Behind the Shield

by Sheryl Lynn

  “I see where you get the talent.” He pulled another drawing from the box. “Ah, come on, Maddy, stop looking so scared. We’ll work something out. I promise.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Aren’t you in enough trouble, Carson?” Pete held on to the dashboard with one hand.

  Carson pushed the cruiser past eighty. “So what’s a little more? As long as I have my badge, I’m doing my job.”

  Pete closed his eyes and grumbled. “Doesn’t it occur to you that Maurice is lying? He’s protecting Judy. She tipped him off.”

  Carson stared at the endless highway, resisting temptation to stomp on the accelerator and push the car to top speed. All he really had to go on was a bad, bad feeling that was growing worse by the minute. “The man hasn’t said a word since we put the cuffs on him. He won’t even talk to his wife. And he pipes up just because Judy says she didn’t call him? Why protect her?”

  “Why suspect Tony? I thought he was your friend.” Pete shook his head. “Man, you don’t have many of those left around here.”

  He checked the rearview mirror for traffic. Seeing none, he tromped the brake. Rubber squealed and the cruiser’s rear end fishtailed. Pete was thrown forward then back.

  “Hey!”

  Carson pointed at the side of the road. “You’re right. Get out.”

  Pete grabbed the seat-belt buckle as if fearing Carson was about to rip it loose. “What are you talking about?”

  “If I get canned, the department will need you. I’ll radio for a car to pick you up.”

  “This is about Madeline, isn’t it?”

  Yes! His heart screamed. “No,” he said. “Everything about Tony Rule is too damned convenient. The way he showed up and bought that crappy cabin in the middle of nowhere. The way he’s always digging for information. He kept trying to get Madeline alone. Tipping off Maurice was a surefire way to get her out of my house.”

  “He got shot!”

  “So he got more than he bargained for. Except now he has Madeline. Shay told Madeline that Fry was going to ask her a favor. Then Fry is murdered. Tortured and murdered. Shay goes crazy. Remember Shay screaming he didn’t do it? The more I think about it the more it seems that Shay was scared to death. And it wasn’t me that scared him.”

  “But Tony? Come on.”

  Carson revved the engine. “I have to go, Pete. Get out.”

  Pete Morales tucked his chin and clamped his arms over his chest. “You’re not going anywhere without me. If you’re right, you need backup. If you’re wrong, well, I can always flip burgers. Drive.”

  It seemed to take forever before he reached the turn-off to Tony’s cabin. A glance at the clock said he had made it in record time. Halfway up the driveway, Pete voiced a low warning.

  Carson braked and craned his neck to see past the brush. He could make out the white chassis of a car in front of the cabin. He inched the cruiser up the dirt driveway until he recognized the car. “That’s Nick Iola’s Volvo.”

  “What’s he doing here?”

  Over the radio, Wanda was calling Carson, needing to know his location. Pete gave him a questioning look and Carson shook his head. The bad feeling turned into a prickling that extended over his scalp, around his neck and down his spine. A lead baseball rested in his belly. He’d been a cop too long to ignore it.

  “Tony has to know we’re here. I’m going to see if I can talk him into coming outside. You go around the back.”

  Pete slipped out of the cruiser and disappeared into the brush. Carson parked so that Nick Iola’s Volvo was between the cruiser and the house. It didn’t strike him as a good sign that Tony didn’t appear on the porch to call joking insults. He got out and took a moment to adjust his hat, surreptitiously studying the reporter’s car.

  Bannerman had fooled him. Why not Nick Iola? What better cover for gathering information than posing as a reporter?

  He shouldn’t have gone haring off with a head full of suspicions and his hands full of nothing. He should have called the FBI, or the sheriff or even Paul Imagia. The house was very quiet. Too quiet. It was nearly impossible in this country to sneak up on somebody in a car. He resisted looking back at Pete.

  “Hey, Tony!” he called.

  The front door was open and, through the screen door, the house looked dark and deserted.

  He climbed onto the porch, trying to see in the windows without looking as if he looked.

