by Lauren Hope
He seemed to be responding. He lowered the gun, his eyes softened. But his words were flat, unsympathetic. “No you won’t.”
“Yes,” her voice hitched, “I promise. I really will forget all this.”
He rose again and frowned. “No, I mean you’re not going home. C’mon Marxie, you’re bright. Look,” he gestured to Rita’s lifeless body, “do you honestly expect me to let you go now that you know all of this? Have seen all this? Plus, our company still hasn’t arrived.”
He grinned when his cell phone rang moments later, and sticking his finger in the air, said, “I bet that’s our special guest.”
TWENTY-SIX
She wasn’t at her parent’s house. So where was she?
Grant banged the steering wheel as rain pelted his windshield. It had let up momentarily, but now, through the torrent of heavy sheets, he peered with squinted eyes, searching anywhere for that big, black SUV.
It wasn’t in the pebbled drive of her parent’s cozy little home. It wasn’t at her townhouse . . . he’d swung by there on his way to Pembroke, just in case. It wasn’t it any of the shopping centers, stores, or restaurants he passed. It had to be somewhere. She had to be somewhere.
He tried to think like her. What would she be doing, where would she go?
She was determined to find out what happened to Evan, but she wouldn’t have done anything stupid, right? Had his thoughts finally hit home with her after his visit, prompting her to action with Chief Raines? If so, what action?
Guard . . . Guard. That name had been eating at him like a bad plague. Why had that stuck with him? What was familiar about that very unspecific, unfamiliar name? Guard.
Beauregard is his real name. He remembered Marxie’s words. Beauregard! That’s it!
On a silent curse, he jerked the Jeep in a new gear and with squealing tires turned around in the middle of the road and headed for the Pembroke police station.
****
After Beau had given a standard greeting, he backed up, handed the cell phone to his father who spoke into the mouthpiece.
“Yeah, she’s here,” Chief Raines said. “No, no, she’s not goin’ anywhere. Beau’s got her. Yep. Uh-huh. See ya.” He slapped the phone shut, pocketed it, and turned to Beau, speaking in hushed tones.
Marxie couldn’t think clearly. She was frightened, petrified to the point of madness. And yet, through it all, anger surged. A primal, beastly kind of vengeance she had only felt once in her life—the night Evan died. Rage and fury filled her now, fueled her. Evan’s death was not an accident, not a fire that couldn’t be helped or stopped. Someone had taken his life. Worse, not just anyone but someone he’d trusted. They’d betrayed him . . . betrayed her.
They had lied to her, all this time. Every bit of comfort had been contrived, useless. Every word a falsity, a cover-up to mask their own deceptiveness and worthlessness. She wanted vengeance.
Beau and Chief Raines continued on in their whispered conversation, exchanging glances back and forth to her as if she might disappear were they not to keep an eagle eye peeled in her direction.
They were despicable, the lowest of the low. Men of the law, turning their backs on it. She couldn’t stand hypocrisy like that. Evan would’ve hated it more.
Her heart plummeted, thinking of him, fighting for his life against four guys doped up on who knows what. They hurt her sweet man. Her husband. A real man. One who stood up for justice and goodness while his comrades slinked around in the shadows, slithering like poisonous snakes waiting to attack.
They were waiting now, to finish their attack on her. And she was letting them.
“What’re you going to do with me?” Marxie demanded suddenly, jutting out her chin.
Beau turned, smiling that same wicked grin that made her either want to dribble with fear or punch his face in.
“Whatever the boss says.”
And right then, the boss sailed in.
No one had to tell her, she had no doubt it was him. The big fish Beau referred to. He was pulling the strings behind all this.
Rick Williams.
Triumphant and smug in his dark suit and slicked back ebony hair, he casually stepped over Rita’s lifeless body and stopped in the center of the room, commanding the few occupants’ attention. “Hi, Ms. Vaughn,” he began, addressing the two other men with nothing more than a flick of his hand. “Nice to see you.”
