The Marrying Kind

by Beverly Bird

  Her thoughts raced on. The leak was in Jesse’s office. That staggered her and relieved her all at once. Because Jesse would never have suspected. Why should he? Why should he be careful of what mundane details his secretary overheard?

  It seemed that no time at all had passed, but suddenly Tessa realized she was seeing signs for the bridge. She panicked. Her palms went slick. Once they were back in Philadelphia, she was as good as dead. Or, at least, Christian would make her wish she was.

  Drive off the bridge? A traffic accident? If she drove erratically, would someone notice—at best, a patrol car, or even another driver who might notify the police? It was the only chance she had.

  She glanced in the side mirror and saw a car inching up behind her. She swerved suddenly into that lane. The driver leaned on his horn. She did it again, wildly, whipping back and forth.

  Benami’s fingers dug painfully into her arm to hold it still. “One more time,” he snarled, “and I will shoot you right here.”

  “You’d die, too!” she cried desperately. “You can’t kill me while I’m driving!”

  “If I let you do this to me, I’m as good as dead,” he sneered. “Haven’t you wondered why this is necessary? There’s no way I can disappear twice, from two states. Even the F.B.I. would be looking for me. You had to go and complicate things with your sickening, rich-girl virtue. I thought that when they brought you back for the case, I’d be fine. I had Jeanie in your brother’s office, and I had Basil English. But then you turned into a bloodhound. You wouldn’t leave it alone.”

  His eyes were turning less cold. They were heated now with some inner fire.

  “I’ll back off,” she said helplessly, knowing he’d never believe it. “I won’t push the investigation.”

  “No, you won’t. And neither will your caveman partner. I warned him he’d pay for touching me. I think I’ll let him watch you die.”

  They were on the bridge.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “I’m not sure yet. You came to the store sooner than I’d expected.”

  “The store?” And then she understood. He’d known they were in New Jersey all along.

  “I followed you from his house. I thought the two of you might stay holed up in that cabin for days yet.” His expression made her skin crawl. “Who needed food and drink when you had each other? I couldn’t take you there. There was no way I could get in without him waiting for me with his gun drawn. But the store...ah, the store. Sooner or later, one of you would have to show up there. And I have all the patience in the world.”

  “Gunner—”

  “He’s coming. We’ll go somewhere he’ll think of. Somewhere he’ll find. I want both of you together, of course. He’ll come after you, and then I’ll have him, too. I’ll get rid of both of you together.”

  He shouldn’t have said that, Tessa realized almost dispassionately. Looking her own death in the eye was terrifying. But considering Gunner’s was beyond endurance. Not again. She thought crazily that she was the kiss of death for men she loved. Not again. She started down the Pennsylvania side of the bridge.

  She had not been able to save Matt, and she knew, suddenly, that God was giving her a second chance, a way to atone, a way to make things right. She began shaking uncontrollably. Her heart began beating harder. Her hands tightened even more on the steering wheel.

  She had to get it right this time. Had to.

  Maybe she would die, but God bless her, Christian Benami would die with her, long before Gunner ever found them. He would not kill John.

  There were no tollbooths on the westbound lane of the bridge—they were all back on the Jersey side. They had already gone through one with absurd nonchalance, the gun hidden but pressed into her side in case she tried to call out for help. She searched for one on the other side of the highway divide. Surely one would be empty.

  She realized she was sobbing. Her last desperate thought was that Internal Affairs would probably think Gunner’s knack for wrecking cars was contagious. Ernie, the garage attendant, would be apoplectic.

  She veered suddenly for the approaching line of traffic. She had to get into the other lane. Christian bellowed a protest as he realized what she was doing. He waved the gun wildly, and his finger was on the trigger.

  It was the people! she despaired. So many innocent people. The car thumped and lurched over the median and she almost lost control of the wheel. For a moment they were airborne. Christian pulled the trigger, but the crazy rocking of the unmarked made the shot go astray. The windshield shattered into spraying glass and she screamed again—and then, there was a break in traffic just when she needed it.

