by Cynthia Eden
Her gaze was on the door, the only thing she could see in that room. “Randy... That’s not Randy out there, is it?”
“He told me that he’d keep it all quiet, if I just let him have you.”
“He’s lying,” she whispered. “Please, don’t open that front door.”
“He has the video of the shooting. The kid wasn’t armed! I—I thought he was.” A beat of silence then, “I don’t know how Brushard got it, but he’ll air it, and I’ll lose everything.”
That was the way Stephen had worked before. Find a weak spot and exploit it. It was obvious that Stephen knew the detective’s weakness.
The door shook.
“Brodie thinks I’ve been his friend. And I am... I am.”
But he was walking toward the door.
Jennifer spun around and crawled through the window. She grabbed for the fire escape, but—a hand grabbed her.
She screamed.
And that hand jerked her out of the room. Right into—
“I’ve got you.” Brodie’s voice.
She’d been jerked into Brodie’s arms.
He’d been there? Standing out on that fire escape? Had he heard Shayne’s confession?
“Go down the fire escape,” he ordered. “Davis is down there. More cops are coming. Go.”
She rushed down the old steps, and the fire escape shook beneath her. Her hands flew over the railing. Down, down she went; then Jennifer jumped the last few feet to the ground below.
And she saw the body.
Just thrown away, like garbage. She hurried to the man’s side. “Randy?”
Her hand went to his throat. She couldn’t find a pulse.
Shots rang out from above, and when she looked up, she saw the flash of the gunfire, like lightning flickering from within that third-floor apartment.
Fear stole her breath. Brodie.
* * *
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Brodie demanded as he shoved Shayne against the wall. “You’re firing your weapon straight at the door! Someone could be—”
“He’s on the other side. The man who wants to hurt your precious Jennifer. The man who wants to kill her.” Shayne laughed. “Maybe I should have let him. Maybe everything would have been easier then.”
Brodie yanked the gun away from Shayne. “You’re a cop! Act like one.” The guy had been feeding him that bull about doing things the right way, and now this—
“I did it,” Shayne whispered. “I’m the one. They were helping me!”
Brodie battled back his fury and his growing fear. “Look, I don’t have time for this garbage right now. Randy is dead, and that jerk Stephen is—”
“He was on the other side of the door. I shot him! Chose to kill him, not her.”
Brodie backed away from him because Shayne wasn’t making any sense. Carefully, he opened the front door.
It was pitch-black out there. Carefully, he inched out into that hallway. Even in the darkness, it only took a few seconds to realize—
You didn’t shoot anyone, Shayne.
Because Brodie didn’t find anyone in that hallway.
* * *
“RANDY? RANDY, PLEASE!” She didn’t want more blood on her hands. She didn’t want this cop to die. She—
Felt a gun press into the back of her head.
“It was taking too long for the dirty cop to answer the door. So I thought it might be better to step outside.”
Once again, that voice was familiar, but this time, she knew exactly who was talking to her—knew who held that gun to her head. Stephen.
She froze.
“We’re going to leave now, Jennifer. Just you and me. We’re going to walk away, and if you come quietly, no one else has to die.”
He pulled Jennifer to her feet.
“You don’t want anyone else to die, do you?”
Her eyes were on the shadowy, still form of the young cop.
“You don’t want your lover to die. You don’t want his brothers to die. Hell, I bet you even would like for me to spare the life of the cop who sold you out.”
“I never wanted anyone to die.” Very, very slowly she turned to face Stephen. “Not even you.”
He laughed, and the sound was cold and chilling. “That’s right. You just wanted me to rot in prison, didn’t you?”
Sirens screamed in the distance.
“It’s time for us to go,” Stephen said. His arm wrapped around her. He pulled her close, his left arm slung around her shoulders and the gun now pressed to her side as they walked away from the apartment building. To any onlookers, they probably resembled a couple. Lovers.
