Keller County Cops Book Seven: Code of Vengeance

by Melanie Atkins

"Why? Because you were at the club that night to kill Dirk Woodward?"

  "Are you kidding me?" Am I that damned transparent? Reeling from a combination of dread and dismay, she did her best to steel her expression. "No, of course not. I--"

  A knock at the door cut her off. Avoiding the sheriff's accusing gaze, she hurried across the room and greeted Jonah McKee, the detective who would take her statement, and a man with a wheelchair ready to whisk Rick away to another room.

  "We're not done yet, Keegan," he said before acknowledging either man's presence. "I hope you know that."

  "I do." She flashed him a defiant look, and then left the room with the detective before the sheriff could say another word. Her gut churned all the way down the hall.

  Jonah led her to an empty waiting area near the elevators. He pulled out a pad and pen and motioned for her to sit on one of the padded chairs.

  "I don't know what your conversation with the sheriff was about, and right now I don't care." He pinned her where she stood. "Unless, of course, it has any bearing on what happened inside his hospital room this afternoon."

  "It doesn't." She lifted her chin. "I promise."

  "Okay." He fended off her challenging gaze with an enigmatic one of his own. "Then let's get down to business, shall we?"

  *****

  Somehow, the animal control officer got the skittish cat out of Roach's trailer without getting a scratch on him or injuring the hissing animal, and C.J. considered that a miracle. He waited outside while CSU processed the crime scene, whiling away the time working his phone and doing his best to locate Perini, all to no avail.

  Once the techs were finally finished inside the double wide and the coroner had hauled away the body, he walked through the narrow abode one last time, then slapped a seal on the door and headed back to the station. Halfway there, Jonah called him.

  "Hey, buddy," C.J. said once he activated his Bluetooth. "What's up?"

  "Will you please message me a picture of Perini?" his fellow detective asked. "A nut with a gun took Blaylock and the Riley woman hostage at the hospital this afternoon, and I think he might be the culprit."

  "Holy shit. Are they all right?"

  "Yeah. Keegan saved the day by nailing the guy with the business end of Rick's belt. Perini -- or whoever -- dropped the gun and ended up jumping out the window and escaping."

  "So he might be injured."

  "Hell, he is injured. The belt buckle caught him under the eye right before he threw himself through a panel of plate glass. I'm guessing that if nothing else, he's pretty cut up."

  "So we need to check area hospitals, including Mercy. The guy obviously has balls, so..."

  "Yeah, I guess it's possible he might've run around the building to the ER." Jonah scowled. "Damn it. Why didn't I think of that?"

  "If you're still there, go check it out now," C.J. suggested. "I'll call the other hospitals and touch base with clinics in the area, too. If the jackass wants to fly under the radar, he might try to avoid the larger hospitals."

  "That's true. You might want to start with Gulfport Memorial. It's the closest to Mercy, and they also have a few neighborhood clinics scattered around. You can kill two birds."

  "Will do." C.J. ended the call as he rolled into the parking lot.

  Once he strode inside the station, he sent Jonah the picture of Perini and then picked up his desk phone to start calling medical facilities. The sooner they caught the jerk who'd tried to ice Blaylock, the better. Their boss had enough on his plate with the election coming up without worrying about some crazy jerk stalking him.

  C.J. was on the phone with a small clinic over in Long Beach when Henry Maillet and one of his flunkies marched in, and Maillet demanded to see the sheriff. Darkness had fallen, and C.J. and a couple of uniforms were the only folks in the building.

  He put down the phone and rose to greet the man challenging his boss for his job. Maillet had already spent a couple of minutes badgering one of the deputies, and C.J. wanted to diffuse the situation so the kid could head back out on patrol. They were short-handed enough without that moron holding up a guy attempting to leave the station and get back to work.

  "Hello, Mr. Maillet," C.J. said, shaking the beefy man's proffered hand. He looked more like a buffoon than a man running for sheriff. His flunky hung back, so C.J. ignored him and focused on Maillet. "I'm Detective C.J. Bowman. I'm afraid Sheriff Blaylock is unavailable right now. I don't know if you've heard, but someone shot him this morning when he arrived at Willa Burke's office to tape a commercial. He's all right, but his doctor's keeping him in the hospital overnight, just in case."