She should’ve known. She was smart. How did she let all this get by her? Evan would be disappointed she’d ignored that gut and spirit he’d always told her to trust.
Worse, she’d ignored a smart, hard-working man right in font of her telling her the same thing. Grant’s words and suspicions had fallen on deaf ears. Or stubborn ears, more like it.
But she would atone for the naivety; she would find redemption. She was getting out of here tonight—alive. She would do what Rita had promised—tell the world that these men were vicious, lying murderers.
“How are you this evening?” Rick continued since she hadn’t replied. “It seems you’ve been busy.” He grinned and it took all the control she had not to spit and see if the wad could land on his glowing face. “Well, now that you’ve found the answers to your big mystery, are you satisfied?”
“Disgusted is a more appropriate word.”
“Eww,” he shuddered playfully, “I knew you were a feisty one.” He walked the few steps to where she crouched, and as he came closer, she rose, not knowing what he would do and wanting as much advantage as possible, whatever his plans.
He chuckled as he came to her. “Hey, I’m not gonna hurt ya.” He whispered coaxingly as one would to a shy animal. It was appropriate—she felt like an animal, caged, trapped, defenseless against the ever-stronger human.
His brilliant white teeth were menacing in the darkness, blindingly eerie, making his mouth and chin look like the lower half of a horror mask.
He reached out, grazed a hand over her neck, stroked it down until he covered her breast. He squeezed once and her stomach heaved. “How I wish things could be different, my dear. You are so beautiful.”
“Rick,” Beau said, “we need to get goin.’ Never know who might’ve heard all the noise or seen the cars.”
“Taken care of it,” Rick countered. Relaxed, he drew a silver pistol out of his jacket pocket and tapped the thick, black silencer screwed onto its barrel. “It shut our one witness up, quite noiselessly I might add.”
Poor Linda. Marxie’s heart lurched and she sent up a quick prayer for the innocent young woman. Will they hurt anyone who gets in their way?
“Still, we need time to deal with this.” Beau gestured toward Rita, lying in the middle of the floor. “Flesh out a good story to send to the media about the station break-in that left a long time dispatcher dead. And something still has to be done about her.” He nodded toward Marxie. “Witness number two.”
“Ah.” Rick flicked his gaze back to Marxie but, thank God, kept his hands to himself. “You’re a nosy little gal. Should of stuck to diddling with wallpaper and paint if you want my opinion. This detective work has only got you into trouble.” He gave her a long, approving once-over, shook his head. “Hmmm, it really is a pity. Okay boys,” Rick snapped and Beau and Chief Raines came to attention, “let’s get her out of here.”
No! No! Where were they taking her?
Beau came toward her, gun pointed at her chest.
“Where are you taking me, Beau?” she asked, trying to get through to him one last time by using his name, making this personal between them. She wanted him to see her as Marxie, the woman he’d once asked on a date, brought flowers to, taken to dinner. She didn’t want to be seen as the victim, the disposable witness who knew too much.
Beau shrugged, uninterested in her ploy. “Wherever he says.”
Rick stood in the doorway and pointed outside. “I’ll be out there boys. Deal with that later.” He looked blankly at Rita’s body. “Let’s go. I’ve got somewhere else to be soon.” And without even a last gl
ance at Marxie, he stepped out into the hall and disappeared.
Beau gestured with the gun for her to start walking.
She wanted to speak, but words stuck in her throat. Her lungs were too tight, her head still throbbing from the earlier blow. She tried to think rationally, but couldn’t.
So she stood, mute, like a deer in the headlights while her heart beat against her chest as mercilessly as the rain against the roof.
When she tried backing even further into the corner and shook her head defiantly, the chief came, wrapped a firm grip around her arm and prodded her forward.
“Chief,” she whispered, turning her face toward him, “why are you doing what this guy says? He’s a creep. Do you really want to throw everything away for him? What’s he got to give you that’s worth that much?”
