Justifiable Risk

by V. K. Powell

  Eva slammed onto the hard surface with a thud. Her knees hit the pavement and her legs went momentarily numb. Her heart raced as she thought about how to defend herself. She had practically no upper-body strength. If she stood, her chances were better. But every self-defense class she’d taken cautioned against resisting an armed subject. Screw that. She’d take her chances fighting.

  “Get up and don’t try anything stupid,” Wallace ordered.

  Eva rose slowly and held her arm as if injured. Before she straightened completely, she jabbed her elbow into Wallace’s groin in an upward motion and ran toward the diner. Her heart pounded like it might burst out of her chest as fear and adrenaline propelled her forward. She prayed her daily running ritual would finally pay off as she pumped her arms and sprinted at top speed.

  But Wallace’s superior height gave him the advantage. She heard his footfalls getting closer until he shoved her in the back. She fell forward and the rough asphalt peeled skin from her forearms and elbows. He pressed his foot against the back of her neck and pushed.

  “If you try that again, I’ll blow your fucking brains out. Do you understand?”

  The pressure on her throat made speech difficult. “Yes,” she managed to whisper.

  “Good, now get up.”

  Wallace grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked her toward a residential area behind the diner. Why was she still alive? He had the perfect opportunity to kill her when she ran. Did he want to torture and kill her slowly? Rape then kill her? Use her as a hostage for some reason? It could be any of those or none. She wasn’t good at thinking like a murderer. Wallace repeatedly jabbed her with the gun muzzle as he walked her into the carport of a house that appeared to be vacant, then pointed to a vehicle covered by a tarpaulin.

  “Take it off and get in.”

  She removed the tarp, slid across the driver’s seat of the car, and immediately reached for the door handle. Her heart sank as she realized it had been removed. It wasn’t in her nature to give up, but her options were slowly disappearing. She wanted to scream and cry, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing one shred of emotion. When her captor got behind the wheel, Eva asked, “Why are you doing this, Baron?”

  “I warned you to leave town.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Greer stretched across the bed and realized that Eva hadn’t returned. The covers on her side were cold and the room felt empty. She stared at the ceiling, deciding that Eva had probably gone back to the main house before Bessie woke. The thought filled her with more sadness than she would have anticipated. She’d wanted to wake up with Eva by her side, make love with her, then talk about their future—if there could be one.

  Yesterday she’d finally released her tremendous guilt over Clare’s death and admitted her feelings for Eva. So much had happened in the past twelve hours and it all seemed right—until she’d overheard Eva’s conversation with her boss. Then the questions returned: did Eva have feelings for her, was a life together possible, was it something Eva wanted, and would they have time to explore their options?

  Greer could see herself with this woman for years, if they could resolve the differences that kept them apart. But they wouldn’t have a chance unless Eva decided that for herself. Greer couldn’t influence her choice. One thing was certain—she was falling in love with Eva, and that knowledge frightened her as much as it energized her. She stretched again, buried her face in the pillow Eva had slept on, and inhaled. The familiar fragrance infused her with an immediate desire to see and talk with Eva again.

  Greer imagined Eva and Bessie sitting around the kitchen table having their first cup of coffee, allowing her to sleep as long as possible. She’d showered, dressed, and started toward the house when her cell phone rang.

  “Ellis.”

  “Hey, partner.” JJ’s voice had that cautious tone she associated with bad news.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Agent Long shared some not-so-good news with me this morning and asked if I’d brief you. The second set of test results came back on the sergeant’s clothing. They were the same.”

  Greer let his statement register. The line was quiet for a few seconds as they both considered the ramifications. “That means he had to have seen who shot him. Why would he lie about that? You don’t think—” She didn’t want to admit Sergeant Fluharty was somehow involved in Tom’s death and the attempt on Eva’s life. And if that was possible, by extension, was he also mixed up in Paul’s murder?

