by Lauren Hope
Marxie’s eyes fell to the footnote at the bottom of the page, but when it contained no names familiar to her, or any information about Evan, she jerked back to the 17th entry.
Officer has reported two meetings, as of late, at specific locations—the ally behind Taylor’s Pharmacy and the home of Sparks—but Officer suspects there is one locale yet to be exposed. He reports assumed location as “the big warehouse” where large transactions take place. Vaughn feels when he is completely trusted by Sparks and others in the group, he will be led to the prime meeting spot.
Marxie eye’s clouded briefly as she noticed that Evan’s signature was scribbled after each entry, his affirmation that he accepted what Chief Raines wrote. She ran her fingers tenderly over the familiar writing and went to the next dated entry.
June 18: Vaughn reports suspicions he has been compromised. Has asked to bring another officer in for support and reinforcement. Requests backup come in as friend to Vaughn. Officer states he can acclimate new recruit to his acquaintances and make the transition believable and safe for all parties.
What? Marxie squinted her eyes, adjusting her vision. The chief had certainly left this part out. He hadn’t mentioned Evan’s fear at all. Maybe it wasn’t important. Surely if it had been instrumental in Evan’s death, he would’ve shared it with her. Wouldn’t he?
She let her legs fall out from her under and sat on the floor in a heap, consumed with the words before her.
June 21: Officer Vaughn reiterates concern of possible detection. Reinforces he feels uncomfortable in the present situation. Requests to be removed from active patrol duty due to ramifications if he is seen by infiltrated group.
Marxie stopped. Isn’t that exactly what the chief said happened? Didn’t Chaz see Evan, realize he was a cop, and in anger cause his death? Chaz told Grant he hadn’t killed Evan, but even if he hadn’t, someone had turned Evan over to the hands of those that did. And Evan had suspected it. Seven days before his murder!
Why didn’t Chief Raines take him off the job, out of the undercover work when he became suspicious, or even before? Evan had a sharp eye, and if thought he was being exposed, he was probably right. The chief should’ve listened to him. Maybe that’s why he felt so guilty. Maybe that’s why he’d kept the truth from Marxie all this time. Not out of fear of compromising an ongoing investigation, but fear that he would lose her respect and friendship.
Outside, lightning flashed, illuminating the room in muted hues of blue and white, reflecting off the stacks of papers Marxie clutched.
With a heavy heart, not sure what or who to believe anymore, she turned the page, began to examine the second round of entries.
And then she froze. Her hands stilled into mummification. She sucked in a breath and held it, her eyes fixated on one point.
Someone was outside the door.
And not just someone making routine rounds through the building, but someone intending to come into the office. They stood just beyond the threshold, their shadow spilling through the thick glass pane that covered the top half of the wooden door.
She had to get out.
Feet shuffled, a set of keys jingled. And because her lungs felt like they were exploding inside her, she let out one little puff of breath and willed herself to move.
Frantic, she scanned the room for a way of escape, a hiding place.
The window? No, it was too big for her to open, much too cumbersome to do quickly.
The desk? Under the desk? Yes! It was large enough where she could curl herself into a ball. No one entering could see her . . . unless they came around behind it. But they wouldn’t, couldn’t.
It had to be a cleaning person, a janitor, maybe, coming around for the trash. He’d be in and out in a second, never knowing she’d been there.
Oh why, why did she do this?
The drawer! The drawer! her mind screamed. Whoever it was, janitor or not, was bound to see the file cabinet open. She had to close it.
The key jingled again and someone uttered a small curse trying to jam it into the hole. The darkness in the hall was hindering a quick entrance. It bought her some time.
With swift movements she never knew she possessed, she slipped the file in the crook of her arm and rolled the cabinet closed with furtive silence.
Hunkered in a crouched position, praying whoever was beyond the door couldn’t see her through the glass front, she crab walked as quick as humanly possible to the big desk. You’re almost there. Don’t stop. It’ll be all right.
But then the lock clicked, and the knob turned.
