Colby Rebuilt

Home > Mystery > Colby Rebuilt > Page 8
Colby Rebuilt Page 8

by Debra Webb


  She didn’t realize she was backing away from the group until Shane Allen’s strong fingers wrapped around her arm.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I need to go home.” She couldn’t be here right now. She needed to be alone. To think and sort this all out…somehow.

  The shock of all she’d learned in the past two hours hit like a hard right jab square between the eyes. She swayed with the emotional impact.

  “I should get Ms. Brooks home,” Allen said to the others. “Call me if there’s an update.”

  Mary Jane was vaguely aware that the other men made sympathetic overtures to her, but she couldn’t find her voice to respond. Allen ushered her into the corridor and toward the lobby. The walls seemed to close in on her even as they walked quickly toward the large reception area. Her throat thickened, making a decent breath nearly impossible.

  Rebecca could be alive.

  She may have paid someone to die in her place.

  To protect herself?

  Or was she somehow a part of the dirty business Horizon Software had been into? That didn’t make sense. If she was a part of it, why go to the authorities and blow the whistle?

  This was all crazy.

  Not real life.

  Not Mary Jane’s life.

  She was a school teacher from a quiet, Christian family who never even swore, much less committed a crime.

  This couldn’t be happening.

  The elevator doors opened and she was suddenly inside, moving downward. The sensation of falling had her stomach rushing up into her already clogged throat.

  Grabbing for the wall she struggled to adjust her equilibrium.

  “You okay?”

  An arm went around her waist in the nick of time. Mary Jane had never fainted in her life, but she was suddenly certain that was exactly what she was going to do. In an elevator in front of a virtual stranger.

  “Thank you. I’m…I’m okay.” She tried to steady herself. To move away from his overpowering nearness but she couldn’t. She wasn’t all right. She was anything but. Everything she’d thought about the events of one year ago was suddenly in question.

  “Some sleep will do you good,” he offered, his deep voice uncharacteristically gentle. “You’re exhausted and you’ve had two major shocks in less than twenty-four hours. You’ve every right to be unsettled.”

  He was right. Darn it.

  Mary Jane closed her eyes to hold back the flood of tumultuous emotion. She tried so hard to hold her own, to stay strong but couldn’t. She surrendered and leaned into the support his broad shoulder offered.

  What had her sister been thinking? Leaving this kind of mess for her?

  A sob caught in her throat. But what if this wasn’t her sister’s doing? What if Rebecca was dead? This could be some kind of game to prompt results. Some twisted plan to accomplish some sick goal. If someone thought she had information or evidence her sister had given her, they would stop at nothing to get their hands on it. Mind games would only be the beginning.

  Mary Jane stopped fighting the internal battle and let the emotions rock through her. Some part of her recognized that the elevator had stopped moving without reaching its destination and that Shane Allen’s arms were around her, enveloping her completely.

  She appreciated the silence…appreciated his strength. He didn’t make her any promises he might not be able to keep. He just held her. Let her cry the way she needed to.

  Seconds or maybe minutes passed before the wave of shuddering emotion passed. The receding fervor left behind the heat of embarrassment. God, she hadn’t cried like this in ages. During her parents’ illness she’d been stoic. Even as she’d said her final good-byes at the cemetery she’d maintained her composure.

  Mary Jane swiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands and tried to prod a smile into place. “Sorry. I…” She moistened her lips and decided there was no explanation. Nothing she could say to explain away the weakness she’d just displayed. She was tired of being strong. Damned tired.

  As if he understood her inability to articulate what she felt, he let the conversation lapse and leaned past her, pressed the button for the basement garage and set the car back into motion.

  She turned to face the gleaming stainless steel doors and wondered how it was that a man who rode such a bad-boy machine, wore mostly leather and denim, and who made no excuses for his long hair or his whiskered chin could be so perceptive and compassionate.

