Nothing To Lose: A Grey Justice Novel

by Christy Reece

  She might be tired, but tonight was going to be perfect. She had taken a break late in the afternoon and prepared lasagna—one of Thomas’s favorite dishes. The delicious fragrance now wafted through the air, and her stomach grumbled—a reminder that her early afternoon peanut butter and banana sandwich was long gone. What a blessing to have hunger pains in place of queasiness.

  Thomas should be home soon. She would have to rush through her shower, but she wanted to be dressed and ready when he walked through the front door. Or undressed, in this case. On her way back from the paint store, she’d slipped into Victoria’s Secret and found a negligee on sale that would probably make Thomas forget all about dinner.

  She dashed from the nursery and ran to the master bedroom. Toeing off her sneakers, she was about to unzip her jeans when the sound of the doorbell chimes stopped her. Could she ignore it? If she’d been in the shower, she wouldn’t have even heard it. She shrugged resignedly and headed downstairs. Curiosity was the bane of her existence…she had to know. Besides, if she was still in the shower when Thomas got home, he could join her and they could get started even earlier than planned.

  The delightful thought cheering her, Kennedy opened the door with a big smile on her face. Thomas’s best friend stood before her.

  “Nick! Hey! Come on in.” Even as she said the words, she inwardly sighed, seeing the romantic evening with her husband fizzling fast.

  He didn’t speak. The odd look in his eyes puzzled her until she realized what a mess she must look. Her chestnut hair, pulled up into a halfhearted ponytail, had more than a few streaks of lilac in it. She had a feeling that she had a few spots on her face, too.

  “I know I must look a fright, but I just finished painting the nursery.” She stepped back. “Come in and see it. Thomas isn’t home yet. I asked him to pick up a couple of things at the store, but he should be here soon.”

  When he still said nothing and just kept looking at her, she frowned. “Nick? What’s wrong?”

  The woman before him was disheveled, messy and absolutely lovely. She was his best friend’s wife…one of the sweetest people Nick had ever known. And he was about to destroy her world.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say the words, she started shaking her head and said a very soft but emphatic, “No.”

  “Kennedy, I—”

  She backed away, head still shaking. “You are not here to tell me anything bad, Nick. You got that? Thomas is on his way home. He’s not on duty. He is fine.”

  Reaching out his hand for her, he wasn’t surprised when she tried to close the door. Unfortunately, closing him out wasn’t going to stop the truth.

  He grabbed the edge of the door to keep it from slamming in his face, the words grinding from his mouth, “There was a robbery at the grocery store. Thomas tried to stop it. He was shot.”

  Her head continued to shake. “No. You made a mistake. Thomas will be home any minute.” She looked wildly around the room, as if trying to hold back reality. But her face had paled to a sickly color, and her mouth trembled with emotion.

  He took a step inside the house, and she backed away again. Tears swimming in her eyes, she whispered, “This is all wrong. This can’t happen. It. Can’t. Happen. Do you hear me? It can’t.”

  He reached for her. Wanting to hold her, comfort her. When she jerked away, his hand dropped, and he whispered hoarsely, “I’m so sorry, Kennedy. So damn sorry.”

  Kennedy turned away from the sorrow on Nick’s face. This couldn’t be happening. It just couldn’t. As a cop’s wife, she knew this kind of news could come at any time. She lived with that knowledge daily. Having lost both her parents as a child, she knew more than most people about unexpected tragedies. But this? This wasn’t something she could ever have expected. Thomas had been in a grocery store, off duty. Just like any other citizen.

  Nick’s gruff voice penetrated her blurred thoughts. “I’ve called Julie…she’s on her way.”

  Julie was her best friend, also a cop’s wife. She had been in Julie’s place before. Last year, Sara White’s husband, Rick, had been killed in the line of duty. Kennedy had been there when they’d told Sara. Had held Rick’s widow in her arms and whispered to her that everything was going to be okay. Kennedy now realized she had lied. Everything wasn’t going to be okay. Never would be again. How Sara must have wanted to wail and scream those very words.

