by Melissa Fox
“We need a safe place for her. My mom and dad’s place…” He swallowed. Wasn’t his mom and dad’s place anymore. “They know the address of the lake house, so that’s not safe.”
“Tell Daniel to take her to my apartment in the city. We’ll figure it out from there.”
“Thanks, Pete.” Ash pulled out his phone and hit the speed dial number for Liz’s cell. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath so his growing fear wouldn’t reflect in his voice. Last thing he wanted to do was scare her. People did stupid things when they were scared, and neither of them could afford to be stupid. He had to see her safe, no matter what.
“Hey.” Her voice was warm and full of welcome in his ear.
“Hey, beautiful.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. What are you doing right now?”
“Just cleaning up around the house, getting ready to go to class. Why? What’s up?”
“I was wondering if you could come to my place. I’m going to be there in a few minutes and… I need to see you.”
She hesitated only a second before replying. “Sure. Let me get some stuff together and I’ll be right there. I have to study tonight, so no funny business.”
“No, no funny business,” he agreed on a slow exhale. “Hey, listen, could you bring some stuff to stay a couple of days, maybe?”
At least she’d have some of her things with her when he had her whisked away to Pete’s place. Her pause stretched slightly longer, but she sounded pleased when she answered.
“Of course. I’ll be right there.” She was happy to do that for him, no questions asked. God, she was wonderful.
“Thanks, beautiful,” he murmured. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Bye.”
He’d keep her safe. He shut his eyes and steadied his resolve before turning to Pete. “Okay, she’s on her way to my place.”
“Meet her there with Andy, and he and Daniel can take her to my apartment. You have a meeting with Rico in a couple hours, right?”
“Yeah, and I’m going.” No way Pete would talk him out if it. “Put another mic on me. A hidden one that looks like a mole or a scar, because he’ll make me leave my phones.”
“It’s too dangerous.”
“If he wanted to kill me, I’d be dead. He’s playing with me. He won’t make a try for me today, not in public, and he certainly won’t get his hands dirty and get rid of me himself. He knows we’ve found the letter he sent with my name. He’ll want to see if I have the balls to show up, to rub it in my face. Let’s hope he’s stupid enough to give us something.”
Pete nodded with a grimace. “I’ve got a surveillance team ready to get on him, anyway. Put them in place as soon as I could after seeing this letter. Might be worth a shot, but puts you in a pretty tight spot.”
“I can handle tight spots. I can,” he insisted when Pete’s doubt showed in the grimace and lowering of his brows. “I know what I’m risking, Pete, and I can handle this.”
“You better. Go get Liz and then meet me back here to get everything set. I’ll give the team a call and have them ready. Don’t have much time, so let’s move.”
“Let’s go.” Ash tossed the helmet to Andy as they left the safe house. “Put that on and hold tight.”
He drove to his apartment as fast as he could without killing anyone or causing permanent damage. His phone vibrated as he pulled up in front of his building. Double-parking the bike, he dug it out of his pocket and snorted at the text. Andy removed his helmet and peered over his shoulder.
“Rico’s changing the time for your meeting?”
“Yeah.”
“He knows.”
“Yeah.” Ash tightened his grip around the phone, imagining his fingers around Rico’s throat. “He thinks moving the meeting time up won’t give me a chance to get a mic or a team in place. Good thing he doesn’t know Pete.”
“I’m calling him right now.” Andy pulled out his phone. “Got to move fast to get the mics set up and to the meet in time.”
“Let me see if Liz is here. I’ve got to give her some explanation why she should leave with you guys.”
“Here she comes.” Andy elbowed him and tipped his head down the street.
“Hey.” The tension in his shoulders lessened only a little as she approached. He bent for a kiss and took the large bag she’d slung over her shoulder.
“Hey.” She smiled at Andy who stood next to the bike a few feet away. “Hello.”
“Hi, Liz.” Andy gave Ash a pointed stare. Time was very, very short.
Ash motioned Daniel closer, and Liz turned to see whom he gestured at before raising a questioning brow.