  “I think we have to stay objective, for the moment. But it doesn’t look good. Agent Long is briefing the chief this morning and probably bringing the sarge in for questioning. And…”

  “There’s more?” Greer couldn’t imagine how it could get any worse.

  “The clerk’s office can’t find the officer sign-in sheet for the day of the shooting. So Long can’t verify whether Breeze was in court like he said.”

  “Does he think Breeze could’ve had something to do with this?”

  “It makes about as much sense as the sarge being involved. But Breeze did work on the drug task force. It wouldn’t be the first time a good cop turned the corner for drugs or money.”

  “I’m not buying it. Let me know if anything else comes up before I get there. I’m leaving home in about ten minutes.” Greer’s informant had told her a cop was involved in drugs, but she’d dismissed it at the time. Could it be Breeze or the sergeant? If Baron Wallace was the shooter in Tom’s death, was one of them covering for him? The only good connection between a drug dealer and a cop was an arrest. Did Wallace have something on one of them or were they in business together?

  “I’ll do it.” JJ’s voice trailed off and Greer heard some chatter on his walkie-talkie in the background. “Hold up, Greer. You need to know about this too.”

  “What?” When she stepped up on the back deck of the house, Bessie came out with a coffee cup in her hand and a quizzical look on her face.

  “Patrol guys have an abandoned vehicle in the diner parking lot. It’s Bessie’s old Honda. The engine was running, driver’s window smashed, and nobody around. Where’s Bessie?”

  “She’s right here.” When the other possibility occurred to Greer, her legs threatened to give way. “Don’t let them move that car.” She disconnected and asked Bessie, “Where’s Eva?”

  “I have no idea, honey. I thought she was still with you in the apartment.” She looked toward the garage. “Is the Honda still here?”

  She shook her head. “It’s in the diner parking lot. Why would she leave without telling one of us? After all that’s happened lately, she should know better. Where the hell is she?” Greer’s insides tightened as the list of worst-case scenarios flashed through her mind.

  “Don’t be negative. She’s a firecracker and knows how to talk her way out of just about anything. Give her some credit, but find her, fast.” The more Bessie talked, the less certainty Greer heard behind her words of encouragement.

  “I have to go. I’ll call when I know anything.” Greer hugged her and vaulted off the deck toward her bike. What seemed like an interminable ride ended a few minutes later when she pulled alongside the patrol car positioned behind Bessie’s Honda.

  The beat officer stepped aside as Greer approached and asked, “Is this your aunt’s car, Detective?” Greer nodded. “Was she driving it or was it stolen?”

  “Neither. She loaned it to a friend, Eva Saldana.”

  The look of recognition on the officer’s face told Greer that he was familiar with the recent events surrounding her arrival in town. “I’ve called for a crime-scene tech and a wrecker.”

  Greer hoped the only reason he’d summoned a tech was because Eva was missing, but as she got closer her hopes faded. The driver’s window of the vehicle was shattered and Eva’s cell phone lay open on the seat. She placed her hands behind her back and stuck her head inside the car. Red stains had dried on several shards of glass scattered across the seat, and the sickly sweet smell of blood made h
er nauseous. She visually followed a trail of the dark red droplets across the asphalt back toward the diner.

  With a sharp intake of breath, Greer realized that Eva had been injured and her heart galloped. She stepped back from the vehicle and drew on all her strength to steady herself. Someone had obviously taken Eva against her will. How badly injured was she, where was she, and who had her? The helplessness of that day two years ago resurfaced, and Greer railed against the improbability and injustice of being unable to prevent the loss of another woman she loved.

  “Did anybody see anything?”

  “No, ma’am,” the officer answered.

  “Any sign of a struggle anywhere else in the area?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “People around here get up pretty early. Have you canvassed the area for possible witnesses?” Greer asked, though she already knew the answer. Her questions were standard procedure and this young officer seemed very capable.

  “Yes, ma’am. No witnesses.”

