by The Saint
Courtney feared for Jake every bit as much as she did for herself. Looking at him now, however, she sensed a subtle change. Without realizing it, he had slipped from being her friend and confidant into being a police officer. His focus had narrowed. His voice had sounded strong and steady. It was hard to explain, but it definitely made her feel safer. More secure. Able to finish what she'd started.
Instead of driving straight to Barry's apartment, Jake pulled into Belmont Harbor, the location at which he and O’Shea had agreed to meet. He killed the pickup's engine, rolled down his window and looked around. At a glance nothing appeared suspicious or out of the ordinary. Boats and yachts were moored along the harbor while several brightly colored sailboats, some of the first of the season, dotted the water.
"Where's Uncle Brian?" Courtney asked in a whisper, as though someone could hear her. "Why isn't he here yet?"
"Oh, he's here," Jake assured her. "He's just hanging back, verifying you and I are the ones in this truck and that no one followed us."
"Wow," slipped from Courtney's lips.
"No, just procedure," Jake corrected. "In a situation like this, he'll wait for visual identification before he approaches the truck."
"There he is." Unsure whether or not she should point but desperate to do something, Courtney gave Jake's shirtsleeve several excited tugs. The closer Brian got, the wider she smiled. Grinning like a six-year-old on Christmas morning, Courtney quickly rolled down her window.
"Well, Lass, from what Jake told me on the phone, it sounds like you two have had quite an adventure," Brian crooned, playing down the unforgivable danger he'd put her in as well as the iron fist of fear that had yet to release his heart. Desperate enough to want to count her fingers and toes to verify the wholeness of her safety, he settled for looking at her pretty face instead.
"Next time you team me up with Indiana Jones at least have the decency to tell me, would you?" She ran her hand lovingly along his ruddy cheek.
"No next time for you, Missy," O’Shea swore. "After tonight you're retired."
Jake allowed them a moment to reassure one another, then cleared his throat. "I hate to break up your little family reunion, Boss, but let's get this show on the road."
"Hold your britches on, Lad," O’Shea barked, helping Courtney from the truck. "Everything's in place."
She wrapped her arms around Brian's neck and inhaled the familiar scent of Old Spice, certain no man had ever smelled so good. His large, teddy bear frame offered the comfort and security she needed to see her through the next few minutes.
Jake watched Brian practically melt into a puddle at Courtney's feet. Tough-as-nails O’Shea may not have been a match for her, but his love came across as fierce as any predator Jake had ever seen. Thank God for both he and the Lieutenant that Courtney had come out of this mess safe and sound.
Hesitant, once again, to intrude on their moment, but anxious to get Courtney in and out, Jake leaned
down and asked through her open window, "Who's sitting surveillance?" "Hall and Harvey are parked in the HAIRBALLS R US plumbing truck parked in front of the
apartment building." Jake nodded, grateful for O’Shea's choice. "Nick Davis is in the phone company van directly across the street." One more of the best, Jake noted. "Great." "How about the back?" Brian's gaze flitted from Jake to Courtney. "St. Claire is covering the back stairway." "Michael?" Courtney breathed. The irony of the situation slammed into her full force. Both of
Richard St. Claire' children taking down his murderer. Just desserts, she decided, until her momentary satisfaction gave way to fear. For her brother. For O’Shea. And for Jake.
Since Jake had joined the Force, he'd never worked with St. Claire. He had crossed paths with Michael years ago over Courtney and figured once had been enough for both of them. Unfortunately tonight, like the last time, found Courtney in the middle of the mix again.
"Did you bring what I asked for?" Jake asked. Brian nodded. "You know Detective Don Flare, don't you?" "Yeah." Jake got out of the truck and faced O’Shea. "I worked a case with him about a year ago." "He's in an unmarked squad parked about twenty spaces north." Without turning, Jake followed the Lieutenant's directions with his eyes, then nodded. "He's got the stuff you asked for," O’Shea informed him. "I'll stay here with Courtney while you get
it." Courtney watched Jake sprint across the parking lot, then turned her attention to Brian. "Jake's quite
a guy." O’Shea held her gaze. "He's a good cop." "How good?" Courtney arched her brow and waited. "One of the best, but I'll swear you're lyin' if you tell him I said so." When she laughed, Brian added
solemnly, "Fought me tooth and nail to keep you out of this." His tone implied respect, but as usual Courtney prodded just to make sure. "Probably didn't want me
in the way, huh?" Brian shook his head. "Didn't want you killed was more like it." Satisfied, she smiled. "Between you and Michael I don't have room for another man hovering over
me." She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the nose. When he hugged her fiercely in return, she whispered, "I love you, you old worry wart."
