“Yes.”
“During those issues, did you ever press charges?”
‘Yes.”
He studied her face, his expression carefully blank. “Why didn’t you follow through?”
“I did, but by the time it went to court the charges had been dropped. Once the hearing time was changed and I wasn’t notified. The next two times someone had pulled the paperwork.”
The cops looked at one another. “That isn’t possible, Mrs. Cross.”
“It is if your abusive husband’s father is best buddies with Judge Henry Moreland.” She looked away. “My father-in-law once told me that all I needed to do was be a better wife and Will wouldn’t have to keep me in line. He plays golf with Judge Henry Moreland every Sunday.”
The two detectives eyed her, their expressions carefully controlled.
Will had almost killed her this time. If he ever succeeded, who would take care of Joy? Will’s parents wouldn’t allow their granddaughter to be brought up by her grandmother, the only person Samantha trusted.
The cramping low in her abdomen brought on a bout of nausea, and she closed her eyes against it and swallowed.
“He said he was going to kill me. I believed him. After he rammed my head into a wall. That was the first beating. After he broke my wrist during the second, I believed him. He broke my collarbone the third time. And I believed him today when he hit me in the face with his fist and broke my cheekbone, after he punched me in the stomach and killed my baby. After he knocked me to the floor and kicked me in the ribs.”
“Your husband is saying someone broke into your house and did this, ma’am.”
Was he serious? Fear rocketed through her, stealing her breath. Did they believe him?
Sam stared at the young detective with her one good eye until he looked away.
“You don’t have him in custody?” her voice rose in pitch with her fear level.
“No, we’ve only spoken to your husband on the phone to notify him of your condition.”
“Oh dear God! You told him where I am?” For a moment she couldn’t breathe.
“Are you sure it was your husband?”
“There was no one else in our home this afternoon but the monster I’ve lived with the last four years. His name is William Jacob Cross. He was born October seventh, 1983. He’s thirty years old. He is six foot, three inches tall and weighs two hundred and twenty pounds. He has dark hair and green eyes. He has bruised knuckles from beating me, and he had a blood stain on his shirt when he walked out the door and left me to hemorrhage to death on the floor.”
“Do you intend to press charges, Mrs. Cross?”
‘Yes, I do.”
Detective Marshall snapped his notebook closed and said, “You press the charges. We’ll make certain they go through. We’ll put out an APB, and he’ll be picked up.
“Your neighbors have identified your husband as the man who left the house, Mrs Cross. You’ve identified him. We’ll be picking him up, but it will be up to you to stick to your story,” the other detective said, his voice quiet.
“I won’t withdraw the charges. But are you going to check each day and make sure the paperwork isn’t pulled?”
“We’ll be sure to check on your paperwork, Mrs. Cross.” Kipler said. “We’ll file for an emergency protective order on your behalf, but it will be up to you to file for one with a judge so your husband can’t come anywhere near you or your daughter. We can keep him for forty-eight hours, but after that, with his family connections, he’ll probably make bail.”
“How can I do that if I’m still in here?” Her voice shook as her fear ratcheted up again. How could she do it so she could be certain Moreland wouldn’t go right behind her and kick the order out?
“We’ll give you the number of an advocate who can help you fill out the paperwork so it can be issued. It’s very important for you to get right on this so it will go into effect while your husband is in jail.”
A small niggling hope built inside her. “What will you do if the paperwork disappears again?”
“It isn’t going to happen, Mrs. Cross.”
Yes, it would. Her body started to shake. She gripped the thin blanket that covered her.
The two detectives continued to ask questions, taking her statement and offering her information and advice. The pain in her ribs, despite the medication the nurse had given her, sapped her strength and made it difficult for her to take in everything they were saying.
She needed a lawyer to file for divorce and to see that the police followed through with the protective order. Could her grandmother arrange for that?
