by Lauren Hope
“Didn’t have a choice, didn’t you hear her yell?”
“That was no reason to go and make the poor gal bleed.” He knelt and wiped a hand over Marxie’s burning lips, came away with a red smear across his palm.
“You’ve got to get used to this, Dad. You’re in shoulder deep now. We gotta keep things on the up and up . . . and that includes dealing with this.” He gestured toward Marxie as if she were some rodent they were disposing of instead of an old friend who they’d bitterly betrayed. “I was just telling her how she’d put a kink in our plans, coming down here tonight, trying to play hero.”
“You did,” the chief nodded, real sympathy in his eyes. “By golly, you did. But you didn’t know what was comin’, huh?”
Marxie shook her head, too frightened not to give some kind of response.
She had to find a way out of here. No more screaming. What about running? Five-three woman, pushing one twenty-five, pursued by two strong men, over six feet with at least three-fifty between them: No, it’d never work.
Beau continued to glance around, agitated. “Anybody out there?”
Chief Raines shrugged. “Not that I saw.”
No one was coming . . . Biting back a cry, Marxie looked up at Beau who had pointed the gun slightly away from her since his father knelt beside her. “Why did you kill Evan?” she asked boldly.
“Had to,” he shrugged. “His work wasn’t meeting up to my standards.”
Appalled she opened her mouth, couldn’t help but stammer. “You—you killed him because he wasn’t doing his job well enough?”
“Oh, no. He was doing it quite well. Better than we anticipated in fact, right Dad?” Beau looked to his father who nodded grimly while the chief dabbed at Marxie’s mouth with a handkerchief he’d produced from his pocket.
Briefly, she contemplated biting down on the hand, but knew it could get her another smack from the gun, or worse.
“Dad told you all about the politicians around here getting wound up about drugs, that was true. Saving face, my dear old Dad—and he’s a smart guy,” Beau said, looking to his father with pride, “started an undercover program, told the politicians he’d pick the best of the best to dig out the drugs in Bryan County.
“Instead of a veteran who knew the ropes, Dad tagged Evan for the job. Evan was green and he thought—well, we both thought—he’d be too timid to do much. But your guy surprised us, taking that undercover work on with real heart.” Beau sighed and shook his head with contrived pity. “He did real well. Thing is, he did too well. He found out too much.” Beau resituated the gun to point between Marxie’s eyes as the chief rose and moved out of the way. “More important, he found out about me.”
“Marxie,” Chief Raines said, hovering above her, “I didn’t know things were gonna go this far.” He pocketed the bloody handkerchief and wiped his hands on his shirt. “I chose Evan because I thought he’d be safe and stay in the background enough to be no trouble to anyone. I’d have all my bases covered. The political guys would stop breathing down my back, I’d have an officer penetrating the drug group who couldn’t or wouldn’t find out much, consequently causing no harm to either party . . . And,” he paused, “and I was protecting my son.”
“It’s what a good father does,” Beau grinned, all but patting his dad on the back. “Plus, you can’t deny you weren’t protecting your own hide, Dad.” Beau let out a strange, shrill laugh that had Marxie’s skin crawling. “After thirty-five years on the force, your legacy wouldn’t end well if it came out that your son was trafficking drugs in your county, right under your nose, and you allowed it.”
Marxie shot a glance to Chief Raines. He wouldn’t go that far to preserve a reputation would he? He wouldn’t kill for the sake of status?
The chief didn’t meet her eyes, or at least she didn’t think he did. Had the blow tainted her vision? She was sure those tiny dots fading in and out in front of her had something to do with Beau’s gun coming across her face. Either way, it was hard to see details in the darkness; hard to know exactly what the face was portraying when it was masked in black.
Abruptly, Chief Raines growled, “Just tell her about her husband. That’s what she came for.”
