Wordless (Pink Sofa Secrets Book 1)

by Mel Sterling

  Lexie wrote "Postal Inspector Hazelton—dirty cop. Quint ? smuggler," on the mirror with liquid soap and her index finger. Gard was still doing things at the toilet, and a moment later he held up the flush lever, disengaged from the tank and the chain inside.

  "You can use this to hit, but it's more effective if you use it to thrust."

  Ben and Lexie both nodded.

  Gard looked up at the low ceiling, then gestured to Ben. "I'll steady you. Stand on the seat and take one of the bulbs out of that fixture up there. I'll break the glass and Lexie can use the sharp edges. Watch your fingers, Lexie, it will cut before you know it. Hold it by the base. You'll probably only get one jab with it before it breaks again, so make it count. Face, eyes, neck."

  Lexie nodded, sickened. She'd never in her life imagined she'd be thinking about whether she could stab another person. Trembling, she wrote Agent Kastner's name on the mirror, with another question mark beside it. Dirty? She didn't know, but he wasn't here, so she thought perhaps not.

  Too bad it wasn't Kastner she'd called this morning with her information about Quint. She swallowed down a hard lump. Beside her, his hands deep in the muffling paper towels crumpled into the trash can, Gard was using the flush lever to crack and break the lightbulb.

  There was a noise out in the shop. Gard motioned Ben and Lexie away from the door and pressed his ear there. Shouting, yelling, a woman's voice. The noise got closer to the bathroom door and Gard motioned Ben to a position outside the radius of the door, where he could get a good swing. Gard himself took up a spot where he would be in the open doorway. The tank lever was in his hand. Lexie stood near the door, out of Ben's swing, the broken bulb clutched firmly. She felt ridiculous, but it was good to have a plan, to have something to do.

  Lexie, with her ear close to the door, recognized Gilly's voice, loud and adamant, in the store. She could hear Hazelton arguing with her. What was happening out there? Was Gilly joining the other criminals? The noise got closer. Now she could make out some of Hazelton's words.

  "We'll put her in with the others and deal with her the same way." The rest was a rumble, with Gilly's furious reaction confusing the sounds.

  "They're coming," Lexie whispered to Gard and Ben. "Going to put Gilly in here with us."

  "Gilly?" Ben gasped. "If they've hurt her—"

  "Stick to the plan," Gard hissed at him.

  Ben gave Gard a look of betrayal, then took a firmer grip on the tank lid and nodded. She readied herself just beside Ben. He'd swing, connect, drop out of the way and she'd go for whatever skin she could see, while Gard lunged and thrust with the flush lever.

  It all seemed impossible, except that it was utterly real. Now wasn't the time for emotion, just like Gard had said.

  The doorknob jiggled once, then again. Outside, someone cursed, then a heavy kick to the door made the whole wall flex and shake.

  Gard shook his head, backing away from the door and crouching. "He's gonna shoot! Get down!"

  Ben and Lexie pressed low to the wall behind them and less than a second later wood and drywall chunks were flying, there were two deafening blasts. A bullet hit the edge of the toilet lid Ben was holding at the ready even as he crouched. The ceramic rang like a bell, and a fat shard cleaved and struck Lexie above her right eye where she huddled next to him. The second bullet whacked the toilet tank in almost the same instant, and the tank fell apart with a spray of chipped enamel and ceramic dust. Lexie's eyes closed in reflex as she turned away from the shattering tank and gushing water.

  Outside, she thought she heard Jack yelling, "Now, Gard, NOW!" and Gard and Ben were charging through the door, the swing of it striking her hard on the side of her head and knocking her flat, where she lay trying to blink blood out of her eyes and conquer the dizzy disorientation swimming over her.

  She looked at her hands and saw they were wet and red, thin bits of glass imbedded in her fingers and palm where she'd crushed the remains of the bulb in her terror. Blood dripped into the puddle deepening on the floor. Hazily, she wondered if a person could drown in the spray from a toilet tank, felt a moment's guilt and horror that she was incapable of fighting for her own life, let alone that of others. Then she let go as the whooping of sirens seemed to fill her brain.

