Deadly Force

by Beverly Long

IT WAS THE SECOND TIME Claire had seen Nadine’s gun. It was the first time it had been pointed at her. Nadine held it in her lap, the short, black barrel pointed upward at a forty-five-degree angle, directly at Claire’s head.

  She wished she could assume that Nadine wasn’t desperate enough to shoot her when she had control of the wheel. But she knew she couldn’t really assume anything about Nadine.

  So while she should have been terrified, she was really just numb. The woman who’d been her friend, her very best friend for years, had lied to her many times over.

  “I think I deserve to know why,” she said.

  “Just start the damn car,” Nadine ordered.

  Claire turned the ignition key. Nadine reached for the heat control and turned it on high. Neither of them had on coats and the air was cold.

  “Drive,” Nadine said, bringing the gun an inch closer.

  Claire checked her side mirror and pulled out.

  “That way!” Nadine waved her hand, pointing to a street on Claire’s right.

  “I thought you needed to go to the airport.”

  Nadine didn’t answer her and Claire knew the truth. She wasn’t ever going to see the airport. Nadine wasn’t intending to let her live that long.

  She turned as directed, buying time. “Well?” she prompted.

  Nadine turned to her, her normally pretty face red with anger. “My daddy isn’t rich like your daddy. He doesn’t have five or six companies. When I met Bobby—”

  “Bobby?” Claire interrupted. “Who’s Bobby?”

  “He’s a pharmacist. He made good money and had figured out a way to supplement his income. Between the two of us, we were able to take a lot of drugs. We used some and sold the rest to people who were willing to pay a whole lot of money for what we had.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “We were a good team.”

  “What went wrong, Nadine?” She slowed the car down a couple miles per hour and prayed Nadine wouldn’t notice.

  “I got fired.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Bobby couldn’t keep his numbers straight and they figured out that there were drugs missing. He got fired, too. So we were both out of a job with no hope of finding another one. Melrey had reported me to the state and my license was suspended.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell me?” Claire asked. “I would have helped.”

  “I don’t need any handouts from my rich friend. I found a way. I met Sandy Bird at the gambling boat. She was bragging about her husband, the pharmacist. The joke was on her because in less than two weeks he was sleeping with me. But he was so stupid. I only had to do it twice before I told him that I was going to tell his wife if he didn’t get me what I needed.”

  Claire saw a group of construction workers on the side of the road. She deliberately let her eyes rest on the men. Distracted, Nadine looked, too. “Don’t even think about it,” she warned. She leaned over just far enough to jab the gun into Claire’s side.

  Claire kept driving, praying Nadine wouldn’t realize that in the second she’d looked away, Claire had turned on her emergency flashers. The soft clicks reverberated in her ears but with the heat billowing, she didn’t think Nadine could hear the noise. They drove for several more minutes, leaving behind the residential area and entering a run-down industrial area filled with one-story, tin-sided buildings that appeared deserted.

  “So you pretended we were robbed so that you could hock my things.”

  “I needed money. I knew your daddy could buy you more.”

  “You killed Sandy Bird.”

  “I had to. How was I to know that Fletcher would be stupid enough to tell his wife about us? I don’t know why she cared that he was sleeping around—he was a dud in bed. But she obviously was pissed. I couldn’t be sure she wasn’t going to shoot us. And if she didn’t, I figured it wasn’t going to be long before she said something that would make you realize she wasn’t some stranger.”

  “But it didn’t stop there?” Claire asked.

  “No.” Nadine waved her gun. “Pull in here.”

  It was a gravel-and-dirt alley, flanked on both sides by gray, windowless, metal buildings. “Get out,” Nadine ordered. Once they were both out of the vehicle, she motioned for Claire to keep walking. She had her gun pointed at Claire’s back.

  “You’re never going to get away with this,” Claire said, her throat almost closing up with fear. She’d been so sure that someone would see her, would help her. But now it was just her and Nadine. “Sam will figure it out.”

  “If you hadn’t involved him,” Nadine said, her tone hard, “none of this would have happened. He had to keep trying to figure it out, asking questions, making people nervous. I had been so careful—never calling Fletcher at home or at work, never going to see him there. But I couldn’t be sure that at some point, if somebody kept digging hard enough, they wouldn’t find a connection between the two of us. Sam Vernelli was ruining everything.”

  “You made that call, the one about Tessa.”

  Nadine swiped the back of her hand across her face. She was sweating. “I bought a homeless guy a steak dinner. That’s all it took to make sure your cop friend thought everything was connected to your sister’s murder.”

  Claire swallowed hard and prayed that she wouldn’t throw up. “I guess you probably wrote the note I got at work, too.”

  “I thought it was a nice touch,” Nadine said, her tone sarcastic. “In there,” she instructed. She waved her gun at a long, one-story cement-and-metal structure that was missing part of the roof and most of its windows. She pushed Claire toward it. Claire stumbled, catching herself on one knee. She took her time in getting up. She would not go inside that building. If Nadine wanted to kill her, she’d have to do it outside.