Beau narrowed his eyes in defiance, but didn’t respond to his father. Instead, he stared down at Marxie and cocked a crooked grin. “There wasn’t a chase, Marx,” he said casually. “Evan didn’t go after anybody . . . he actually ran from them a bit, but . . . well, that’s beside the point.” He waved a hand and kept going in an almost sing-song voice. “The fateful night, Evan was dispatched by Rita. He was sent to an old barn out by Short Gap Road, you know the old, abandon places out there? Anyway,” he gestured with the gun haphazardly, “he went and all the boys he knew and had befriended the past few months were waiting for him. He waltzed in ready for action, gun poised, uniform pressed, shoes shined . . . and man were they pissed. Chaz—”
“Marxie!” An alarmed voice came from the door. “Beau?” The woman’s voice quaked, concerned.
All three sets of eyes darted to the doorway of the office. They had missed the footsteps over the clapping thunder and boisterous rain. And Chief Raines had apparently missed her on his quick search outside. But now, the woman walked through the door, tentatively stepped toward the small corner where Marxie and her captors gathered.
“What’s going on?” Rita chirped, darting her eyes from Marxie, to the chief, to the gun in Beau’s outstretched hand. “Linda said there were noises, screams. She’s scared.”
“Rita, help,” Marxie whispered, her eyes locking on the woman, pleading.
Rita took a step closer but Beau motioned her to stay back. “You stay there, Rita. Everything’s good in here. We’re just talking to Marxie.”
“Evan,” Rita breathed shakily. “I heard.”
“Really?” Beau cocked a brow. “Well then, you can take over. You were around that night. You dispatched your favorite boy to his death. Tell the girl.”
Rita’s eyes clouded, confused. Then she looked at Marxie, came forward a step. “No, Marxie, no. I wouldn’t do anything like that. I promise you. The chief called and asked a favor. He said the part-timer wasn’t working out and I needed to get to the station quick. I didn’t know . . . I swear it.” She turned newly furious eyes at Beau, tossed them back and forth from Chief Raines to his son. “You just wait!” She shook a finger. “You wait till the mayor and the governor, and all of Georgia hears about this. You just wait!”
She strode quickly toward Marxie, her hands outstretched to help pull Marxie from the floor. But she stumbled before she got there, halted by the gun turned on her.
“Don’t go any further,” Beau growled. “You’re not needed here, Rita. Get out.”
Rita shot Marxie a desperate glance, and kept walking toward her.
Beau cocked the pistol.
Chief Raines darted out a hand and grabbed his son’s shoulder. “No, son! No!”
Rita turned to run.
Then a loud clap penetrated the room, reverberating off the walls, the boom resounding in every corner. Marxie covered her ears with a yelp.
And Rita toppled with a loud cry.
“Rita!” Marxie yelled, dropping her hands and rising to go to her fallen friend.
“Hey,” Beau ordered, spinning to face her, “sit down.”
“No, no. Rita. No,” Marxie murmured, collapsing back to the floor, numb with pain and anguish.
Chief Raines dashed over and knelt beside the body, pulling Rita’s wrist to his palm, searching with his fingers.
Beau ignored the fallen woman and his father and aimed the gun at Marxie, shivering in the floor. “You can’t go anywhere. I’m not finished yet. Plus, we have more guests coming. And they’re not surprises,” he finally flicked a glance to Rita who lay in a growing pool of blood.
Marxie tucked her legs up next to her body, rested her chin on her wobbly knees. “Why Beau? Why?” She looked at him, pleading, tears filling her eyes.
; “She would’ve told,” he mumbled, wiping a hand across his brow, showing the first sign of distress Marxie had seen since he entered the room. “We knew it was only a matter of time before she figured out anyway. We’ve known for a while we might have to deal with her . . . but this is your fault, Marxie.” He reiterated his point by shoving the gun closer to her face. She braced for it to go off. “You did this by coming here tonight. You sped things up, accelerated the whole issue. We were ready to take it slow, see where things went.” He shifted back and forth on his feet, waving the gun as he swayed. “But you and Carter messed everything up. Everything!” he bellowed, suddenly angry again.
Try to calm him down. Try. If you don’t, you’ll be beside Rita. “What about the explosion, Beau? What happened?” she urged, keeping her eyes on his. She would not look at Rita. She could not. Beau mattered. He had the power. And if there were any doubts about it, he just proved he’d use his authority whenever he deemed necessary.
