Borrowed Time

by CJ Lyons

  Josh glanced at the police officer with a clinician’s expertise. The man’s eyes were rimmed in red, he obviously hadn’t slept in days. He’d lost weight since Josh last saw him, his skin was sallow, flaking with dry patches.

  “Of course he knew. Of course he did.” Turner sounded pleased.

  “How could he?” Josh challenged him, not liking either Turner’s tone of voice or his implication.

  “She told him,” Turner answered. “Don’t you see? She’s been working with him from the beginning.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Kate was halfway down the steps when she heard Turner’s voice. What the hell was he doing here? If he’d come to take her into protective custody, he was going to have a fight on his hands. The men needed to guard her would be better spent out on the streets hunting for the killer than babysitting her in some Motel 6. She paused on the landing, out of sight, and listened.

  “She’s been working with him from the beginning.”

  “You think Kate knows the killer?” Lightner’s voice was loud and harsh.

  “Knows him?” Turner’s laughter crackled up the staircase. “She’s his lover.”

  Kate’s body went rigid at his words. She could barely control her feet as she propelled herself down the stairs, one hand sliding along the banister, certain that she must have misheard. Each step lanced through her side but was nowhere near as painful as the rage coursing through her. She emerged into the kitchen and one look at Turner’s face told her she had not heard wrong.

  “How dare you!” she shouted, her words exploding from her in a torrent. “When Rob’s dead, when I—”

  Both men spun toward her, Lightner moving so fast that butter flew from his knife. Turner, his dress blues uncharacteristically disheveled, leaned back against the island, his gaze taking in everything from her still-wet hair to her bare feet. He met her eyes and nodded slightly as if she’d confirmed his worst suspicions.

  “I’ll bet that surprised the hell out of you, didn’t it O’Hern?” His words were slightly slurred. Was he drunk? “How’d it all go so wrong?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “What am I talking about?” He laughed, a sharp, biting sound that shattered the air between them. “I’m talking about a woman who seduces her married partner, ruins his life, then when she tires of him, finds a new man to kill him for her. Rob was the only one supposed to get shot that night, wasn’t he? But after everything went wrong, you two decided to make it look like a serial killer on a spree.”

  Kate could barely draw in enough breath to fill her lungs, her chest was so constricted by rage. The swath supporting her shoulder felt like an iron lung. She stalked across the room to face Turner and his insane accusations head on. He leered at her, as if certain that he had the upper hand.

  She blinked as darkness descended over her vision and it was the killer grinning at her. She shook off the clenched fist of fear that accompanied the memory. Words failed her as anger scorched through her veins, out of control. Without conscious thought, she shot her hand out and cracked it against Turner’s cheek in an open handed slap. A stunned silence filled the room.

  “I never slept with Rob. I had nothing to do with his death,” she said once she regained her voice.

  Turner rubbed his cheek but his grin widened as he glared at her. “Sure you did. I have witnesses, O’Hern. People who heard you at the hospital, said you seemed to know that Phil Conrad was going to die before it happened.”

  Kate darted a glance at Lightner. Damn, this was exactly what she was afraid of if word of her visions got out. No one would understand, no one would believe her.

  “Did Phil know about you and Rob?” Turner continued. “Was he another loose end for you to clean up?”

  Lightner stepped toward them, butter knife forgotten in his hand. “I want you to leave my house, Commander Turner. Now.”

  Turner barely spared him a glance. “She’s got you wrapped around her finger too, doc.” Then his focus returned to Kate. “I have witnesses,” he repeated and Kate caught a wift of bourbon on his breath as he leaned toward her. “People who saw you practically living at my daughter’s house last summer. She was out of town, helping a friend dying of cancer and you and Rob were screwing in her bed!”

  “Shut up!” This time Kate didn’t shout, instead her voice had dropped to a low, serious threatening rasp. Both men looked at her in surprise. “You can say what you like about me, but don’t you dare say anything about Rob. He was a good man. The best thing that ever happened to your daughter.”

  “What the hell do you know about it?” Turner demanded, stepping forward so that they now stood toe to toe.

  Kate felt the hatred roiling off him like smoke from a three-alarm fire. If they were on the streets, she would never have allowed the confrontation to escalate like this. She struggled to gain control. In a distant corner of her mind she heard her father telling her to “rein it in, pardner” in his worst John Wayne imitation.

