In Love and Rescue: When love is the perfect rescue...

by K. Alex Walker

  “Ok,” he said with finality in his tone. He then shouted a series of commands into the radio before walking towards the front door. “Tell me everything that you know. I’ll make some calls and see what additional information we can retrieve.”

  Desmond put an arm across his path, blocking his access to open the door. “I only have one requirement,” he insisted. “We don’t tell the media yet that Larke is still alive, for the sake of her family’s protection.”

  Lawrence immediately agreed. “I wouldn’t see it any other way. I’ll go call off the hounds and we’ll take you down the back stairs and into a waiting car.”

  Desmond didn’t drop his hand. “One more thing. How did you find out that I was here?”

  Lawrence flicked his thumb towards the window. “An old acquaintance of mine that drives a taxicab. He was on his way here to return a purse that he said a lady left. He gave me the description of Larke, but then mentioned that she had a man with her. When I ran into Larke downstairs, she told me she was alone. I put the rest together.”

  Larke sighed exasperatedly. “I didn’t even leave a purse behind. I told you that your luck would run out, Harding.”

  Lawrence chuckled slightly before pulling the door open only to find that a man was already standing there. Desmond felt his anger surge when he noticed the local news station logo on both the man’s clothing and the camera being held up behind him. He pulled off his shirt, tossed it over Larke’s head, and pulled her into his arms, but the camera had already caught a glimpse of her face.

  “Turn that off,” Lawrence ordered.

  “But—” the man began.

  “Turn it off and I’ll give you the real story,” he added. “Award-winning material.”

  The man exchanged glances with his cameraman. “I’m sorry sir, but we’re filming live,” he informed them. “However, I’m still interested in the real story behind why Larke Tapley is still alive, and why she’s here with the same husband they’re saying killed her.”

  Desmond’s muscles tensed and Larke stopped fidgeting.

  “Husband?” She asked, tugging at the shirt.

  “Turn it off,” Desmond ordered, shooting a threatening look at the cameraman. When the camera was finally off, he let Larke out of her t-shirt prison. She then turned towards him, angrier than he’d ever seen her in the years they’d known each other.

  “I repeat,” she spat. “Husband?”

  *****

  As soon as Doug saw Larke and Desmond on the news, he knew that nothing good would come of it. He didn’t doubt that Jarvis knew that Larke was still alive, as he’d had his men tracking her since the day she stepped foot on the island. However, now that the whole world had discovered that her death was a ruse, the media would be tracking her whereabouts. All Jarvis really needed was a weak link in the chain surrounding her, someone that could be bought and sold, and he’d be able to pinpoint Larke’s location as precisely as using a thumbtack on a map.

  The phone ringing on his desk pulled him away from the TV, and he lowered the volume before answering.

  “Casey.”

  “Doug, I thought that I’d never reach you,” the voice greeted. It was familiar, but he couldn’t immediately place it.

  “I’ve been moving around a lot lately,” he answered, lazily glancing at the caller ID on his computer screen. Not just anyone would have this number. “Who is this?”

  The man chuckled. “It’s been too long if you don’t recognize my voice anymore. Or maybe it’s because I’ve finally grown into it.”

  Doug’s brain finally clicked. “Phillip ‘Peewee’ Thompson,” he replied. “Man, it’s been a couple of years since I last saw you, and yeah, you did finally grow into that voice. You were the only man I’d ever known to be well over six feet but have the voice of a twelve-year old.”

  Phillip burst out laughing. “What can I say? My vocal chords had a hard time keeping up with my growth spurt.”

  They caught up for a few brief moments before Phillip revealed the reason for his call.

  “When was the last time you spoke to Desmond Harding?” he asked, hoping that the answer was fairly recent.

  Doug tapped a pencil on his desk. “Very recently. I do a lot of the intelligence work for his agency, so we’re in contact often.”