“If you have proof he threatened your little girl, that will go a long way to insuring he doesn’t get unsupervised visitation with your child while the protective order is in place,” the soft-spoken detective—Kipler—said.
A knock came at the door and a nurse came in. “I think she’s had enough, fellows.”
Detective Kipler left a list of numbers on the bedside table. “We’ll do all we can, Mrs. Cross.”
Please don’t leave. The words screamed through her head. What if he comes here?
After they left, the nurse took her temperature and blood pressure. She frowned at the numbers. “You need to rest. Your body has been through a trauma and you’ve lost a lot of blood.”
Sam studied the woman’s features. She had a wide round face and a pleasant smile. “I need to call my grandmother and check on my daughter.”
Had her grandmother gone back to the house? Had she checked in at a hotel? She had been here earlier with Joy, but Sam had been groggy and weak and couldn’t remember much of the visit.
The nurse handed Sam the receiver. “Push the call button when you’re through, and I’ll be back to hang that up for you. Try not to move around too much, those ribs will be extremely painful. I’ll be back with a spirometer to exercise your lungs. We don’t want you developing pneumonia.”
The nurse wandered out of the room and Sam dialed her Gran’s cell phone number. At the sound of her voice some of Sam’s worry lifted. “Hey, Gran.”
“How are you feeling?” Ellen asked, her tone tentative.
“Better. Where are you staying?”
“We found a hotel close to the hospital.”
“Don’t tell anyone where you’re staying and don’t use a credit card. My in-laws might try and come and get Joy.”
“They’re not taking her anywhere.”
It eased her anxiety to hear her grandmother’s determination. “The police say they’re going to arrest Will.”
“Good. That’s the least he deserves.”
Tears burned Sam’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Gran.”
“For what, sweetie?”
“For not being able to stand up to him.”
“He’s over two hundred pounds. You’re a hundred and ten. How could you have stood up to him?”
Gran would have. There wasn’t anything on earth that Ellen Andrews couldn’t stand up against. “I tried to leave. He threatened to kill me if I did. He threatened to kill you and Joy, too.”
“We’re going to be fine, honey. He’s not going to hurt us, or you, ever again. Joy is fine. She’s playing with her little people right now.”
“She isn’t doing the baby babbling anymore, is she?”
“No.” Her voice grew more distant, like she had turned away from the phone. “She’s talking like a big girl.”
“She’s been babbling every time she gets scared.” Sam closed her eyes against the fresh wave of emotional pain. “That’s what set him off today. She was babbling like a baby. He locked her in her room. When I tried to talk to him about her…about why she was doing it…” She swallowed. “He didn’t even care what he was doing to her. She didn’t want to be near him, and that would make him angry, too. Everything I did made him angry.”
“That’s on him, Sam. Not on you. You can’t live looking back. What’s important is what you do from this moment on. You have to do what’s importa
nt for Joy, too.”
“I am. Do you know any good lawyers? A good lawyer who can’t be scared off by a sitting judge here in Vegas.”
“I do. He doesn’t practice in Vegas, but he can. I’ll give him a call.”
“I won’t have any money. The Crosses will lock down the bank account before I even get out of the hospital.”
“We’ll deal with it.”
“The police are putting in an emergency protective order, but I have to file for something more permanent. But if it goes before Judge Moreland, he’ll kick it out again.”
“Again?” Ellen asked.
Sam clenched a fist against her chest. “I’ve tried before, Gran.”
“He won’t be kicking anything out this time. We’re not going to allow him to. Tom will file a grievance with the state attorney’s office, making sure it doesn’t happen. I’m calling him as soon as we hang up.”
The emotional weight of fear and depression eased a little. “Can I speak with Joy? I’m getting tired and I just need to hear her voice for a second.”
“Sure. Joy, Mommy’s on the phone.”
“Mommy?” Joy breathed into the phone.
“How’s my girl?”
“Grandma El is here.”
She sounded excited. “I know. Grandma El is going to take care of you for a few days.”