  No! She refused to accept it. Kennedy whirled, shouted, “He’s not dead, dammit! I won’t allow it. I will damn well not allow it. You hear me? It’s a mistake.”

  His eyes glittering with tears, Nick pulled her into his arms and whispered, “It’s going to be okay, Kennedy. I promise.”

  Hysterical laughter bubbled in her chest, and Kennedy jerked out of his arms. “No, it’s not. That’s the funny thing about those words. They’re only said when it’s not going to be okay.” Tears blurred Nick’s face as Kennedy felt them come. She froze, held her breath…willing them away. She couldn’t cry. If she did, it would be admitting the truth.

  She gazed blindly around at her house, her happy home. The home she and Thomas shared together. The one their baby would soon share with them. This couldn’t be happening!

  A female voice, filled with sympathy and sadness, said, “Kennedy?”

  Julie stood at the door, tears streaming down her face. Agony shot through Kennedy, almost bending her double. It was true. Oh God, it was true.

  Thomas was gone.

  Nick watched as Julie led Kennedy into the living room. As they got to the entrance, Julie twisted around and mouthed, “Hot, sweet tea.”

  With a nod, Nick headed to the kitchen, grateful to have a task. He’d never felt more helpless in his life. Nothing he could say or do would change the situation. Hot tea was about as good as anything.

  He entered the kitchen and then stopped for a moment. How many times had he been in this house? Dozens. And they had all been happy times. Cookouts, dinners, the occasional brunch. Laughter had filled the rooms, and Kennedy had been the biggest cause of that. She had a dry, witty sense of humor and could deliver punch lines like a pro. She also had a smile that could light up the darkest of hearts, and not once had he heard her say an unkind word about anyone.

  Every room in the house bore Kennedy’s vibrant personality, but he’d always felt the kitchen showed the soul of the woman—sunny and inviting but with a calm serenity. He shoved his fingers through his hair. Hell, grief was turning him into some kind of lame-assed poet.

  Nick opened a cabinet. Tea bags and sugar were to the left of the stove. Kennedy had once mentioned that her need for organization was rooted in the chaos of her childhood. Nick identified with her need to control her environment. Control gave power. And when your life goes to shit, control means everything.

  He filled the teakettle, set it on the burner and sat down to wait for the whistle. As he waited, the memory of sitting beside his best friend as he bled out ran like a horror movie through his mind.

  Nick’s car had slid almost sideways into the parking lot, while the words “it’s a mistake, it’s a mistake” drummed like a mantra in his mind. The identification was wrong. It was someone who looked like Thomas.

  He’d jumped out of the car and shoved open the store door, barely slowing to flash his badge. Uniformed and plainclothes cops had hovered around, their faces wearing the same bleak look of hopelessness.

  “Back here, Gallagher,” a voice called out.

  Nick ran to the sound and then skidded to a stop. Thomas lay on his back, the front of his shirt covered in blood. His eyes were closed, and two EMTs were working on him.

  “Dammit…no,” Nick whispered.

  Amazingly, Thomas must have heard him. His eyes flickered open, and he muttered a faint, “Nick…need to talk…Nick.”

  “We need to get him to a hospital,” one of the EMTs stated.

  The other EMT scooted out of the way. “Sit here. I’ll get the transfer ready.”

  Nick knelt beside his
best friend and could literally feel his own heart breaking. They’d known each other since college—cheerful, charming Thomas and angry, sarcastic Nick. Their friendship shouldn’t have worked, but somehow it had. He gave Thomas all the credit. The man had tenaciously pursued him as a friend. For which Nick would be forever grateful.

  Thomas’s eyes glittered with a strange, intense light. Pain? Fear? Somehow, Nick got the idea there was another reason

  “Need you…do me a favor,” Thomas whispered.

  “Anything. Name it.”

  “Take care of Kennedy for me. She’s going to take it hard.” He swallowed and added, “And our little girl. Please…take care of her.”

  His eyes stinging, Nick said, “I promise, Thomas. I’ll take care of both of them.”