And in walked Chief Raines.
Standing in the doorway, he smiled down at her, still hunkered in her awkward stance, and grinned. “Hello, Marxie.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Was he angry? Upset? She couldn’t tell in the darkness. From below, he only looked huge and menacing, shadows playing under his eyes and prominent nose.
Before she could react, he bent and crouched in front of her, leveling his eyes with hers. “Something you need to tell me?” He grinned still. Her pulse thumped up another notch as she realized she was completely unable to read the emotion behind the grin. Curiosity? Suspicion? Rage?
But whatever he felt, he was playing it cool. So would she. “Uh, no, just coming to see you, Chief.” She smiled back and shifted slightly, maneuvering so she held the folder flush with her back.
“At eleven o’clock at night? Odd time to be paying visits to friends, don’t you think?”
“Yeah.” Marxie laughed nervously. “I just had a few things I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Certainly.” He gestured and stood, pulling her lightly by the arm to rise with him. “You gave me quite a scare, girl,” he laughed. “Linda—the dispatcher for tonight—called me and Rita in a panic. Said she heard some noises down near my office. Was afraid someone was sneaking around. Was that you?”
Marxie nodded and pressed the folder further into her back, hoping it would just meld into her skin and disappear. Was there a way she could slide it under her shirt without him noticing? “Sorry to scare her.” She feigned a sympathetic smile. “I came in the side entrance. Guess I could’ve called first, but I’ll go now,” she said hurriedly, moving toward the door.
He grabbed her by the arm again, firmer now, and his grin slowly faded. “Oh, no. You can’t go without getting what you came for.” He took an audible breath, stared down at her. “What did you come for, Marxie?”
“Nothing that can’t wait till later. I’ll be in touch in the morning, sorry to bother you, Chief.” Tentatively, she rose on her tiptoes, went to plant a kiss on his cheek while desperately seeking to slip the folder up the back of her shirt. But as she neared his face, his eyes stopped her. The soft gray had turned to stormy midnight. The usual calm charm of them hidden behind yet another emotion she couldn’t read.
Since she was only inches from his face, and unmoving, he whispered, “Something wrong?”
“No. No, nothing,” she smiled, leaning the rest of the way to meet him. She pecked a quick kiss to his cheek, praying he couldn’t feel her galloping pulse or hear the frantic pounding of her heart.
But as she lowered herself back to the ground, he wrapped his arms around her, pulled her close for one of their habitual hugs.
He rubbed over her back. And with a jerk, pulled her away.
“What’s in your hand, Marxie?” he asked stiffly.
“Nothing.” She knew it was a childish tactic, but what else was she supposed to do? She wasn’t thinking on her feet, couldn’t bring herself to get past the anxiety and fear that pulsed inside her.
“You aren’t supposed to be taking things from a law enforcement officer’s private office. You know that don’t you?” he asked coolly.
“Yes, Chief.”
“Then show me what’s behind your back!”
Her heart reared in her chest, her eyes widening in surprise and fear. “Just this,” she stammered, pulling the folder from behind her. “Only Evan’
s file, Chief, I swear.”
Even in the dark, she saw the change in him. His face was readable now, the emotion deadly clear. And she wished dearly it wasn’t. There was rage covering his once familiar features. Pure, unadulterated rage.
Thunder clapped outside the window, and he roared with it, swinging out an arm and pinning her against the wall in one swift move. His hand circled around her neck, raising her on tip-toes, and he narrowed his eyes, spewing his words like poison. “You just couldn’t quit, could you? Searching and prying and asking things you’ve got no business knowing.”
“Why, Chief?” She forced the cry through her tight throat. “Why do I have no business knowing them? It’s about Evan! There’s more, isn’t there?” She speared him a pained look. “Why haven’t I got a right to know? Everything’s all right isn’t it?” It was a stupid question, but her mind wasn’t functioning properly. Even with the massive surge of adrenaline, her thoughts were lagging, emotions clouding logic.