  Just went to show that the adage you couldn’t judge a book by its cover was certainly true. All this time she’d considered herself above passing judgment. He wasn’t the cliché, she was.

  The elevator glided to a stop, and the doors parted. She stepped out. He followed. She would be glad to get home. She was tired. Tired and totally drained. The idea that the bashed skull she had imagined might belong to someone who had actually sold herself to that fate kept gnawing at her insides. What was wrong with this world that desperation could push a person to that point?

  “Would you like something to eat?” he asked as they neared her car. “I could take a detour through a drive-through or convenience store. Get sandwiches. Soup. Something easy.”

  Good grief. She hadn’t eaten all day. No wonder she was wobbling on her feet. And this poor man. She’d had him in her home and hadn’t offered him anything to eat or drink. She really was out of it.

  But then she had an excuse. She’d spent so little time at her place the past few months she rarely bothered with shopping. Bottled water and crackers wouldn’t likely do the job.

  “That would be nice.” She had no idea what he would find open at this hour but maybe he knew more about that than she did. She was never out at this time of night. “I’m afraid my cupboards are pretty bare.”

  He paused, his hand on the passenger side door and then he smiled. Maybe the fainting episode hadn’t passed. She felt light-headed. Probably her blood sugar level had bottomed out. Whatever the case, she was pretty sure she’d never seen a smile quite so…genuinely nice. The streetlamp spotlighted straight, white teeth. Generous lips. And a sparkle in those dark eyes that reflected just how deeply the smile went.

  “I know all about bare cupboards. Mine usually stay that way. Seems a waste to stock up for one.”

  The amusement in his expression vanished and was instantly replaced by a distant sadness.

  One. He was alone. Like her. His wife had cheated on him. Had left him when he was already down for the count. What kind of person did that?

  Perhaps the two of them had far more in common than she had first thought.

  He opened the car door and the moment passed. She settled into the seat. He closed the door. She watched as he rounded the hood. What would it be like to live with a man like him? To feel protected by his strength. She’d never had that…never had time.

  She stared, couldn’t help herself, as he slid behind the steering wheel. Would he be a loving husband and father beneath that roguish exterior? Was the woman who’d walked out on him looking for the polished elegance he hadn’t been able to give her? Or had he once been those things and had changed and she no longer wanted him?

  Sleep. Mary Jane really, really needed sleep. She was obsessing on the most bizarre subjects.

  He turned his head and his dark brown eyes locked with hers. “Is there a question coming or is this analysis going to be the silent type?”

  The fire of humiliation roared up her neck and over her cheeks. She was pretty sure even the roots of her red hair blazed a little redder.

  “I’m sorry.” She forced her attention front and center. “I’m tired. I’m obsessing.”

  God, why didn’t he just let it go? Instead, he stared at her the way she obviously had him. Waiting for her to speak her mind.

  Might as well get it over with.

  “I just wondered…” How did she ask this? He’d been so nice to her. What the heck? Tonight had definitely been a night of bizarre events. What was one more? “When you were a marshal�
��did you…” She gestured helplessly. “You don’t dress like the others. The suit. The whole polished image.”

  The light filtering through the windshield was reflected by the intensity in his eyes. “I worked deep-cover operations. I couldn’t afford to look like a marshal. Fading into the background was important. But I wore the requisite suit when necessary. More often than I wanted to.”

  The sound that bubbled out of her throat might have passed for laughter had she been a little more enthusiastic. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine you fading into the background.”

  “You’d be surprised what I can do when the need arises.”

  That she didn’t doubt for a second.

  He started the engine, checked the mirror and pulled away from the curb without further elaboration.

  Mary Jane closed her eyes and relaxed into her seat. Tomorrow would be better. It had to be. There were too many questions and not nearly enough answers.

  The jingle of her cell phone shattered the peaceful silence and made her heart thud. She reached for her purse and fished around for her phone. It was a miracle it still worked considering she’d forgotten to charge it at any point during the past forty-eight hours.