He put his mouth close to her ear. “If you call for help, I will shoot anyone who is dumb enough to rush to your rescue.”
They’d left the alley. They were heading down the block.
“Jennifer?”
She swallowed. A man was running toward them.
The streetlight fell over his face. Not Brodie...
Brodie’s face, but that was Davis’s voice.
She could already feel Stephen reacting. At her name, he’d jerked, and he’d yanked the weapon up to aim it at Davis.
Davis can’t die! Brodie needs him!
She surged forward even as she grabbed for the gun. She tried to put herself in the path of that weapon so the shot wouldn’t hit—
It hit her. The bullet slammed into her side, and the pain burned through her.
“Jennifer!” Davis’s frantic shout.
But Stephen had dragged her up against him once more. And Davis— Davis had dodged for cover. Good...good...he was safe.
Her fingers went to her side. Pressed down. Blood spilled over her hand.
“Bad mistake, Jennifer, so very bad,” Stephen whispered. “You know I don’t plan to let you die easily.”
No, he had other plans, but at least Davis was safe.
Stephen began hauling her to the right, toward the street. A sedan waited there. His car?
“Let her go!” Davis ordered.
Stephen laughed. “Just like your brother, hmm? And where is that brother of yours? Dying upstairs, while you waste your time trying to protect her down here?”
Her body trembled. “Go...back up... Brodie!”
“Your brother trusted the wrong man. You all did. I saw the photos. I watched the video. I know what Detective Townsend did... A killer, and you thought he was helping you to find your parents’ murderer? He was just steering you the wrong way all along.”
They were at the sedan. The gun was still pressed tightly to her and his hold on her was unbreakable.
“I can’t let you take her,” Davis yelled. He’d abandoned his cover, and Jennifer saw that he’d drawn his weapon, a weapon aimed at her and Stephen.
“What will you do then? Shoot? If you do, you’ll hit her, and she’s already nearly bleeding out. Will you kill the woman that your brother loves?”
“He...doesn’t...” Jennifer managed to say. She was trembling harder now.
“I don’t think you will.” Stephen was so confident. So cocky. “I think you’re going to lower your gun right now...and back the hell up.”
“N-no,” Jennifer whispered. “If...you...he’ll sh-shoot...”
But Davis was hesitating. He started to lower his weapon. No!
Only instead of shooting at Davis then—as she’d feared, Stephen shoved Jennifer into the car. He jumped in behind her even as Davis fired off a round at them.
Then Stephen had the car rumbling to life. He slammed down on the gas pedal as Jennifer tried frantically to open the passenger-side door. But her fingers were slick with blood, and she couldn’t get the lock to disengage.
Stephen spun the car around.
She hit the side of the door, and her wound burned even more. Then she realized why he’d spun that car around.
He was heading straight for Davis. Davis was in the road, yelling for her, and Stephen was going to run him down.
She grabbed for the wheel. Stephen shoved her away.
Davis leaped to the side of the street, but Stephen just jerked the wheel. Davis wasn’t firing his weapon. He must have been still afraid of hitting her. The headlights from Stephen’s car were shining right on him as the car raced forward.
At the last moment, Davis jumped into the alleyway.
Stephen’s car slammed into a garbage can. Stephen lost control of the wheel a moment as the vehicle careened across the street. Then, with a curse, Stephen shot his car forward.
Her fingers were still fumbling with the lock.
“You can give that up,” he muttered. “I knew you’d be going for a ride with me. The lock is broken.” He glanced her way. “From here on out, it’s just going to be me and you.”
* * *
“NO, NO, NO!”
Brodie burst out of the building just as he heard his brother’s furious shout.
“Davis!”
His brother was in the middle of the street. At Brodie’s shout, Davis swung toward him. “He took her!”
Brodie shook his head.
“Come on! We can catch them!” Davis jumped into the car they’d used before. Revved the engine.
Sirens were closing in. Screaming. So loud now.
And Jennifer was...gone?
