by Olson, Mal
Blade, his arm extended, gazed the length of his smoking Glock.
They’d both fired.
Brandy’s shot had hit dead on target. She’d aimed at Coogan’s right hand. Though she hadn’t shot to kill, she knew Coogan wouldn’t have hesitated to take her out if he’d seen her first. Blade’s bullet had entered well above Coogan’s heart, missing his vital organs, precisely in a non–life–threatening spot in his right shoulder. Probably the same place Coogan would have placed a bullet had he fired at Blade.
“Rambo, achlung,” Blade commanded. Watch.
Rambo hovered next to the downed police officer, who thrashed, moaning, on the ground.
CHAPTER TWENTY–NINE
Two days later, Brandy sat on one side of a U–shaped configuration of tables at the sheriff’s department with three other Little Chute deputies. Blade and Sheriff Nobel sat opposite her. They were all focused on Thigpen, who, along with the U.S. Attorney and the FBI Agent in Charge, occupied the head table, leading the wrap–up of the Neo Nazis’ attempted attack on Fort Shoshone Dam.
Brandy’s pulse kicked up when Thigpen said, “We offered Coogan certain immunities in return for full disclosure. He’ll still go to jail for the rest of his life, but he won’t be executed.” He gestured to a sheath of papers. “Coogan’s downfall began eighteen years ago in Phoenix, Arizona when he became involved with the flow of drugs coming across the border from Mexico.”
“So that’s what the whole thing was about? Drugs?” A lump swelled in Brandy’s throat as she stared at Blade. Her FTO wore anxiety on his face in parallel furrows across his brow.
“Jesus,” he said, “I can’t wrap my mind around why Coogan would have gotten involved with drugs in the first place.”
Thigpen lifted one shoulder. “Who knows what influences a man’s decisions? Money’s usually a prime motivator. In Arizona, it started with him looking the other way when deals went down. Since it was impossible to stop the flow of heroin and cocaine crossing the border, he decided he may as well profit from it rather than bang his head against a brick wall.”
“When he moved to Milwaukee,” Crazaniak, the FBI Special Agent in Charge, said, “He hit it off with fellow cop Joey Secada, who had similar ethics. Secada had connections with some high society drug clientele in Chicago and Milwaukee.” The agent, a candidate for a special forces poster—tall, dark, and dangerous—added, “Again, Coogan succumbed to the allure of money falling into his hands by simply turning a blind eye.”
U.S. Attorney James Greer, yet another addition to the room’s overflow of testosterone—as in ripped and more than able–bodied—said, “But then, he got involved directly with Santiago Feliciano, the Mexican drug lord.”
Blade cringed. “Jesus—just like that, he dove neck–deep into big–time shit?”
“So deep,” Thigpen affirmed, “that even if he’d tried to get out, he would have upset the Mexican applecart, for which he would have been dead every which way to Sunday.”
Blade sank back in his chair, his angst palpable. “On the surface, he was a damn good cop… but all this time, my friend led a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde double life.”
Brandy swallowed. “Did my mom know about his drug connection?”
“No, Coogan stated that she never knew,” Thigpen said. “However, the Abbott woman found out about the drugs, and Coogan’s illicit affair ended up getting him into even more trouble. Abbott threatened to expose him. His only way out was to kill her. One thing led to another. He framed Amanda Wilcox to save himself from a murder indictment.”
Brandy’s heart raced as Thigpen said the words she’d waited years for the whole world to hear. Her breath whooshed out, and a giant weight lifted from her shoulders. At the same time, she watched Blade blow out a long breath, and his obvious heartache weighed her back down.
The long breath he expelled wobbled. “So how did Coogan get connected with the Neo Nazis?” he asked Thigpen.
“After Brandy’s mother went to prison, she petitioned for an appeal. Her battle to reopen the case made Coogan nervous. He’d dodged the bullet once, but he didn’t want to take another chance. He needed to get rid of his wife, Amanda Wilcox, and to accomplish that, he needed inside help at the prison.”