  “You’re a good man.” A small smile lifted his mouth. “Despite what your ex-girlfriends say.”

  Nick forced a laugh. “Always joking.”

  His eyes opened wider, and Thomas said softly, “Tell Kennedy…” He drew in a rattling breath. “Tell her…best…thing…ever happened to me. Love her...” His eyes closed, and then he opened them even wider. Grabbing Nick’s arm in a surprisingly strong grip, he rasped, “Don’t let them hurt—”

  The hand on Nick’s arm went slack, and Thomas gave a final gasp.

  “Thomas!” Nick shouted.

  “Back away.”

  Nick jumped out of the way and watched as the two EMTs worked frantically. When one of them said, “It’s no use,” Nick yelled, “What do you mean it’s no use? Do something. He’s a healthy man. He’s got a wife…a kid on the way. Do something!”

  “I’m sorry…he’s gone.”

  Nick looked blankly over at Lewis Grimes. “What happened?”

  Grief filled his eyes as he muttered, “Robbery. Thomas tried to stop it.” He gestured to a black body bag. “At least he got the little bastard.”

  The whistle of the kettle drew Nick back to the present. Feeling like he’d aged a hundred years in the last hour, Nick prepared the tea and headed to the living room. Kennedy sat on the sofa, staring into space. Julie was talking softly to her, but he doubted any of the words penetrated.

  He’d seen this reaction dozens of times. Had been there himself. First, there was the denial. The push back against a truth so horrific, your mind refused to acknowledge its existence. Then came the inevitable numbing shock. That was actually a welcoming place. Everything went on shutdown. You didn’t think about the agony ripping at your heart. There was no knowledge of reality. You didn’t think, period. You breathed in and out. You swallowed, occasionally nodded at the soft murmurings around you, even though you didn’t comprehend the words. You just existed.

  Nick had been eighteen years old when he had experienced that pain firsthand. His mother had been driving home from work, and some drugged-out bastard had decided to do a little target practice. Eight people had been shot. His mother had been one of three who’d died.

  He had been home, cooking dinner, when the doorbell rang. Unaware that his life was about to be completely changed, he’d casually opened the door and faced two policemen. He still remembered their words, their solemn expressions…the sympathy in their eyes. He remembered the bellowing cries of their next-door neighbor, his mother’s best friend. He even remembered the dog across the street that barked incessantly at all the cars and people who’d showed up a few minutes later. Those kinds of details—innocuous and unimportant—were ingrained in his memory.

  Years later, even when the pain had dimmed, Nick knew Kennedy would remember these odd, unimportant moments, too. They lingered like small dark clouds. Not necessarily painful but just little reminders of life in all its messed-up glory.

  He held the hot tea in front of Kennedy, wrapping both of her hands around the mug until she had a good grip. Assured she did, he dropped into a chair across from her and watched her carefully. Soon, the shock would wear off, and the truth would hit her once more. Only this time the pain would be harder to bear, because denial was no longer something to fall back on.

  An ache developed in his chest as he watched her struggle to hold it together. He’d been a homicide detective for two years now, delivered news of a loved one’s death to countless families. Though he’d always felt a measure of sympathy for them, he had always been able to hold himself apart. But there was no way in hell to separate himself from this tragedy. His best friend was gone.

  Thomas had asked him to take care of Kennedy, and though it was something he would have done in the first place, the vow he’d made held extra weight. Nick would do whatever it took…give her whatever she needed, no matter what. From now on, Kennedy and her baby were his responsibilities. Whatever anyone said about him, no one could dispute that he took care of his own. And that’s what Kennedy was now. His.

  Chapter Three

  “Okay, let’s go over it one more time.”

  “I don’t know what more I can tell you, Detective Gallagher. I mean…it happened so fast.” The grocery store owner, Mike Bailey, looked as ravaged as if he’d been shot himself. Since the poor guy had seen two people die in front of him only hours ago, that was understandable.

  “Just take your time, Mr. Bailey.”

  “One minute, that nice Mr. O’Connell…I mean, Detective O’Connell, was shopping for mangoes and the next thing I knew, I had a gun stuck in my face.”