“Um,” he mumbled again, wiping his brow for the second time. He was nervous. She was going to keep the heat up, keep the questions coming. He’s agitated, you stay calm.
Restless, he yelled at his father. “Where’s the boss, Dad? Where is he? He’s supposed to be here.”
Chief Raines ignored him, and Marxie shuddered, wondering if one more captor was being added to this nightmare.
“The explosion, Beau? What happened?” she pushed again.
He swallowed, looked as if he were having a silent conversation in his head, convincing himself things were all right. After a moment, he started talking, smug once more.
“Yeah. Yeah. The explosion. I, uh, I had some of the guys take Evan out and show him what happens to narks. He held his own pretty well, but four against one odds are never good. He lost. That’s when I shot him. The guys had knocked out two of his teeth and I took ‘em and threw ‘em in the ashes of the car I got Chaz to drive to the side of that curvy highway and blow to pieces. See,” he volunteered with a shrug, “Chaz was just a pawn, a way to throw off the scent. We knew he wouldn’t talk, he’s too young, too scared.”
“What about Rita?” Marxie pressed, still not looking at the woman. “What does she have to do with this?”
“Not much except for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She got worried when she wasn’t hearing from Evan on his radio. See,” he pivoted to glance at his father, “she’s been a problem from the beginning.” He turned back to Marxie, steadied the gun. “So when she couldn’t get in touch with him, she sent out more cars. She messed things up. We were planning on not having anyone taking the fall, making it a victimless crime, but once other cops started showing up and asking questions we needed a scapegoat. Chaz was the lucky winner.”
Victimless crime? Marxie thought, outrage trumping fear. Victimless? What about Evan? What about her and Evan’s family, left to spend the rest of their lives without him?
“So you put an innocent boy in jail?” she confirmed, narrowing her eyes.
“Nah, he wasn’t too innocent. He had an ounce of coke on him when our Pembroke PD boys busted him. He was a big user.”
“But you’re a user too,” she shot with contempt. “Why didn’t you take the fall?”
“No, no.” He laughed a little. “You’ve got it wrong. I don’t use . . . not that much anyway. I’m the facilitator for a bigger fish. I bring in the customers and the cash. I don’t usually touch the stuff.”
A bigger fish? The boss he spoke of. Who? She raced for answers in her mind, tried to piece together parts of the puzzle she knew were there but just weren’t clicking. Before the pieces could fall into place, Rita gasped and let out an agonizing gurgle.
Beau jerked his head around, obviously startled by the sounds of life. The gun shook lightly in his grip and Marxie wondered if she should make a grab for it. But logic kicked in a second before instinct. Even if his grip was loosened, it was highly unlikely she’d be able to wrestle it away from him. And then what would happen at the end of the fight, when he still had the gun?
With Beau and the chief’s attention diverted, she quickly surveyed her options, darting her eyes around the dark room, wishing some weapon would thrust itself out at her. Maybe the rain could mask her movements if she decided to make a run for it.
But the door was blocked. There was no way out. No way.
Rita coughed and gasped, gurgled some more. Beau stayed with his head turned, gun still extended toward Marxie, watching whatever was happening in the floor behind him.
Marxie couldn’t force herself to view the same. It would kill her, she knew. She would be paralyzed by fear if she let herself focus on the fact that dear, sweet Rita was taking her last breaths.
Thunder raged outside the window, causing the thin glass to rattle. A flash of lightning speared white, skeletal fingers through the sky.
The storm was too loud, too fierce. No one could hear her. No one knew she was here. No one was coming for her. She and Rita were alone, destined for the same fate.
Her heart filling with empathy, Marxie did what she knew would drain any remaining hope in her; she turned her eyes to where her friend lay. The glow of the storm brightened the room, making the horrific scene more visible. Rita was on her stomach, her head turned to one side. One arm lay above her head, the other smooshed down by her side as if she’d landed on it in the fall. The side of her face that touched the ground swam in a pool of blood that had gathered around her upper chest and shoulders. The liquid was a seeping black in the dark room, and Marxie quivered as the unmistakable smell hit her nostrils.
