The Shelter of His Arms (Harlequin Heartwarming)

by Dawn Stewardson

  Within a split second, a thousand thoughts raced through Celeste’s mind. The man with the gun was the Ice Man. The man who’d been paid to kill her. Who Donna had paid to kill her.

  She sensed, rather than saw, Travis start to step forward. Then, just as he moved, Bryce dove under the table and the lamp flew off it.

  The stage went black.

  Travis pushed her to one side and yelled, “Police! Put down your gun or I’ll—”

  As the theater exploded in a roar, Travis pulled her to the floor and ordered her to stay down. Then he was gone.

  * * *

  TRAVIS WAS CROUCHED between the rise of the stage and the front row of seats, blanketed by the darkness and barely breathing.

  He assumed Bryce and Donna were still on the stage, neither of them moving a muscle. And he knew the Ice Man had leaped off it. He’d heard the solid thud of him landing on the floor below. So he was here in the audience section somewhere. The question was, where exactly?

  The theater was pitch-black—not even a single window to let in any moonlight. The only thing that would help him was the sound of the man moving.

  But, thus far, the only sounds he’d heard were the beating of his heart and the music on the radio.

  Maybe he should be glad of that, though. He could be hearing someone screaming in agony because the Ice Man’s shot had hit a live target.

  It could have hit Celeste.

  He closed his eyes, telling himself she’d be all right. She was in the wings. The Ice Man was down here.

  But he wouldn’t be staying put for long. He’d want to get out of the theater.

  Travis had shouted that he was police. For all their hit man knew, this place would soon be crawling with cops.

  So it wasn’t a matter of if he’d try to escape. It was which way would he head? Back to the alley or out through the main entrance?

  Logic said the main entrance.

  Since the alley dead-ended at the back of the building, his only escape route was the front street. And it would be easier to head for the rear of the theater than climb back up onto the stage.

  But what if the guy wasn’t feeling logical?

  Telling himself again that Celeste would be all right, Travis forced her image from his mind and sat listening intently.

  No sound except for the radio.

  So what should he do? Try to make it to the lobby before the Ice Man and intercept him there?

  That struck him as the best plan. But what if he headed that way and the guy crossed him up?

  If the Ice Man decided to go back out through the stage door, he’d pass right by Celeste. And if he happened to spot her...

  Travis swallowed hard. Maybe he should just stay put. Then the guy couldn’t get past him and up onto the stage.

  Yet his gut was telling him the Ice Man would go for the easier route. And if he did that, while Travis was sitting here, he’d get away.

  Praying that he was making the right decision, Travis took his phone from his pocket. He wished he could use it to call for backup, but that would be like pointing a flashlight at himself.

  Besides, he had an idea. Gripping the phone like a baseball, he pitched it at the wall.

  It barely hit before the theater erupted in gunfire. Shots shattered the old plaster; pieces of it noisily showered onto the floor.

  In mere seconds, the excitement was over. But he knew where the shots had come from. Roughly how many rows back the Ice Man was.

  As quickly and quietly as he could, he felt his way along the front row and began crab-scuttling up the far aisle, keeping his head down and praying the sound of the radio would cover his movement.

  The Ice Man would probably sit tight for a minute, peering through the darkness and hoping to hear something else.

  In that event, if Travis was quiet enough, he’d make it safely to the front lobby. Then it would only be a matter of waiting.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Sunday, October 10, 10:03 p.m.

  CELESTE EDGED CLOSER to the stage, even though trying to see was pointless. The theater was just as dark as it had been before that blast of gunshots.

  Their echoes had faded now, and except for the radio all was silent again. Yet there was nothing peaceful about the silence.

  In fact, she couldn’t stop thinking it might mean that Travis was lying dead. That she’d lost the man she loved.

  If he’d been shooting at the Ice Man, if he’d killed him, surely he’d have come to tell her. And since he hadn’t...

  Shaking her head, she tried to clear the fog of fear from her mind.

  She really had no idea what had happened. Didn’t know which of them had been firing. Maybe both had. And maybe...

  Telling herself this was no time to play guessing games, she tried to think. She had to do something. But what?

  For a moment, she couldn’t come up with a single idea. Then she remembered the phone. Sitting on that battered desk just inside the stage door.

  She looked toward the dusty light drifting from the hallway. All she had to do was walk down it and call 911. And pray that the Ice Man didn’t come walking down it after her.

  If he did, he’d kill her. But if he did, it would mean he’d already killed Travis.

  Tears stung her eyes. If he had, she didn’t care whether she ended up dead or not.

  She pushed herself from the floor and quietly headed toward the hall—stopping in terror as a board squeaked beneath her feet.

  Not breathing, she stood listening, terrified she’d hear footsteps behind her. When she didn’t, she started forward again.

  As she reached the hall, she couldn’t help imagining herself silhouetted in the light, a perfect target. Couldn’t keep from thinking that hit men were undoubtedly excellent shots.

  Aware each step she took might be her last, she reached the phone, picked it up with trembling hands and continued on to the door. The cord was more than long enough to let her step outside.