Brodie dived into the car. He’d barely gotten inside when Davis slammed his foot down on the gas pedal. The car fishtailed and screeched down the street.
“We’re looking for a dark sedan,” Davis gritted out. “Late model. No license plate. And...you need to know, he...he shot her.”
The blood seemed to freeze in Brodie’s veins.
“He was going to shoot me,” Davis continued as they raced down the road. “But she jumped in his way. She took that bullet. I’m so damn sorry.”
“There!” Brodie yelled because he’d just caught sight of the car. At least, he thought that was the car. Driving hell fast, no license plate on the back. I’m coming, Jennifer.
“He said...he said you were getting shot—that Shayne was turning on you.”
Brodie couldn’t think of Shayne’s betrayal right then. “Go faster!” He’d left his old friend behind because he’d been so worried about Jennifer.
The sedan screeched around a corner.
Davis surged after them, but a taxi turned right in front of them. Davis yelled and jerked the wheel hard, narrowly avoiding that taxi. Then he pounded on the horn. “Get out of the way!” Davis shouted.
The driver shouted back and slowly moved. Moved too slowly. Because by the time they rounded that corner, there was no sign of the sedan.
The road to the left was empty.
The road to the right was littered with a few cars—only none of them were sedans.
“Which way?” Davis demanded.
Brodie stared down those roads. “Right.” Because it would have been easier for the jerk to blend and vanish in that bit of traffic. “They went right.”
Davis spun the wheel, and they gave chase again.
* * *
STEPHEN DRAGGED HER out of the car. He’d taken her into an old garage, one a few yards off the road. She could hear the buzz of traffic around her.
“They’re not going to find you. They’ll just drive past us.” His hand locked around her side, right over the bullet wound. “By the time anyone finds you, it will be too late.”
He yanked her forward, and she realized he’d been staying there—in that abandoned garage. Because there were supplies inside. Glowing lanterns. Rope. Handcuffs. Knives.
This is where he’ll kill me.
He pushed her into a chair, tied her legs to the wood. Yanked her arms behind her back and handcuffed her so tightly that she had to choke back a cry of pain.
Then he crouched before her, putting his face right in front of hers. It was her first time seeing him clearly, and Jennifer gasped.
This wasn’t the man she remembered. Gone was the handsome, suave businessman who’d lied so easily as he destroyed lives.
His face was haggard, his eyes wild. His hair had been shaved, a buzz cut that made him look even deadlier.
And...there were scars on his face. A slash on his cheekbone. A long, thick line on his throat. His nose had been broken—by the looks of things, at least a few times.
“Kill or be killed... That was the law where you sent me.”
“I was doing my job! You were selling drugs, weapons!”
“The Russian mob thought I’d betrayed them. They couldn’t figure out how the authorities had gotten all that intel. They didn’t know about you.”
He put the gun on the floor.
“I knew about you, though. I put the pieces together. There were a few people—so damn few—who were still loyal to me.” He caught her chin in his hand to force her to keep staring into his eyes. “I got one of those men to keep watch on you. He was my eyes, when I couldn’t be there to see you for myself. He followed you, noticed the pattern. Wherever you and your dear old dad went, arrests seemed to follow you.”
“Stop blaming me!” she yelled at him. “You were the one selling the weapons. You were the one making the drugs. You were—”
His fingers dug into her skin. “If I’d never met you, I wouldn’t have gone to hell. Because that’s what that Russian prison was...hell. Every day was a battle. The attacks never stopped. At one point, I even wanted to die.” He smiled. “Then I realized...I couldn’t. Not yet. Because somewhere, you were out there. And you had to pay for what you’d done to me.”
He freed her. Rose to his feet. Stalked away.
She twisted her wrists, struggling against the cuffs.
“Once I got out, it was easy enough to track you down. Getting out—that took some time.”
“You faked your death.”
He laughed, the sound rough. “Guess that was something Nate and I had in common.”