  “And what did the gunman say to you?”

  “He said, ‘Give me all the money from the cash drawer.’” Bailey shook his head. “I’ve been held up before, so I thought about going for my gun. But then I remembered that Mr. O’Connell was a policeman. I figured he’d know what to do.”

  Nick had seen the video of the robbery. The grocer’s words went along with what the footage showed. Miguel Ruiz, the punk-kid gunman, had shoved a .22-caliber pistol into the storeowner’s face. The video hadn’t picked up the audio, so Nick had to rely on Mr. Bailey’s memory.

  “What happened after he demanded the money?”

  “I opened the drawer and was pulling the money out when Detective O’Connell came around from the back and told the kid to drop his gun.”

  “And then what?”

  “He turned around and shot Mr. O’Connell.” Tears flooded the old man’s eyes. “He was such a nice man.”

  Nick shoved aside the emotion. He knew he shouldn’t be investigating Thomas’s murder. Other detectives were on the case. Personal involvement always blurred judgment. Didn’t matter. He had to do something.

  Thomas’s funeral was tomorrow. Nick had been granted a couple of days’ leave but hadn’t been able to do anything but think about Thomas. He’d talked to the detectives on the case. They had the case virtually wrapped up already. A robbery gone bad. A man shot down in his prime. The loss of a good cop. End of story.

  Nick turned and stared at the spot where Thomas had breathed his last breath. And on his last breath, he’d said something that haunted Nick. Don’t let them hurt—

  Hurt who? Who had he been talking about? Commonsense told him Thomas’s pain-dulled mind had been focusing on Kennedy and their baby. That his words had meant something about not letting them hurt because of his death. That made sense. So why the hell did his gut tell him something else?

  His focus returned to the store owner. “And you’re sure it was the kid who shot first?”

  “Oh yes, it was definitely the kid. Mr. O’Connell told him to put the gun down. That he didn’t have to do this...that we all have choices.”

  “Choices? That seems like an odd thing for Thomas to say.”

  Mr. Bailey nodded his head. “That’s because the kid said he didn’t have any.”

  Adrenaline rushed through Nick. Wanting to question the man without alarming him or putting him on the defensive, Nick said casually, “That’s interesting. Him saying he didn’t have a choice. Wonder why he said that.”

  “I don’t know. It was the strangest thing. He told Mr. O’Connell that he was sorry, but he didn’t have a choic
e.”

  “So he apologized to him?”

  “Yes. I told the other detectives that. They said it must’ve been because the kid was poor and felt he didn’t have a choice but to rob the store for money.”

  Again, commonsense told Nick that was a possibility. Desperation made people do stupid things.

  “What happened after the kid said he didn’t have a choice?”

  “That’s when Mr. O’Connell told him that we all have choices. Told him again to put the gun down.”

  “And then?”

  “The kid said, ‘I’m sorry,’ and pulled the trigger. It must’ve been only a half second later that Mr. O’Connell pulled his trigger, ’cause he and the kid went down almost at the same time.”

  That had shown on the video…the kid and Thomas fell at the same time. “But you’re absolutely sure the kid fired first?”

  “Absolutely. I had my eyes focused on the gun in his hand. I saw him squeeze the trigger.”

  Nick thanked the grocery store owner, took one last look around, and then walked out the door. He thought about going to Kennedy just to make sure she was okay but forced himself to turn in the other direction. Julie was with her, as were her other friends. He would just be in the way. This was the only productive thing he knew he could do.

  He drove aimlessly, the kid’s words of apology spinning around in his head. The detectives on the case had a point. The kid might’ve felt desperate for money, and saying he didn’t have a choice could mean exactly that. So why were Nick’s instincts saying something else? Was he nitpicking just to occupy himself? No matter what he did, Thomas would still be dead.

  Seeing a break in traffic, Nick made a U-turn. No, there was something there. He had trusted his instincts way too long to ignore them now. Miguel Ruiz’s parents had to know what was going on in their son’s mind. He had to talk to them. He couldn’t let go until he knew for sure.