Man Without A Badge

by Dani Sinclair

  “Reassuring.”

  His grin was wide. “I thought so.”

  “Can you pick up D.C. police broadcasts from here? I thought we were still in Montgomery County.”

  “We are. If they’re going to make a raid on us, they’ll have to alert the locals, and we should hear about it.”

  “Oh.”

  He slid an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his side. “Everything is going to be okay.”

  It was nice snuggling against Sam’s body. There was a protected, cocoonlike feeling sitting in the darkness of the car, or there would have been if she could shake the sensation that they had overlooked something important. Sam lowered the windows, allowing the night sounds to add to this false sense of safety.

  Marly rested her head on his shoulder as they sat there without talking. After a while, she let her eyes close again, wondering what would happen once Sam was cleared. He wouldn’t just walk away from her, she was sure of that, but what sort of relationship did he want? For that matter, what did she want?

  She was half-asleep when she felt Sam stiffen beside her. Her eyes popped open in time to see a long, dark car pull into the parking lot. It stopped and flashed its lights.

  “Get down,” he said quietly. “Let me make sure it’s George. I don’t want him to see you when I open the car door.”

  Heart pounding, she slid down on the seat as Sam opened the door, then shut it with quiet emphasis. She waited a few seconds before lifting her head enough to watch Sam step into the lights, his hands held away from his body. To keep from crying out, she bit down on her lip. Fear tightened her protesting muscles. She heard someone stir behind her, but she didn’t take her eyes off the scene unfolding in front of her.

  The other car’s door opened, and a man stepped out. He was older—early fifties, at a guess—with dark hair and a build much like Sam’s. He came around to stand in the beams of light, his hand outstretched in welcome.

  Sam took it, and the two talked for several minutes. Then both men turned to face the parked cruiser. Marly couldn’t sit still another minute. As she slid from the car, she peered over the back seat. Chris had fallen asleep, but Emma was gazing at her with worried eyes. She lifted Matt’s gun so that Emma could see it.

  Butterflies crawled over Marly’s stomach lining as she walked toward the men. Something pestered the back of her mind. A thought. An idea. It wavered there, just out of reach.

  Her fingers went to the pocket of her skirt for the soothing comfort of Matt’s nine-millimeter semiautomatic. Emma had pulled it from the gun cabinet and handed it to Marly right before they went out the window.

  “Marly, this is Captain George Brent,” Sam said, gesturing toward the other man.

  “So, this is Matt’s wife,” the newcomer growled by way of greeting.

  Her stomach lurched. His voice sounded so familiar, yet she was sure she had never met the man before.

  “Ex-wife,” she corrected. She pretended not to see his extended hand. All her instincts screamed in alarm. She was suddenly very conscious of the heavy weight of the small gun in her pocket. It was an effort to keep her hand from reaching inside to touch it.

  The captain’s eyes were too close together. They studied her as though fascinated by what they saw.

  “I knew your husband,” he said. “Fine officer.”

  The butterflies morphed into something larger, more frightening.

  “I’ll get Chris and we’ll go,” Sam said.

  “Go where?” The words came out more sharply than she’d intended. Something was wrong here. She could feel it. Something in the way Sam’s friend watched her.

  “Take it easy,” George said in his rumbling voice.

  “There’s nothing to worry about. You’re not under arrest, Ms. Kramer. We’re not even going to the police station. Not just yet, anyhow. We’ll go back to my place. I’ll call a couple of people I know, and everything will be fine.”

  “Marly?” Sam had reached the cruiser’s door, but he stopped, frowning at her.

  Chris popped his head up from the back seat. “Sam?” Fear strained his voice, which carried clearly to where she stood.

  “Ah, the boy,” George murmured.

  Fear pierced her as the niggle was released and thoughts tumbled over themselves faster than the speed of light. Her hand moved toward her pocket.

  This was what they had overlooked. Internal affairs had been investigating five men, not four. The captain had also had access to the evidence room. Sam had said George restored old cars for a hobby. He was married. She had even spoken to him on the phone right after Matt was killed. He was the captain Matt had been working undercover for.