  She frowned at the display. Unknown caller. She didn’t get that many calls, and those she did, she generally recognized. “Hello?”

  “MJ?”

  Everything inside Mary Jane stilled. Even her heart seemed to stutter. “Rebecca?”

  Impossible.

  Her sister was dead…wasn’t she?

  “Don’t trust anyone,” the familiar voice warned.

  Glass shattered and the car swerved.

  “Get down!” Investigator Allen shouted.

  Before Mary Jane could react, the window next to her burst and fragments of glass sprayed across her chest…across her lap.

  Someone was shooting at them.

  “Get down!” Allen grabbed her by the back of the head and shoved her downward.

  Someone was shooting at them.

  Chapter Seven

  Shane swerved into the left lane and made a hard turn. The instant the rear wheels were back in line with the front, he slammed his foot down on the accelerator.

  A glance in the rearview mirror told him they were still coming.

  At least two perps. The driver and a front-seat passenger. One weapon doing all the firing.

  “What’s happening?”

  “Stay down!” He pushed the sedan harder. The vehicle on his tail was a muscle car, lots of horses under the hood. A hell of a lot more than this meek midsize economy job.

  A shot pierced the rear window.

  Mary Jane screamed.

  Evasive maneuver to the right. Then left.

  Even at a speed of nearly one hundred miles per hour, Shane took his right hand off the wheel to reach for his cell phone.

  Another shot finished shattering the rear window. Glass spewed. Heat tore through his left forearm. He dropped the cell. Grabbed the steering wheel with his right hand as pain roared down his left arm.

  He was hit.

  Damn it.

  Mary Jane fumbled around in the floorboard. He couldn’t take his eyes off the street as he darted right, then left…and repeated, then reversed. Whatever she was doing, as long as she stayed down, she would be okay.

  “I’m…calling 9-1-1,” she said, her voice high-pitched and broken. Evidently she’d retrieved the phone he’d dropped or had dug out her own.

  The sudden throb of blue lights in the rearview mirror sent relief searing through him.

  “Don’t bother. They’re here.”

  He slammed on the brakes and slid to the curb. Shoved the vehicle into Park and threw his upper body across his passenger as the predator whizzed by.

  A final shot cracked the windshield.

  Mary Jane shrieked.

  The sound of a car lurching to a stop next to them had Shane reaching for his weapon.

  “Hands in the air where I can see them!”

  A cop.

  The harsh glare from his flashlight hit Shane in the face.

  “Now!” the cop shouted.

  Shane groaned as he lifted his hands above his head. The warm liquid seeping beneath the sleeve of his jacket warned that he needed medical attention, punctuating the announcement the pain had screamed loudly and clearly already.

  The passenger-side door opened. “Out of the car, ma’am! Slow and easy.”

  “It’ll be all right,” Shane offered, hoping to reassure her with his eyes. Hers were wide with fear, but she nodded her understanding. He’d decided that the lady was a lot tougher than she looked.

  “Get out of the vehicle, pal,” the cop on his side of the car ordered as the door was yanked open. “No sudden moves.”

  Shane kept his hands high as he dropped his boots to the pavement and pushed out of the car. He swallowed the groan that accompanied the brushing of his arm against the doorframe as he made the move. “I’m carrying a Glock nine millimeter in my shoulder holster.” This wasn’t the time for surprises. Full disclosure meant no unnecessary excitement.

  He winced as the cop reached beneath his jacket and retrieved the weapon.

  “Are you injured?” The officer surveyed him cautiously as he secured the confiscated weapon.

  “I am. Left bicep. There’s ID in my wallet,” Shane added. “I’m an investigator for the Colby Agency.”

  The radio on the officer’s hip crackled. “We lost ’em,” someone’s voice rattled off.

  “That car,” Shane said with a nod to the radio, “attacked us as we were leaving a meeting with my employer, Victoria Colby-Camp.” He tossed the Colby name in as often as possible since Chicago PD held the agency in such high regard.