  Phillip glanced at the clock on his wall. He’d sent an officer out to help Wren move back to her parents’ house that should be arriving at her complex in a few minutes. The original officer that he’d given the responsibility had to bow out when his wife went into labor, so he’d reluctantly given the rookie the task, hoping that it was simple enough that the kid didn’t have another semi-nervous breakdown.

  “Good, good,” Phillip answered, “because a woman recently came into the precinct by the name of Wren Tapley. She said that her sister was murdered on the island of Jamaica and that the police are saying that Desmond is the culprit. I looked it up and even though the case is legit, it doesn’t make sense to me that Desmond, at least the Desmond I know, would harm an innocent young woman, much less his wife.”

  Doug leaned forward in his chair. “Wait, you said that Wren came into your office?”

  “You know her?” Phillip asked, his interest piqued.

  “Her sister is Larke Tapley,” Doug informed him. “I know the case and I know for a fact that Desmond didn’t hurt Larke. That’s not our only issue, however.”

  Phillip called the man walking across his office door into the room. “Stephens, why are you still here? I gave you instructions to go to Wren Tapley’s residence hours ago.”

  Officer Stephens squeezed the knuckles on his left hand. “I got your memo saying that you were sending someone else.”

  Phillip held up a finger to let him know to hold on, and turned his attention back to Doug. “What’s the other issue?”

  Doug sucked in a deep breath. “For one, Larke’s not dead. There was also a kidnapping attempt in Jamaica by some men connected to Edward Jarvis, a major figure in several high profile circles. He was on trial for first degree murder and Larke was the prosecutor who convicted him. Needless to say, he wasn’t happy about it and has been trying to get even ever since. Desmond’s been the only thing preventing that from happening and some of us have been helping him along the way. We’d managed to keep it under wraps up until now.”

  Officer Stephens turned to leave but Phillip shot him a look that kept him firmly in place.

  “What changed?” He asked.

  Doug’s gaze went back to the TV. “They found out that Larke’s not dead and reported that she’s in Miami. With Desmond.”

  “And what do you think that means?” Phillip probed.

  Doug shrugged. “There is good and bad to this. The good is, the FBI can use the fact that she’s alive to corroborate the information she’s going to give them on Jarvis. Also, I know that the bureau will be more than cooperative and might even extend an extra offer of protection, if Desmond will let them. Jarvis probably already knows this so he understands that getting to Larke will be even more difficult, therein leading to the bad side. He might try to bait her.”

  Phillip looked up at Officer Stephens. “Who did you say took over the assignment to get Wren?”

  The officer narrowed his brows as he thought. “A Deputy Wilson. I think he’s a new transfer or something because I couldn’t recall ever seeing him around here before. But hell, I’m pretty new here myself. I figured you traded the assignment so that he could get his feet wet, or because I messed up with that home invasion thing.”

  Phillip was already out of his seat and grabbing his keys. “How do you think Jarvis would try to bait her?”

  Doug shook his head. “The man’s a sick bastard so there’s not going to be one single way. If I tried to think along the lines of his depraved mind, he’d probably target her fam—”

  “Family,” Phillip finished, already out the door and jumping into his cruiser. “He’d target her family, but only one family member was singled out. I ha
ve a unit going to the house where the parents and son live, but the deputy that was supposed to escort the sister is still back at my office. Problem is, I don’t know who the hell went in his place.”

  *****

  “You guys are hurrying me when you didn’t even come to help me,” Wren accused her mother over speakerphone.

  “You know we offered,” Heather replied, “but the Sergeant said that he was taking care of it. That he was sending someone out.”

  Wren checked the clock on her phone. “Well, whoever it is, they’re late. He told me that they’d be here at six. It’s six-thirty.”

  Heather sighed as she tried to quell her frustration and worry. Her stomach would not be settled until she had both her children at home where she could keep an eye on them. Knowing that Wren was alone when there was an actual threat out there was more than enough to keep her awake for several hours through the night. That and the guilt from not believing her children when they sensed something was awry about their sister’s disappearance.