  “My God.” Her words were a whisper of sound. She saw his eyes harden, heard Sam trying to reassure Chris.

  “It’s okay, Chris,” Sam said. “That’s George, my friend.”

  She took a step back, hardly breathing. Her fingers delved inside the pocket of her skirt for the weapon.

  “No, Sam. He’s the one. The one from the park.”

  The shrill words penetrated her brain even as Sam yelled, “Marly, get down!”

  But it was too late. She had twisted to run, but large hands clamped on her arm, biting into her flesh. Marly kicked and struggled, but George pulled her back against his chest as though she weighed nothing at all. His grip was unbreakable. He thrust the barrel of his gun up and under her jaw. She never had a chance to bring her hand from the pocket where her fingers clenched around the butt of Matt’s small gun.

  “Hold still,” George snarled, squeezing her so tight he cut off her oxygen. Marly stopped moving. “Come away from the car, Joe, or she’s dead.”

  Sam had dropped down beside the open car door. She saw his gun poking over the top of the window. “You know better, George.”

  Sam’s voice was utterly calm. Marly swallowed back the bile that threatened to choke her. His tone soothed her. She couldn’t cave in to panic. She couldn’t think about the gun under her chin or the fact that her instincts had been correct. She inched her hand out of the pocket, just enough for Sam to hopefully see what she held.

  “I’m not kidding, Joe.”

  “Neither am I. We both know how this is going to work.”

  “No.” The word was a growl, low in his throat. “Put the gun down now.”

  “I can’t do that. The minute I do, you’ll shoot me and then her and then Chris.”

  Marly knew Sam was right. George Brent intended to kill all of them. Her biggest fear was that Sam would set his gun down before she was in a position to use hers. Tension radiated off George.

  “Let her go, George.”

  “You know better.”

  “Why?” Sam demanded. “Why Porterfield and Rayback? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Don’t waste any sympathy on Porterfield. He was on the take, can you believe it? I knew, but I couldn’t prove it. IA suggested a sting operation, so I recommended Matt for the role of Rayback.”

  The arms coiled around her body tightened fractionally. George was wound so tight he could explode. Marly was petrified that he would squeeze the trigger by accident. Or that she would.

  “Why?” Sam asked again.

  “So I could kill him, of course. He was sleeping with my wife.” Anguish and bitter passion made him secure his hold on her even further.

  “She left me. For him!” George shook with outrage. “Matt didn’t care about her. He screwed any woman he could get into bed. Cassandra was too blind to see that. She wouldn’t come back, even when I begged her.”

  His gun shifted, dropping lower, to her neck, but the arm around her body didn’t loosen. Marly swallowed hard, waiting for an opening.

  “I decided to frame Porterfield. You can understand, Joe. That way I got rid of a dirty cop and that fornicating bastard all at the same time. You know how I feel about dirty cops.”

  “Yeah, George, I know.”

  “It would have worked, too. When I caught him going through your
locker in the gym, he was planting evidence on you. Isn’t that a laugh? I was going to frame him and he was going to frame you.”

  George chuckled—a harsh, ugly sound. His breath smelled fetid. It reeked of stale whiskey and fear. Marly tried to still the trembling that threatened to overwhelm her.

  “I was sorry it had to be you. You’re a damn fine cop, Joe, but it was too good an opening to miss. Porterfield didn’t know I’d seen him stash the money. He was sweating bullets as we stood there and chatted. I really wanted to tie it all to him, but—” George shrugged “—he left your locker open.”

  “So you removed the money, planted it at my place and switched guns with me.”

  “Damn it! You shouldn’t have stopped in the park that night, Joe. I could still have pinned it on Porterfield if you hadn’t showed up. I was going to put your gun and the money in his car after I killed Matt. His prints would have been on your locker, and they would have traced the gun in your holster to impound. We could have nailed him.”

  George squeezed her, but Marly knew he wasn’t even aware of her anymore. This was between George and Sam. He’d moved the gun a little lower. She could no longer feel it against her skin. She needed a distraction so that he’d loosen his hold a bit more. Once she threw herself clear, Sam would have a shot—or she would.