  "Damn. I hate to hear that." Maillet glanced down at the floor, probably to school his hangdog face, and then looked up. A frown creased his wide brow.

  Was the action fake or real? C.J. couldn't tell.

  Maillet paused for a moment, and then said, "Well, son, he and I are supposed to face off tonight down at the community center. I was planning to ask him if I could go first, but now..."

  "Now you don't have to worry about having any competition tonight." C.J. suppressed the urge to sneer. He was sure Maillet was thrilled Blaylock wouldn't be able to make it, but he couldn't say that. Instead, he decided to push the man's buttons. "Sheriff Blaylock isn't pulling out of the race, however, even though he has to miss this event. He's assured me of that."

  "I understand, Detective, and I'm glad to hear that." A muscle in Maillet' cheek jumped, a tell if C.J. had ever seen one, and the older man cleared his throat. "I'll check with him tomorrow to make sure he's okay."

  "I know he'd appreciate that."

  "You think so?" Maillet chuckled. "Somehow, I doubt it."

  "Sir, you might be surprised."

  "Keep on thinkin' that, son." He clapped C.J. on the shoulder. "You take care now, and keep on working hard. Who knows? One day soon, you just might be working for me."

  Hope to hell I'm not, 'cause you're a horse's ass. Wouldn't surprise me if we discovered you were behind Blaylock's shooting. C.J. didn't say the words aloud, but the idea took root and made him want to work harder to find Perini. If Maillet had paid the ex-con to shoot Sheriff Blaylock to get him out of the campaign, they needed to know ASAP.

  Maillet thanked C.J. again, and then grinned like a cat that had just swallowed a mouse. Not wanting to give away his suspicions, C.J. plastered a fake smile on his face as the man walked away.

  *****

  Rick jerked awake.

  The room was lit only by the fluorescent fixture over the sink, and at first he didn't know where he was. His head was all fuzzy, and the darkness confused him.

  As he struggled to orient himself, the day he'd just endured came back to him in fits and starts. The shooting. Questioning Keegan. The armed assailant in his hospital room. Keegan's heroics with the belt, and the gunman's crazy dive through the hospital room window.

  "Damn. Don't want to relive any of that, except maybe Keegan tucking me into my pants," Rick murmured, his body responding to the memory despite the ache in his shoulder. Her cheeks had flamed and she hadn't met his eyes, yet she'd done what he'd asked her to do even though it had obviously made her uncomfortable. She'd been trying to protect him. Rick would never forget the heat of her touch or the tiny gasp that had escaped her lips.

  Thunder rumbled close by, telling him a storm was right on top of the hospital. He scrubbed a hand over his eyes and glanced at the window. Rain pattered the glass, and a web of lightning laced the charcoal sky. He searched for a clock and found it on the wall next to the TV, in a different spot from the one in the other room.

  Close to midnight. Three hours sleep. Not bad for a hospital.

  He had cottonmouth, and the water trickling down the window made him even more thirsty. He reached for the giant plastic cup on the rolling table next to the bed and sucked some of the liquid though the oversized straw. Ice-cold relief for his parched throat. Once he'd had enough, he returned the cup to the table and lay back against the pillows.


  The blanket had bunched around his waist. He yanked it up and bumped his cell phone, sending the device tumbling toward the edge of the bed. He caught it just before it fell and checked the display. Three missed calls and one text.

  Two calls from C.J., one from Jonah, and a text from Keegan. Rick did a double take on that one, opened the messaging app, and pulled up her text.

  Hi Rick, did they get you settled? Hope so. Enjoy the good meds. Keegan.

  He read the message twice before closing the app and dropping the device back onto the bed. Why had she texted him? Did she hope to distract him from his line of questioning? Or did she genuinely care? He knew deep in his heart she'd been at the Kitty Kat Klub Saturday night to stalk Woodward, and yet the more he was around her, the less he wanted to dwell on the truth.

  The door swung open, and a gray-haired nurse he'd never seen before carried a fresh bag of IV fluids into the room. Her shoes squeaked as she walked around the bed to the contraption looming over him and set the bag on the bed next to his knee.

