by Nina Bruhns
A fist-size stone lay by her hip. Fear gave way to anger, hot and fluid. If he touched her one more time, so help her God—
“Hey!” Someone was shouting from the front. “Wendy?”
Amber’s voice.
Stay quiet or he’ll hurt you worse. He’ll hurt Amber. “Back here!” Wendy screamed as she reached for the stone. She threw it, missed. Oh God.
For a moment it looked like Keith was going to kick her in the face. But instead, he spit at her, then strode around the other side of the house, disappearing in seconds.
She closed her eyes and lay there, trying to catch her breath. She couldn’t just jump up this time and dust off, pretend that nothing happened. And she no longer wanted to pretend. She opened her eyes in time to see Amber rushing toward her.
“What happened?” She had her son in her arms. “Did you slip? Thank God we left Max’s scarf here. What did you hurt?”
She set the little boy down and reached to help Wendy up.
“My back.” Wendy shuffled to the steps to the deck and sat, tried to breathe evenly, tried to keep calm. If she let those nasty stress hormones flood her system, everything would just be worse. “I think I need to go in and get checked out.”
“Yes, of course you do. I’ll drive you to the emergency room.”
“Thanks. Could I ask another favor? Could you please tell Mike that Keith was here?”
“Who is Keith?” Amber glanced around wildly. “Did somebody hurt you?”
“Just tell Mike, please.”
“Okay.” She told Max to stay with Wendy, then she ran.
In the end, Mike took her to the hospital and Amber stayed at the house with the boys. Wendy called Sophie from the car on their way to West Chester.
“I was about to call you,” Sophie said as soon as she picked up. “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but Joe was in some big shootout last night.”
Wendy’s heart lurched. “Is he okay?”
“They don’t know. They can’t find him.”
Breathe slowly. Breathe evenly.
“Want me to come over?” Sophie offered. “Bing can keep us up-to-date.”
Wendy closed her eyes. Breathed in and out slowly. “Could we meet at the hospital? I had another accident.”
Deathblow: Chapter Sixteen
By the time Joe finished with all the briefings at the Philadelphia Police Department, had a private meeting with Chief Gleason, then got sewn up at the hospital, his dashboard clock read close to noon.
Ramos and his crew had been arrested. So had most of J.T.’s gang. J.T. was dead. Rashard had gotten him before he’d been killed himself. Ramos had been shot in the arm. Twenty pounds of cocaine had been confiscated at J.T.’s warehouse, more drugs at Ramos’s place, and about two dozen illegal weapons.
One innocent bystander was also killed, a jogger.
Out of the major players, only Paco slipped through the dragnet, but the cops were looking for him.
Joe’s new cell phone was in pieces, took the brunt of the bullet that had ripped into his thigh. His torn pants were hanging off him, but he couldn’t care less. He was ready for a shower, lunch with Wendy and Justin, then some sleep.
The only good part of the morning was that he’d gotten his car back. The Camaro was shot up, but it was running. He’d worry about the damage tomorrow. He was too drained to even put in a call to Artie today.
Joe was tired to the bone, beaten up and bruised all over, starving to death. The first thing he noticed when he turned down his street was that Mike’s undercover car was gone. His sister’s car stood in the driveway, along with Sophie’s.
Maybe Mike had to go out on a call and the captain sent Sophie over so Wendy wouldn’t be alone. Joe had asked Amber to check in on Wendy, so her car in the driveway didn’t surprise him.
Looked like Wendy was having a girls’ get-together. She deserved a break.
He pulled over by the curb in front of his house so he wouldn’t block the women in. An enthusiastic Peaches greeted him when he stepped inside, nosing his hands for an ear scratch. He took care of that, then walked toward the voices in the living room.
The second he saw them, he knew something was wrong. Wendy was lying on the couch, pale. Sophie was putting a bag of frozen peas on her face while Amber kept the boys busy with a toy train. Then Sophie spotted Joe, and she stepped back.