  Tessa sped through and rammed the city car deliberately into a tollbooth.

  “Oh, for God’s sake!” Gunner shouted in frustration.

  The phone was dead. The clerk had insisted that sometimes he unwittingly tripped over the cord and it got unplugged from the wall. The young man had spent the better part of five minutes now digging beneath cartons of cigarettes and various other boxes behind the counter, following the cord to some unseen spot. Every few inches he had to stop and remove another obstacle.

  He was moving as slowly as though someone had paid him to do it.

  Suddenly, with that thought, Gunner knew.

  He roared in a fit of rage, planted a hand on the counter, and vaulted over it. The man shouted in panic and backed up, but not quickly enough. Gunner caught the front of his smock and lifted him half off the floor as if he were a madman.

  “Where is he?”

  “I didn’t—I don’t—”

  Gunner hauled back with a white-knuckled fist. “Where?”

  “He left!” the kid bleated, his eyes glued to Gunner’s hand. “Out the back way when you came in! He’s been waiting for you for a couple of days. He just said to stall you! He said—”

  Gunner literally threw him away from him.

  The kid landed, sprawling, in the boxes. Gunner shouted Tessa’s name as he leaped over the counter again. He raced outside. Their unmarked was gone.

  Another car was just pulling out of the lot. He ran for it, slamming his fist down on the hood. The driver hit the brakes, his eyes bugging. Gunner ran around and wrenched open the driver’s side door, dragging the man out.

  “Which way?” he snarled.

  “Which way what?” the man hollered in angry alarm.

  “There was another car here. Right there.” He pointed to where he had left the unmarked. “Which way did it go?”

  “That way.” He pointed west, toward the city. “Hey, that’s my car! You can’t—”

  Gunner didn’t hear him. He was already behind the wheel when the man started speaking, burning rubber before he broke off.

  She had her gun.

  He knew it was in her purse, knew she had her purse with her, because he had had to wait for her while she went back into the cabin to get it. Sweet Jesus, what if she couldn’t use it?

  He yelled with pure anguish and pressed down on the accelerator. He had to catch up with them before they got back to the bridge. Once they reached the Philadelphia city limits, he would lose them.

  Not indefinitely. Hell, no, not indefinitely. Benami wanted both of them. He hadn’t just shot into Tessa’s kitchen. He’d tried to run him off the road, too. And as long as even one of them was alive, he’d have to keep looking back over his shoulder. He’d leave a trail of clues, luring Gunner in. But it would take a while, a sweet, precious while, for Gunner to figure those clues out. And in the meantime, the bastard had her.

  He would make the waiting torturous for her. There was no telling what he might do to her in the meantime.

  “I’m coming, sweetheart, hold on, hold on. You don’t need to shoot anybody. He won’t have you.”

  It became a chant. When he finally hit the bridge, the car was bulleting along at nearly a hundred miles an hour. He leaned steadily on the horn to clear traffic and urged the car faster.

  The air bags. She had forgott
en the air bags.

  Tessa jerked the wheel to the left so that Benami’s side of the car would be the one to crack into the tollbooth at nearly sixty miles an hour. She couldn’t get up any more speed in the traffic. The unmarked came to a sudden, lurching, screaming stop. It tossed her around and drove the steering wheel into her ribs in that split second it took for the air bags to release. Then there was white everywhere.

  She fought it frantically, sobbing, thrashing, and heard the distant tinkling of broken glass and somebody shouting.

  Then gunfire.

  She hadn’t killed him. No, no, no! Benami was alive, still trying to shoot her. Could still shoot her, because of the air bags. Oh, God, give me another chance, one more chance. Gunner would almost certainly catch up with them now that they had stopped.

  Her door had sprung open with the impact when the front of the car had folded. There was the hiss of steam and it seemed to burn her eyes as she crawled out onto the concrete. Sharp, jagged glass cut into her hands and knees, even through her jeans. She was bleeding everywhere. There was a groaning sound overhead, and when she looked up she realized that her eyes burned because she was crying. She could barely see for her tears.