  “They’re here,” Wren informed her mother as she noticed the police cruiser pull into a parking spot down below. Heather sighed again, her stomach still quivering.

  “Okay then, honey. Make sure you come straight here.”

  “Where else am I going to go, Mom? It’s not like I can take a joy ride with the cops.”

  Heather giggled. “I know, I know. But you did say that you thought Sergeant Thompson was cute.”

  Wren rolled her eyes. “No, Mother, you said that he was handsome and I agreed. That hardly means that we’re going to elope and run off into the sunset.”

  “You never know,” Heather contested, hoping that a little bit of familiar conversation helped to infuse some normalcy back into their upturned lives. “He’s not that much older than you, and I think you two would make some beautiful grandbabies for me and your father.”

  Wren massaged her temples. “I’m hanging up now.”

  “Okay, okay,” Heather conceded. “I’ll see you in a bit, sweetie pie. I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  Wren ended the call as she heard the heavy footsteps come up the stairs. Before the officer had a chance to knock, she ran to open the door and was met by a fresh-faced, dusty-brown haired young man standing in her doorway.

  “Miss Tapley, Deputy Nicholas Wilson,” the man greeted with an outstretched palm. The dampness she felt when she shook it meant he was probably a rookie and unfortunately, this was most likely his first “big” assignment. It just didn’t get too criminally exciting in certain parts of Wisconsin.

  “Nice to meet you, Deputy Wilson,” she greeted, ushering him in and ignoring the tinge of disappointment she felt when it hadn’t been Phillip to show up. “I know that this is probably not in your job description, but do you think you could help me get some of this stuff downstairs? It’s three flights and I’m kind of a girly girl so naturally, I over packed.”

  A cold chill ran up her spine when she didn’t hear him respond and instead, heard the door close behind him. Keeping her composure, she faced him.

  “I know. It’s menial. I should have never asked.”

  He still didn’t speak, but was now standing in front of the closed door staring at her as though he was trying to make a decision about something.

  “O…kay,” she went on, hiding her mounting discomfort. He made no effort to move towards her, but something didn’t feel quite right. After a few moments locked in a staring competition, his shoulders fell.

  “I’m sorry,” he replied. “It’s my nerves. I really want to make a good impression on the Sarge, as well as my Captain.”

  She half-smiled even though her uneasiness hadn’t waned. “I understand all about that,” she explained. “My parents are pretty academically successful people themselves, so of course I inherently feel the pressure to do well to live up to their standards.”

  She turned around to lift the handle of one of the suitcases behind her only to suddenly hear his footsteps rushing hard and fast in her direction. Turning back to face him, she narrowly missed a direct blow to the head, and his fist instead struck her cheek and sent her staggering backwards. Before she had a chance to catch her breath, his pursuit continued and he forced her against the wall and wrapped his large hand around her neck.

  “You’re going to do whatever I say,” he ordered, his grip tightening. Realizing that he was trying to cut off her air, Wren clawed at his fingers, but they didn’t budge an inch.

  “Stop it,” he yelled into her face. “The more you fight, the tighter I’m going to squeeze.”

  Ignoring his command, Wren continued to claw and tug at his fingers, which still didn’t move. His grip tightened as promised and she could feel her breaths become labored as less air was able to pass through to her lungs.

  “Are you going to stop fighting?” the fake deputy asked, but Wren still didn’t respond. She was stubborn, she knew, and while this wasn’t the best time to display that particular trait, she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t help the fact that nothing inside of her was going to allow her to give in without a fight. A hard fight.

  She continued to claw aimlessly at his fingers which caused him to snarl in response.

  “Don’t you see that that’s not doing a damn—”

  Before he could finish his sentence, gathering all of her strength, her hand shot out towards his face, the heel of her palm connecting with the cartilage in his nose. He staggered backwards at the impact, his grip on her neck slackening considerably, and she lifted her foot and landed it squarely in his groin.