  Now or never. Jack heard Gilly babbling to cover any noise he might make, and decided not to waste her foolhardy sacrifice. He slipped through the door and dodged swiftly in the opposite direction, heading for the front of the store to a position where he could see and hear and perhaps take action. On the way, he looked for weapons, but nothing came either to mind or hand. He wedged into a corner where one of the library ladders was usually locked, but it wasn't there, leaving space for Jack to crouch. As he did so, the chain and heavy padlock used to leash the ladder to the wall caught his eye.

  Yes.

  He slowly wrapped the chain around his arm to muffle its clanking, and hefted the lock in his hand.

  As a makeshift ball and chain mace, it left much to be desired, but it was better than nothing, since he couldn't get to the back room where Horace kept a tool box filled with hammers and saws and pry bars.

  Gilly was still asking silly questions, demanding to know what Quint was doing at the store, and where were Ben and Lexie, and what did the two of them know about why the cops had closed The Cup, until Hazelton let out a bellow of irritated fury.

  Jack peered from behind a bookcase. At this end of the store, he was silhouetted by the bright light streaming in the front windows. He stifled a curse and drew back. He had to get to a better position.

  Q and Hazelton had their backs to him for the moment while they argued about what to do with Gilly, who was now making hysterical shrieks. Jack eased forward on his belly where the cash register counter blocked him from their view. He crept through the event area, staying low and keeping the chain quiet. He tried to think like Gard, but he had no plan other than to get between the bathroom door and the two criminals.

  "We'll put her in with the rest and deal with her the same way. I don't care if she let you into her pants, Quint, she's a liability now. This ends today. We're splitting the take and we're getting the hell out of Dodge." Hazelton growled in a low voice. Jack was still blocked from their sight by the cash register counter, but they were within only a few feet.

  He squirmed behind the counter, slowly easing aside the tall wheeled stool that blocked the space beneath the counter, and slithering in. Here, he was out of sight completely, but he could see about a foot of wall by the bathroom door.

  "I've already called the cops!" Gilly shrieked. Jack heard her struggling and Quint grunting with the effort to control her.

  Hazelton reached the bathroom door before the struggling pair, pressed down on the lever, and…

  …the door didn't open.

  Yeah, thought Jack. Yeah.

  "Locked from inside. Damn it!" Hazelton gave the door a hard kick that rattled the frame and seemed to shake the entire wall.

  "You'd better leave now, just let me go—or take me with you, but don't hurt—hey, put that gun away!"

  Good girl, Jack thought. Keep on calling the plays so Gard can hear you. He's bound to have everyone inside that bathroom as safe as possible—

  The gunshots—one hard upon the heels of the other—were impossibly loud in the book-deadened quiet of the store, and splinters of wood from the door frame flew wide.

  From inside the bathroom Jack heard a woman's scream and a grunt, followed by the clank of something heavy and ceramic falling, breaking. Through his legs, he felt the vibration of a body hitting the floor.

  Next would come the whump of an IED ripping the world open…

  …except it didn't, he knew it wouldn't, and even if it did it didn't matter, now was the time to move, move, MOVE and he burst from the hole under the counter, Gilly's astonished face checked off in his vision, going for Hazelton and that gun first, he'd deal with Q in a moment, the chain one tight wrap around his hand, the tail of it tight in his fist and
the heavy brass lock swinging and glittering in the light and he brought it down with a yell over Hazelton's arm and felt the lock swing and wrap and then he yanked with all his strength and Hazelton's gun arm swung back toward Jack.

  "Now, Gard, NOW," Jack heard himself yelling. Hazelton's gun went off a third time and there was a ripping, stinging sensation in Jack's shoulder that spun him to his right. The bathroom door jerked inward and through the gap swung something big and square and white, which made that identical bell-like clank as it crashed into the side of Hazelton's face and the follow-through carried it into Jack's, hitting his nose and igniting a red haze of pain.

  As he fell, tangled with Hazelton, he saw Ben standing over the two of them and Gard springing past, stumbling a little, but tackling Quint and taking him down.

  Lexie didn't come out of the bathroom.