“Liz, this is my good friend Daniel.” Ash gripped her shoulders when she started to offer her hand. “Look, Lizzie, I need you to listen to me now. Something’s happened, something bad, and I need you to go with my friends. All right?”
“What?” She glanced at Andy and Daniel, who stood close and exchanged a whispered conversation. Her eyes widened, the first trace of worry entering them as she took a step back. “Go with them? Where? Why? What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you everything later—I promise, cross my heart, beautiful—but I need you to go with them right now. Don’t have time to explain, but I need to be sure you’re safe. Do this for me. Please, Lizzie.”
She shook her head, eyes wide. “I don’t understand.”
“I know you don’t, sweetheart, and I’m sorry. I promise they’ll explain things to you on the way, and I’ll be there soon.”
“On the way where?” The pulse pounded in her throat, her chest rose and fell with her accelerated breaths.
“To a friend’s place. They’ll make sure you’re safe.”
“Safe?” she gasped. “Oh, God, Ash, what’s going on? Does it have anything to do with what happened yesterday?”
“Kind of. Some bad people are involved, people who won’t hesitate to hurt anyone who gets in their way. Now, I want you to go inside and pack me a bag, okay? Pack some things to get me through the next couple days.”
“But…Where are you going?” Her hand gripped his arm. “What if they hurt you?”
“I’ll be fine. I know what I’m doing. I just need to be sure you’re safe. Don’t want to worry about you.”
“Okay,” she agreed, pressing fingers to her trembling mouth. “When you put it that way… Okay.”
His shoulders sagged. Andy gestured toward where his watch would be if he wore one, and Daniel put his hands on his hips with a grimace. Both were just as worried and tense as he was, so Ash shoved his annoyance aside. Daniel’s glare said he’d run out of time. He reached for Liz, held her close, and cupped her precious face in his hands.
“Go. I’ll meet you later tonight and explain everything then.”
He had to leave right now to get the team in place and mic set up in time to make the meeting. He wanted her gone and safe as soon as possible.
“Ash,” she protested, holding onto him when he would have turned toward his bike. “I want you to come with us.”
“Can’t.” He pressed a quick, hard kiss to her mouth. “Go with Daniel and Andy, Liz.”
“No! No, Ash—”
He gripped her upper arms, struggling to be gentle in his urgency. He bent down to meet her gaze so she could see how serious he was, how important she was to him. “Go with them, Lizzie. You’ll be safe. You can trust them. They’re both cops.”
Her face went white and she sucked in a breath, gripping him even harder. The fear and concern on her face, in every line of her body, left no doubt she knew what he was involved with, what Gina’s family did for a living.
“Oh, God,” she moaned. “Ash, please—”
“Go, Liz. It’ll be okay, I promise. Trust me?”
She nodded, and he kissed her one last time. He pulled her close for a hug and heard Daniel’s frustrated grunt.
“Go.” He managed a smile for her. “You know I love you, right?”
; A sob escaped, shook her shoulders. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand as her eyes filled with tears. She nodded again, too overcome for words. He took one step back, and then another, so his arm hung in the space between them. He shouldn’t have told her, shouldn’t have said anything, but he had to let her know—wanted her to know just in case. He wanted to say the words to someone, just once, and mean them.
“Go.”
“Come on, Liz.” Daniel placed his hand on her shoulder. “We should get moving. Don’t worry about him. He really is good at what he does.”
Andy fell into step behind Liz and Daniel as they turned toward his apartment. He watched his best friends climb the stairs to the front door with the woman he loved before turning resolutely to his motorcycle. Strapping on his helmet, he looked up as the three figures made it to the threshold of the building. Daniel opened the door and stepped inside with Andy and Liz on his heels.
The explosion split the air with a deafening, soul-sucking boom. Silence enveloped him as he floated backward, eyes filled with the horrific sight of billowing flames, dust, and debris where his apartment building had stood, where his best friends and his girl had just disappeared. He couldn’t make sense of what happened, not then.