  "Hey," he rasped. He must have startled her, because she jumped.

  "Oh, my. You're awake." She pressed a hand to her chest. "Well... hello, Sheriff. How are you feeling tonight?"

  He told her he felt much better, and she questioned him about his injury while she changed the bag on his IV pole. When she finished, she adjusted the morphine pump and then checked his vital signs. Her hands were surprisingly warm when she took his pulse.

  "Will I live?" he asked with a smirk once she was done.

  She sent him a shrewd look. "Unless someone with better aim takes a pot shot at you."

  He blew out a sigh. Guess anything's possible.

  She told him to get some sleep and headed for the door. Seconds later, his phone rang. She gave him a look of reproach before she left the room, but he just shrugged and snatched up the annoying device. The caller was C.J.

  "Hey, Detective," Rick answered with a yawn. "What do you have for me?"

  "Wow, sir." C.J. chuckled. "I didn't expect you to answer. It's late, so I was just gonna leave you a message."

  "Well, I figured you wouldn't have called me at this time of night if it wasn't important."

  "True enough." He cleared his throat. "Just wanted to let you know we got him, Sheriff."

  "Got who?"

  "Zeke Perini, the jerk who put that bullet in you this morning." He paused. "Or rather, the one who allegedly shot you -- and held you and the Riley woman hostage at the hospital."

  "Well, I'll be damned." Rick blew out a surprised breath. "That's fast work, C.J."

  "Don't congratulate me. Perini did it to himself when he murdered LeDarius Roach, the guy who gave him a job when he got out of prison, and left prints all over Roach's trailer. The techs matched 'em to the ones they got from a shell casing in the woods near Willa's office and the pistol the scumbag left in your hospital room."

  "Another stupid criminal." Rick shifted in the bed, and pain sparked in his shoulder. He winced. Stop thinking about the ache and focus, damn it. He made himself think more about what the detective had just said. "Where'd you find him?'

  "At a walk-in clinic over in Biloxi. That cut under his eye took ten stitches."

  "Nice." Rick grinned. "Keegan really did a number on him."

  "Keegan?"

  "Keegan Riley, the woman in the room with me. You just mentioned her." His smile faded. "She... um, took him out by slinging my belt across the room."

  "Right, sir." C.J. went silent.

  Embarrassed he'd called Keegan by her first name in front of one of his detectives, Rick dropped his head back against the pillow. Time to backpedal. "Okay, so why'd Perini shoot me? I don't remember ever arresting a guy by that name, and I sure as hell don't know him otherwise."

  "That's 'cause you didn't arrest him. He's from Hattiesburg. HPD nabbed him after he robbed a convenience store." He rattled off the list of charges that had put Perini in Parchman for twenty years, with half knocked off for good behavior. "We have an idea who might be behind this -- certainly not Perini himself -- but right now all we have is pure speculation. Mitch is grilling the scumbag, so hopefully he'll break and shed some light on things."

  "Who do you suspect?"

  "Damn, Sheriff. I hate to say it."

  "Come on, C.J. I need to know."

  "Fine. You twisted my arm." The detective chuckled. "Henry Maillet, your opponent."

  "Ah, man. You can't be serious."

  "I am. And like I said, we don't have a bit of proof. I don't know if Perini and Maillet even know each other. Hell, Perini's only been out of the joint for a couple of weeks, but someone else could've easily hooked 'em up."

  "Or maybe Maillet put out some feelers, and Perini volunteered for the job 'cause he wanted to earn a quick buck."

  "It's possible. Too bad he didn't want to actually work for a living."

  "Most prisoners are locked up 'cause they wanted to get something for nothing." Finally giving in to the pain dogging him, Rick pressed the button on the morphine pump. He'd soon slip into la-la land, but that was okay. The night was fast ticking away. "Tell you what, Detective. Being shot hurts like hell. Nail Perini's ass to the wall for me, will you? And Maillet right along with him, if he's responsible. I always knew he was a jerk, but I never figured he'd want to win that bad."

  "You never know about people, sir. Not in this day and time. I promise you we'll do our best to get to the bottom of this," C.J. said. "You can count on that for sure."

  "Thanks, C.J. I appreciate it." Rick ended the call, and seconds later his phone pinged with another text. A second message from Keegan. He stared down at the display in surprise.