  Claire stopped walking.

  “Move,” Nadine screamed.

  Claire turned and let loose with the ball of wet dirt and gravel that she’d picked up. It hit Nadine in the face just as Claire threw her body at the woman.

  They rolled in the dirt, legs kicking, arms flailing.

  Claire had the advantage of strength and surprise. And it didn’t matter that she had only one really good arm.

  She had Nadine flat on her back, sitting on her stomach, when the first squad car pulled into the alley.

  Sam’s car was thirty seconds behind. He ran toward her, pulled her tight into his body and rocked her in his strong arms.

  He shook so hard that it seemed like the ground was trembling. “Oh, Claire, sweetheart,” he said. He pulled back just enough to look at her face. “Are you hurt?”

  She was covered with dirt and her blouse was torn, but all in all, she felt pretty darn good. She sucked in a deep breath. Life was wonderful.

  “How did you know we were here?” she asked.

  “A beat cop doing regular patrol happened to see you go by. Saw your hazard lights on and it made him take a second look at the car. He called it in and—” Sam stopped

  “—and I prayed all the way here that we wouldn’t be too late.”

  “You made it,” she said.

  He shook his head, looking dazed. “You didn’t even need us. What happened?”

  “I threw a pretty nice curve ball.”

  He grabbed her again and held her tight. “Oh, God, Claire. I’ve been a fool. Please, please, say you’ll marry me. I can’t live without you. I love you so much.”

  They were the words she’d been waiting for.

  But she had to ask the question that would not be denied.

  “What about Tessa?”

  He held her face between his hands. Gently. Lovingly. “I loved your sister. I loved her with the passion of a young man. And for some crazy reason, I felt disloyal to her memory when I started to fall for you. I felt guilty because I was so happy and she was never going to get the chance for that kind of happiness.”

  “What changed?”

  “When I had to go back through that investigation file, it forced me to really think about Tess
a. And to remember her. All her strengths, all her faults. But what I really remembered was that Tessa lived life to its fullest. Every day was a party for her, every day was an adventure. She was the type that would have expected me to keep living. She’d have wanted me to love again.”

  “But at the hospital?”

  “I was being stupid. I said that it would never work because I was scared. Scared that something could happen to me and that you’d be left alone. I didn’t want you to ever have to be lonely again.”

  “That could still happen,” she said.

  “I know, but I’m not going to make the mistake that your parents made. I’m not going to be afraid to love or be afraid to have someone love me. Being afraid of love, just because you might get hurt, is a waste of a life. I won’t do it. That’s the legacy Tessa left us. She taught us to live.”

  Claire put her hand on his arm. “We’re no closer to knowing who killed Tessa.”

  Sam nodded. “We may never know.”

  “Are you okay with that?”

  “For her, I want to know. For her, I want justice served. But what I couldn’t accept is falling short of being the kind of man she’d have wanted her little sister to marry.”

  The starting pitcher of the Minooka Timberwolves smiled. “I think she’d be happy for us.”

  “I know she would be. Let’s go home.”

  * * * * *

  Next month, Beverly Long’s THE DETECTIVES

  continues with Cruz Montoya’s story.

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  wherever Harlequin Intrigue books are sold!

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  Chapter One

  Three months later

  “Dugan is out.”

  Miles’s fingers tightened around his cell phone as he wheeled his SUV around and headed toward the station. “What?”

  His superior, Lieutenant Hammond, didn’t sound happy. “Based on the Kelly woman’s murder and some technicality with the chain of evidence when they’d searched the man’s place, Dugan’s lawyer got his conviction overturned.”

  The past few weeks of tracking down clues and false leads day and night taunted him. He released a string of expletives.

  Hammond cleared his throat. “If we’d found evidence connecting Dugan to a partner, maybe things would have gone differently, but...”

  Hammond let the sentence trail off, but Miles silently finished for him. If he and Mason had found such evidence, Dugan would still be in a cell. And the world would be a safer place.

  But they’d failed.

  The day Dugan’s verdict was read flashed back. Dugan’s threat resounded in his head—you’ll pay.

  “Now that he’s back on the streets—”

  “I know. He’s going to kill again,” Miles said. And he’s probably coming after me.

  His cell phone chirped, and he glanced at the caller ID. Marie’s number.

  Damn, she was probably on his case for working again last night and missing dinner with Timmy. He’d thought he might have found a lead on the copycat, but instead he’d only chased his own tail.

  The phone chirped again.

  You’ll pay.

  Panic suddenly seized him, cutting off his breath. Dammit...what if payback meant coming after his family?

  “I have to go, Hammond.” Sweat beaded on his neck as he connected the call. “Hello?”

  Husky breathing filled the line, then a scream pierced the receiver.

  He clenched the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip. He had to clear his throat to speak. “Marie?” God, tell me you’re there....

  But the sudden silence sent a chill up his spine.

  “Marie, Timmy?”

  More breathing, this time followed by a husky laugh that sounded sinister, threatening...evil.