The force of the blast tossed him through the air to the other side of the street. His back hit the curb, and something inside him cracked and shattered. A split-second later, what remained of the bike landed on top of his chest, along with concrete, glass, and flaming wreckage from the building. He burned, he smoked, he scorched. He hurt.
He screamed.
And then, oh shit, oh no, oh holy fuck, everything went black.
Liz…Daniel…Andy…
Gone. No one could have survived that blast. Not even him. No one. Nothing.
Except the pain.
Prodding. Poking. Pestering. Why would they want him to come out of the dark, the black, the sweet, soothing nothingness? He had nothing. He was no one. Only the pain waited. Nothing else. Just pain. Why would he leave the dark for that? Why wouldn’t they leave him alone? Why wasn’t he dead? Sweet, soothing blackness. The dark. He reached for the dark and embraced nothingness deep into his wounded soul. He was dead—he must be. He wanted to be.
Oh, God. The pain.
Liz…Daniel…Andy…Liz.
Lizzie. His Lizzie. Gone.
The pain.
Voices talked to him, told him about funerals. He wanted to weep; he wanted to rage. He wanted them to shut up. He craved the darkness, the oblivion, the nothingness. Shut up.
Shut up.
Shut up.
Rising up from the ashes. Why did that sound so familiar? Like a phoenix from the ashes. Ashes. Ash. He was ash. No, that wasn’t right. He was Ash. No, that wasn’t right, either.
He was nothing.
Oh, God.
The pain.
The investigation of murder created its own unique community.
DEA Special Agent Emmaline Justice examined the open field ringed by a thick growth of trees. A pack of people stood in the clearing, but the vegetation absorbed the commotion and filtered the obscene from sacred green spaces. Miles from the city and civilization, the location was far removed from the bustling airport in Toronto she had arrived at only a few hours before.
After getting the call Rico Salvatore’s body had been found, throat cut and dumped in a remote area outside the Canadian city, she immediately hopped on a plane at JFK. Representatives from both the Quebec Provincial Police and RCMP met her at Pearson International to take her to the site. Part of a joint undercover operation between the US and Canada that had been following Salvatore’s movements back and forth across the border for the past nine months, Emma knew most of the people at the scene.
Inspector Jim Blankenship, her contact at the RCMP for the op, droned on about how the body had been found. A group of men gathered around a distinctive yellow sheet, and she watched them closely as she put on the gloves another agent handed her. Activity slowed as a tall, broad-shouldered figure next to the body rose to his feet and drew the attention of everyone in the clearing.
The mysterious man turned toward them, and Emma sucked in a breath. She’d never been impressed by a pretty face, but his was stunning. Tall but thin, the kind of thin that didn’t fit with his height or wide shoulders. He’d obviously suffered an illness that dropped pounds off a once-impressive frame. The hollows of his cheeks were pronounced and not in an artistic way, his arms lean, and both his knit shirt and jeans hung loose on his body. His odd gait, a slight limp with left arm held against his side, confirmed her suspicion. His stance reflected the careful, upright posture of someone with back pain. Those details wouldn’t have been obvious to most people, but Emma’s observation skills were excellent. He’d been badly injured in the recent past.
When he approached their group and stopped in front of them, blocking her view of Salvatore’s body, Emma didn’t bother to hide her scrutiny. He wasn’t as old as she had first thought, maybe even a little younger than her thirty-two years. The thinness of his face and ravages of illness made him appear much older. Still one of the most handsome men she had ever seen, she couldn’t begin to imagine how splendid he’d be when in good health. Close-cropped brown hair showed off the excellent structure of his high cheekbones, strong chin, and sharp jaw. His eyes were shockingly blue—the only bright spot in his otherwise dour expression.
“Inspector Asher Beaulieu, I’d like you to meet DEA Special Agent Emmaline Justice.” Inspector Blankenship made the introduction. “She’s been working the case from the US side of the border.”
“Special Agent.” His eyes flicked over her with cool dismissal. He didn’t offer a hand.