  One more chance, please, one more chance.

  The tollbooth had crumpled in upon itself. An insipid siren whined—the signal that someone had gone through without paying. She laughed giddily and began moving, keeping low. She heard the groaning sound again; the roof of the toll plaza was sagging dangerously without the full support of the booth.

  She saw her purse. Christian had lost it when the car had crashed. Tessa pushed shakily to her feet. Pain screamed through her side and she pressed her arm down against her ribs, crying out.

  Get the gun.

  A bullet pinged off something nearby. Now that she was upright, the pain was more than she could bear. Her vision went red, then cloudy, and she swayed.

  She dropped to her knees again and almost blacked out as bone ground together with the impact. She’d broken her ribs. Didn’t matter, couldn’t matter, because she had to kill Benami before Gunner got here.

  Too late.

  She heard Gunner roaring her name and cried out in panic and despair. How had he gotten here so fast? Stupid question. He drove like a maniac.

  Where was Benami? She saw his heels disappearing around the back of the car. He was on his hands and knees, too. She must have hurt him at least a little. But he was moving in the direction of Gunner’s voice.

  She got to her purse and dug into it for her gun. Her fingers closed around the cold metal. She had the safety free before she dragged herself to her feet again, slowly, too slowly. The siren was somehow getting louder. She looked around crazily.

  State cops. Someone had called the police.

  “Get back!” she snarled when a bystander reached a hand out to help her. “I’m okay.” She stepped shakily past the man.

  A car she didn’t recognize was skewed sideways, stopped, snarling traffic in the westbound lane. And Gunner was running away from it, toward them, shouting, his gun drawn. Not placating. Not with his hands outstretched in a plea. No, no, she had known he would never do that.

  Yet memory seemed to superimpose over her vision. Something gripped her muscles in icy hands. No, no, she couldn’t let it happen again. Gunner brought his gun up, firing as he ran.

  And then he spun around and dropped hard onto the macadam.

  “Nooool” She didn’t recognize her own voice. “I have a gun this time! I have one!”

  And then, somehow, she had it up, in front of her, and her finger was on the trigger. She caught sight of Benami again out of the corner of her eye and whipped around to aim at him. He was coming to his feet just beyond the mangled wreckage of the unmarked car. Moving toward Gunner. His revolver came up again.

  “Stop!” she screamed.

  Christian looked over at her calmly and actually smiled. “You won’t shoot.”

  She pulled the trigger.

  Bam! The gun recoiled in her hand. She wrapped her left fingers around her right wrist automatically, instinctively, without thought, just the way she had been taught. Benami took a step backward, and at first she thought she had merely surprised him. But then she saw blood spreading at his right shoulder.

  “Lay down, you bastard! Lay down! Drop the gun!”

  Somehow, impossibly, he stayed upright. He turned, teetering, aiming at Gunner again. He knew that if he killed Gunner, she would crumble, so he’d go for him first, finish him off.

  Big mistake.

  Tessa screamed and kept shooting. Bam! Bam! He staggered a little the other way, then he finally went down.

  Her legs gave out at the same time. Someone caught her. “I did it,” she whispered, struggling against the hands that wanted to hold her. She looked wildly over her shoulder. It was a State Police officer.

  “I’d say so, lady.” He dragged her arms roughly behind her back to cuff her.

  “I’m a cop!” she protested, struggling with him. “My badge is in my purse.” I’m a cop. I deserve to be a cop.

  Then her brain cleared a little. “Gunner!”

  Somehow she managed to wrench away from the officer. She staggered at first, then she got her legs to work. She ran.

  She heard a horrible keening sound and realized it was her own voice. She collapsed beside Gunner. His eyes were open. Her heart stopped. Staring, seeing nothing, just like Matt, oh God, not Then they moved and tried to focus on her.