  In the alley, she dialed emergency and told the operator that a police detective and an armed killer were in the Winslow Lane Theater. That shots had been fired. That no, she didn’t know the address. But it was on the street north of Bleeker, a block from Broadway.

  Hanging up, she took a deep breath of cold night air, unable to keep her mind from returning to the fact that Donna had killed Steve.

  She’d told him she had to talk to him; he’d let her in thinking she needed help. And he was dead because of it.

  Now Travis might be dead, as well.

  She set the phone down on the crumbling pavement and started toward the dark street, telling herself she wasn’t going to cry. Not unless her worst fears were confirmed.

  * * *

  TRAVIS STOOD WITH his back pressed against one wall of the lobby. Waiting. And sweating, despite the lack of heat in the theater.

  The mesh-covered glass panel in the door was almost completely covered by the Talking Too Loud poster, and the lobby was practically as dark as the audience section had been. Practically, but not quite.

  A few faint moon shadows were making their way inside, and his eyes had adjusted well enough that he’d easily be able to see the Ice Man.

  If he came this way. If he didn’t decide to leave by the stage door—the route that would take him directly past Celeste.

  Come on, Travis silently urged him. Make your move. This is the exit you want.

  He was barely breathing, was totally focused on watching and listening. Then, from the distance, he heard the sound of sirens.

  His pulse leaped. Had someone outside heard the shooting? Called the cops?

  In this neighborhood, that wasn’t likely. And the whine of sirens was common in New York City. Those cars could be on their way anywhere.

&n
bsp; But the louder the noise got, the more likely it seemed that this was their destination.

  Travis held his breath as a few more seconds passed.

  The Ice Man had to be hearing the sound by now, and it would force him to act.

  It did.

  Suddenly, Travis heard the thudding footsteps of someone running down an aisle. But not toward the lobby!

  Crap! The sirens had made the Ice Man decide the main entrance would be a mistake. That was where the squad cars would converge, so he was heading for the alley.

  Travis tore across the lobby and into total blackness again. He couldn’t see a thing, but he could hear the Ice Man scrambling onto the stage.

  “Police!” he shouted, ducking between two rows of seats. “Stop where—”

  For the second time, his warning was drowned by a blast from the Ice Man’s gun. Then he was on the move once more.

  Travis started after him again, telling himself that at least the guy wouldn’t notice Celeste. He was too intent on getting away.

  But Travis wasn’t going to let a killer get away.

  Aware he had to be nearing the stage, Travis slowed his pace. He reached it, vaulted up, then raced for the hall—smashing the single light with his gun on the way past. When he went out that alley door, he didn’t want to be backlit.

  The door was just ahead of him now, swinging shut.

  The Ice Man was outside. But was he lurking, waiting to take a shot? Or was he already running for the street, desperate to disappear into the darkness before the squad cars arrived?

  Crouching tightly against the wall, Travis shoved the door halfway open.

  Nothing.

  He burst through as it began to swing shut, hurtled himself across to the far side of the alley, ending up behind a stack of garbage cans.

  The Ice Man hadn’t waited around, though. Peering out past the cans, Travis could see him charging for the street.

  The sirens were close now, screaming into the night. His backup was almost at the theater. But the Ice Man was almost out of the alley.

  “Police! Stop!” Travis shouted, assuming a firing stance.

  The Ice Man wheeled around, his gun drawn...and Travis pulled the trigger.

  The man screamed and went down, his gun clattering to the pavement.

  “Stay flat on the ground,” Travis yelled. “Don’t move or I’ll blow your brains out!”

  An instant later, headlights flashed along the street and cars were screeching to a halt.

  The pool of blood forming by the Ice Man’s shoulder told Travis where his shot had hit.

  He raised both hands above his head and waited until the first uniforms cautiously entered the alley. Two of them pointed their guns at the Ice Man. The other two aimed theirs at him.

  “I’m Detective Travis Quinn, Manhattan North Homicide,” he called as calmly as he could. “This is my crime scene.

  “I want you to cuff him,” he told the officers covering the Ice Man. “Then search him for other weapons and call for an ambulance.”

  Looking back at the two uniforms still training their guns on him, he said, “I’m going to put down my gun and take out my badge. All right?”

  As desperately as he wanted to get back inside the theater, assure himself that Celeste was really okay, he couldn’t go anywhere until these men were convinced of who he was.

  “All right,” one of them said. “Go ahead.”

  He slowly set his gun on the ground, then just as slowly reached for his shield. While he was holding it out, Celeste appeared around the corner of the building—and he’d never felt more relieved.

  “Get back here!” a man hollered.

  The next second, he followed her into view and grabbed her arm.

  “Wait a minute!” Travis called. “I want to talk to that woman. Just wait right there with her.

  “Okay?” he asked the officers who’d checked his badge.

  As they nodded, he said, “Fine. Now, we’ve got a civilian and a female perp still in the theater. On the stage, last I saw. Go in through the alley door and separate the two of them.

