Tormented by the Lawman (Mountain Force Book 3)

by Rhonda Lee Carver

  Thirty minutes later, Cox heard, “Good morning, sir,” as he stepped into the downtown apartment building. He’d never get used to having a doorman.

  “Morning, Miles. What’d you think of that game last night?”

  “Brilliant playing, sir. Simply brilliant.”

  He and Cox shared a love for basketball. If he wasn’t about ready to drop on his feet, he would have stayed and had a lengthier discussion with the doorman.

  Drowsily, Cox stepped into the elevator and stabbed the button for the fifth floor. He usually took the stairs, but, after being awake for more than twenty-four hours, his bum knee ached and all he wanted to do was climb into a hot shower then bed.

  The doors opened and he took a step toward his apartment when a crinkling sound warned him that he wasn’t alone.

  He saw his neighbor huddled against the wall with a newspaper pressed against her body and he thought lack of sleep had caused him to hallucinate. The second she opened her mouth he knew this wasn’t a dream. Hell, what had she said?

  She was easy on the eyes, no doubt, but the way she looked over like she could spear him and roast him on the grill unsettled him. What had he ever done to her outside of asking her to keep her dogs quiet a few times so he could sleep?

  Her damp hair hung in coils down her shoulders, making the red strands look darker. Her green eyes burrowed into him, but the slight pucker of her full mouth made him forget the anger he saw radiating from her. The paper she clutched to her chest and waist hid her breasts and inner thighs, but her long toned legs were exposed, sending a message below his belt that he wasn’t about to examine closer. He didn’t like her. What little he knew he didn’t like. He’d even dated a few women like her. High maintenance. Rich and spoiled. Afraid to chip a nail. Cox didn’t need to see her bank account to know she hadn’t eaten ramen noodles one day in her life. He guessed that was why she always regarded him with an air of disgust. People with money could sniff out all the others a mile away—and Cox could sniff out pretentious.

  He didn’t have the energy to tolerate another run in with her. He’d been fighting crime well before she probably even opened an eye that morning.

  Several words were exchanged, some dirty looks, that ended with him shrugging his shoulders and leaving her standing alone while he stepped into his apartment.

  Cox sniffed and wrinkled his nose. The place could have used a good cleaning, he thought as he caught a scent of the frozen meatloaf dinner he’d tossed into the trash can two days ago. Or was that three days?

  Pulling the curtains back on the large window to allow some light in, he looked out onto the busy downtown street, feeling a boost of energy.

  He needed a shower and shave and should be running for soap, water and razor now, but the unexpected run-in with his neighbor left him wide awake, and hungry. Thinking back, he hadn’t had a decent meal about as long as it had been since he’d tossed the trash.

  Toeing off his boots and tossing his keys on the coffee table, he strolled into the kitchen, changed the trash bag, and opened the refrigerator. Outside of a semi-moldy block of Colby cheese, a spoiled cup of yogurt and a package of Reese’s Cups, there wasn’t much to choose from. Going for the chocolate, he unwrapped one candy and stuffed it into his mouth.

  His mind spontaneously drifted to his naked neighbor. Now why in the hell was she naked? He headed for the door to look though the spyglass. As he expected, the redhead was long gone. A sliver of disappointment raced through him. If only her attitude was as sweet as her ass. Yeah, he didn’t like her, but he was human and he’d noticed a time or two that she was in shape—especially when she ran in those tight yoga pants that were made to torture men.

  Pushing away from the door, he laughed. Taming a wild cat like that one would take a much braver man than Cox.

  He dragged his clothes off his tired body, dropping them as he made his way down the hall toward the sleek chrome and indulgent bathroom. The upscale apartment was outside of his budget, but because he’d saved the life of the building owner’s daughter, Cox had been offered a deep discount. He’d normally accept a simple “thank you” as a sufficient welcome for saving a life, but he’d needed a place to stay, and the close vicinity to work made it impossible to turn the apartment down.