  As the officer and the crime-scene analyst processed Bessie’s car, Greer thought about what she’d give to see Eva again, alive and healthy. If she had to choose between letting Eva go completely and having her returned unharmed, Greer had no doubt she’d choose the former. Having lost one partner, she knew it was possible to love and let go. She had done so with Clare after thinking herself incapable for two years. Greer made a silent deal with whatever forces controlled such things, if only she found find Eva unharmed. She could live without love but not without knowing Eva was happy and somewhere safe.

  *

  Baron Wallace drove very carefully through the center of town, past the warehouse district, and into a moderate residential area. “Where are you taking me?”

  “Shut up. If you attract any attention, I’ll kill you right here. I knew if I waited long enough I’d catch you out by yourself.”

  “Why are you doing this, Baron?” Eva kept her tone even and matter-of-fact, careful not to betray her terror, which heightened by the minute. He had been watching her and Greer, waiting for an opportunity to attack her again. How could she keep herself safe? Instead of being negative and hopeless, she needed to keep her wits and find a way out of the situation.

  “Because you wouldn’t leave well enough alone. We dodged the bullet after your brother came snooping around. Then you showed up. I told you to leave, but you wouldn’t listen.”

  “You killed my brother?”

  Baron shrugged as if he’d made a minor error in judgment. “He got in the way.”

  She was enraged yet relieved when she realized this man was responsible for her brother’s death. She nearly choked as she tried to swallow the anguish that crawled up her throat. She had never been violent, but at this moment she balled her hands into fists so tight her forearms ached. She wanted to hit him, claw his dark eyes, and rip him apart slowly. He had extinguished the bright light that Paul brought to her world, and he needed to pay. She looked around the inside of the vehicle for anything to use as a weapon.

  “You’d probably like to kill me right now, wouldn’t you?” Baron asked.

  “You have no idea.” She and Greer had speculated that Baron Wallace was the murderer, but she hadn’t allowed herself to accept it without proof. An admission was even better. Eva breathed deeply and forced the rage to settle into a tentative calm.

  “Who is we?” She desperately wanted to know who else had been involved in Paul’s death. Wallace was certainly ruthless enough to commit murder, but he didn’t seem like boss material, beyond the brute strength required to maintain order among a band of drug dealers. Whoever was behind this plan was also responsible for Tom’s murder, Sergeant Fluharty’s shooting, and the attempts on her life.

  “You haven’t figured that out yet? Not as smart as I thought, then.”

  “So enlighten me.”

  “Shut up. I need to think.” Baron Wallace peeled the baseball cap off and scrubbed his knuckles across his shaved head. His pale white forehead crinkled and deep frown lines formed on his stubbled face. Careful thought and planning didn’t seem to be his strong points. “Need to think,” he repeated.

  Baron drove around the outskirts and dark places of New Hope until the night sky began to lighten. Eva thought it odd that he didn’t immediately take her to some hiding spot and get off the streets. Surely by now the police had located Bessie’s vehicle and were looking for her. She swiped at the dried blood that still clung to her face and arms.

  As the gray light of dawn filled the vehicle, Eva got a good look at Baron. His black eyes seemed to pop against the pallor of his skin. He was thin, though muscled. His faded black T-shirt had small holes, as did his jeans, and smelled like he’d worn them several days. They rode in silence until Baron pulled in front of a small wood-framed house and cut the engine.

  “I’m taking you inside and you better be quiet.”

  He shoved the weapon in her back as she exited the car and nudged her toward the front of the building. After retrieving a key from above the door frame, he unlocked the door and motioned her inside. Whose house was this and why had they come here? Did the resident know this deranged man? Were they friends or relatives? Maybe Baron’s accomplice lived here and she’d finally come face-to-face with the other conspirator.

  Though it was a small and sparsely furnished house, it was tidy, as if someone took pride in its upkeep. Baron shoved her past a tiny kitchen that smelled of fried bacon, a bathroom that reeked of liniment, then into a musty corner bedroom. She hadn’t seen or heard anyone else, but noted another room with the door closed directly across from the one they entered.