Nate. The pain in her heart was worse than the throbbing burn of her bullet wound. “You went after Nate. You killed his wife!”
Stephen glanced back at her, surprise rippling over his face. “Is that what he told you? Oh, I see... He probably spun some bull about me killing the old broad because that made it look like he had to turn on you.” He laughed again, the sound seeming to echo around them. “That woman is dead, all right, but not by my hand. Nate got bored. He got tired of living an ordinary life.”
Jennifer shook her head. “No, you’re—”
“I planned to kill him. I mean, he was helping you back in Russia, wasn’t he? But I thought I’d use him first. So I just offered him money. Money to help me get to you. Told him that when you were cold in the ground, he’d get a big payday.”
Her wrists twisted inside the cuffs.
“He’d gone from living like a billionaire to living on a clipping-coupons budget. He jumped at the chance to turn on you.”
She swallowed. “I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care.” He turned his back. Kept walking. “Cling to your delusions if that makes you feel better. If you’d rather he turned on you because he was facing his own death—go right ahead.” He stopped near a table and picked up a gleaming knife. “But the truth is this... He didn’t care about you. No one has ever cared. You’re disposable. To the government. To Nate.”
Each word seemed to stab into her.
“You wrecked lives, and now, it’s your turn to suffer.”
The hell it was.
He advanced on her.
“I saved lives!” Jennifer shouted at him as she lifted her chin. “Innocent lives. Women and children in France. Refugees in the Middle East. Orphans in Russia. Yeah—the same orphans you were trying to use as drug mules.” Her breath rushed out. “I put away criminals. Men like you who deserved to be behind bars. So spin me your lies about how I messed up your life, if that’s what you have to believe, but the truth is...” Her chest heaved. “The truth is that you destroyed yourself long before I ever came along.”
He held her stare a moment longer. Then he glanced down at the blade in his hand.
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* * *
THE YOUNG COP was dead. Shayne Townsend gazed at Randy Mullins. The rookie had been so excited about his job. So eager to help.
“What happened here?”
Shayne looked over his shoulder and saw Grant McGuire pushing his way through the small crowd that had gathered on the street.
Grant saw him and shouted, “Shayne! Shayne, where is Brodie?”
Shayne turned away from the sight of that still cop. His death is on me. He hadn’t intended for the man to get hurt. There were so many things he hadn’t intended. He strode toward Grant. “I’m sorry.”
Grant blanched. “No, not Brodie—”
“He’s not here. Jennifer was taken, and Brodie went after her.”
Grant spun away, but Shayne grabbed his shoulder before he could leave. “I...I haven’t been...the friend you thought.” Once, he and Grant had been so very close.
Once.
“Shayne?” Now there was suspicion in Grant’s voice. On his face.
Shayne swallowed and said, “Call Brodie. Tell him...Fifteen-seventy-eight Ridgeway. That’s where he’ll find the man he’s looking for.” He flashed his friend a tired smile. “If I don’t find him first.”
Because he wasn’t going to have Jennifer Wesley’s blood on his hands. He wasn’t going to hurt the McGuires again.
His career was over. The lies...the secrets...they were all about to come out into the open.
* * *
BRODIE’S PHONE RANG, vibrating in his pocket. He yanked it up, saw the name on the screen, then shoved the phone against his ear. “Grant, the guy has Jennifer! We lost them and I need you to—”
“Fifteen-seventy-eight Ridgeway.”
“What?”
“Shayne said you needed to get there. He’s on his way, too, and as soon as these cops get out of my way—” anger roughened Grant’s voice “—I’ll be en route.”
“Turn the car around,” Brodie snapped to Davis. “Now.”
There were other voices on the line. He heard the cops questioning Grant.
“Fifteen-seventy-eight Ridgeway,” Brodie told his brother as a cold chill pierced his heart.
They’d passed that street fifteen minutes ago. It would take them that long—maybe less—to get back.
So much could happen in a few moments’ time.
In a few moments, a person could live...