  Opening the double glass doors, he stepped into the massive chamber and under the spray of the luxurious shower head. He turned the knob as hot as he could handle and leaned back against the cool Italian tiles, allowing the pulsating stream to massage his knee.

  He was starting to feel a release of the strain in his muscles, but the redhead seemed to wiggle her way into his sluggish mind. In his career, he’d learned that he wouldn’t make a lot of friends, but where had things gone critically wrong between him and the neighbor? There certainly wasn’t any love loss. Come to think of it, he hadn’t heard the dogs barking in some time, not that he was around much.

  The good news, he didn’t need to be friends with her. He’d done a damn good job of pretending like he didn’t see her when they passed in the halls. Yet this morning, hell, he would have had to dig out his eyeballs to keep from seeing her.

  Grabbing the bar of soap, he used it to scrub his hair and body then turned off the water. He swiped a hand down the condensation on the mirror and looked at his reflection. He was starting to look like a caveman with the beard, but right now he needed to hit the sack. Not bothering to dry off, he grabbed his phone and headed down the short hallway into the bedroom and climbed between the soft sheets. He closed his eyes and within seconds was on the brink of a dream about his sexy neighbor when his cell dinged. He laid there a good three minutes before curiosity got the best of him and he finally decided to see who’d texted him.

  Mikayla Wills.

  His body tightened.

  “Hi, handsome. I haven’t seen you in a while. How about meeting me at Chilly Willy’s BBQ later for a beer and wings? And dessert at my place. Mikayla.”

  He didn’t consider the tall brunette his girlfriend. What they shared fit better into the category of friends with benefits. Divorced, she wasn’t any more interested in a relationship than Cox, but they enjoyed having dinner together at Chilly Willy’s once or twice a month then having dessert at her place which usually consisted of whatever special she had in store—and had nothing to do with food. However, their dating had fizzled over the last few months because he’d been exceptionally busy, and gratefully she never gave him hell if he didn’t show up when they’d made plans. In law enforcement herself, she understood all too well the expectations of the badge.

  Honestly, he hadn’t thought much about her. Maybe the lack of interest meant something.

  Because in that instant he decided moving on was probably best, he didn’t respond to her message. Right now, he needed some shut eye.

  Rolling over onto his stomach, he stared at the wall until sleep came.

  Chapter 4

  Six months later.

  Striking her knee on the open drawer of a metal file cabinet, Hazel let out a string of curses, thankful she was alone in the campaign office. None of her coworkers could go running to tell her uncle that she had behaved badly.

  Rubbing the pain out of her knee, she hobbled into the workroom and switched on the light.

  No one had told her to her face, but she guessed most of her coworkers disliked her. She’d overheard them say things like, “Rich kid who got the job because she’s the Congressman’s niece” and “I wonder if she’s even a republican.” Why didn’t they just ask her? Hazel never minced words. She’d admit she got the job on her uncle’s presidential campaign because she was a relative, unlike Tammy Taylor who worked her way up in ranks by giving “personal massages”. The woman didn’t hide her hatred for Hazel who’d barely said two words to the other woman. Politics was a perfect career for preconceived notions.

  Making coffee and copies was the last place Hazel wanted to be, but she’d been guilted into the temporary position by her mother and uncle.


  What people in the office didn’t realize, just because she was related to Congressman Noleen didn’t mean she was incapable of doing her duties. She was quite capable, and she refused to be another Tammy Taylor. Hazel would work for her uncle and who knew, if he was elected president, she could have bragging rights that she helped in his ladder to success. Who cared if her part could be categorized as the after-hours copy girl and gopher, but man did she make a great pot of coffee and was an ace at writing speeches. Maybe eventually she’d figure out what she wanted to do in life and find a rewarding career, as her mom and uncle kept encouraging her to do. Neither appreciated her past jobs as car salesperson, waitress, dealer at the casino, and dog sitter among others.