"Right back at you, Lassie–"
O’Shea’s flip phone rang, a shrill tone that prickled the hairs on Courtney’s neck. “O’Shea.” After a brief exchange, he handed the phone to her.
“Michael?” she asked, excitedly. “Is Janey all right?”
“She’s fine,” he assured her. “I checked with Mom right after pre-school.”
Courtney smiled up at Brian, who hadn’t taken his eyes off Jake.
“Brian wouldn’t tell me all the details, but once this is over, you’re going to,” he said, rather than asked.
“Ya think?” she tried to tease.
“Look Courtney, for once in your life follow the rules,” he instructed.
“Don’t worry—“
“Dammit Courtney, I love you, and this is serious,” he barked, cutting her off. “These people play for keeps.”
The fear in his voice stopped her cold. “I know they do, and I’ll be careful.”
“Get in. Get out,” he told her. “And tell Ciora I’m gonna kick his ass, again, if you as much as stub your toe.”
Courtney grinned. “I’ll be fine.”
“Something’s shakin’—I gotta go–love you, Sis.”
“I love you, too, Michael,” she added quickly, hoping he heard her. As she handed Brian the phone, he gave her an extra squeeze.
She’d seen him watching Jake’s every move as he made contact and prepared to end this charade once and for all.
"Hey, Don. O’Shea says you've got my stuff." Jake's already forced smile faded when he failed to recognize the second man in the passenger seat. "He didn't mention you'd have a partner."
Flare shook his head. "This is the apartment manager, Mr. Johnson."
"Right," Jake said, rolling the kinks out of his shoulders as he sized up the guy. Jake rifled through the brown paper bag the detective handed him, satisfied everything was there.
"Sorry for the inconvenience." Jake mouthed what was expected–no more, no less. "We'll try and make this as painless and fast as possible."
"Well, I don't appreciate being dragged into this…this…whatever I'm in the middle of."
"I'm sure you don't," Jake repeated routinely. Asshole, he repeated silently. He opened the back car door and squatted behind it to strap on his paraphernalia and check the guns Brian sent. "With any luck, you'll be tucked in safe and sound by bed time." Between fastening Velcro straps and checking bullets, Jake didn't even try to hide his sarcasm.
"Thanks, Lieutenant Flare." Standing there armed to the teeth, he couldn't help but add. "Just between you and me–I think you're the one who pulled hard duty tonight."
Flare's rich laughter followed him halfway across the parking lot. As Jake approached, he watched Courtney and Brian huddled together in the descending twilight. Her pale hand resting on his ruddy cheek. His robust Irish laughter mingling with hers, then echoing off the wat
er.
"It's show time," Jake said, stepping beside Courtney.
She took a deep breath and hopped back into the truck. "I'm ready."
"Are you sure, Lass?" Brian asked one last time.
"Positive." She turned from O’Shea to Jake. "Let's do it."
O’Shea slammed her door shut and tossed Jake the apartment key. "Make it fast, and take care o’ my girl."
"Will do, Boss." Jake slid behind the wheel and drove the pick up out of the parking lot. He crossed Lake Shore Drive and headed straight for Belmont Harbor Apartments.
As night settled around them, Courtney concentrated on what she'd have to do to dump the incriminating information and hand O’Shea Dirk Templeton's head on a computer disk. The moment Jake cut the engine, Courtney called on her disciplined, albeit competitive, side and refused the jumble of emotions that, if allowed to, could sabotage everything. Instead, she focused on the job at hand. One step at a time, she reminded herself.
"Let's make this as quick as possible," Jake instructed. "Stay right by me and do exactly as I say."
Courtney exhaled. "Okay."