“Hey. What’s going on?” He went to kneel next to Wendy and took her hand. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“Keith stopped by.”
He tamped down the cold anger that filled him. “How bad is it?”
“I’m fine. A little bruised.”
He glanced at Justin, who was showing off his plastic dinosaur to Max. “What about him?”
“He wasn’t there.”
Thank God for that. He turned back to Wendy, and when she shifted the frozen peas, he caught sight of the reddish bruise on her face before she covered it up again. The cold anger inside him heated to hot fury.
“The baby?”
“The baby’s fine. The doc did an ultrasound. I’m just supposed to take it easy for the rest of the day.”
Sophie and Amber took the kids quietly out to the kitchen with promises of treats. Peaches followed after them.
Joe looked Wendy over more carefully, trying to see where else she might be hurt. “Tell me what happened.”
“He came through the neighbor’s yard and caught me outside. He knocked me down.”
He rolled his jaw. “Did you file a police report?”
She nodded. “Mike never saw him. It’s still my word against Keith’s. Mike was up front, and Keith came through the back. It’s not Mike’s fault. I didn’t even think Keith could track me here.”
Joe kept holding on to her hand. He should have been here with her. “Where is Mike now?”
“Bing has the whole department out, looking for Keith. I told him I’d be safe here with Amber and Sophie and Peaches.” She held his gaze. “What happened to you? Bing said you were in a gunfight and then disappeared. I was worried.”
“I should have called. My phone got shot. Long night. Even longer paperwork. You have to fill out a stack of forms for discharging your firearm. Then another stack for getting injured in the line of duty. Then I had to get a bullet wound disinfected at the hospital.”
She came upright. “You’re shot!” Her gaze searched him, settled on his torn pants. “How bad is it?”
“Hey.” He pulled her into his arms. “It’s barely a nick. Don’t worry about me.”
She laid the frozen peas on the couch next to her, buried her face into his neck, and hugged him back. He kept holding on to her, as if she would disappear if he let her go. “How did Keith find you? Did he say anything?”
“He figured out I was with you. Everyone in Broslin knows where you live.” She pulled back to look at him. “Bing was mad. He called the Wilmington police too. He’s calling in every favor.”
He’d have to thank the captain for that, Joe thought, torn between staying and going after the bastard.
Then Wendy said, “Could you stay home? Just today.”
And that decided it for him.
“I’m right here. If I have to go anywhere tomorrow, there’ll be someone in the house with you. Twenty-four seven.” The captain probably had the protection detail authorized already.
The cordless phone rang on the side table. The captain.
“I just caught up with Chief Gleason,” he said. “I’m glad you’re home in one piece.”
“Anything on Keith Kline?”
“Not yet. But I have a warrant for his arrest. We’ll find him. Everybody is out looking. You stay with Wendy today. I’ll send someone to take over in the morning. I want to see you at the station.”
“I’ll be in.” He clicked off the phone, then turned back to Wendy. “I want to hear the whole story from the beginning.”
And she told him, from the moment Keith had stepped out from behind the holly bushes. The muscles in his sh
oulders pulled tighter and tighter as Wendy recounted the attack, her face pale, her voice brittle with emotion.
“I’m going to get him.”
“I know.”
“He’s not going to get custody if he’s filing from prison.”
“That’s good.” Her gaze brightened a little.
He glanced at her middle. “Do you think I could?”
Surprise flickered across her face. “Yes.” And then she took his hand and placed it over her belly. “No kicking yet, but soon.”
He acknowledged his disappointment. He wanted, badly, some kind of a connection, to know for sure the baby was fine too.
As his stomach growled, he glanced toward the clock on the entertainment system. “Have you eaten?”
“Your sister made me lunch. She and Sophie were trying to outdo each other spoiling me.” A faint smile curved her lips. “They can be scary bossy together.”
Seeing her smile loosened some of the tightness inside him.