“Enter the NNFF,” Special Agent Crazaniak said. “Coogan made a deal with the white supremacist hierarchy. A female Freedom Fighter, one of Amanda Wilcox’s fellow inmates, stabbed her to death, solving Coogan’s problem, or so he thought. Once Amanda had been eliminated, Coogan decided to move to Idaho. But he didn’t leave his connections behind. He was still joined at the hip to the Mexican cartel, and knew that, sooner or later, the NNFF would pressure him to return their favor.”
Blade pushed back from the table, his chair angrily scraping the floor.
Brandy cut in. “So ten years later, when I hired a lawyer and tried to reopen my mother’s case, Coogan got nervous all over again.”
Thigpen nodded. “Big time. And the tangled web kept spinning proportionately. He was forced to call on the NNFF again, this time to eliminate Secada, who had threatened to tell the truth, and who was demanding a cool million dollars to disappear.”
Blade shook his head and asked, “Was Coogan behind the logging truck attack on Brandy and me?”
“He hired Morrisey to stage a fatal accident for Brandy. He says he never thought Morrisey would go after her while she was with you.”
Blade’s eyes closed. “And he had no qualms about taking out the dam and flooding the Scuppernong Valley?”
“Qualms or not,” Agent Crazaniak broke in, “the plan suited both Coogan’s needs and the supremacists’ agenda. Deputy Wilcox would disappear in a disaster, and the Neo Nazis would get rid of hundreds of nonwhites occupying their territory.”
Blade’s expression said it all. Forlorn, hurt, angry, betrayed. Brandy’s heart ached for him. Her mother’s redemption came at a price.
Sheriff Noble stood. “It looks like the Secada homicide investigation is wrapped up.”
“Wow.” Brandy shook her head. “Coogan might have gotten away with murder again if Morrisey hadn’t messed up getting rid of Secada’s body.”
“But Morrisey did mess up,” Thigpen said. “After he stabbed Secada, he tied the body to a boat anchor and dumped it in Crystal Lake. His knot–making skills were lacking. The body didn’t stay moored to the bottom.”
“And,” Sheriff Nobel said, “since Crystal Lake connects with the Shoshone River, we found ourselves a floater.”
“A floater who hadn’t drowned but had died of knife wounds before entering the water,” Blade said. “Deputy Wilcox, you were right. You had Coogan pegged, and you never gave up.”
“Gut instinct.”
“Tenacity. It’s something you’re born with. It makes for a great law enforcer. Guess I can’t call you Rookie anymore.” A small smile cracked his grim face.
“That’s right, Deputy Wilcox, you’re a first–rate addition to this department.” Sheriff Nobel said. “People, I think that concludes this debriefing.”
The Sheriff and U.S. Attorney Greer shook hands with Brandy on their way out. Thigpen talked with Agent Crazaniak, obviously a close friend. Once Crazaniak departed, giving a quick guy–hug to Thigpen, Blade faced Thigpen and extended a hand. “Nice work. Especially at the powerhouse.”
“It was a pleasure doing business with you, Lieutenant.”
“Same here.”
Thigpen eyed Blade’s bandaged leg and the crutch he’d tossed aside. “Deputy Wilcox, I picked your FTO up at the hospital on the way here. I presume I can count on you to give him a ride home? I’ve got a plane to catch in Sandpoint.”
“Of course.” Brandy smiled at Blade with an empty feeling in her heart. She’d give him a lift, but she wouldn’t be staying. They were deputies. Comrades. Once and for all, she had to steer clear of him on a personal basis.
Blade half–grinned at Thigpen. “You mean you haven’t even got time to say goodbye to the proprietor of Tour d’Alene?
”
Brandy’s feminine radar perked up. What was that all about?
“She’s an interesting woman.” The agent shrugged.
“But?” Blade asked.
“My encounters with beautiful women seldom progress to…” He got a faraway look in his eye. “Nah, I’ve got a plane to catch… and a loose end to tie up. Coincidentally, a loose end that started in Milwaukee a while back.”
“Is the loose end as attractive as Tonya Crawford?”
The corner of Thigpen’s mouth curled in a crooked smile, which would apparently have to suffice as an answer. He dodged with, “Hope things won’t be too boring around here without the NNFF encampment in your backyard.”
