The space under the stairs. Not really a closet, but unlike the rest of the house, it was cluttered, partly with the boxes holding her mother’s stuff. The two that were definitely thrift store bound sat beside the front door, but Jack had shoved the others in there as well.
Rather than a door, it had a sliding panel someone might miss noticing. It allowed an opening just wide enough for a person to crawl in. She couldn’t remember how much noise the panel made when it was moved.
Didn’t matter. She was out of choices.
* * *
“GET A UNIT to the house,” Rutkowski snapped into the radio. “Sirens, lights. Backup preferable. Do you hear me?” The obscenities he uttered told Jack all he needed to know. Dispatch didn’t think they could get a patrol car to his house any faster than he and Rutkowski would reach it.
“Might be better,” the sergeant muttered. “We have some rookies that barely shave. Would some kid, confronted by the chief, be able to shoot him?”
Jack hit redial, saw the light turning red ahead of him and barely slowed enough to be sure cross traffic had seen the emergency lights. Then he accelerated again.
“Try calling Keller,” he suggested. If he hadn’t thought to turn off his phone, the ringing could warn Gabby.
Rutkowski did. “Straight to voice mail. Unbelievable.”
Jack was driving at unsafe speeds for the residential streets they’d reached, but he didn’t care. No kid would be out riding his bike when the temperature was still below freezing.
“How far?” his companion asked.
“Two minutes,” he said grimly. Too far.
* * *
THE INTRUDER HADN’T made a sound since he’d stepped into the dining room. If only the wood floors in this old house weren’t so solid, she thought in despair as she eased open the panel. She could hear it scraping, but the sound was faint.
That was wide enough. She bent to whisk inside, had to stretch to step over one of the boxes and then reach back to flatten her hand on the panel. Push it back, slow, slow. He might be in the living room.
It was pitch black now in this cubby. To move without knocking something over or even tripping and falling, she had to depend on her memory from looking over Jack’s shoulder as he put the boxes in here and from the brief moment when she entered.
The space was the same depth as the width of the staircase, but extended at least eight feet in length, the far wall butting up to the utility room.
The one oddity in here was an indoor hammock Jack must have found he wasn’t using. The two-piece frame leaned against the wall, the net heaped beside it. She could pull it over herself, huddle beneath just as she had hidden beneath the sheets in the laundry room when she was a little girl.
In plain sight.
Her teeth wanted to chatter, but she clenched her jaw.
Yes, she’d try hiding under the hammock, but she needed a weapon. She couldn’t just crouch there with no way to fight back. Jack had plenty of sports equipment—a wooden baseball bat would have been ideal—but he kept all that out in the garage. If she could have gotten out there...
Not a chance.
Built of solid wood, the frame for the hammock was too unwieldy.
A squeak came to her ears. On a step right above her...but was he going up, or down?
Her mind jumped around. How had he found out she was staying here? Then an awful chill struck her. The only person Jack had told, to her knowledge, was his father. What if he’d murdered Colleen after all? He’d have had time to drive from Oregon if he’d set out right away after talking to his son.
Or he could have been here all along. With a cell phone, you couldn’t tell.
If Jack had to arrest his own father... She shuddered.
Think. If only she had her phone. Well, I don’t.
Wait. What about the bookends packed in with the books? Both pairs were heavyweight. The painted, cast-iron fleur-de-lis had jagged edges as well as enough weight to hurt someone, but the other set, leaping cats carved out of marble, might be even better.
But where were the books? Which box held which set of bookends?
She gathered up the hammock and draped it over herself so that she could sink down beneath it at any moment, and carefully opened the flaps of a box she thought held books.
Yes!
The next creak came close enough to cause her to hold her breath. Where was that? Like most old houses, this one didn’t have a coat closet. The nearest interior door was at the entrance to the kitchen, and it had been standing open.
She strained to hear even a whisper of sound.
The panel not two feet from her vibrated.
* * *
JACK HAD CUT the siren a couple of minutes ago. He and Rutkowski had debated coming in with siren wailing versus sneaking up to the house—and had gone with sneaking. It was too late to scare Keller away before he got into the house. Now, chances were too good he’d already popped a lock or broken a window.
First, though, Jack did one sweep around the back side of his block.
The black Cadillac Escalade registered to his name was parked in a driveway on the next block, in front of a house with a For Sale sign in the yard.
Jack had wanted to be wrong. Now he knew he wasn’t.
“You ready?” he asked.
“Damn straight.”
Three doors from his house, he jerked to a stop. By the time he put the gearshift in Park and yanked out the key, Rutkowski had sprung out, pushed the door not quite shut to avoid a slamming sound, and was running full out for the open space between Jack’s house and his next-door neighbor’s. The plan was for him to slip in the gate and enter the house from the back. Jack had responsibility for the front—and, he hoped, drawing Keller’s attention and fire.
He sprinted for the near end of the porch, leaped to catch the edge of the broad flat top of the railing and hauled himself up and over. He tried to land lightly, but heard an inevitable thud and went still.
His phone vibrated.
entry french doors going in
He typed 15 secs.
The glass in both windows was intact. He sidled toward the nearest one, cursed himself for having left all the blinds closed, and moved fast until he was past it to the front door. No reason Keller would linger in Jack’s home office.
He’d give a lot to be able to see in. To have even a hint of what was happening inside. The house was completely silent.
Nudging at him was the fear that Gabby hadn’t answered her phone because she was already dead—but if that was so, why hadn’t Keller already slipped out the back and driven away? No, Jack had to believe she’d had a chance to hide. But where? The old-fashioned kitchen pantry had some decent cupboards, but he guessed Keller had entered through the back, which would likely have cut off the kitchen. And, unfortunately, the garage, where there were more options for hiding—and some potential weapons.