The kids were laughing in the kitchen, the dog barking. Happy sounds filled his house. It would have been idyllic if not for the bruised and battered woman in front of him. It was the last time, he swore to himself, the very last time the bastard would ever touch her. Whatever Joe had to do to stop him. Whatever. If he lost his badge in the process, so be it.
Amber walked over from the kitchen. “Max is getting pretty cranky. I think it’s time for a nap for this little bandit.” She looked at Joe holding Wendy’s hand. Smiled. “Are you going to be okay here?”
Wendy smiled back, but her smile was tight, as if holding something in. “I’m fine. Thank you so much for your help. Thank you for everything.”
“Are you in pain?” Joe asked.
“I got acetaminophen at the hospital.”
Amber bent to hug her. “I’ll stop by tomorrow to check on you. And then we’re going to have a long discussion about me becoming an aunt. I so love you for that.” She grinned.
Sophie came in, the two little boys following her. “I can stay and take care of Justin if you’d like.”
“Thank you, but I can handle it. Honestly. I already took up everybody’s morning.” Wendy protested. “Justin needs a nap too. As soon as I put him down, he’ll be out like a light.”
“I’ll be home for the rest of the day,” Joe put in as Sophie leaned in for a hug and a kiss.
“Call me if you need anything.”
“Me too,” Amber added.
“I’ll take care of her,” Joe promised and got up. He scooped up Justin and walked the women out, thanked them for their help and locked up behind them.
Wendy was sitting by the time he strode back into the living room, holding a wiggling and jiggling Justin under his arm like a football. He set the kid down and filled his lungs as he faced Wendy. Hell of a time to give her the news, but she had a right to know.
“I know who cut your brake lines. And I feel guilty as hell about that. A gangbanger I was dealing with at work figured out I was undercover, followed me, and saw your car, thought you were my wife.”
“Not someone Keith hired?”
Joe shook his head. “We can’t blame that on him. But I’m blaming him for everything else. And I will hold him responsible.”
“Is the guy who cut my brake lines in jail?”
“Not yet, but there’s a city-wide dragnet to catch him. They’ll have him. The rest of his gang was rolled up today. He has nobody to watch his back.”
She shifted on the sofa and winced from the movement.
“You lie back down. I can put the kid down for his nap.” Joe stepped after Justin and scooped him up.
“Are you sure?”
“I watch Max sometimes for Amber. I’m an experienced babysitter.” Joe swung Justin up to his shoulders. “Ready, buddy?”
“Readyreadyready!” Justin drummed on his head as Joe ran up the stairs with him.
The kid didn’t give him any trouble. His last burst of energy ran out pretty fast. As Joe settled him in and picked a book to read, Justin was yawning. He was asleep before Joe finished his naptime story.
By the time Joe went back downstairs, Wendy was yawning too. He sat on the end of the couch and put her feet on his lap.
She flinched when he touched her, realized that he saw it. “Sorry.”
“You don’t ever have to apologize.” Especially not after today.
He could tell she was working on relaxing, and she did, eventually, as he massaged her soles. She relaxed enough to fall asleep.
He swung over the clever laptop arm of the side table and turned on his laptop, brought up everything the PD had on Keith Kline so far. He read through every detail, highlighted everything that might be a clue to where to find the bastard. Then he called in his suggestions to the captain.
He opened the Brogevich case file next. Looked at crime-scene photos. Read the transcript from Doris’s official interview. Most of the time, the killer was someone who knew the victim, but Joe could pretty much rule out the family this time. He knew Marie. He could rule out a romantic rival too. No way would Marie have an affair. They weren’t best friends, but Joe knew her enough to know that.
A woman didn’t put herself through three grueling IVF procedures with a man she didn’t love.
As far as business rivals went, Phil had his own practice and no longer worked at the hospital. He was no longer a rival for the next staff promotion.
Joe typed Broslin psychologist psychiatrist therapy into the search engine. One other name came up: Gerta Fischer. Right. He knew Gerta, a sixty-five-year-old German woman who was about to close shop and retire. She had crippling arthritis. It would have been nearly impossible for her to swing the phone as hard as the killer had. She had no motive either.