“Thanks for everything, Agent Thigpen.” Brandy shook his hand.
“Thiggy.” He nodded.
“Keep in touch, Thiggy.” Blade walked the agent to the door and watched as he exited, jogged to his rental car, and slid behind the wheel.
****
Mixed emotions warred in Brandy’s head as she pulled her truck next to Blade’s front door.
Finally, her mother’s name had been cleared. Coogan and Morrisey awaited arraignment. Now was the logical time to end things with Blade. Whatever had flared between them could not continue. They were coworkers, and she’d found she was damn good at her job. Maybe Coogan was right. Maybe she wasn’t good enough for Blade. And, would he ever be able to forgive her for exposing Coogan, for taking away his hero?
“I’m just dropping you off, Lieutenant.”
Blade’s fingers wrapped around hers. His heat made her hand tingle. She drew in an uneven breath that filled her lungs with his masculine, woodsy scent. He looked tired. She knew he was still in pain. Dark circles shadowed the skin below his eyes. And she knew he was still torn up over Skip Coogan. And Richard Lutz/Reverend McKee. Those wounds would take a while to heal.
She brushed the hair back off his forehead, and a sudden image of Blade as a little boy flashed across her mind. She pictured him on the run with his mother, fleeing Richard Lutz. A run that lasted all of Blade’s childhood. Just thinking about his confrontation with McKee and his discovery that the reverend was actually Richard Lutz made her chest hurt. Blade had come face to face with his worst demon. Would he ever realize that his life had little to do with his genes? She knew Blade Beringer was a man of compassion and integrity. How could she ever convince him of that?
Trying for subtlety, although it wasn’t her strong suit, she said, “Skip Coogan came from a family of heroes, and yet he chose corruption, deceit… murder.”
Blade fingered his Stetson. “You’re still trying to tell me I’m a good guy, despite my father’s sins?” He pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head and rubbed his eyes. “I shot and killed a man once. In the heat of anger. For vengeance.”
“And? What were the circumstances?”
“He deserved it. He was a total freaking asshole—kidnapped and raped a twelve–year–old girl.”
“And yet, you must have been cleared, cuz you’re still wearing the badge. Was that the guy who shot Rambo?”
Blade swallowed, turned away, and nodded. “I took him out, but I should have wounded him and left the judgment to the courts.”
“There are lots of assholes in the world. I guess you do the best you can with what’s handed to you. You learn from it, and then you go on… You didn’t take Coogan out when you had the chance.”
“I’m not sure that’s progress. He intended to kill you, Brandy, when he lured you out to meet him and dragged you to that cabin, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to take the lethal shot when I had the chance.”
“And that supports my argument. When things are on the line, Blade Beringer follows his heart.”
The only reply she received was the warble of a bird. The late afternoon sun beat down on the truck’s hood. Blade dragged in a breath. “I guess it’s going to take me a little time to get used to accepting that.” He glanced out the window. “Brandy?”
“Yeah?”
“Sorry I didn’t believe you sooner… about Coogan.”
“No apology necessary. Loyalty is one of your good–guy qualities. And loyalty’s not a bad thing. Whether Coogan fooled you or not, he influenced your life in a good way.”
Contrarily, her stepfather had not influenced her positively, and he hadn’t fooled her. The lump in her throat expanded.
“Did you ever think of becoming a psychotherapist?” Blade hoisted himself out of the truck, favoring his bandaged leg. He leaned on his crutch.
She rolled her eyes.
Rambo woofed a greeting from beyond the fence in his kennel.
“Hey, buddy!” She called through the open car window and fought to keep herself glued to the driver’s seat while Blade waited next to the truck.
Seating his Stetson on his head, he threw her a look of helplessness. Feigned helplessness, she was sure, from the man who was the epitome of self–reliant toughness.
“I think I need a hand getting into the house.”
Fate was testing her, as was this man she cared for more than she dared admit. Okay, she should go in and help him get settled. See that he had something to eat. It was the least she could do, especially now when he was dealing with all of Skip Coogan’s crap.