  “Instead you’re going to kill three more innocent people, is that it, George? What kind of a dirty cop does that make you?”

  “Damn it, Joe, I have no choice. The kid was there that night. When I finally figured out who he was, I had Porterfield send him to her boys’ camp. It was perfect, don’t you see?”

  “Yeah, I see. You were going to kill a young kid, and frame me for that murder, as well.”

  George clicked his teeth together with an audible sound. “I had to get rid of all the players. Porterfield met me right on schedule, but you showed up before I could get to the boy. Then you got Marly here to alibi you.” He squeezed her, none too gently. “That was a boon I hadn’t expected. We’ve got a pretty good case now. Everyone is convinced you killed her ex for personal reasons. Too bad you didn’t die in that car crash I arranged.”

  His grip relaxed marginally.

  “How did you know Sam would get in my car?” Marly asked in a quiet voice. She held the gun firmly, concealed by the folds of her skirt.

  “Sam? Oh, you mean Joe.” George chuckled. “The car accident wasn’t intended for Joe,” he said with a sneer. “I merely wanted to be sure you wouldn’t be around to connect me to Matt. Darling Cassandra called your house that day, trying to warn him about me. And I couldn’t be sure what she’d said to you.”

  His hold loosened just a bit. He was focused on Sam, not on her. The weapon was still a threat, but maybe, if she was quick and fast…

  “The woman caller,” Marly said slowly. “I didn’t even know who she was.”

  “But I couldn’t take that chance, now, could I?”

  “Did you kill her, too?” Sam asked.

  “What do you think?” His voice changed. Almost a plea for understanding. “I didn’t mean to, but I heard her on the phone, trying to find Kramer to warn him. I started hitting her, and I just couldn’t seem to stop. You know, Marly, if you’d been a better wife to Matt, maybe none of this would have happened.”

  Marly brought her heel back against his shin, surprising him. She almost jerked free, but George was snake-quick, yanking her into shield position again before she could tear free or use the weapon in her hand.

  “Don’t you dare blame me,” she snarled at him. “My husband was a jerk.”

  “Shut up,” George growled, nearly snapping her neck as his arm constricted. “Now come out, Joe. We need to end this.”

  “Nope. It’s not gonna happen that way.”

  “Stand up, or I’m going to pull this trigger.”

  “You won’t do that, George, because if you hurt Marly, nothing will stop me from killing you.”

  “Then we’ll do it the hard way.” He marched Marly forward, his arm still firm across her chest. “I’m sorry, Joe. I didn’t want it to end like this.”

  If he got within range, he would shoot Sam. She couldn’t let that happen. Marly glanced down and saw the black top of his shoe. If she could get a clear shot at his foot…

  George propelled her toward the police car. Without warning, Marly let her body sag. George was pulled off balance by her sudden shift in weight. The passenger door on the police car abruptly opened, and a shot reverberated against the night sky.

  Marly saw her target and pulled the trigger. Her shot went straight into George’s foot. He roared in pain. His gun discharged in a stream of flame even as Sam sprinted forward.

  Marly twisted free and turned, bringing her weapon up, but Sam was already there. Sam brought his gun arm down in a savage arc, and George tumbled to the asphalt. his weapon skittering across the ground.

  Sam towered over him, breathing hard. His rage was so intense, his gun hand trembled. Marly bent to retrieve the weapon George had dropped.

  “Sam?”

  “You were supposed to let me rescue you,” he told her.

  There was a ringing in her ears. Probably from all the gunshots.

  “Sorry.” Her voice shook just the tiniest bit. “You were taking too long.”

  “Yeah? Well, Emma had to climb over the seat. The back doors on the cruisers don’t open from the inside. I was trying to stall until she could get in position.”

  “An’ she got stuck,” Chris piped up from a few feet away. “I had to push.”

  George groaned. In the distance there was the sound of a siren. Sam shook his head as though to clear it.

  “Emma radioed for backup,” he said weakly.