  "Lexie!" Jack roared, getting to his knees, then his feet, but Gilly was already running into the bathroom, and he heard splashing, and gasping, and then pinkish water was flowing out the door. One of Hazelton's shots had gone through the wall and hit the toilet tank, but the other had hit something far worse. Lexie was flat on the floor, Gilly kneeling beside her, water fountaining from the fill nozzle and soaking Gilly's pink hair. There was blood on Lexie's face and hands, blood in the puddle, and her eyes were closed.

  Jack started for the bathroom but Gard was yelling his name. "JT! JT! Secure the weapons! Then get me something to tie up this asshole!"

  Gard had one knee in the small of Q's back and Q's arms cinched up beneath his shoulder blades. Q's little pistol was no more than three feet away from the gaunt poet's shoulder.

  Jack looked once more into the bathroom, already changing course, obeying the Marine's barking commands, letting Gard's clarity direct him. Gilly was with Lexie. He had to believe that would be enough.

  Ben stood over Hazelton, panting, the tank lid held at the ready. Tears were running down the young man's face, but he looked ferociously determined. His head swung to the three key points: Q, the bathroom floor where Gilly and Lexie were, and Hazelton. Taking stock, keeping track. Holding on.

  Hazelton wasn't moving. There was blood on the side of his head, seeping slowly into the carpet.

  Jack kicked Hazelton's gun into the middle of the store and followed it with Q's. He heard sirens and saw their whirling carousel lights lighting up the block, but the cops weren't coming in. They were, like Ben, taking stock. Assessing.

  On his way to Gard and Q, Jack reached for the only thing he could think to grab: a roll of clear book repair tape. As he tried to pick the end of the roll free, he noticed more blood, only this time it was dripping down from his own fingers. Curiously, he turned to see where it was coming from, and saw the gaping hole blown in his jacket.

  Pain returned in that instant like a hammer blow. Jack felt his own eyebrows rising with exquisite slowness, as he pulled loose the end of the tape and gave it to Gard before going to his knees heavily. The two of them joined Q's wrists with a few quick wraps of tape, then Jack said oh-so-carefully, "I think I've been shot, Gard."

  The moment Q was trussed, Gard got Jack's jacket off him. "Yeah, buddy. You have. Gonna be all right though. Cavalry's already here. Just sit down for a minute."

  "Lexie."

  "Gilly's got her. Ben, tell the cops we need a paramedic right the fuck now, gunshot wound, the building's secure."

  Jack slumped from his knees onto his left haunch and leaned against the side of the counter. Q squirmed and cursed. Ben sprinted for the front door. In the bathroom, Lexie sat up slowly, with Gilly's help. Her gaze met his and drifted to his shoulder. Her mouth opened in a wail.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  IT WAS GARD WHO kept track of both Lexie and Jack at the Camden hospital, at least until the emergency room staff agreed Lexie didn't have a concussion and her forehead was stitched and bandaged. The greater nuisance was the cuts in her fingers. Her hands felt fat and useless in their wrappings of gauze and tape.

  Ben and Gilly, sound except for bruises and general adrenaline overload, had stayed behind to answer questions, secure both shops and get the water mopped up in the bathroom. The cops wouldn't let Gard stay with Lexie while she was questioned—someone took him off for questioning as well. But after the cops had gone, Gard returned to the third floor waiting room. He told her no one knew what had happened to a third man, one Inspector Hazelton had posted outside The Cup. Gilly had mentioned him to Gard and Ben, apparently wanting to be sure someone besides herself knew about him.

  Gard, with a wry smile, said, "I'm betting he boogied as soon as he heard sirens."

  Lexie frowned, then winced as the stitches pulled at her forehead. "I don't like there being a loose end like that."

  Gard patted her shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. "Now you're thinking like a soldier."

  "Don't patronize me. You know what I mean." Still, she had to smile at the goofy yet earnest look on his face.

  "Q will roll over, even if Hazelton doesn't. You don't have anything to worry about."

  Lexie wasn't sure she believed him, but it was nice of him to be a comfort anyway. "Go find out when they'll let me see Jack."

  "Surgery takes a while. His shoulder was kinda messy, even though all the bullet did was clip his deltoid."

  "Will you please just go?"

  "All right, all right, hold your horses."

  A nurse interrupted them. "Are you Alexia Worth? Mr. Jarvis is asking for you."