  Madeline appeared in the doorway. She held one of her fabulous bead pieces as if it were a baby. He recognized the phoenix vessel. Her face was carved from stone, her eyes dark and unreadable.

  “Tony isn’t here,” she said. Her voice was low and even. “He and Nick went to get steaks and beer.”

  He wanted so much to take her into his arms, to beg her to reconsider, to work things out. Her coldness froze his tongue and turned his limbs to stone.

  “Everything all right?”

  “I’m working, Carson. You’re interrupting me. We have nothing more to say to each other.”

  Taken aback, he stiffened. “Can’t we talk? Can I come in?”

  “No. It’s better this way. Come back later when Tony is home.”

  He read nothing in her face, nothing in her voice. She shut him out.

  All he had left was the job. His job said, no matter how he felt or how she felt, he had to share his concerns about Tony. He had opened his mouth to speak when he noticed her hands.

  She ripped and tore at the fabric of beads. One finger bled. Threads snapped and tiny beads popped loose, scattering every which way. His mouth dropped open. She revered art, held it sacred. She couldn’t even throw away her father’s art.

  “So everything is cool with Tony, huh? He’s feeling better?”

  “Yes.” She hooked two fingers into the beads and twisted. He darted his eyes at the open door beside her. She did the same.

  “Okay then. What time will he be home?” He eased a hand to the holster and worked the snap free. He folded his fingers around the gun butt.

  “I don’t know. A few hours. Cabin fever. He hates being cooped up. You—”

  Madeline suddenly stumbled to the side and Tony stepped into her place. His right arm was bound to his bare chest with a sling. “Jeez! Take the hint already!” Carson saw the weapon, drew his own and a steel fist slammed into his chest.

  MADELINE SCRAMBLED to her feet in time to see Carson stagger and fall off the porch. Her mouth opened in a silent scream. A roar of protest filled her head, clouded her sight, made every nerve jump. As if in slow motion, Tony stepped to the side of the door and peered out, his gun raised, the muscles tensing and relaxing in his hand.

  Madeline grasped the phoenix vessel by the neck and swung it with all her strength. It glanced off Tony’s skull and he lurched to one knee.

  She screamed in rage and grief. She hit him on the shoulder, directly above the broken clavicle and Tony howled. She hit him again and again on the arms and shoulder and head and back. Blood and beads splattered against the door and the floor and the walls. The vessel snapped and the heavy body thudded against the door.

  “Halt!”

  Teeth bared, armed only with the broken neck of the vessel, she spun to face the new threat. Tears blurred her vision; grief blurred her reason.

  “Madeline!”

  It took her several seconds to recognize Pete Morales. He had entered the house through the back door. He crouched in the doorway to the kitchen. He held a pistol in both hands, his elbows locked. For a terrifying moment Madeline thought he was going to shoot her. Then she realized he aimed at Tony who lay still behind her.

  “He—he—shot—Carson—ohmygod Carson!” She turned too fast and tripped over Tony. Arms windmilling, she struggled for balance. She caught herself on her hands. She glimpsed Tony’s hand snake toward his weapon. He looked up from the corner of his eye. He acted far more injured than he actually was.

  “He’s got a gun!”

  A wasp zinged past her ear. Then she heard the gunsho
t and saw the muzzle flash. With frightening speed, Tony rolled and fired again. Madeline dived to the floor and clamped her arms over her head.

  Tony pulled into a crouch. He jerked his right arm free of the sling and held the gun in his right hand. With his left, he grabbed Madeline’s braid, looping it around his hand in a bull-rider’s rope grip.

  “Show yourself or I’ll shoot her!”

  Madeline squirmed and struggled, but he hauled her by the hair to her feet.

  “You’ll pay for that,” Tony said, each syllable cracking ice. He gave her hair a vicious jerk that made her cry out. “You hurt me, you bitch! Morales! Quit hiding in my kitchen and show yourself. You have to the count of three, then I blow her brains out. One.” He shoved the pistol bore against her ear. “Two!” He backed toward the front door, dragging Madeline with him.

  A metallic click like a nuclear bomb against her ear.

  Crack!