The chief had pushed the handkerchief he’d used to wipe Marxie’s mouth into the spurting wound in Rita’s back, and he was murmuring something to the suffering woman. As if his words meant anything now.
Was this their plan for her? Would Chief Raines let Beau shoot her and then try to comfort her as she lay dying?
No! She couldn’t let that happen. Wouldn’t. Evan had died alone and now Rita. Marxie was not going to be next.
“Rita,” Marxie spoke on a shaky voice, hoping she could be heard over the momentarily dwindling rain. “I’m so sorry. So, so sorry.”
Rita’s eyes were wide and though Marxie couldn’t see them clearly in the dark, emotion swam there. It changed the pain in Rita’s face to nostalgia and a kind of strange peace. “Tell my husband I love him,” she breathed quietly, “and my boys and their children, I’m always watching and so proud.”
“No, Rita. No. Don’t. Stay strong, Rita. Stay with me.” Marxie sobbed and sucked in a breath, reaching out a hand in Rita’s direction.
She began to crawl forward, but her forehead met the tip of the pistol and she froze.
Her friend smiled slightly, fought with a shaky breath, and then, she was still.
Marxie slumped back. She had just witnessed someone die. Not someone, her friend. Rita. Loyal, kind, good. Innocent.
Chief Raines sighed, long, heavy and full of resignation. “Well, boy,” he spoke to Beau without looking at him, “what’re you gonna do now?”
“Wait.” Beau shifted his feet, and scratched at his temple with the butt of the gun. “I’m waiting on more instructions. There’s still more to do, Dad. Don’t forget. There’s just a few more things to do and we’ll be in the clear. We can forget all this. Move on. You can retire like you’ve wanted. You and Mom can go live in that house in Florida on the beach. And I’ll stay here. I’ll get things in order. I’ll be Mayor like Mom’s always dreamed. We’ll make her proud.”
“Mmmm.” The chief’s response didn’t sound very enthusiastic, but he rose from beside Rita’s body and went back to his chair.
Shock kept Marxie from speaking, from fully comprehending what her eyes were seeing, her ears hearing. Rita’s eyes, still open and staring were boring into Marxie’s soul. Every time the lightning outside sent its bright gleam through the window it exposed the dead face, paralyzing her.
All she could see was Evan’s face, the torn shirt, the paper-thin skin, th
e stubby fingers. What had his eyes looked like? She would never know; she hadn’t had the courage to look.
Courage . . . Courage. Marxie shut her eyes tightly, tried with all her might to banish every image of Evan, of Rita, of her own face stilled in death. She willed away the knowledge that a loaded, recently used gun was only inches from her head. And she let Evan, eyes alive and bright, face smiling, float into her conscious. He was courageous. Beau said he’d stood his ground. He fought, even when the odds were against him. She would too.
Someone would come for her. They had to. What about Linda? She had heard the noises. Wouldn’t she call someone? Grant will come, her mind whispered. He will. Somehow, he knows.
But until then, you’re on your own.
And you will not die here! You will not!
She popped her eyes open, refusing to even glance at Rita, or Chief Raines. There was nothing she could do about either right now.
It was time to reevaluate her strategy. Tears hadn’t worked. Neither had anger. Grant had made it clear he thought Beau had an attraction to her. Was he right?
She was about to find out.
Shifting her tactic, Marxie pushed her chest out, lifted her eyes and batted them vulnerably. Beau stared at her even though he talked behind him to his father. She hadn’t even realized they were having a conversation, but it didn’t seem to matter; it had done little to shift his attention away from keeping her cornered with the gun. She cleared her throat and whatever response had been on the tip of his tongue to his father was stilled. She smiled coyly and his lip twitched as he moved a step closer.
“More questions?” he asked, kneeling so their eyes were almost level.
“No,” she said, playing pouty. “I just wanted to say thank you for telling me the truth finally,” she sighed as if she hadn’t a care in the world and smiled again, even though the motion felt like it ripped her bottom lip in two. “It’s all I’ve really been after. You’re free to do what you want, Beau,” she shrugged, “make money how you choose. I’ll just have a little more peace now because you told me what really happened. And I’ll go home and sleep and forget any of this ever happened.”