  “We’ll sort this out at the precinct,” the cop said without a hint of sympathy. “Assume the position.”

  Shane faced the car he’d exited, braced his hands atop it and spread his legs. He couldn’t really blame the cop. A shoot-out at midnight in downtown Chicago wasn’t exactly the sort of thing one dismissed so easily.

  As soon as the boys in blue figured out Shane was one of the good guys, all would be cool.

  MARY JANE HAD NEVER BEEN SO humiliated in her life as she was when the police officer patted her down, then cuffed her hands behind her back.

  “We’re the victims,” she told him for the tenth time. Why wasn’t he listening?

  “This way, ma’am,” he ordered as he ushered her around the rear of her car and toward the official vehicle waiting on the other side.

  Shane had been cuffed in the same manner and was about to climb into the backseat of the squad car when Mary Jane saw the blood dripping from his left hand. A shriek rent the air. It wasn’t until the sound had stopped echoing in the night that she realized it had come from her.

  Both officers and Shane stared at her.

  “He’s bleeding,” she snapped, worry and frustration overriding the fear she had felt. “He needs medical attention. Are you going to ignore that? Isn’t there a law against that?” She looked from the officer clutching Shane’s right arm to the man manacling hers.

  Two more squad cars arrived just then.

  There was some discussion before it was decided that a trip to Mercy General was in order prior to hauling them in to be questioned.

  “Thank God,” she muttered as she was guided into the backseat of the squad car belonging to the first officers on the scene. The door slammed and she flinched at the sound. She was tired and her nerves were shot. A shudder shook her hard. It wasn’t until the warmth inside the car had invaded her senses that she realized how cold she’d gotten standing out there. It was freezing.

  Raised voices had her gaze swinging toward the other door where Shane still stood outside. Two officers were arguing with him.

  “I go where she goes,” he countered whatever had been said. “I’m her bodyguard.”

  Bodyguard? A frown tugged at her forehead. She supposed that was true. He’d certainly kept her from getting
shot a few minutes ago.

  If he hadn’t evaded the trouble…hadn’t forced her down into the seat…she shuddered as the possibilities flashed through her mind.

  The heated exchange escalated, and Detective Bailen’s name was tossed around before Shane was finally allowed to get into the backseat with her. Good thing he thought to mention Bailen. She should have.

  Relief made her head swim. Thank God. She really needed this day to be over. And she much preferred that he was close by…this stranger she’d suddenly come to depend on.

  The officer and his partner got into the front and headed for the hospital. The driver spoke into the radio, giving the dispatcher an update, while the other made notes on the police report on his clipboard.

  “You okay?”

  Her attention shifted to the man next to her. “Am I okay?” Was he insane? They’d been shot at. He was bleeding. Her car was trashed. And she was handcuffed in the back of a police car.

  “No,” she said, hysterical laughter fizzing into her throat. “I’m definitely not okay.”

  “It’s pretty scary the first time.”

  Her gaze collided with his again. “The first time?”

  “The first time you get shot at,” he clarified.

  She suddenly wondered how he could sit there and speak so calmly and quietly when he was bleeding. He’d been injured by a bullet from a shooter who had obviously been trying to kill them.

  Someone had tried to kill them…because of her…or something they thought she knew or possessed.

  And she…she was crying.

  “Damn it.” She scrubbed first one cheek then the other against her shoulders. She hadn’t even realized the tears had started. What was wrong with her? It wasn’t like she was the one bleeding.

  Then she remembered the call.

  “It was her,” she blurted. At his questioning look, she explained, “Rebecca. She called my cell phone right before those…people started shooting at us.”

  “You’re sure it was her?”

  Was she sure? Her sister was supposed to be dead. She’d vanished eleven months ago. Her remains had been identified. Or maybe not. Was it her sister on the phone? Could she be absolutely certain?

 

‹ Prev