  White lightning exploded in Madeline’s head. A great weight toppled her to the floor. Her chin cracked against the wood and stars filled her vision. Stunned, wondering why being dead felt exactly like being alive, she struggled for air.

  “Madeline.”

  Carson! Oh God, she was in heaven and he was here. Hinges squeaked. The floor vibrated beneath her cheek. A man grunted and the weight left her. She grew aware that the back of her head felt as if she’d been hit with a hammer and her chin was bleeding. Hands grasped her arm, helped her upright. She staggered and strong arms caught her.

  Her vision cleared and she stared in wonder at Carson’s face. “Are we dead?” she whispered. “Oh, Carson, I never got to tell you I love you.”

  He hugged her to him in a tight embrace and stroked the back of her head and rocked her. “I know, baby. I know.”

  IN THE RUFF MEDICAL CENTER Madeline sat on the edge of the examination table. She accepted gratefully the ice pack the nurse handed her. When Carson shot Tony, Tony’s forehead had slammed against the back of Madeline’s skull. She had a mild concussion, a ferocious headache and a goose egg. The doctor put three stitches in her chin and gave her a long list of symptoms to watch out for. Gingerly she pressed ice against her head.

  Carson sat on the adjoining exam table. He, too, accepted an ice pack. A bullet-proof vest had prevented the bullet from entering his chest, but a bruise the size of a dinner plate was forming below his right nipple.

  “Knock, knock,” Pete called.

  “Come on in,” Carson said. He grunted with the effort.

  Madeline couldn’t take her eyes off him. If she did, he might disappear. He might actually be dead.

  Pete entered and the nurse nodded before she left. “The sheriff is at the scene. I take it you two will live?”

  “Looks like it.”

  Hands on his hips, Pete gazed solemnly at Madeline. “Thanks. I thought he was unconscious until you warned me about the gun. Thank you very much.”

  “You’re welcome.” Then she remembered. “Oh, my God! Nick! Tony shot him and locked him in a closet and—”

  “We got him. He’s okay. He’s being airlifted to the trauma center in Phoenix as we speak. It looks like his arm is messed up pretty good and he’ll need surgery to put it back together, but he’s nowhere close to dying.” He turned to Carson. “How are you doing, Chief? Bust some ribs?”

  “Doc says no, but I know he’s lying. Madeline, honey, are you up to giving Pete a statement? What happened before I got there?”

  She told them how Nick had shown up to use the computer to research a guy named Jonathon Garman. Tony shot Nick. Tony insisted Madeline knew how to use a key because she was the little Indian princess. Then Carson showed up and Tony told her to get rid of him or he would kill Carson.

  “What key?” Pete asked.

  “I don’t know. I think he got it from Deke Fry. My father knew better than to get anywhere near my mother, so he sent Deke to Whiteriver to ask me for the little Indian princess.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t make any sense. Daddy called me his little Indian princess, but I don’t know about any key. Tony broke everything apart and he was studying Daddy’s drawings. I don’t know what would have happened if he didn’t find the little—”

  “Madeline,” Carson interrupted.

  The telling got her scared all over again and she must sound like a crazy woman. “What?”

  “That thing you wear around your neck. Your father made it.”

  She pulled the locket free of her shirt and looked at it. Then it hit her. One of the portraits her father had drawn was of her as a child—a little Indian princess. She pulled the chain over her head and winced when it scraped the goose egg. Her fingers were raw and sliced from tearing at tough thread. She couldn’t get the locket open.

  Carson fished a pocketknife from his trousers. He made small pained noises, but focused on getting the locket opened. He pried out the protective ovals of plastic over the drawings. Behind the portrait of the child was a pink paper, folded into a tiny square. Madeline slid off the exam table. Pete edged in close to Carson as he carefully smoothed the paper.

  It was a receipt from a storage company in Flagstaff for a unit that was paid up for five years. The storage-unit number was blacked out. In faded carbon copy was a handwritten message: Nobody gets into the unit without presenting this receipt. F.B. Shay III.

  “Fry had the key and Shay had the location,” Carson said.

  “I’ll make sure the sheriff collects all the keys he finds at the scene,” Pete said. “Should I call the FBI?”