  He stumbled back even further, groaning in pain with his body slightly hunched over. Lifting her foot again, she fired another kick but this time underneath his chin—once, then twice—and finally, he stumbled back into a heap on the floor. Her body froze for a quick second, but she willed it to move forward knowing that if she didn’t go now, she would probably never get another chance.

  Still slightly dazed, she stumbled towards the front door, but his hand quickly shot out and grabbed her by the ankle, sending her crashing to her stomach on the solid hardwood floor. He pulled her towards him while she kicked at his grip, bruising several areas along his arm.

  “I told you to comply,” he growled again, grabbing her calf to pull her even closer. Using her free leg, Wren kicked down the length of his arm until she heard a sickening crack and felt his grip release. He groaned in pain but ignored the heat searing from his wrist to his shoulder. As she slithered towards the front door, he reached towards his hip.

  “If my hands won’t stop you, maybe a bullet will,” he called after her. Immediately, she turned around and her heart thudded in her chest when she noticed him grabbing for his weapon. Her family had already senselessly lost one family member, so it made no sense for her stubbornness to cause them any extra heartache. She would have to give up. For them. There would never be another reason.

  Before she had a chance to voice her concession, she heard two loud cracks ripple through the air and saw his body twist violently, then crumple into a lifeless mass on the floor. Blood pooled from beneath his torso and bitter eyes stared back at her before death slowly drifted them shut. Sheer elation coursed through her when she saw Phillip rushing towards her, concern on his face.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. He then shouted orders into the radio at his hip.

  As the adrenaline withdrew from her system, she became overwhelmed with emotion and her body clamored with tears. Kneeling on the floor beside her, Phillip gently soothed her until the paramedics arrived, and didn’t release her until they’d secured her to the stretcher, the bruises on her face and neck slowly appearing and angering him to the point where he wanted to put a few more bullets into the corpse behind him on the floor.

  As they began to wheel her away, she grabbed his forearm.

  “Don’t leave me alone again,” she pleaded. “Please, Phillip.”

  She didn’t have to say anything more. He knew that he was probably
the only person that she felt that she could trust at that moment, and there was no way he was going to disappoint her again.

  He took her hand. “I won’t. I promise.”

  Then he turned the crime scene over to this team and followed the paramedics down to the ground floor, vowing to remain true to his word.

  Chapter Eleven

  Veteran news reporter Christopher O’Doul’s mouth fell open in shock and fascination as he absorbed more information about Larke’s ordeal.

  “A hidden cave?” He asked. “You two actually had to camp out in a cave after leaving that rundown little wooden house in the middle of nowhere?”

  His fingers moved rapidly over the keyboard on his laptop.

  “Yes, we did,” Larke confirmed, her mind still on the revelation that Desmond was actually her husband. However, she realized that she wasn’t upset. Inside, she felt completely disappointed. She’d forgotten her husband. A man that was supposed to mean the world to her. Then, to make matters worse, he’d made the decision not to remind her who he was in hopes that her memory would return on its own, when there was no guarantee that it would. She could only imagine the pain he must have felt the first time he realized that she didn’t remember him.

  “How’d you get out?” Christopher prodded.

  “Des. He found me and we made our way through the woods until we couldn’t go any further. Des found the cave and we spent the night there, but Gano tracked us that morning.”

  Chris finished typing his sentence, leaned back in his chair, and propped his legs up on the metal desk. “Wow. All this time everyone thought you were dead, and you were actually fighting for your life in Jamaica. With your husband. Who you don’t remember. Can you say, Pulitzer?”

  Her mind ran to her and Desmond making love at the villa. What had that been like for him?

  “So, tell me more about Desmond,” Chris urged. “What’s his real role in all of this?”

  She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “He said that someone from the courthouse called him and he came home right when I was being attacked. I don’t know who contacted him though.”