  “It’s dark inside, but there’ve got to be light switches someplace. I’ll be in to take statements shortly. And be careful. The woman may have a weapon.

  “And have some of the other officers secure the scene,” he added as he started toward Celeste.

  She gave him a wan smile that went straight to his heart. She might not look too steady, but they’d done it. They’d both come through this intact.

  “Give us a minute,” he told the officer who was holding on to her.

  When the man stepped away, Travis wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly.

  “It’s over,” he whispered.

  “And it wasn’t Bryce.”

  “No. Hank and I don’t often come to the wrong conclusion, but we’re not perfect. You’re glad it wasn’t him, aren’t you.”

  She nodded against his chest. “If it had been...I think the fact that I’d been married to a murderer would have haunted me for the rest of my life.”

  He kissed the top of her head, then said, “I’ve got to go back inside. I’m not letting anyone else take Donna’s statement.”

  “I’ll wait for you.”

  “Not here. If she wants a lawyer present it’ll be a while. And sitting in a squad car’s no fun. So why don’t I have someone drive you home.”

  “Home,” she murmured, gazing up at him. “You mean my home, or yours?”

  “How about mine?”

  She smiled again, and this time it looked more as if she meant it. “Because Snoops is there, right?”

  He grinned. “Sure. That’s as good a reason as any.”

  * * *

  “YEAH, YEAH,” Donna muttered when Travis finished reading her her rights.

  “Three people heard me admit I killed Celeste’s brother and hired a hit man to whack her. Four if we count him. So I’ve got to be really careful I don’t say anything to you that might incriminate me. It doesn’t strike you as a tad late for me to worry?”

  Travis let her sarcasm pass. If she was prepared to waive her right to remain silent it was fine with him. There were a few blanks he’d like filled in.

  “How did you figure on getting away with this tonight?” he said.

  When she merely shrugged, he added, “Didn’t you think the police would suspect you had something to do with Bryce’s death? I mean, we were aware he’d thrown you out. Or didn’t you know your mother had—”

  “I know exactly what she did, because I asked her to do it. I was thinking that when she told the cops she figured Bryce had murdered me, they’d toss the bastard in jail. But they weren’t nearly as interested as I’d hoped.”

  “So she was involved in all this with you.”

  “No,” Donna said sharply. “She only agreed to help me get even with Bryce. Try to make the cops give him a hard time. She had nothing to do with anything else. Has no idea about Celeste’s brother or the hit man.”

  “Then let’s get back to how you figured on getting away with this. Here. Tonight.”

  “It wouldn’t have been a problem. Not if you hadn’t shown up. When the cops questioned me, I’d have admitted that I phoned Bryce and asked him to come here—because you guys would have checked his phone records, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So, I’d have said I called and he told me he’d had a change of heart. That he wanted to make up. And I said he should come down here and we’d talk about it.

  “As for his getting killed, I’d have just claimed I didn’t have a clue. That one minute we were alone, talking, and the next some guy was standing there with a gun and popped him.”

  “And you thought we’d just buy that?”

/>   “No, I knew you’d be suspicious. But I didn’t see how you’d be able to prove anything different. And me being with him when he died, here in the theater and all...the press I’d have gotten would have been fantastic.

  “A man leaves his wife to be with the woman he loves. They fight, then make up. But suddenly—bang, bang. He’s dead and I’m heartbroken. Can you imagine the headlines?

  “Beautiful actress bereft. Reconciliation goes horribly wrong. Actress’s true love gunned down in theater.

  “That kind of publicity is priceless. Plus, I could have sold my story to one of the tabloids.”

  She paused to glare at Travis, then added, “You just ruined my life, you know.”

  He shook his head. “Uh-uh. You ruined your life.”

  * * *

  AS HE DROVE HOME from the Winslow Lane Theater, Travis called Hank in Chicago—asked about his father, then told him what had happened.

  “So Adele Langley’s death actually was an accident,” Hank said when he was done.

  “Uh-huh. But it was what started Donna thinking.”

  “And Evan Reese had nothing to do with any of it. Except to have fixated on Celeste and be a major pain.”

  “Yeah, well, if he doesn’t lose his fixation with Celeste—fast—I’ll give him a major pain.”

  Hank laughed, then said, “I’m just sorry I missed the excitement. And that I won’t be there to see Espizito’s expression when he has to congratulate you.”

  Travis grinned. “I’m going to really like that part. He yanks me off the case and I end up breaking it. Even if it was accidentally.”

  “Accidentally? Sure, buddy. He’s not going to believe that for a second.”

  “Hey, all I was trying to do was prevent Celeste from getting killed. The rest just fell into my lap. At least, that’s the story he gets.”

  “Well, regardless of what you tell him, I’m glad it’s over. So...where does this leave you and Celeste?”

  “I’m just on my way home to talk about that.”

  “Good luck, then.”

  “Yeah. Thanks. See you when you’re back.”

  Travis stuck the phone into his pocket and turned down his street.