“Money.” Chief Raines said heavily without even looking at her. “He backs us all. Pays for everything and everyone. Gets all the politicians to pass most anything I want. He’s funding Beau’s campaign for Mayor. Also making a pretty penny bringing drugs in here and getting young guys hooked. You wouldn’t believe how much that man helps the economy in our small town.”
This was all over money? Stupid money.
Her fear was once again shoved down by anger. "Drug money isn’t real money, Chief. It’s cheater’s money, user’s money, blood money. Evan’s blood is on your hands as much as Beau’s!”
He ignored her and stared straight ahead, tugged her with him to the office door. They had to sidestep Rita and the bottom of her shoe lingered like sticky tack to the shallow pool of blood. She shuddered at the next step when the sole suctioned off the floor.
Nausea swam until they reached the outside door. The chief pulled her through it too.
Air, fresh air, was her first lucid thought. She needed a real breath, a real inhale of oxygen. She closed her eyes and drew it in: inhale, exhale.
Beau thrust the gun into her back. She began to walk.
Chilly rain pricked her skin. Its stinging pinches like tiny knives as the wind kicked up and slapped the drops against her.
The balmy storm air almost made her weep. Would she feel this again? Would she never see another star-covered sky? Smell fresh rain pouring from it and feel its coolness on her skin? Would she never breathe the sweet, sweet air that filled one’s lungs, expanding the body and mind with one fresh inhale? Please, no! No.
Suddenly, she felt a quick and ruthlessly strong connection to Evan. Was this what he’d felt in his last moments? And what about when he was shot—did he cry out in pain like Rita? Was he shocked and surprised, with time enough to wonder what had happened? Or was it instantaneous, life swept out from under his feet before fear could possess him?
Oh, she did not want to die like this. Please, God, please don’t let me die. I want justice for Evan. I want to tell the world what these men have done!
She stumbled through the small puddles already forming on the flat parking lot. Her faltering steps weren’t fast enough. Beau shoved the gun’s barrel harder into her back and barked, “Go. Quicker.”
She raised her eyes and focused on walking through the blowing rain.
As they passed the front of the building, she was tempted to look through the large glass doors, search for Linda. But she knew what she’d find. So she walked on.
Rick was leading the way several feet ahead, strolling confidently and anything but covertly to his Lexus waiting in the front parking lot. His car, along with Beau’s and the chief’s were grouped together in a small cluster on the west end of the front lot. There was a patch of trees nearby, shielding much of their cars.
She heard shuffling feet, felt the cold metal of the gun prod her, and then obeyed the command to stop. Under the wide leaves of the trees that provided some coverage from the storm, Marxie pushed her hair back from her eyes and wiped the dripping rain from her brow, terrified these sights would be her last.
Rick had retrieved an umbrella from his car and stood under it, removing the last of the fat drops off his lips with a sputter and swipe of his hand.
“Bad night you picked to do this, Marxie.” He smiled quick and cynical. Then his eyes changed, his whole demeanor going militant. He looked away from her, directed a commanding glare at Beau and Chief Raines. “Okay, deal with it.”
Beau nodded and the chief made a curt sound of agreement.
“Oh,” Rick said as he walked around the Lexus to the driver’s side, “don’t be complete imbeciles and let her float around in a canal for God’s sake. We’ve got an ocean less than fifty miles away. We can’t risk her being found like the husband. Look how much trouble his discovery caused.”
Before she even had time to grasp that knowledge Beau nudged her forward. He popped open the trunk and said simply, “Get in.”
Her breath came in fast puffs, her heart speeding up double time.
No, she couldn’t. This was certain death. How many times had she heard on TV, how many times had Evan reiterated, never be taken to the second location. She would die there, wherever they were taking her.
She sent panicked eyes to Chief Raines, but he was already popping open the passenger door of Beau’s navy Honda and settling in. If at any time he had felt guilt for his part in this vicious crime and betrayal, he was ignoring it now.
She really was all alone. On her own. And she had to make a move. Now.
Evan had told her once that a moving target was difficult to shoot. She wasn’t that big. She’d be hard to hit through the night and the rain, harder if she was running like a banshee.