“Are you still bleeding?”
God, what kind of memories would she have after all this? “Mommy’s all better, but the doctors want me to stay here for a little while. Grandma El and you are going to have such fun together.”
“I’m going swimming tomorrow. I’m taking Fweddy.”
He was her favorite little person. God help Gran if Joy lost him. “You may want to just let Freddy swim in the bathtub tonight instead. If you lost him in the pool, you might be sad.”
“’Kay.”
“You be very good for Grandma El. Okay?”
“’Kay.”
“I love you, Joy.”
“Love you.”
The phone crashed in her ear. Then it was picked up again. “Sam?”
“Yeah, I’m still here.”
“Try and rest, honey. We’re fine.”
Her emotions swung back and forth like a tilt-a-whirl. One moment she was okay, the next anxious. What if Will were to find them? Her heartbeat pummeled her bruised ribs. “No one knows where you are, do they?”
“No, we’re good.”
“All right.” She forced her muscles to relax, the tension making her body ache more.
“I’ve left my number with the nurses. They know to call if you need me,” Ellen said.
“Okay.” Exhaustion dragged at her. “I think I’ll rest now.”
“I’ll talk to you later.”
“Love you,” she murmured.
“You, too.”
Sam pushed the call button and held the phone with the button pushed down. She closed her eyes. Dull pain thrummed through her whole body. She sensed someone coming into the room. The nurse would hang up the phone. She just needed to sleep.
The phone was removed from her grasp and hung up. The waiting stillness of the person next to her sent anxious prickles trailing over her skin. She opened her good eye a slit. Her breath seized. She yelped as a large hand clamped over her mouth.
CHAPTER 5
San Diego, California
“Wait for me. I’ll only be here a few minutes.” Flash shoved money into the driver’s hand and exited the cab, then paused to scan the area. The sports bar in the Gas Lamp Quarter was in full swing and packed, as were all the nearby restaurants. Flash hiked his backpack securely over his shoulder, tugged the door open and stood back while four people left the bar. He nodded at their murmured thanks and stepped into the noisy establishment.
Every table was full and the bartenders were doing a brisk business. He wove through the crowd to the restrooms and moved on along the hall to the office. He tapped on the door and after a moment, a man about thirty-five with dark hair graying at the temples opened it.
“Hey, Flash.” Ron Anderson, the owner of the bar, stuck out a hand, which Flash grasped with a shake. The team came in on a semi-regular basis to watch ball games and drink beer, and Anderson was a friend to them all. He knew they were military, was ex-military himself. He probably even knew they were SEALs, but he never asked too many questions. “I haven’t seen you around in a while.”
“I’ve been busy since I got back.” Though every muscle tensed with the need for action, Flash forced himself to appear relaxed.
Anderson frowned and pointed to the bandage around his head. “What happened there?”
“Training accident. I zigged when I should have zagged and damn near got my head knocked off.” He knew the side of his head was swollen and misshapen. His eye was starting to blacken as well. He’d taken his quota of ibuprofen and it was still pounding like a toothache.
“Jeez. You might want to think about getting into a different line of work. I heard about Brett Weaver, too. Damn shame.”
“Yeah,” Flash nodded. Brett had lain in a coma for well over a month but had finally come out of it. “They think he’s going to be fine. In fact, I saw him a couple of days ago, and he’s out of the hospital and doing great. He’ll be full strength in no time at all.”
“Good news.” Anderson smiled. “What can I do for you?”
“I was hoping to use your telephone to make a private phone call. I need a land line.”
Anderson’s brows rose.
“I know it’s an imposition. But it’s business. I need to check in.”
“Sure. No problem.” Ron stepped aside and made a sweeping motion. “When you’re done, stop by the bar and I’ll buy you a drink.”
“Thanks, I will.”