  “I think you better.”

  After Pete left, Madeline placed a hand on Carson’s chest, wishing she could will the soreness away. “Tony told me what happened.” Her jaw tightened with bitterness. “He’s a monster. He was boasting about what he did. He killed Deke Fry. Tortured him. He was trying to kill my father. My father killed…” She choked and had to clear her throat. “He killed your wife because he thought she was with Tony.”

  “I kind of figured that,” he said with a sigh. “And now Tony will pay for that, too. He’s facing the death penalty. We’ll see how much boasting he does when he’s in a five-by-seven-foot cell.” He eased a strand of hair off her cheek. “What I want to know is, where do we go from here?”

  She wanted to tell him she loved him and she’d do anything he asked, even if he asked her to disappear and never set foot in Ruff again. She feared he’d say exactly that. He folded a hand gently around the back of her neck and brought her forehead to forehead with him.

  “I know why you left me,” he whispered. “You’re wrong.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “One thing I really love about you is knowing you’d never make me choose between you and this town.”

  She couldn’t breathe.

  “It’s this town forcing me to choose. They should know better. Nobody forces me into anything I don’t want to do. I’m about sick of them trying. I’m blowing this cathouse. Will you join me?”

  She snapped up her head. She searched his beloved eyes for the truth. “What are you talking about? You’re leaving Ruff?”

  “Only reason I came back after college was Jill. Only reason I joined the Ruff police force was Jill. I couldn’t leave because of her, even after she was gone.” He pressed his mouth into a sad smile. “I loved her with all my heart. When she died, I thought I had died, too, only my body didn’t realize it. You make me see that isn’t so. It’s time to join the living. Time to start over. I’d like to do it with you. If you’ll have me.”

  Wretched, stupid tears poured from her eyes and there wasn’t a thing she could do to stop them. Unable to speak, she nodded.

  Pete returned. As soon as he walked in, he made an embarrassed sound and turned around.

  Carson said, “It’s okay. Did you talk to Lipton?”

  “Sure did. He can’t wait to get here. Oh, and good news, they picked up Bannerman, I mean, Parker. He sang like a lovesick coyote. He was the anonymous tipster.”

  Madeline looked
puzzled and Pete explained, “Banner—I mean, Parker was a bean counter at Worldwide Parcel when Garman recruited him to find out when they’d be making a money shipment. When the hijacking went bad, Parker wisely disappeared. After Frank Shay was killed and nobody mentioned his connection to the hijacking, Parker cooked up his scheme to impersonate an insurance man. Then he spotted Garman.” Pete stroked his chin. “Lucky for him, he recognized Garman before Garman recognized him. I’m not sure if he was trying to save his own hide or if he didn’t want Garman to get the money, but he called the FBI.”

  “And Tony is really Jonathon Garman,” Madeline said.

  “Yes, ma’am, I do believe so.” As if Pete wasn’t there, Carson kissed her fully on the mouth.

  Epilogue

  Carson grinned at Pete’s roar of laughter. He waited until his friend’s hilarity stopped before asking, “Well? What happened?”

  “Does that pretty wife of yours know you’re calling me on your honeymoon? I swear to God, Carson, you’re thickheaded as a bull when it comes to women.”

  “She’s in the shower. Just tell me what’s happening with Maurice.” He carried the phone to the window where he had a panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean. The water was so blue it made his soul sing. Or maybe it was Madeline.

  “Five years probation after he spends six months getting his head shrunk in the hospital.”

  Filled with relief, Carson closed his eyes. He didn’t care that Tony Rule aka Jonathon Garman faced the death penalty but he cared deeply what happened to his old friend.

  “Matt and Sug each got fifteen months hard time. D.A. dropped the attempted-murder charge and went for straight arson. Maybe they’ll grow up now.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I saw the Sold sign at your house.” Pete no longer sounded happy. “You’re really not coming back, are you?”

  “Nope. As soon as we get back from Hawaii I’ve got an interview with the D.A. in Santa Fe. Investigator. Sounds like an interesting job. There’s a big art community in Santa Fe, too. It’ll be good for Madeline.”