Jake's senses were fine tuned to the fact that darkness had snuck in unannounced and settled softly around them. His eyes and ears patrolled diligently as he escorted Courtney from the truck. The breeze was cool, but not chilled, as they made their way into the building. Finding apartment 12D, Jake used the key O’Shea had given him and opened the door.
"I'll get the lights." Courtney moved past Jake and without any problem flipped on the lamp next to the davenport. She shrugged away Jake's frown, "I used his system and modem several times before, so I know the lay out."
"So you say." Glancing around, Jake pulled the police radio from his pocket and engaged the mike. "We're in."
For some reason, the moment they walked through the door, Jake's intuition sparked. His nerves buzzed. His temper simmered just below the surface. Something indefinable nagged at him like a whiny child who had missed his nap. Surely the stress he felt was just a nasty side effect of wanting Courtney out of this apartment so badly. Nothing more. But he couldn't be sure, and that wasn't good enough. He'd learned the hard way never to discount his uneasiness.
Tonight, Jake's only concern was getting Courtney to safety before all hell broke loose. And it
would. Jake knew Templeton wouldn't go down without a fight as well as he knew his own name. "Jake." He didn't like the tone of her voice. "What is it?" "Barry's computer." She pointed to the empty desktop and faced him. “It’s gone." Before Jake could say a word, his radio crackled to life. "You missed your check in," O’Shea barked. "Everything all right up there?" Jake keyed the mike. "We're okay, but the computer isn't here." Courtney crossed the living room to wait for Jake in the entryway. Leaning against the front door
next to the hall closet, she listened to their conversation, easily separating the concern in Brian's gruff voice from the anger. One moment, she was quietly eavesdropping as the two men bickered back and forth. The next, she
was nearly knocked down as the closet doors burst open so hard they slammed against the wall. Courtney screamed, as a beefy arm slithered around her throat. Jake swore, as he yanked his gun from its holster. Time stood still. Horrified, Courtney realized Eddie and Lenny had charged from the closet. In a split second, Eddie
aimed at Jake, point blank, and pulled the trigger–not once, but twice. The shots were deafening in the confines of the hall. The acrid smell of gunpowder permeated the air.
As if in slow motion, Courtney saw two holes appear in the front of Jake's shirt. The force of the bullets hitting his chest threw him backward over the computer chair. She heard the air whoosh out of his lungs as he landed face down on the floor, his unfired gun just inches from his lifeless hand.
"My God!" she screamed, lunging at Eddie's throat. "You killed him in cold blood, you bastard!" Slapping her away, Eddie growled, "Dammit, Lenny, hang on to her." Horrified, Courtney strained against Leonard's grip as Eddie nudged Jake's sprawled body with the
toe of his shoe. "Nooo!" she screamed. Satisfied, Eddie turned toward Lenny. "Hang onto her and let's go," he instructed.
"But, Boss–"
"If you can't handle the broad, I'll kill you and take her myself," Eddie barked, cocking his gun. "What's it gonna be–"
The sound of static stopped Eddie mid-sentence.
"Jake, we've got problems,” Michael warned. We just found a man unconscious in the stairwell out back."
Eddie froze, glaring at the police radio lying beneath the desk.
"Jake?"
"Deluka's a lousy cop!" Eddie spat. Pointing his gun at Lenny's head, he hissed, "Bring her with us, and let's get the hell out–"
"All units from Command One,” Michael barked, “seal off the building. Courtney, Eddie and Lenny stood, momentarily paralyzed. Mesmerized, they stared at the inanimate radio as it continued its nameless, faceless broadcast.
The undercover officer and civilian female are not responding. Repeat–there is no response from the apartment. Assume the suspect or suspects are at the scene and consider them armed and dangerous. We may have a hostage situation.
Eddie threw open the apartment door. "Move it, Lenny," he shouted over his shoulder.
Courtney fought for her life. With Eddie already in the hallway, she kicked and clawed Lenny, doing her best to use the doorway for leverage. She blocked his effort to drag her into the hall by sinking her teeth into his arm, but his free hand slapped her hard across the face. Knocked to her knees she jerked her head up in time to notice Jake's fingers inching toward the gun.