  “Of course, she did. Are you okay?”

  Sam looked down, a strange expression on his face. There was something dark and wet on his gun hand.

  “I think I hurt my hand when I hit him.”

  Marly darted forward as he began to sway. Her eyes found the small, neat hole in the arm of his shirt.

  “Chris, tell Emma to call for an ambulance, then get over here. Sam’s hurt.” The panic in her voice communicated itself. Chris fled across the parking lot. Sam swayed, and she grabbed for him.

  “Damn it, cowboy! Don’t you dare pass out on me.”

  “Wouldn’t think of it, boss,” he told her as he collapsed on the tarmac next to George.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Hi, Lee! How’s our patient today?”

  Lee Garvey looked up from the chair at the foot of the hospital bed and gave Marly a cocky grin. “Not bad. Only one nurse quit, the aide threw a bedpan at him, and the candy striper refuses to work on this floor until he’s discharged I’d say he’s definitely on the mend.”

  “Shut up,” Sam snarled, rubbing at his sore arm where the bullet had created an unwanted path through his body.

  Marly tied a cluster of balloons to the foot of his bed and moved forward. A smile softened her lips. She dropped a paper sack to the floor and leaned over so that he had a clear view down the sexy blue silk blouse she wore. Marly wasn’t wearing a bra. Before his mind could do any more with that, her lips fused with his in a deeply satisfying kiss.

  Her face was flushed and her eyes were half-closed when she pulled away, her crystal earrings sparkling in the fluorescent lighting.

  “You’re raising my temperature,” he warned her. “My nurse won’t like that.”

  “Then maybe I should take you home.”

  Sam pushed back the sheet. “I’m ready.”

  “So I see.”

  Lee cleared his throat and looked up at the ceiling. “Why do I get the feeling I’m superfluous?”

  Sam didn’t lift his eyes from Marly. “Because you are. Go catch a bad guy or something.”

  “And here I came all the way over here to visit with my good buddy and tell him about Duncan.”

  Marly pulled free so that Sam turned his disgruntled attention back to Lee. “What about Duncan?”r />
  “Marly agreed to prosecute, providing they give Carter immunity for testifying against him. That should take care of Duncan’s days behind a badge.”

  “And George?” Marly asked.

  “His attorneys are looking into an insanity plea. I don’t think they’ll have much trouble there—he’s nearly catatonic now.”

  “It was George who trashed your apartment, wasn’t it?” Sam asked quietly.

  “Yeah. He planted some money and that auto repair book, even though IA had already been through my place. I think killing his wife sent him over the edge.”

  “He was a good cop once,” Sam stated.

  “I know.”

  Marly reached for Sam’s hand. “I brought you something.”

  He nodded toward the balloons, grateful for the change of topic. “So I see.”

  “Nope. They’re outside. Come on in, guys!” she called out.

  Emma pushed open the door, and the room erupted the type of noisy burst that can only come from a group of children. Marly perched on the side of the bed with a satisfied grin as Sam found himself surrounded by six exuberant boys.

  “Can I see the bullet hole?” Mickey asked.

  “No, dummy,” Hector argued, giving him a shove. “It’s just a scar by now.”

  Mickey shoved him back. “Well, then, I want to see the scar.”

  Emma separated the two with a caring hand on each shoulder. Marly exchanged grins with Sam as Jerome walked around the bed to stand beside him. “I got somethin’ for you,” he said.

  With his good hand, Sam accepted the crude soap carving of a small boat. He had to swallow a couple of times before he could trust his voice to come out even. He didn’t dare look at Marly. “That’s terrific, Jerome. You’re really improving.”

  “Yeah.” He snuck a brash grin in Marly’s direction. “I told you I could do better with my knife. When your arm gets better, I want you to show me how to carve real wood, okay?”

  “Deal.”

  “I got you this,” Chris told him, edging his way to the front position on the other side of the bed. “It’s my lucky rabbit’s foot.” He dangled the small white object from its chain. “I figure you need it more than I do. You probably used up all your luck getting shot again.”