  Dear God, no...

  Dugan was at Marie’s house.

  He pressed the accelerator, his heart hammering as he sped around traffic and called for backup. The dispatch officer agreed to send a patrol car right away.

  A convertible nearly cut him off, and Miles slammed on his horn, nearly skimming a truck as he roared around it. Brush and shrubs sailed past, the wheels grinding on gravel as he hugged the side of the country road.

  Images of the dead women from Dugan’s crime scenes flashed in his head, and his stomach churned. No, please, no...Dugan could not be at Marie’s house. He couldn’t kill Marie...not like the other women.

  And Timmy...his son was home today with her.

  The bright Texas sun nearly blinded him as he swerved into the small neighborhood where Marie had bought a house. Christmas decorations glittered, lights twinkled from the neighboring houses, the entryways screaming with festive holiday spirit.

  Somehow they seemed macabre in the early-morning light.

  He shifted gears, brakes squealing as he rounded a curve and sped down the street. He scanned the neighboring yards, the road, the trees beyond the house, searching for Dugan.

  But everything seemed still. Quiet. A homey little neighborhood to raise a family in.

  Except he had heard that scream.

  His chest squeezed for air, and he slammed on the brakes and skidded up the drive. He threw the Jeep into Park, and held his weapon at the ready as he raced up to the front door.

  Cop instincts kicked in, and he scanned the outside of the house and yard again, but nothing looked amiss. He glanced through the front window, but the den looked normal...toys on the floor, magazines on the table, TV running with cartoons.

  Only the Christmas tree had been tipped over, ornaments scattered across the floor.

  He reached for the doorknob, and the door swung open. His breath lodged in his throat, panic knotting his insides. No sounds of holiday music or Timmy chattering.

  Gripping his weapon tighter, he inched inside, senses honed for signs of an intruder.

  Slowly, he made his way through the den to the kitchen. The Advent calendar glared at him, mocking him with a reminder that Christmas was only a few days away.

  There was a half-empty coffee cup on the counter and an overturned cereal bowl on the table. Milk dripped onto the floor.

  Timmy...God...

  Terror seized him.

  A creaking sound suddenly splintered the air, and he swung around, braced to shoot but he saw nothing. Then another sound came from above, water running...the shower? No, the tub...overflowing...

  He clenched his jaw, then inched toward the staircase, slowly climbing it and listening for an intruder, for Marie, for his son.

  Any sign of life.

  A quick glance into Timmy’s room and it appeared empty. Bed unmade. Toy airplane on the floor. Legos scattered. Stuffed dinosaur on his pillow.

  Where was his son?

  His hand trembled as he bypassed the room and edged toward the bedroom where Marie slept. One look inside, and his heart stopped.

  The lamp was broken on the floor. Pillows tossed on the carpet. The corner chair overturned. Glass shards from the mirror were scattered on the vanity.

  A sea of red flashed in front of him. Blood...it soaked the sheets and led a trail into the bathroom.

  His stomach revolted, but he forced himself to scan the corners of the room before slowly entering the bathroom. Blood streaked the floor and
led toward the claw-foot tub.

  A groan settled deep in his gut.

  Marie. Her eyes stood wide-open in death. Blood dripped down her neck and bare chest. Her arms dangled lifelessly over the tub edge, one leg askew.

  For a moment, he choked. Couldn’t make himself move. He’d seen dozens of dead bodies before but none so personal...none that he cared about.

  Emotions crowded his throat and chest, and he gripped the wall to steady himself. He had to. Had to get control. Slide that wall back into place so he could do his job.

  Every second counted.

  Fighting nausea, he slowly walked toward her and felt for a pulse. Although he knew before he touched her that it was too late.

  Dugan had done this. Had gotten his payback by killing his son’s mother.

  That creaking sound suddenly echoed again. He froze, hand clenching his gun, then spun around.

  Nothing. Except the evidence of Dugan’s brutal crime.

  Where was Timmy?

  For a fraction of a second he closed his eyes on a prayer. The sound echoed again...

  The attic.

  Heart hammering double-time, he headed toward Timmy’s room. The door to the space had been built inside his closet. Timmy had called it his secret room.

  Had Dugan found it?

  Hope warred with terror as he inched inside the closet and pushed at the door. It was closed, but he had insisted the lock be removed for fear Timmy might lock himself inside and be trapped.

  Now he wished he’d left that damn lock on so his son could have locked Dugan out.

  Darkness shrouded the cavernous space as he climbed the steps. He tried to move soundlessly, but the wood floor squeaked. As he reached the top step, a sliver of sunlight wormed its way through the small attic window, allowing him to sweep the interior.

  It appeared empty, but he had heard something.

  “Timmy,” he whispered. “Son, are you here?”

  Praying he was safe, Miles examined the room. Timmy’s toy airplanes and horses, his train set...

  Another squeak, and he jerked his head around. An antique wardrobe sat in the corner, one Marie had used to store old quilts. He held his breath as he approached it, then eased open the door.