by Cynthia Eden
And Kurt pulled out a gun.
“Was watching the house...waiting...knew he’d come back...” Kurt’s words were slurred. Drunk. Pain filled. “H-he hated you so much...knew he’d come back...have to stop him.” His weapon pointed at his father.
Hayden had kicked Theodore’s knife away from the injured man. “He is stopped, Kurt. Your father is done. He’s going to prison, and he won’t hurt anyone again.”
The gun trembled in Kurt’s hand. “Prison...won’t bring Christy back.”
Jill eased forward. “Killing him won’t do that, either.”
But Kurt smiled. “Killing him...will make me feel a whole lot better.”
“Is that what Christy would have wanted?” Jill asked him, desperate. I didn’t think about Kurt...all the pain he felt... I should have realized he wouldn’t let his father go.
“Don’t know what Christy wants,” Kurt’s breath heaved out. “She’s dead. Can’t ask her. He took her...and lied...lied for so long.” He shook his head. She saw the tear tracks on his cheeks. “No more. No more!”
Kurt was going to fire. Jill knew it. She didn’t want to shoot him but—
Hayden launched his body at Kurt’s, tackling the other man. They fell against the couch. The bullet fired, but it went wild, blasting into the TV and shattering the screen.
“You aren’t like him,” Hayden said as he held the other man down. “You’re stronger. You aren’t like him. We don’t have to be like our fathers.”
Kurt started crying—choking out hard sobs—as all of the fight went out of him. Hayden rose to his feet, tucking the gun he’d taken from Kurt into the back of his jeans and—“Jill!” Hayden roared her name, his eyes flaring wide.
She’d thought Theodore was beaten. Thought he was out. But at Hayden’s frantic yell, her gaze flew to the fallen man.
Theodore had pulled a switchblade from his boot. He was struggling to get to her.
No, he’s still trying to control me. “You don’t have the control any longer.” She kicked the backup knife out of his hand. “Jail is waiting for you. Punishment is waiting. There’s no easy out.”
At her words, something seemed to break in him. He screamed at her and staggered to his feet. He came at her with his fists clenched, his eyes bulging—
Hayden stepped in front of her before she could attack. “Been waiting years for this...” He drove his fist into Theodore’s face. One punch. Another. Again and again and the older man stumbled back. Hayden was relentless, hitting, striking out with powerful blows and Theodore fell back against the wall. “You never should have taken her,” Hayden’s deep voice rumbled with his rage. “Never—”
Jill caught his hand before he could strike again. Theodore’s eyes had rolled back into his head. The man was out cold, slumped on the floor. “Hayden,” Jill said his name softly.
He looked at her. She saw the rage and pain in his eyes...and the fear.
But beneath it all, Jill saw his love for her.
“We’re safe.” She smiled at him. “And it’s over.” The nightmare that had started so long ago was over. Theodore wasn’t getting away. He wouldn’t take anyone else. There would be no more death left in his wake.
The end had come for the nightmare that had haunted them all for so long.
* * *
HAYDEN STOOD AT the end of the pier. His gaze was on the water below him, deep blue water.
He heard the soft pad of footsteps and glanced back to see Jill walking toward him. Beautiful Jill. Her red hair gleamed in the setting sun.
When she reached his side, Jill said, “Samantha is working on getting the names of his other victims. I... I asked her to handle the interrogation because I knew he’d just try to play me. It’s too personal with him. With us.” Her gaze slid toward the water. “But Samantha is the damn best there is at getting killers to talk. She’ll find the truth for us. I know it.”
Her hand curled over the railing. The diamond ring he’d given to her shined. He put his hand on top of hers. Squeezed.
Same pier. Same girl.
New life.
“I love you, Jill,” he told her, aware that his voice had thickened. They’d had a plan in place, anticipating that Theodore might strike but when the guy had gone for her again, when he’d leaped at Jill, something had snapped inside of Hayden. He’d attacked. Fought back with the wild fury of the boy he’d been...and of the man who couldn’t stand for another to ever threaten the woman he loved.
She leaned closer and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Surprised, he looked at her.
She was smiling. Such a beautiful, warm smile. No shadows were in her eyes. Just peace. Just...
Hope.
“I know,” Jill told him softly. “And I love you, too. You’re my partner, my lover...and my very best friend.”
Her friend.
“You always have been,” she said.
Just as she had been his...everything.
“Forever, Hayden?”
He pulled her into his arms and held her tight. “Hell, yes, baby. Hell, yes.” As the waves pounded beneath him, Hayden kissed her.
* * * * *
USA TODAY bestselling author Debra Webb
begins a new thriller series with MIRA Books.
Here is an excerpt from NO DARKER PLACE,
a SHADES OF DEATH novel.