With one swift move, she swung an elbow back, connecting with Beau’s stomach. He yelped and doubled over while the chief jumped out of the car and jetted forward.
Before she even moved again, a shot rang out through the stormy night.
She was hit. They’d gotten her before she had a chance to escape.
She was hit . . . right? But where was the pain?
You’re not hit! Go, go! Run, run, run, run, run . . . That one word coursed through her mind like a broken record, spurring her on, propelling her feet like skis on a smooth lake. She ran with all her might, pumped her arms viciously and ignored Rick’s screams behind her. She was getting away!
She sprinted across the parking lot, running for freedom, for her life. She didn’t bother to try and make it to her car. She didn’t have her keys—maybe she’d left them in the chief’s office?—plus she wanted to get away, not run around in the same parking lot with the men who had guns.
Her tennis shoes pounded heavy on the pavement, sloshing through small puddles, soaking her pants from the calf down. Rain pattered around her, thunder crashed beyond, but she ran ahead blindly, searching for cover, for a safe haven.
If she could just get somewhere, anywhere that had people. They could help her. They could call for help.
She saw the streetlights beyond the dark parking area, the railroads tracks that crossed to life, ran for them like an angel running from hell. Her pulse beat in her throat, her heart galloped at a dangerous pace. Go, go, you’re almost there!
A shot blasted behind her. Another. Another. But they didn’t hit her, and she kept running.
Then, her feet tangled, her stubborn, exhausted legs twisted; she stumbled. And a big hand reached out and grabbed her.
TWENTY-SEVEN
She wiggled and screamed but the strong arm pulled her closer. A warm hand clamped over her mouth, muffling her cries. She blinked the rain away and bit down on the big hand, but it didn’t move.
A shot boomed, too close to her ear. Her eardrum felt like it exploded and immediately she heard a high pitch ringing. When she smelt the smoke coming from the barrel, felt the heat emitting from the weapon, but experienced no pain except the throbbing inside her ears and head, she realized quickly that for the second time in mere minutes, she’d quite literally dodged a bullet.
The man restraining her had not shot her, but shot in another direction, at someone else. But he was still holding a gun, and she
still wanted to get away.
She swiveled her head, writhing as she tried to escape the large arm. When she turned, dark skin and hair, and even darker eyes met her. And she’d never been so relieved to see such intent, angry eyes in all her life.
Grant’s eyes. Deep and almost black in the night.
Rain ran down his cheeks and his brows were furrowed in hard determination. Her eyes filled with tears, her heart tumbling with thankfulness. She wasn’t sure she’d ever felt so grateful to see a person in her whole life.
Before she could utter gratitude or questions, he pushed her head down and pressed her against a massive cement block anchoring a light pole. It was wide and thick, large enough to almost cover both of their tensed bodies.
An answering shot rang out from the direction she had just escaped, blasting into the metal light pole.
“You okay?” he shouted.
“Yes, yes. I think so. They killed Evan!” she yelled, her voice shaking and sailing away with the whipping wind.
He gave a brisk nod. “I figured. I’m sorry. Meant to help sooner. Rain’s heavy. Hard to get a good shot off this far away,” he said, barely glancing at her. “Too dangerous.” She stared at him, wide-eyed while he popped a quick glance around the poll and fired another shot. “When you made a break for it, so did I. Good thinking.”
“Uh, thanks,” she puffed, trying to get her breath back.
Across the lot, there was more yelling and running feet, a car engine rumbled to start. Tires squealed on the wet pavement, and with a glance to her right, Marxie saw the Lexus zoom away in the opposite direction from where she and Grant were taking cover.
Grant pivoted swiftly and fired off one shot, but it missed the speeding car. He cursed and hunched back down behind the cement.
The coward Rick had left Beau and Chief Raines. But they weren’t giving up.
Bullets sang through the night, whizzing by at a rapid pace. There were two guns being fired now from across the lot, and one of the men began to shoot, round after round, chipping away at the cement around them.