Anderson left, closing the door behind him. Flash fished the digital recorder out of the backpack. He hooked the phone up to the device, then plugged it into the wall. He drew out the prepaid cell phone he’d bought and saved his contacts to. He scrolled down the list until he reached Gilbert’s number.
He turned on the recorder and dialed the number on the landline, counting on the fact that the restaurant name would come up on the agent’s phone.
“Who is this?” Gilbert snapped.
“This is Carney.”
“Flash, what the hell are you doing in the Gas Lamp Quarter? We’ve been looking for you.”
I bet you have, asshole.
“I’m keeping this brief. Your guys tried to fucking kill me.”
“There was a mix-up, and the agents were unaware that you weren’t one of the smugglers.”
“That’s a mix-up? Where’s Rick?” he asked. “I’ve been calling.”
“Agent Dobson was killed earlier today.”
Flash suspected as much but hearing the news…Dobson had been a good guy. Flash shut off the emotional reaction and shook his head. He’d deal with that later—when he had time. “What the hell happened?”
“The smuggling network we’re tracking discovered where we had set up surveillance. Two guys burst into the room and shot him and another agent. Both died at the scene.”
When Flash remained silent, Gilbert asked, “How badly are you hurt? There was quite a bit of blood at the scene and in your car.”
“Your concern is touching, since it was your men who tried to blow my head off.” And then stalked me to try and finish me off. You’re in this up to your eyeballs, asshole.
“Look, I’m sorry Flash. Really. But it’s time you came in. You need medical attention, and you need to bring in the artifacts and the money. Once we have those locked down, and you’ve been debriefed, we’ll deal with the investigation into the agents’ conduct. And you need to bring their identification back in with you. What the hell were you thinking taking their badges?”
What the hell were they thinking keeping their identification on them when they were assassinating someone? He’d taken their pictures with his phone…with the rifles they’d used when they attempted to kill
him. “I didn’t want there to be any question about who was responsible for this clusterfuck.”
“You fucking shot two federal agents, Carney!”
“Only after they shot me. Two people were trying to blow my head off with sniper rifles. They’d already killed the two men in front of me. They didn’t identify themselves as federal officers, so I had every right to protect myself. Your men were lucky I didn’t use deadly force.”
“We’ll discuss that when you come in.”
“You’ll be coming to me.”
“Wait just a minute. That’s not how this works.”
“I’ll choose the place, and I’ll call you with the location.”
“Wait, Carney—”
“After everything that’s gone down, do you really think I’d just waltz into your office? I worked with you guys in good faith. And you damn near killed me.”
Gilbert remained silent. “Okay. I know we screwed up.”
Yeah. He was still walking around alive. At least he’d gotten the man to admit he’d been working with them. “You’ll hear from me when I’m ready to meet.” Flash hung up.
Moving fast, he disconnected the recorder and reconnected the phone to the wall jack. He crammed the device into his backpack, zipped it shut, and looked around to make certain he wasn’t leaving anything behind. He had to get out quick. They’d be here any moment. The music playing in the club beat against his ears and intensified the throbbing in his head as he strode down the hall.
Ron was circulating through the crowd. Flash approached him. “I have to go.”
Though curiosity flickered across the other man’s face, he didn’t ask any questions.
Flash forced a smile to his lips. “I’ll take you up on that beer in a couple of days.”
“Sure thing.” Ron slapped him on the back.
Flash ducked his head to hide the flinch. Jesus, he hurt all over.
He read concern on the guy’s face. “Hey, take care of yourself.”
“I will.”
Flash wove through the crowd and exited the bar. He scanned the street as he approached his cab and studied the driver’s face and clothing, making sure it was the same man. Ever since he’d left his apartment and seen the police close in on his car, he’d felt hunted. He’d been hunted. Judging from the aggressive stance of the police as they’d converged on his apartment, the FBI had probably put out an armed and dangerous on him.
Breaking Away (Military Romantic Suspense) (Book 3 of the SEAL TEAM Heartbreakers) Page 4