  “Great...shot, sweetheart.”

  Tessa sobbed, and incredibly, heard her laughter bubble over her tears. He always made her laugh.

  “You’re alive,” she gasped.

  For the moment, Gunner thought. And he had plenty of reasons for staying that way. “Better... call me... an ambulance.”

  Chapter 20

  Tessa sipped coffee and grimaced. It was cold.

  She clutched the cup between both hands to keep them from trembling. She leaned forward in the hard, plastic seat in the hospital waiting room, her elbows braced on her thighs. The position put unwarranted pressure on her ribs, but they were bandaged now, and the pain kept her going. It kept her brain clear, sharp, focused.

  She looked up when Becky Trumball pried the cup out of her hands and replaced it with a hot one. “Thanks,” she murmured.

  “He’ll be fine,” Mel Kaminski said for the thousandth time.

  Mel was seated on Tessa’s other side. Before she even finished speaking, Roger Kennery. came up behind her and put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

  They were all here. Nearly all of Homicide and a few other officers besides. Plus a good portion of the State Police who had caught the incredible shoot-out. Gunner’s parents were a few seats down, and Angela Byerly paced wherever there was room, all long legs in a mint green miniskirt. A cop had gone down, and everyone who could possibly get here would keep the vigil.

  Tessa drank hot coffee, and her gut churned.

  It wouldn’t happen again. It wasn’t like before. Matt had died on the sidewalk. Gunner had been alive and reasonably full of wit and repartee when they had loaded him into the ambulance.

  She had frozen when Matt had died, hadn’t had a weapon to do anything with even if she had been able to. She had been armed this time, had shot Benami, had kept him from pulling the trigger with the bullet that would have finished John Gunner off.

  Something moved painfully inside her again, but this time at least a little bit of it was satisfaction. Pride. If Gunner would only live—please, God—then she would be thrilled with the way things turned out. Benami was in another operating room. If he made it, Nebraska and Pennsylvania would scramble around for a while over jurisdiction, but he’d probably end up being tried in Pennsylvania. They could get him on more charges here and aggravate his sentence. He would not only be charged with murder, but with deadly assault on two police officers as well.

  It wasn’t like before. She had done something.

  It wasn’t like before.
This was a thousand times better and worse, she realized, and she flinched. I’m sorry, Matt, she thought automatically, and for a moment she was sure she heard her husband’s easy laughter.

  He had been her best friend, and that had been the whole tone of their marriage. There had been such a warmth between them, a certain camaraderie. It had been a partnership in the fullest sense of the word—more so than her relationship with Gunner. She and Matt had shared everything, from household chores to... well, to driving. Matt had never been an arrogant chauvinist.

  And she had never, ever shared with him the kind of passion, the kind of longing, that Gunner incited in her. She accepted that now.

  She wondered what Matt, with his quiet, reasonable wisdom, would tell her in this moment. And suddenly she knew. He would tell her that she was a very lucky woman. A woman God had blessed with two strong loves in a single lifetime. Different loves, certainly. But a man like Matt would never have been able to urge her past her fear, her rules, her lines. He’d been far too easygoing, too accepting of any decision she made, even if he didn’t agree with it. He would never have coerced her, teased her, pushed her, until she was free again.

  Her love for a man like Matt would not have been powerful enough to make her shoot again, to finally pull that trigger. Only a love that was raging, elemental, immense had been enough to get her over that final hurdle, to make her put herself to the test, to do something to try to save Gunner’s life.

  She would never know if she would have been able to shoot in defense of her own life, but she had been able to do it for his.

  A doctor came through the swinging doors into the waiting room. She was on her feet even before the doors closed behind him.

  “He’s as good as new,” the man said proudly.

  There was a collective murmur of relief from those gathered. Tessa felt herself sway.

  “Luckily he’s in great physical condition,” the doctor disclosed.

  I know.

  “He took the bullet just inside his left hip. It didn’t tear up anything he can’t live without.”

  No more mole, she thought crazily.