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No Darker Place
by Debra Webb
Detective Bobbie Gentry wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. Despite the early hour she was melting right here on the sidewalk like a forgotten ice-cream cone. The weather forecast called for a high of 101 today—the same kind of record-breaking temps the capital city had been experiencing for fifteen grueling days in a row.
The line of thunderstorms that had swept through about the same time her phone rang that morning hadn’t helped one bit. Steam rose from the simmering asphalt, disappearing into the underbellies of the blue-and-white Montgomery PD cruisers lining the sidewalk. The meteorologist who’d insisted milder temps were on the way had seriously overestimated the cool front accompanying this morning’s storm. The rain had done nothing but ramp up the suffocating humidity.
She’d been a cop for ten years, a detective for seven of those, and she’d learned the hard way that relentless heat made people crazy. Like the fath
er of four currently holed up in the modest ranch-style home across the street.
Carl Evans had no criminal record whatsoever—not even a parking ticket. According to his wife, the checkup he’d had three months ago showed him to be in good health. Their middle daughter had been diagnosed with a form of childhood leukemia a year ago, and they’d gone through a serious financial crisis a couple of months back, but both issues were under control now. The husband had no problems at work as far as his wife knew.
And yet he’d arrived home at two this morning with no explanation for where he’d been and with no desire to discuss his uncharacteristic behavior. At seven, he’d climbed out of bed, promptly corralled all four of his children into one bedroom and told his wife to call the police.
Bobbie’s radio crackled. “No go. I’m coming out” vibrated across the airwaves.
“Son of a bitch,” she muttered as crisis negotiator Sergeant Paul York exited the house and double-timed it to her side of the police barrier. York was a small, wiry man of five-eight or so, the same height as her. His less intimidating size and kind, calming presence made him damned good at his job as a facilitator of nonviolent resolutions. Those same traits, however, belied his unquestionable ability to take charge of a situation and physically contain the threat when the need arose.
“What happened?” she demanded, bracing her hands on her hips. She was not going to have a hostage die on her watch. The fear she refused to allow to gain a foothold kept reminding her that these hostages were children.
This wouldn’t be the first time you allowed a child to die.
Not going to happen today.
“He won’t talk to me.” York tugged at his black tie, his gray shirt still crisp despite the rising humidity and immeasurable frustration. “His wife refuses to leave the house as long as the kids are in there.”
“Who can blame her?” Bobbie exhaled a blast of exasperation. Before York had arrived on the scene, she’d spoken to Mrs. Evans by phone. Anna Evans insisted she had no idea what had set off her husband. To her knowledge, he had never owned a weapon, much less used one. He was a CPA at Latimer, Latimer and Burton, for Christ’s sake. He’d worked there since he graduated Vanderbilt two decades ago. His wife was completely stunned by his actions.
“Did he give you any idea what he wants?” Bobbie needed something here. Evans surely had a goal he hoped to attain or a statement to make. How the hell could a purportedly humble CPA cause this damned much trouble?
“He wouldn’t say a word.” York’s lips flattened as he shook his head. “Not a single word.”
SWAT Commander Zeke Miller held up his hands as if he’d experienced an epiphany. “We’re wasting time. He could kill those children while we’re standing out here with our thumbs up our asses. It’s time we went in.”
Bobbie rolled her eyes. What was he thinking? The polar opposite of York, Miller was a big, muscular guy with an ego to match. His reputation for playing hard and fast was well known, but this was her crime scene, and she wasn’t going the guns-blazing route. At least not yet.
“And get those kids killed for sure?” Bobbie argued, ignoring the fear gnawing at the edge of her bravado. “Evans has them standing around him in a huddle. Your guys can’t get a clear shot at him. A flash bang could freak him out and prompt a shooting spree. And you want to go charging in there?” She folded her arms over her chest and lifted her chin, daring him to challenge her assessment. “Is it just me, or is there something seriously wrong with that scenario?”
Miller glowered at her, but neither he nor York had a ready response for her assessment. There was no easy way to do this, and everyone present understood that unfortunate fact.
“Where the hell is Newton?” Miller demanded. “We need a senior detective on the scene. Are you even cleared for a situation like this, Gentry?”
Despite the fury his words ignited, Bobbie smiled. This chauvinistic hothead was not going to get the better of her when four children’s lives depended on her staying calm and collected. “My partner’s daughter is getting married this weekend, so he’s not here. You’ve got me, and I’m as fit for duty as you, Miller. Deal with it.”
His arrogant sneer warned her he wasn’t going to let it go so easily.
“We got movement at the front door!” a uniform shouted.
Renewed adrenaline rushing through her veins, Bobbie turned toward the house as the front door slowly opened. Please let it be the children coming out. As much as she wanted everyone present to believe she was as strong as she once was and that she had everything under control...doubt nagged at her. What if she failed? What if someone died—again—because of her mistakes?