But if not a rival, then who?
According to Doris, Phil spent his time either at work or home with his wife and new baby. What time he didn’t spend with his family, he spent with his patients. Every instinct Joe had said that the killer was someone Phil was seeing in a professional capacity.
He pushed the laptop aside and lifted Wendy’s feet gently so she wouldn’t wake, stood up, then covered her with a blanket. Then he went upstairs and carried down the boxes Harper had dropped off, the hospital sign-in sheets. Since Wendy and Justin were sleeping in his office, he’d stashed them in his bedroom for the time being, but he didn’t want to work up there now. He wanted to stay near Wendy.
He’d already separated out the sign-up sheets for Tuesdays, the days when Phil had his anger management group. Now he began to read through them.
He squeezed in about two hours’ worth of work before Justin woke, which woke Wendy. Joe spent the rest of the afternoon with them. He felt pretty bushwhacked but didn’t want to sleep, in case Wendy needed him.
Not that she would stay put. She insisted on getting up and doing whatever needed to be done with her son. She wouldn’t even let Joe cook dinner. But when bedtime for Justin rolled around, she did let Joe take the little boy up to bed. So he cleaned the kid up, dragged some pajamas on him, and reread the book they’d read before naptime—apparently, Justin’s favorite.
About dancing sheep.
When he finished, the kid read the book back to him, nearly word for word—impressive. Joe tucked the boy in, then walked over to the master bathroom and turned on the water in the tub.
“Okay, the dancing sheep are so wrong on so many levels,” he told Wendy as he plodded down the stairs.
“It’s a very wholesome series. Teaches creativity.”
“Three guy sheep, living together. They like dancing, painting, and cooking.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“How about sports? And they could fix a car now and then. Where are the girl sheep?”
“You think men need women to feel complete?” she teased him.
“Are you mocking me?”
“Is that a trick question?” She smiled. The afternoon rest had definitely done her good.<
br />
He liked seeing her joke around. “Dancing sheep is a book a mother would buy. I’m going to set Justin up with some studly books.” He walked over to her.
“Hey, maybe America’s Most Wanted has a bedtime storybook edition.”
“I’m going to check on that. Or something like Tool Time for Bedtime. If that picture book doesn’t exist, somebody needs to start writing it.”
“Good night, hammer, good night, saw?” She shook her head, still smiling.
Joe walked over, tucked a few stray strands of hair behind her ear. “I’m drawing you a nice warm bath.” Warm, not hot. Pregnant women weren’t supposed to sit in a hot bath. He’d learned that when Amber had been pregnant with Max. Amber wasn’t the type who was shy about sharing. Joe knew about mucus plugs and water breaking and the whole nine yards.
“A bath sounds really, really great.”
“Hold on.” He bent, and, before she could protest, he gathered her up into his arms.
Embarrassment flushed across her cheeks. “I’m not a total invalid. My legs are fine. You took a bullet.”
“Barely a scratch.” He carried her up the stairs, liking the feel of her in his arms. She was here; she was safe. “I feel guilty as hell because I wasn’t here to protect you, all right? You have to let me do something.”
He set her on her feet in front of the tub and stepped to the linen closet to grab some towels and lay them on the towel bar. “Do you need anything else?”
“This is really nice. I can handle it from here.”
He walked out, paused by the guest bathroom, grabbed Justin’s bubble bath, and carried it back to her. He didn’t keep that kind of stuff on hand. He knocked.
“Come in.”
She was still fully dressed. He held up the bottle. “Do you want any of this?”
“That’d be nice.”
So he stepped over and dumped some in, probably too much, since the water frothed up in a minute, bubbles covering everything. “Okay. Don’t get lost in there.”
Instead of smiling at the lame joke, she was wincing as she tried to lift her arms.
“Do you need help?”
“Could you please just help me with my sweater?” She turned her back to him.