  Lexie jerked in the chair, startled. For a moment she couldn't think who Mr. Jarvis could possibly be, then she leaped up from the chair, flung her bag into Gard's lap, and followed the nurse down the hall. She glanced back once at Gard, who sat with much too smug an expression on his face, fingers laced across her bag where it lay atop his flat belly, legs sprawled in front of him, eyes closed.

  Recovery was a surprisingly busy place. The beds stood out from the long wall like boats at a dock, a few of them with ceiling curtains drawn, others empty, several with patients lying in them. Doctors and nurses drifted through the room. The nurse led Lexie to one bed where the curtain was half pulled to shield Jack from the resident of the next bed, who was attached to drips and tubes, tossing and moaning. Jack himself lay pale and still.

  There were no chairs. Clearly her visit was not meant to be either long or comfortable. She didn't care. All she could think of was how much she needed to touch Jack, see his eyes open, hear his voice.

  I love you, Lexie. Love you.

  Tell him how sorry she was, for everything. All of it. The doubt, the accusations, the rejection, the danger, and the damage.

  The nurse put a hand around Lexie's elbow and halted her a dozen feet from the bed. She spoke softly. "Mr. Jarvis is very tired, and he'll still be affected by the anesthesia. Don't expect him to be clearheaded, and above all don't let him move around or try to get out of bed. We expect he'll be able to go home tomorrow, but he's already been a cranky boy. He wouldn't rest until we promised him he could see you. You can't stay long."

  Lexie could not take her eyes from him, could not even look at the nurse as she spoke. Jack's cheekbones stood out in sharp relief, dark stubble on his jaw. The angle of the bed allowed the blanket to slide down, leaving his chest bare. His upper right arm was bandaged and taped, and in a sling strapped around his body to immobilize it. Bruising showed at the edges of the bandages on his shoulder. She pulled away from the nurse, rushing to Jack's left, afraid to get too close to his hurt shoulder.

  "Jack." The single word broke in her throat, and tears rendered her mute.

  His eyes opened, and despite what the nurse had said, she saw not a trace of confusion in the bright brown depths. He reached out, caught her behind the neck, and pulled her head down to his for a long, slow kiss. She trembled on tiptoe to bend over the bed rail. When he let her go, she was breathless and flushed, and the tears had stopped, though her lashes were wet and her nose already stuffy.

  "You stupid, foolish man!"

 
His smile was crooked and exhausted. "You do love me. I thought so." His eyes searched her face, examined the tiny cuts and the bandage taped over her forehead. "Stitches?"

  "Seven."

  "They tell me I have about thirty in my muscles and skin."

  "I'm so sorry, Jack, I—"

  "Bullet didn't hit anything critical, just jellied my muscle. You've got a hole in a bookcase somewhere from the through-and-through."

  "I'm so—"

  "Don't. Just tell me you're all right. Gard and Ben and Gilly too. Melville."

  "We're all fine. Some of the cops stayed to talk with Ben and Gilly, and Gard and I talked with the cops here after the ER doc sewed me up."

  He let her pull away enough to stand up. She caught his hand in both of hers, bandages restricting her movements. "They'll bug me later, I'm sure."

  "Probably."

  "Anybody except Hazelton and Q—what's his name? Quint?—go to jail?"

  "Not so far."

  "There was a third guy, outside The Cup."

  "Gilly's reported him to the cops. Nobody seems to know who he is. He ran."

  Jack's eyes drifted closed for a moment or two. She thought he was falling asleep, and started to move his hand back to his side, when his grip tightened on hers. "I'm so tired I've lost my words. I don't have the brain to put this tactfully. Lexie, are we okay, you and me?"

  Tears threatened again, but this time they came with her unsteady smile. "We're okay."

  "Not going to accuse me of using you and the bookstore?"

  She didn't have the words, either, so she said the thing that had been on her lips for days, held back by her stiff-necked accountant's need for certainty and security, and by her fears. "I love you, Jack. Love you."

  His smile was tired, but smugly triumphant. "When are they going to let me out of this place?"

  "The nurse said probably tomorrow. But you have to be a good boy."

  His eyes opened and he looked at her with a drowsy sensuality that made her reach out and push the flop of wavy hair off his brow. "I don't want to be a good boy. I want—"