  “Just fine.” Mason clipped his answer short. He stood with his back to Karina’s door, staring out at the parking lot.

  Graham stepped up to stand beside him. “You know, your conspiracy theory is pretty hard to believe.”

  Mason didn’t answer. What was this guy up to? A fishing expedition, maybe? The radio clipped to his belt erupted with static and then a female dispatcher’s voice called for an

  officer’s ten-twenty. Graham twisted a dial, and the volume decreased as the officer gave his response.

  “I mean, the level of corruption you’re talking about would have to reach pretty high up in our judicial system. And there’d be cops involved, too. Have to be.”

  Mason’s senses went on full alert. This couldn’t be a confession. No reason for the guy to confess to anything, especially to him. There was another reason, and whatever it was, Mason didn’t like it.

  “Yeah, there would.”

  “Cops in on an illegal arms scheme.” From the corner of his eye, Mason saw him shake his head. “Sits heavy in your gut, doesn’t it?”

  Mason turned his head a fraction, just enough to get a sideways look at the man’s face. The grim lines of his jaw bunched and moved as he ground his teeth. Something was about to happen, something big. Had Maddox sent his pet cop here with a warning? Or maybe with something stronger than a warning? He tensed his muscles, ready to tackle Graham if he even looked like he was making a move toward his weapon.

  “As I said, hard to believe. I wish I could say impossible to believe.” He turned to look Mason in the face. “But I can’t.”

  Here it comes. Mason edged around to face his attacker, and planted his feet squarely on the concrete. Face an attack head-on. Never let them hit you from the side.

  “What are you trying to say, Graham?”

  “I’ve been nosing around in your record.”

  Mason blinked. Where was he going with that? “Yeah?”

  “You were clean. A solid record. No reason to think you killed your wife. No evidence at all, just that life insurance policy.”

  That came close to crossing a line. To have a crooked cop bring up Margie’s death stirred a deep, smoldering fire and brought Mason’s anger to a simmer. His hands tightened into fists. “If you have a point, you’d better get to it.”

  Their eyes locked in an unbreakable stare. Mason couldn’t have torn away if he’d wanted to. But he didn’t want to, because he could see secrets hovering in the depths of Graham’s intense gaze, secrets…and questions.

  And then Graham broke their stare. His eyes moved as his gaze flickered sideways. Surprise registered, and several things happened at once.

  The bushes behind Mason’s back rustled.

  Graham’s right hand went toward his holster. He shouted something right in Mason’s ear. His left shot out toward Mason.

  Instinct kicked in, and Mason ducked and dodged sideways. His next move would have been to ram his head into Graham’s gut to throw him off balance. But the chance did not come.

  A gunshot cut through the night. The echo rang off the brick building.

  The force of the bullet threw Graham backward and he landed on the concrete with a sickening thud.

  TWENTY-ONE

  His heartbeat pounding in his ears, Mason whirled. Not a soul in sight. Shrubs lined the side of the building on the far end, swallowed by darkness just past the ring of light cast from the bare bulb beside the last apartment door. Should he give chase?

  A gurgling sound behind him. He whirled. Dropped to his knees beside Graham. Pressed his ear to the man’s nose. There! A faint breath.

  “Help!” His shout pierced the night almost as loudly as the gunshot had a few seconds before.

  Doors flew open. The one next door, and then two doors down and then, thankfully, Karina’s.

  “Call 911,” he yelled at Caleb. The big man’s eyes took in the scene at a glance, and he dashed back into the house.

  As Karina rushed forward, Mason remembered Graham’s radio. He grabbed the shoulder mic, pressed the button and shouted to the dispatcher. “Ten thirty-three at—” What was Karina’s address? His mind grasped and dug up a fact he barely remembered that he knew. “—at Mountain View Apartments on North Chico. I need an ambulance, and I need it yesterday. Officer down.” His throat caught on the words. “I repeat—officer down.”

  A small crowd had gathered around them. In the distance he heard a siren begin, and then another. His call had been heard.

  He jerked his head upward to look toward the corner of the building. The shooter was getting away. He had to go after him.

  The dispatcher said something in response to his call, but Mason wasn’t listening. Graham gurgled once more, and then went silent.

  No! He stopped breathing.

  His gaze darted around the circle of observers. “Does anybody here know CPR?”

  Nobody answered. Karina dropped to her knees beside him. “I don’t, but tell me what to do.”

  Mason shook his head. It would take longer to tell her how to do it than to do it himself, and time was something Graham didn’t have. “No time.”

  Moving by instincts he thought he’d forgotten long ago, he jerked Graham’s body straight. When he did, he felt the hard surface of the trauma plate of a bulletproof vest beneath his uniform. No way to get effective compressions with that thing on. He was ripping the buttons off his uniform shirt when Caleb reappeared in the doorway, a cell phone held to his ear.

  “What’s the address here?” he asked.

  Four people in the crowd shouted answers. Mason ignored them and continued with his job of exposing Graham’s chest. He was vaguely aware that Caleb relayed the address into the phone. A useless effort, he wanted to say. Help w
as already on the way. Couldn’t they hear the sirens approaching? A whole chorus of them filled the air, coming from all directions.

  He ripped the Velcro straps open and jerked the vest away, experiencing another burst of grief. The vest could have saved Graham if the shooter hadn’t aimed at his head. “Quiet!” he yelled at the onlookers, and lay his ear on Graham’s chest.

  Please, please. Let me hear something.

  Not a prayer, exactly, because he’d learned long ago that prayers for shooting victims went unanswered. More like a fervent, desperate wish.

  A wish that was not granted.

  “No heartbeat.”

  Karina sobbed beside him as he felt for the man’s sternum. He rose up on his knees, locked his fingers and placed the heel of his lower hand in exactly the place he’d learned. Then with his elbows locked, he pushed down. Again. Again. Again. At the count of thirty he side-crawled to Graham’s head and lifted his chin. He saw the damage now. The bullet had taken him in the cheek. Judging by the amount of blood it had probably hit something vital, but he had to try. He wiped away as much blood as he could, covered his nose and lowered his mouth over the dead officer’s. Blew. A deep breath. A wave of relief swept over him when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the chest rise. That meant, incredibly, the air passage was clear.

  Two breaths, and then back to the chest. Pump. Pump. Pump. Thirty times. Now two more breaths.

  But as he lowered his head to Graham’s, someone rushed up from the side. And then someone else.

  “I’ve got this, sir.”

  He looked up, and realized the woman talking to him was a paramedic. Red lights flashed in the darkness, throwing spots of color onto the brick apartment building. And blue lights, too. A police car arrived, and an officer jumped out, ran toward him. Then another and another. The parking lot was alive with color.

  He shifted away to let the paramedic take his place, and then another one, a man, pushed him away—not unkindly, but firmly—and lowered his ear to Graham’s chest. “Bring the shock box,” he shouted toward a third paramedic who was rounding the ambulance, then nodded at the woman. She gave the dying officer two breaths, and then the man started compressions.