She got out of the truck and helped him up the steps. Inside, he tossed his hat aside, hobbled to the sofa, and eased down. He held out his hands. And she was powerless to do anything other than settle next to him. The touch of his fingers on hers caused her blood to rush to places it shouldn’t. She willed herself to be content with absorbing the heat from his fingers, with savoring his touch. She tried to ignore the arousal he invoked in her. The longing.
Running his hands up her arms, he twisted so their upper bodies aligned. One stroke of his thumb across her cheek, and Brandy sensed raw desire. Both his and hers.
It was up to her to rein in that desire.
Blade leaned closer until only a fraction of an inch separated their lips. By simply refusing to bridge the tiny gap, she could save them from disaster. But need pulsed through her veins as wildly as the storm–fed waters of the Shoshone.
It didn’t help when Blade shuddered, or when she sensed the rush of his pulse, or when the infinitely small gap between his chest and hers closed, leaving her heart thumping against his. How could she deny him anything?
Maybe they deserved one last…
Her heart, her soul, her body yearned to memorize the feel of his taut muscles as they trembled in passionate abandon. She so wanted one last chance to savor the thrill of his heat pulsing inside of her, longed to connect one more time with this man who had become embedded in her heart.
Whether it was she or Blade who made the move, she didn’t know, but his mouth pressed against hers. His tongue probed, seeking, separating her lips. And she was lost. She kissed him with all her heart and soul, unspoken love pouring from deep inside her. When the kiss ended, she pressed her mouth against his cheeks, his eyes, his chin, the indentation above his upper lip.
“Brandy…”
A tremor vibrated through her chest. Or was it Blade who had shuddered? His raspy voice almost made her say the words she ached to say, the words locked in her heart. She’d said them at the dam, and he hadn’t responded. I love you.
It was then she knew she had to get out of there. Immediately. If they went any further, she’d only fall more in love with him, and she’d end up getting hurt. She jerked free from his embrace. She stood and forced herself to look away and ignore the shocked look on his face.
“I have to go.”
“But—”
“We can’t do this anymore. I can’t afford to lose my job.”
He sighed. “I know. I know. I just I—”
She shook her head and rushed toward the door.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Brandy?” If there was one thing in the world Blade knew, it was that he didn’t want her to go. He wanted her in his house. In his bed. In his life. And she d
idn’t know it. Because he’d never told her.
She made him want to believe that he was the polar opposite of his father. Their conversation from a few days ago spun in his head.
Blade… You’re a hero because you choose to be. Thank God, your mother got you away from Lutz’s influence at a young age. And don’t forget, half of you comes from your mother.
No, he couldn’t be certain that he’d always follow the straight and narrow. Always choose to do the right thing. But did anyone have that guarantee? Brandy had made him realize that rather than worrying about his inherited Y chromosomes, he should focus on his strengths. He had the power to shape his own destiny just as Coogan had had that choice. Unlike Coogan, with his stellar bloodline, who’d chosen the dark side, Blade had turned his life around and had chosen honor and integrity over greed and money.
Brandy believed in him. God, he loved her. Together they could have it all.
Her eyes shimmered from the catch of sunbeams skittering through the patio door. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”
A gnarl formed in his chest. He tried to draw in air, but his lungs ached, leaving him unable to speak.
At last he found his voice. “Brandy, when that timer was ticking down at the powerhouse, you whispered something in my ear.” He held her gaze, willed her not to turn away.
Her pupils dilated, and her cheeks turned red, then her lids fluttered. She shrugged. “You told me a while back this could never work. You were right… um… and I decided I don’t really want to…”
This sounded too much like the end. It was over? Now? When for the first time in his life, Blade knew what he wanted? And what he wanted began and ended with Brandy. Permanently. When their lives had been on the line, Blade had realized he’d give anything for a shot at the brass ring. The whole damn thing.
And now, she was backing away.
She collided with the door.
Sifting through her words, trying to decipher what she really meant, he hobbled toward her. She turned away. He took her chin between his fingers and brought her face toward his. “Help me out here. What changed?”