“No! It is not all right.” His arm tightened around her throat and her eyes bulged with panic and pain. “You’ve ruined it all with your snooping. You and your detective friend.”
“Grant?” she choked.
“Yes, Grant.” He mocked her tone. “The stupid boy let his ego get in the way of good common sense. He wanted to play hero to the poor, pretty widow. Now it’s going to end up costing you.”
“Costing me what?” she stuttered, her head reeling, becoming fuzzy with the lack of oxygen. What was he talking about? Was this all some horrible joke?
“Everything! Everything,” he said again wearily, dropping his eyes and suddenly releasing her.
She doubled over, sucked in a huge breath and forced the tears that threatened to stay back. She rubbed a hand over her raw skin, her burning throat.
Fearfully raising her eyes, her mind screaming with questions, she saw the chief standing very still, his head buried in his hands.
What was happening? Why would he do this? Why would he hurt her?
“Chief?” Marxie called in a voice hoarse with physical and emotional pain.
When he stayed silent, she eyed the door across the room. But from her position against the wall, backed in a corner no less, he blocked her path.
Too wary to step toward him, and having no other direction to go for flight, she stayed put. “I’m sorry I came here and looked through your things. But you weren’t being honest with me.” He finally raised his head, but kept his eyes averted from her pleading stare. “What else do I need to know? What are you keeping from me?”
“You’ll know it all now,” he said, shaking his head. Her vision had begun to adjust to the heavy darkness in the room and now she could see his eyes crease with emotion, his mouth sulk with it. “I tried to tell you. I tried to warn you.”
“Warn me? Of what?”
“Closing this case.” He whipped his head in her direction. “You shouldn’t have got involved. Look what happened to Evan.”
She responded in clipped, frustrated syllables. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about, Chief.”
“Explain it to her,” he sighed, walking to the door and pushing it open with a small tap.
A shadow fell over the floor, a broad silhouette manifested by the sparse beams of moonlight.
From her position across the room, Marxie couldn’t make out the face or features. The person was clothed in the darkness, their identifying characteristics gray mounds of skin and bone.
Fear mounted, coating her stomach, making her mouth dry and sticky.
The chief stepped in front of the shadow, shielding the newcomer. They exchanged muffled words. Now that her only exit was blocked by two people much larger than she, Marxie stayed still and hovered against the wall, wishing that anyone, anyone else were here. She felt alone and vulnerable—and terrified.
When rain began to pound in heavy sheets on the roof, falling in innumerable slivers outside the window, it frayed her nerves beyond bearable. She yelled at the chief’s back. “Tell me what’s going on, Chief! Please, please tell me.”
“Settle down, Marxie.” A familiar voice brought a strange tingle up her spine, causing her to shudder.
The shadow with the voice finally came around Chief Raines and took two strides, stepping directly in front of the big window, the moon’s glow illuminating his face.
Beau.
He smiled, that same strange grin the chief had displayed when he first entered. Tucking his hands in the pockets of his loose-fitting jeans, he rocked back on his heels. “Dad tells you’re here to find out the truth. So you will.”
“Oh-Okay, Beau.” She nodded, swallowed, hoping it would ease the burning sensation in her throat. She wanted to step toward him, but fear wouldn’t allow her, wouldn’t compel her legs to move.
“Just remember,” Beau said, inching toward her and fishing in his deep pocket, “you wanted this, you forced us to do this.”
As his grin vanished, his hand came out of his pocket, holding a small black pistol. He pointed it directly at her face.
Grant tried Marxie’s cell for the third time with the same result: no answer. Where was she? He was tempted to call her house, but that would only wake and frighten her parents. And she was probably fine.
But he wanted to talk to her. Needed to. Something didn’t feel right.
He punched the gas, not ready just yet to put the flashing lights out on his Jeep. No need to overreact. His feelings for Marxie had given him a tendency to be over-cautious in this case, but wasn’t the saying ‘better safe than sorry’ quoted for a reason?