He slid the key into the lock and turned it. Tiny click. Grabbed the doorknob and took a deep breath.
Go.
* * *
THE PANEL ABRUPTLY slid as far open as it went, letting light in. Gabby hunched beneath the rough striped fabric of the hammock. She could just see out around the edge, to an ominous dark shape blocking the light from the living room. He crouched to peer in. For a terrifying moment, she was four again. Mommy screaming, blood splashing, grunts from the man stabbing, stabbing, stabbing. Mommy silent.
Can’t look, can’t look. Have to.
He’s looking at me.
Her head swam. She inhaled soundlessly and clutched the marble bookend. She wanted to smash his head. She wanted him to suffer.
“I know you’re in here,” he said. “Let’s see. What about—”
Pop. Pop. A box jumped.
“No?”
The front door slammed open and, s
till at a crouch, he spun to face the threat.
Gabby pushed off the hammock, jumped over the box and ducked to avoid hitting her head. Then she swung the marble cat as hard as she could for the monster’s head. It was like striking a jack-o’-lantern on Halloween. No, a pumpkin with innards intact. Brains. Smash, squish.
The sensations mixed with gunfire, men yelling, glass breaking—and something knocking her backward. He was down. Puzzled, Gabby raised her gaze to Jack, bending over the man—and then she dropped to her knees, to her butt, and everything went black.
* * *
GABBY KNEW FROM the smell alone that she was in the hospital. Lying still, she did a brief evaluation. Toes wriggled. Fingers, too. But her shoulder hurt. That stirred memories of waking up to a strange woman’s face hovering over her, the woman assuring her that she was fine, the surgery had been successful, she could just rest now. She’d seen Jack a couple of times, too, hadn’t she?
Gabby opened her eyes and blinked a few times. She felt truly awake this time.
“Back with us?”
She knew Jack’s voice, and turned her head. He stood beside the bed looking down at her, every line in his face carved deep.
“How do you feel?”
“I...” She worked her mouth, trying to come up with some saliva. “Okay.”
“Here.” He sat next to her and helped her take a few sips from a cup of water.
Then they looked at each other.
“You’re not supposed to leap up when guns are being fired,” he observed, almost mildly.
She wasn’t fooled. “He was going to shoot you.”
“He did shoot me.”
“What?” She struggled to sit up.
He gently pressed her back. “Hey. Stay put. I was wearing a vest.”
“Oh.” Gabby absorbed that. “Did you shoot me?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Well, he was right. She’d sort of asked for it. Anyway, that’s not what was most important right now. “He wasn’t your father, was he?”
It was Jack’s turn to say, “What?” Then he shook his head. “No. Why would you think...” He made the connection. “Because I told him you were staying with me. No, of course it wasn’t him, but he told the wrong person.” If anything, the grooves in his forehead were even deeper. “Dean Keller killed your mother. He’s the police chief. Was the police chief. My boss.”
Her mind still wasn’t sharp enough to consider the ramifications of that. “You shot him.”
“I did.” His blue eyes were momentarily cold. “Killed him, too—if your blow to his head hadn’t already done the job.”
“I hope it did. As I crouched there, one of the last things I thought was that I wanted to hurt him.”
Jack took her hand. The warm strength felt so good.
“I can’t even imagine how you handled that, having to hide from him a second time,” he said, voice deep. “You’re amazing.”
“I...had a flashback or two,” she admitted. “But... I was determined not to be so helpless again. It would have been nice if you’d kept a baseball bat or, I don’t know, a great big knife in the closet, but no.”
His hand tightened until the grip was almost painful, but he also managed a crooked smile. “Weapon in every closet from now on. Although you did find one. I didn’t pay attention to those bookends, but that was a heavy sucker.”
“Marble,” she said with satisfaction.
“Damn, Gabby.” He bent forward and nuzzled her, then gave her a feather-soft kiss. “I’ve never been so scared in my life.”
She gave a tiny nod. She couldn’t say the same, and he knew why.
“This is too soon to push you, but...” His chest rose and fell with a long, pained breath. “If you’ll give me a chance, I’m willing to go wherever you want to live. Staying in Leclaire can’t have a lot of appeal. I can get a job anywhere.”
Now that he’d straightened, she searched his face and found only desperate sincerity. He meant it. He’d really uproot himself for her.
Gabby tried to smile, knew her lips trembled. “Ric’s here. And...if you’re not in trouble—”
“For shooting and killing the police chief, you mean?” He grimaced. “I’m on administrative leave, which is normal after a shooting. My direct boss, Sergeant Rutkowski, was with me, which helps. No matter what, no one investigating can deny the son of a bitch was trying to kill you. If we had to try him for your mom’s murder—” He stopped himself. “Guess that’s not happening.”
It wasn’t. Because the man was dead.
Later she might have to grapple with the knowledge that she might have killed someone, but now—
She had to dampen her lips. “If...if you mean what I think you’re saying, I wouldn’t mind trying to stay in Leclaire. If I can’t get a job, well—”
“Anywhere,” Jack said huskily. “Anywhere at all. Anytime.” His lips met hers.
This kiss expressed so much: passion, tenderness, commitment. And it was also brief, because Jack was determined not to hurt her.
They held hands and talked quietly, sharing plans and promises until she drifted back to sleep.
* * * * *
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ISBN-13: 9781488072864
Cold Case Flashbacks
Copyright © 2021 by Janice Kay Johnson
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ISBN-13: 9781488072888
Copyright © 2021 by Harlequin Books S.A.
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The Decoy
Copyright © 2021 by Carol Ericson
Summer Stalker
Copyright © 2021 by Nicole Helm
Cold Case Flashbacks
Copyright © 2021 by Janice Kay Johnson
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Harlequin Intrigue May 2021--Box Set 2 of 2 Page 56