No looking back. Focus, Bobbie.
Barefoot and wearing a white terry-cloth robe, Anna Evans stepped cautiously onto the narrow porch, her hands raised high and her red hair tousled as if she hadn’t combed it since climbing out of bed. Her face was as white as the robe she wore. She was immediately surrounded by Montgomery PD uniforms and ushered across the street.
“One less potential victim,” Bobbie muttered. What the devil was this guy doing? He’d made no demands. He refused to interact with the negotiator. Any time a perp took a hostage and waved around a weapon, he wanted something.
The distant ache in her skull that had started the minute she’d received the call expanded into a dull throb. She resisted the urge to yank free the clasp holding her long brown hair off her shoulders so she could massage the pain away. No need to illustrate to all present that her headaches were still around. The whole department already watched her every move to see if she would crack under the stress. No matter that she had been back to work for four weeks without falling down on the job, she was still the detective who had shattered like delicate, hand-blown glass thrown against a wall seven months ago. The whole damned world knew that a couple of surgeons and shrinks, as well as a good half of the year, had been required to put her back together again.
Stay sharp, Bobbie. No letting the past intrude.
Once behind the police barricade, the uniforms released Anna Evans, and she almost collapsed on the pavement before they could catch hold of her again.
“We need a medic,” Bobbie shouted. She moved toward the woman. “Are you injured, Mrs. Evans?”
She shook her head, her eyes red and swollen from hours of crying. “Are you Detective Gentry?”
“Yes, ma’am. We spoke on the phone a little while ago.” The woman appeared unharmed and reasonably composed for a terrified mother. Let this be a good sign.
Anna Evans drew in a shuddering breath. “He says he’ll let the children go if you—” her pleading gaze latched on to Bobbie’s “—come inside and talk to him.”
“I can do that.” The sooner those kids were out of harm’s—
“The hell you say!” Miller roared. “That’s all we need is another hostage in there!”
“Hold up, Miller.” York turned to Bobbie. “We can do this,” he offered in the modulated tone negotiators were trained to use. “I’ll go in with you.”
While Miller launched another protest, Anna Evans hugged her arms around her trembling body and moved her head adamantly from side to side. “He said you have to come alone, Detective Gentry. Unarmed and alone.”
“Not going to happen, Bobbie,” York stated, his voice hard now. “You’re—”
Bobbie held up a hand for both men to shut up. “Did he say anything else, Mrs. Evans?”
Fresh tears welled in her puffy eyes. She shook her head. “Just that he...he would let the children go. Please.” She wrung her hands together in front of her as if she intended to pray. “Don’t let my babies get hurt.”
Bobbie removed her service weapon from its holster at her waist and passed it to York. “I’m going in.”
“I’m calling Chief Peterson,” Miller warned. “The rest of the depa
rtment might believe that you being his college buddy’s daughter and all gives you free rein in this town, but I don’t. You’ll play this by the rules exactly like the rest of us.”
His accusation made Bobbie want to unleash the volatile emotions simmering just beneath the surface of her carefully schooled facade. Montgomery was the second-largest city in the state, but the department was like a small village. There were few secrets. Eventually everyone got the lowdown on everyone else—especially as it related to the chain of command or any perceived special favors. She’d understood from day one that the time would come when someone would have the balls to say those words to her face.
Bobbie snatched her cell from her belt and offered it to him. “Go ahead, Miller. Call the chief. He’s in my favorites list under Uncle Teddy.”
“Enough of that nonsense,” York growled, his fierce gaze focused on Miller.
Since Miller didn’t take her up on her offer, Bobbie snapped her phone back onto her belt. “I’m going in.”
“Think about what you’re doing, Bobbie,” York called after her. Next to him, Miller made good on his threat and put through the call on his own cell.
Bobbie didn’t look back. She headed across the street. If any hope whatsoever existed that Evans would let those children go, she was willing to take the risk. A twinge of pain twisted in her right leg and started to keep time with the throb in her head. She ignored it. She would do some extra stretches tonight before her run.
Assuming she was still alive. As long as she got those kids out of there, little else mattered.
If you get yourself killed, who’s going to get him then?
She hushed the nagging voice as she hustled up the sidewalk. At the end of the block, television cameras and the eagle eyes of reporters would be straining to see what Montgomery’s most damaged detective was doing next. Let them gawk. She didn’t care what they wrote about her.
Shouldering the weight of York, Miller and the rest watching, she opened the front door and slipped into the living room. The interior was as quiet as a tomb. One would never know that half a dozen MPD cruisers, a SWAT van and crisis negotiation vehicle, along with a horde of reporters, were on the street. Not to mention two ambulances.