He had to find her. Where would she be at almost eleven-fifteen at night? “No where good,” his mother would say.
Tonight, he happened to agree.
TWENTY-FIVE
“Beau?” Marxie breathed, trying to wrap her mind around this madness. “What are you doing?”
He stood in front of her, gun positioned between her eyes. Backed against the wall, she barely held her weight on trembling legs.
The chief scooted a chair near the opposite corner by the door, sat in it. He slumped down, an ominous, indifferent watchman, guarding the escape.
“I’m telling you the truth.” Beau held the pistol steady. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Why do you have a gun?”
“Eh, you might not like what I’ve got to say. I want to make sure you stick around.” He spoke comically, like what he said should make her laugh or smile.
She did neither.
“Beau,” the chief roused, snapping his head up. “Quit baiting the girl and tell her. Beau killed Evan, Marxie. Beau killed him. You happy? There’s your truth. There’s the information you’ve been searching for.”
Her heart sank, falling what felt like all the way through her body. No. She shook her head back and forth vigorously. No, it can’t be true.
Beau shot his father a bitter glare. “Hey, I was gonna to tell her.”
The chief jerked a shoulder, slumped in the chair again. “You were dragging it out. Let’s get this done.”
“I don’t understand,” Marxie said, swallowing the fist sized lump in her throat. “This can’t be true. You wouldn’t do this, Beau.”
“I know, right?” Beau chimed with an amusing little lilt. “That’s what everyone thinks. And I gotta keep it that way.”
“You wouldn’t, you wouldn’t,” she muttered over and over.
He only shrugged, said completely matter-of-fact, “Would. Did.”
She quashed queasiness, rational enough to be sure her eyes never left the barrel of the gun, and faced an unbelievable reality.
Her blood bubbled under the surface of her skin, felt like it was boiling over. Strange how when shocking news found her, she usually shivered. But now she burned. Her cheeks grew hot, her arms and legs bloomed with heat and energy. She wanted to charge Beau, to turn that pistol on him and pump the trigger over and over again.
But she couldn’t. He held the weapon and the power. She
was helpless. Just as Evan had been.
“Speechless?” Beau asked pleasantly.
She said nothing.
“Wanna sit?”
She did not meet his eyes.
“Let’s,” he gestured to the floor with the gun.
She sat quickly, letting her legs fold beneath her. She hit the floor with a thump, but was numb to any pain. Her focus remained solely on the gun.
Beau didn’t sit with her, but remained standing, leveling the pistol with her head. “Dad,” Beau called as headlights suddenly danced through the window, illuminating an old coat rack and almost landing on the chief sitting in his chair, “go find out what’s going on.”
Chief Raines obeyed his son’s orders and marched through the door, down the hall.
As Beau watched behind him, Marxie’s mind raced. She needed help. Whoever had arrived, they had to see her, had to hear her. But the chief, he would divert them, take them away.
What about Linda at the desk? Can she hear me if I scream?
Beau’s gaze darted from the window to the door, back to the window without him ever lowering the gun. If she had a chance, it was now. Better with one in the room than two.
“LINDA! LIN-DA! HELP!” Marxie shrieked with all her might.
Beau turned rapidly to face her, brought the gun down swiftly and smacked her across the mouth.
The left side of her face sung with searing pain. Her eyes filled with hot tears. Quickly, she hunkered back down in the corner to stop the sudden quaking of her body.
“Don’t do that! Why’d you do that?” he sputtered, spit spewing from his mouth and landing in tiny, damp droplets on her face. “C’mon now, I haven’t even got to talk to you yet. Don’t go making me upset. Dad’s already angry you came down here. It threw things off.” He rolled his shoulders, lowered the gun. “Chill, Marxie. You’re making things more difficult.”
With a rumble of thunder outside and the sound of scuffling feet approaching inside, Chief Raines ran back through the door, puffing for breath.
“What happened?” He flicked a glance toward Marxie. “Aw, son,” he said with regret, advancing toward her, “did you hurt her?”