  “Sit.” Baron pushed her toward a straight-backed chair in the center of the room, with a length of rope on the floor next to it. She was at this man’s mercy. Maybe he was the mastermind after all. He had obviously planned to bring her to this place, but she had no idea for how long or for what purpose. She mentally scanned her limited options.

  A brief reporters’ training session on establishing a connection with your captor if taken hostage offered several suggestions: remain calm, establish rapport, don’t talk down to him, avoid appearing hostile, avoid arguments, and maintain eye contact but don’t stare. Not much help. The next steps required more restraint, not her forte: be amenable, treat the captor like royalty, comply with instructions, and expect the unexpected.

  What could be more unexpected than being abducted from your vehicle in a business parking lot before daybreak in a small town in the United States? The irony was nearly humorous. Why hadn’t she been afraid during some of the assignments she’d undertaken in failed states throughout the world, all the times her life was in danger? Maintaining an emotional distance, she had been able to stay objective and to calmly negotiate and troubleshoot with equanimity. But this situation was different. This was personal and Baron’s intent filled her with terror.

  “Why don’t you let me go? This will only get worse for you.” So much for the training session. Now was the time for reason and negotiation.

  “Can’t. I need you for leverage.”

  Baron secured her ankles to the chair legs and tied her arms to the spindles on the seat back. She had no wiggle room. “These are too tight. They’ll cut off my circulation.”

  “You’re lucky if that’s all I cut off. Now be quiet. If I hear a sound out of you, it’ll be your last.” He stuffed a piece of stale fabric in her mouth, tied a gag over that, and left the room.

  She strained against the bindings, her wrists and ankles stinging as the coarse ties sawed into raw flesh. She flinched but kept trying to loosen the lengths of rope. The musty rag in her mouth muffled her cries for help, and she gagged on its sour odor and taste. She scanned her surroundings for anything that might help her escape but found nothing.

  Except for a single bed and a ramshackle dresser, she saw no other signs of habitation—no clothing or pictures or personal items. The light beige carpet was stained and worn from years of use, and the dark brown curtains block
ed the sunlight. Eva felt isolated and her apprehension deepened.

  Baron Wallace hadn’t bothered to blindfold her—not a good sign. She already knew his identity, and he’d expressed no problem with killing her. But he’d also mentioned leverage. Wallace seemed ambivalent, uncertain about his situation and uncomfortable with the decisions he was making. Their drive around town after her abduction and his concern about waking the occupants of the house didn’t indicate a well-thought-out plan. What exactly did he have in mind? Perhaps he had information to exchange for her release.

  How did the New Hope Police Department negotiate for the release of hostages? It irritated her to think of herself as a hostage, a victim. She struggled against her restraints with one final surge of anger, then collapsed, exhausted. Her eyes filled with tears and she closed them tight. She refused to show weakness or defeat. As she evaluated her situation again, she thought about Greer.

  Eva had left the warmth and comfort of Greer’s bed after they made love to answer her phone. What would’ve happened if she’d stayed in bed a little longer? If she hadn’t taken the call, Greer wouldn’t have overheard the conversation, they wouldn’t have disagreed, and Eva wouldn’t have gone for the drive that put her in Baron Wallace’s path.

  Now she was the center of Wallace’s plan, which put him in direct conflict with Greer. She imagined that Greer was feeling helpless and experiencing a bit of déjà vu after what happened to Clare. Greer would find her, and when she did, she would seek revenge. Eva hated having caused Greer so much emotional torment. She wanted to return, apologize for the trouble she’d caused since her arrival in New Hope, and move forward with whatever they might be able to build together.

  When Eva was younger her life of constant travel had excited her and provided the sense of purpose and direction she needed. It also protected her from intimacy. But that distance also had kept her isolated from the very thing that made life worth living—deep, meaningful love for another person.