Okay, handsome but rude. Strain tightened the set of his shoulders and fine, almost imperceptible tremors shook the fingers resting against the top of his thigh. Maybe whatever mysterious injury he suffered prevented him from lifting his arm.
“It’s Salvatore, Jim. No doubt. It’s him.”
“Thanks, Ash.” Blankenship clapped a hand over his shoulder. “Be done here in a minute.”
The too-thin inspector nodded brusquely and then paused to tip his head toward her. She returned the silent acknowledgement, and he left the clearing with a steady, precise gait. Emma watched him walk away before turning to Inspector Blankenship with a brow arched.
“Beaulieu works with Pete Davenport’s group. He was our UC with Salvatore and his bunch for close to two years.”
Emma’s gaze shot to his retreating form. Davenport’s group, undercover. Impressive. Wait. She knew that name. Holy shit. Hadn’t he been—
“Inspector Beaulieu is the survivor from the Tenth Street bombing,” Blankenship supplied.
“He’s the one?”
The tragic bombing of the apartment building in downtown Toronto figured largely in Salvatore’s case file. The RCMP lost an officer and a number of civilians in the blast, and two other officers had been badly, almost fatally, injured as well. One of them had been then-Corporal Asher Beaulieu.
No wonder he looked like the walking wounded. He was. A walking miracle. Inspector Asher Beaulieu. Interesting.
“Salvatore reduced his contact to only a few key players and his sister not long after the bombing—after he found out his personal circle had been infiltrated by the RCMP,” Inspector Blankenship continued. “We hadn’t been sure how involved Gina was in her brother’s operation until you started your op, or how much she had to do with what happened with Beaulieu, but Ash had contact with her the night before it all went down. Hindsight being what it is, he’s sure she knew about the bombing, even if she wasn’t directly involved.”
Where did that put the inspector? Suspect, victim, investigator? Emma’s gaze went to where Beaulieu’s tall figure disappeared through the trees, headed back to where they had parked their cars. “Is he part of this murder investigation? I’ve been working Gina undercover for about nine months, the last six or so pretty close. Haven’t heard her or any of Sa
lvatore’s crew mention him.”
“No. He came with me today because there’s no one else who knew Rico as well—who could identify him right away and without question. Besides, we’d hoped this might give him some closure. The past year and more have been rough. He deserves it.”
“I can’t even imagine,” Emma murmured. She refocused her attention when the lead investigator signaled it was okay for their group to approach the body. “Well, let’s see what we’ve got.”
Later that evening, back in her New York City apartment, Emma spread the file on Commander Peter Davenport’s undercover op out on her bed. The basic information had been part of her investigation where Salvatore’s operations spilled over into the US. After meeting Inspector Beaulieu, curiosity got the better of her.
She had both hard copies and data on flash drives, and she slipped one into her laptop. Scrolling through the menu, she found the tab labeled Corporal Beaulieu, Asher and hesitated. Beaulieu had been involved with the Salvatore case, so she had every reason to look at his file. She clicked on the tab, and an appreciative hum rose in her throat as a picture of the young officer appeared on her screen in full regalia, handsome and rakish in his Red Serge. She’d been right to think he’d be stunning in full health. Emma registered a basic, feminine awareness of his unusual good looks but no guilt about the reaction. Who wouldn’t be taken with him?
Scrolling through more pictures, Emma found both official from the department and those from his many RCMP operations. She studied the undercover photographs with interest, particularly the surveillance shots from the Salvatore op. The images showed a carefree charmer with a solid, lean muscular build and quick, charismatic smile, so different from the recalcitrant, dour man she’d met in the clearing.
The more she read through performance reviews and reports, the more she grudgingly admired his style, intelligence, and instincts. He’d been an effective UC with a natural aptitude for the work, drawing in both cop and criminal with his charm. Hospital reports detailed the horrific injuries he’d suffered in the explosion—she’d been right about the back injury and broken bones in his arm as well as his leg—and his long, agonizing recovery. No one could have gone through an ordeal like that and come out unscathed. Beaulieu was damaged goods, in more ways than just physical.