  Sheriff? U okay?

  A lump formed in his throat. Her concern baffled him. He held his thumb poised over the tiny keyboard, trying to decide whether or not to answer her. Finally, his curiosity won out and he typed in, I'm good. You should rest for tomorrow.

  He didn't have to wait long before he got a response. Why? U going to ? me again?

  He chuckled and typed in, You have court.

  Right. Gnight, Rick. Enjoy the drugs.

  A full-blown laugh spilled from his lips, and he quickly pecked out another text. I'm trying, but you keep texting me.

  His phone didn't ping again, and with the aid of the morphine he eventually settled into a fitful sleep broken only by nurses slipping in to check on him. By the time six a.m. rolled around, he'd vowed to sacrifice the cloudy drug haze for a chance to sleep in his own bed.

  Rick begged to go home when the doctor examined him on his early morning rounds, and the doctor grudgingly agreed -- provided Rick didn't return to work for at least another three or four days, and then only on limited duty. He also recommended Rick have someone stay with him for a while, since he needed to keep his left arm in a sling. Rick failed to mention that to Jonah when the detective arrived to pick him up promptly at eight o'clock and helped him dodge the reporters slinking around the hospital. Instead, the sheriff remained mum as he settled into his seat and allowed the detective to ferry him to his small frame house.

  "I really appreciate the ride, Jonah," Rick said once the detective turned onto his street.

  With a quick bob of his head, Jonah wheeled into the sheriff's driveway. "No problem, sir. Need any help getting inside?"

  "No, thanks. I've got it." He climbed from the car and fished in his pockets. He only had one good hand, and that made digging tough. "Long as I can find my damned keys."

  "Um, Sheriff," the detective said in an amused tone. "You might wanna rethink this."

  "Rethink what? Why?" With a frown, Rick finally located his keys and pulled them out.

  Jonah pointed toward the house. "You have a visitor."

  "Who could possibly--" He shaded his eyes from the sun and gaped at the figure he hadn't noticed until now.

  Mindy Ravens sat in the swing on his front porch.

  *****

  Keegan cursed and slapped her alarm clock. No telling how long it h
ad been bleating while she overslept. The flashing blue numbers mocked her. Eight-twenty already, and she had to be in court at nine o'clock for the Wicker verdict.

  "I don't believe it." She threw off the covers and jumped from the bed. "No time for a shower or to even make a sandwich for lunch. Why in the world did I stay up so late?"

  Her cheeks flamed as she recalled texting Sheriff Blaylock -- Rick -- not once, but twice last night, and her happy surprise when he had finally responded.

  "I had no business texting him at all, let alone so late," she murmured with a groan.

  Still in disbelief, she dashed into the bathroom and relieved herself, then brushed her teeth, choked down her vitamins, and bathed via the sink. Luckily she had something clean to wear, because she hadn't washed clothes all week. She stepped into a fresh pair of black dress slacks and dug out a flowing white tunic, not something she'd normally wear to work, but the blouse looked good on her, so she tugged it on over her head and wrapped a stretchy belt around her middle. A trio of matching bronze bracelets completed her look. Her heart thudded as she checked herself in the mirror. Nope, I'm not hoping to see Rick later. Not at all.

  On her way out of the house, she snatched a banana out of the bowl on the counter and picked up her purse and keys. Only twenty minutes to go. If traffic was heavy, she was sunk.

  To her relief, maybe because of the hour, she ran into fewer cars on the road than usual, a fact that thrilled her, and made it to the courthouse with five minutes to spare, giving her time to dispose of the banana peel and grab her satchel out of her office.

  Just as she squirmed her way onto a crowded bench near the front of the courtroom, the bailiff walked in and halted beside the jury box. The jury was already seated, as were Wicker and his attorney and the two prosecutors. Keegan studied the faces of the jurors in an attempt to ascertain their verdict, but their stoic expressions gave nothing away.

  "All rise," the bailiff intoned, his face as blank as theirs.

  Keegan got up and surreptitiously popped a mint into her mouth to dispel the banana taste. Her stomach rumbled as Judge Rouse strode in and climbed the two steps up to the bench.