  Sticking the pile of papers in the copier, she pressed a few buttons and hit “start” and the machine made a grinding noise then started spitting out wrinkled copies of the important document. She needed to have them on her supervisor’s desk first thing in the morning. “Oh no!” Several papers hit the floor and she caught a few others in football fashion as she fumbled to hit the pause button on the panel.

  Today truly hadn’t been a good day for her and that’s why she was late finishing up projects she’d failed to get done earlier because she’d been helping others. No argument, she wasn’t cut out for office work. Maybe it was high time she considered what Denise had been telling her, “Use that fancy degree.”

  With an agitated sigh, she got down on her hands and knees and gathered the strewn papers, sucking back tears that threatened to come. What had come over her? She’d never been one to lose herself in emotion.

  The elevator dinged in the outer room.

  Who would be coming into the office this late?

  Most of the workers met every Friday night at Chilly Willy’s BBQ to destress over wings and beers.

  Standing and clumsily holding the papers in her arms, she looked through the wide window that faced the outer office filled with desks and chairs. The only light on was the dim overhead so it took her a few seconds to find Trent Shoemaker, the campaign manager, bent over his desk rummaging through a top drawer. She liked the man and found him knowledgeable and funny. He’d always been nice to her. Here lately, though, he seemed a bit off balance which she’d chalked up to the stress of the campaign.

  Pecking on the glass to get his attention, he didn’t hear her at first, and the second time she knocked he brought his head up, listening. Finally he turned, looking around, and she noticed how tense he seemed. When he finally saw her, he waved, and she smiled and waved back. His disheveled appearance was atypical for the Harvard graduate who took great pride in dressing in designer suits and polished loafers. And his frantic expression alarmed her.

  He waved again, this time mouthing something. She leaned closer to the window, trying to read his lips without any luck. She held up her forefinger, “Hold on. I’ll come out,” she whispered.

  Setting the documents on the machine for later, she turned off the light in the work room and heard the elevator ding again. Hazel turned at the same time the metal doors opened. Trent had his back to her now as he too watched the elevator and two men who exited. Both were dressed in black suits, ties, had unbelievably wide shoulders, and chiseled features. She stood frozen in her spot. Were they FBI? Uncle Noleen’s security? Something about their demeanor warned her this wasn’t a friendly visit.

  The tallest of the duo stayed close to the elevator and crossed his arms over his barreled chest while the other, who wore a smug expression, approached Trent. He said something, but Hazel couldn’t hear what he was saying. The man’s pockmarked features turned red and angry. Trent, who was dwarfed by the massiveness of the suited man, took a wobbly step backward while shaking his head and holding his hands up.

  The other man, the one standing by the elevator, dropped his beefy arms and took a short step forward, but the pockmarked-faced man waved him back with a laugh. Some of the tension released and relief came to Hazel but only lasted a second. Trent was grabbed by the shoulders then pushed hard against the desk.

  Horror washed over Hazel. What could she do? She had to do something.

  Reaching for her phone in the pocket of her cardigan she came up empty. Oh no! She’d left her cell in her purse on her desk. Could she make it to a phone without the men seeing her?

  It’d be impossible.

  Her heart slammed against her ribcage.

  The pockmarked man now had a gun, aiming it at Trent’s chest.

  Hazel stood paralyzed. Fear trickled down her spine and moisture filled her eyes.

  An argument ensued between the two men. Did the burly man want something from Trent?

  The gun fired and he wobbled, dropping to his knees before he fell to the floor, motionless.

  Stunned into silence, Hazel could only watch from her hidden spot. They had no idea that she was there.

  The copy machine chimed, signaling that it was powering off. Oh no!

  Just as she suspected would happen, the suited men glanced around the outer room. They’d heard the sound. She took two steps back, hitting the wall, waiting in fear as they continued to visually search for what had made the noise. The darkness in the room kept them from seeing her.

  The pockmarked man motioned for the taller one to investigate.

  They knew they weren’t alone.

  How long before they found her?

  It couldn’t be long.