He's alive! Renewed by hope, she gouged and scratched her way to her feet, tears of gratitude cooling her burning cheek. But no matter how hard she struggled, Lenny maintained a death grip on her. Unable to free herself, the moment she saw Jake's fingers wrap around the gun, she dropped to the floor to give him a clear shot.
The bang was deafening.
At the moment of impact, Courtney felt Lenny's hand relax. From her huddled position on the carpet, she pulled away and watched Lenny slide down the wall, eyes open, mouth gaping. A wide smudge of blood stained the wallpaper, following him to the floor.
Jake raced past Courtney. "Stay here," he shouted.
Despite Jake's warning, Courtney scrambled to her feet and followed. She rushed from the apartment in time to see Eddie lunge from an intersecting hallway at the opposite end of the building and shoot at Jake.
Click …nothing.
Eddie's eyes widened.
Jake's gun fired.
Courtney saw the bright red stain spread down Eddie's arm and heard the guttural curse as he turned and disappeared down the corridor at the end of the hall.
Afraid Eddie would be able to reload before Jake could catch him, and certain she couldn't help without a gun, Courtney raced back in Barry's apartment and grabbed the radio.
Keying the mike, she screamed, "Michael! Help! Templeton's man is headed out the back. He's wounded, but he's armed. Jake's following. Hurry! Help him!"
Courtney ran as fast as her legs would carry her. She had to get to Jake. At the end of the hall she turned right, just as Eddie had done. From there, she followed the trail of spattered blood leading to the back stairway. Flinging open the heavy metal door, she rushed down the stairs. Somewhere below her the sound of several shots being fired ricocheted off the walls in a deafening tattoo.
Covering both ears, she screamed, "Jake!"
Taking the remaining steps two at a time, she hit the ground floor on a dead run, shoving open the back door and racing outside. In the dim light of the alley she saw Eddie aim and shoot, but he wasn't facing Jake.
Jake yelled, "No!" He fired, taking Eddie down.
"Michael!" Courtney's cry sounded like a wounded animal, her legs felt like cement. The wail of sirens eluded her. The flashing blue lights of the squad cars that screeched to a halt all around her didn't register. She pushed and shoved her way through the onslaught of police officers.
Knowing, she’d radioed him to help Jake, Courtney fell to the ground at her brother's side.
"Oh, Michael, I’m so sorry," she sobbed, leaning over him protectively. My God, she thought, there's so much blood. On the side of his head. His face. His eye. "You're going to be all right," she crooned, praying he wasn't already dead. "Do you hear me, Michael? You're going to be just fine."
Jake took Courtney by the shoulders and pried her away, so the paramedics could take care of her brother. Pulling her to her feet, Jake wrapped his arms around her.
"Shhh," he whispered, holding her close.
Courtney clung to Jake's solid frame and watched another set of paramedics working on Eddie. As Templeton's man glared at her from across the parking lot, she was relieved to see he'd already been handcuffed.
Closing her eyes, she inched closer to Jake. "So that's why Eddie's bullets didn't kill you"–she patted his chest–"a second chance vest."
Jake nodded.
Before she could say more, she heard O’Shea's brogue from halfway across the parking lot.
"Courtney," Brian hollered, his shaky smile widening a bit as he ran to comfort her.
The instant Courtney left Jake's embrace, he noticed his surroundings for the first time. The haphazard squad cars. The frenzy of emergency workers. The hollow place in him that Courtney had filled so completely. Watching Courtney now, so pale, so brave, stirred an unmistakable need in Jake. A desire closer to yearning than anything he'd known for a very long time. She had walked back into his life and satisfied that longing, and he'd be damned if he'd let her walk out again. Not her or Janey.
"Jake." A paramedic tapped him on the shoulder. "We're ready to take Michael. Does his sister want to ride with him?"
"I'm sure she does," Jake told him. "I'll get her.
For the second time tonight, Jake approached Courtney and Brian. Their obvious closeness tweaked an unfamiliar streak of envy he didn't want to own up to, but couldn't deny.
"They're bringin' 'round the guy they found in the stairwell," Brian told them, breaking away. "I'll be right back."