  She moved slightly and the papers she’d placed on the copier floated to her feet and she stepped on them as she forced her feet to move toward the door. Hazel took several more side steps, her mind swirling as she debated what she should do next. If she stayed there, they would find her and kill her too.

  She had to escape.

  Sprinting out of the workroom, she hurried toward the door that led to the stairwell. Almost falling in her heels, she slipped them off, dropping one in her haste. She gave the other a toss too and took the stars as fast as her feet would carry her. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears and her breathing was labored but she kept going until she made it to the exit door. She crashed into the door only to bounce back, realizing a chain was wrapped around the handle, keeping it locked.

  Biting back a scream, she desperately searched the space. Above her, she heard a door open and slam shut and then the sound of footsteps.

  She was stuck inside the building with the killers.

  One of them was descending the stairs.

  The thudding of heavy footsteps scraped the stairs and she held her breath, sweat beading her brow. She had to move fast.

  She had no other choice but to continue downward onto the ground floor.

  Hazel had only been in the space used for storage a couple of times. It was dark and smelled strongly of mildew and her nose burned. Feeling her way along the rough wall, she focused on each step she took. Finally, her eyes adjusted some, enough that she made use of the dim light flowing in through a narrow window across the room. Heavy footsteps echoed on the stairwell, mingling with her pounding heartbeat.

  The killer would know she was here.

  Frightened, she pushed off the wall, tripping over boxes. She fell hard to her knees as the stack fell around her, spilling out office supplies. Standing up from the floor she drew her panicked glance through the semi-dark space cluttered with more boxes, file cabinets and office equipment. Carefully, she made her way through the cardboard maze, looking up and down, side to side.

  Where could she hide?

  A massive desk stood in the corner. She thought of hiding there but instinct cautioned her that the killer would look there first. A row of shelves and cabinets stood against a wall. Opening the first two, they were crammed full of office supplies. The third contained campaign signs. Then she spotted the trash bin.

  What choice did she have?

  She climbed in, sinking deep into the pile of shredded paper, tucking her knees against her chest as she huddled in the tight spot, listening. Peering through a crack in the plastic, she watched the doorway
, focusing on the shadows that seemed to play tricks on her. She was so scared she couldn’t fill her lungs with air.

  Her mind churned with thoughts and ideas. Why was Trent killed? Who were these men? Would they kill her too? Of course they would. She saw what they did.

  They didn’t see her face, though.

  That didn’t matter.

  Would she see her mom and uncle again?

  A faint noise sounded outside the door, a second before the knob jingled and the squeak of hinges made her breath catch. The killer was now inside the room with her. She couldn’t see him, but she could hear his heavy breathing.

  A shadow feathered across the wall.

  He was closer now.

  Then he came into view.

  Over the scent of paper, she could smell a strong odor of sweat and cigar smoke.

  She didn’t move, didn’t even breathe, afraid he’d hear her.

  He moved slowly, the pops and cracks as he stepped on items lost on the floor resounded off the bare walls. The nuzzle of the gun he held glinted in the sliver of light. She bit her bottom lip to hold back any sounds as he stopped to listen. Could he hear her heartbeat?

  She watched him open the cabinet doors, making a disgruntled noise when he didn’t find her.

  When he stepped into the light the universe seemed to stop for a second. He looked like the hunter hunting its prey.

  The weight of the paper felt like lead on her body. The temperature rose and sweat beaded her body. He was so close now that she could have reached out and touched him.

  Her body was shaking.

  She was scared that the paper would rattle.

  This wasn’t how she wanted to die. She hadn’t lived her life yet. Hadn’t found what she would do with herself to change the world as she’d planned. Tears overflowed from her eyes and she hated that she couldn’t be braver.

  Dear God, please help me!

  The man stepped out of her view. Where had he gone?

  The exit door came screeching open and she heard, “Let’s go, Forty. We have to get out of here before the cleaning service arrives.” A man’s voice bit through the room.