  She sucked in her breath, swallowed her angry words, and angled her body sideways to Turner, taking a step back, giving them both breathing room. Turner didn’t take the hint, instead he lurched forward, grabbing her right arm. Any other time or place, if he’d made a move for her gun hand like that she would have had him on the ground in a heartbeat. But this wasn’t the street and her weapon was upstairs on the dresser. Probably for the best.

  “I don’t want you near my daughter again,” he said. “You ruined her life, you dirty, lousy whore!”

  The stench of bourbon polluted every breath she took, making her stomach clench. Kate wrenched free of his grip, his fingers raising a red imprint on her arm. Turner reached out to grab her again, but Lightner was there in a flash. Kate watched as the surgeon flattened his large hand against Turner’s chest and nudged him back against the island.

  “Get your hands off me,” Turner said his posture rigid. Kate watched his hands, they remained out to his sides, nowhere near his weapon. Lightner didn’t move, holding Turner in place with one hand as he looked over his shoulder at Kate.

  She didn’t waste energy telling him that she didn’t need his help or that it was a stupid move to make on an armed man. “Let him go.”

  He hesitated, a glint of animal fury clouding his eyes for an instant, then dropped his hand and stepped away to stand at her side. Turner shrugged, rolled his shoulders and straightened his tie, looking self-righteous.

  In her heart she knew Jenn would want her to defend Rob, to tell the truth. But she’d kept her partner’s secrets for so long she couldn’t violate that trust now. Even if it meant people like Turner thought the worst of her.

  Turner spun on his heel to face her again. His face was florid, the product of drink and strong emotion.

  “I have witnesses, I have evidence,” he said, his glare sparking across the room. “What have you got?” He waved his fingers as if scattering fairy dust. “Nothing.”

  He stomped past them, heading toward the door, then stopped. “Tell your boyfriend I’m gonna nail both of you, see you both rot. You see,” he paused, his eyes glinting in the light from the overhead chandelier, “I was there today at Phil’s funeral. I was one of the pallbearers.”

  He tugged his coat down straight and Kate noticed mud splatters on it and his pants. “Right behind Dimeo. He caught his foot on a rock, looked back at me as he tripped. I didn’t hear the shot but I felt it. Splintered the wood on the casket.”

  With a dramatic flare, he raised his left arm and pulled back his sleeve, revealing an ugly abrasion along the back of his wrist. “I saw Dimeo fall. At first I thought he was having a heart attack or something. The casket drooped, then slid, got away from us and it came crashing down. That’s when I heard the screaming.”

  He paused, straightened his cuff once more. “Know what the SWAT guys told me later? They said from the trajectory, it looked like I was probably the target, not Dimeo. When he stumbled, he fell in the line of fire.”

&
nbsp; Kate felt the muscles of her jaw spasm as he described Dimeo’s death. Turner smiled again—this time the grin of a predator circling in for the kill.

  “When you see your friend again, O’Hern, tell him I’m coming after him. Or better yet, go ahead, try again to silence me—it’s not going to work.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Once Turner slammed the door behind him, Josh felt the tension strumming along Kate’s muscles, tightening them like bowstrings. She sank into a kitchen chair and he reached for her hand. Her pulse hammered beneath his fingers, much too fast for his liking and a fine sheen of sweat had broken out over her upper lip.

  As angry as he was at Turner for barging into his house and making insane accusations, he was more concerned about Kate and the effect Turner’s visit had on her.

  “You okay?” he asked, even though everything told him she wasn’t. He felt her breath spiral through her body and out again before she responded.

  “I’m fine,” she said in a flat voice.

  Her expression had also lost its emotion, a sure sign that she was back in full-control mode. While he was certain that reining in your emotions was a useful skill for a street cop, it wasn’t a particularly healthy one. Probably responsible for more cop deaths than doughnuts.

  Before he could mention this to her, there was a bark at the back door. Kate slid her hand out from under his and pushed herself to her feet.

  “I’ll get him,” she said.

  Her shoulder muscles tensed as she turned and walked with rigid posture to the door. He knew it was taking all her energy not to fall apart. He watched, hating feeling so helpless, but there was nothing he could do to stop Turner from spreading his vicious accusations and it seemed best to leave her time to calm down.

  Hershey bounded inside, shaking himself free of the cold night air, then scampered for his favorite rope toy, bringing it to Kate first. The dog planted himself at her feet, tail thumping on the floor as his head bounced hopefully, waiting for her to grab the toy.

  “Looks like you’ve made another convert.” Josh got up and returned to the garlic bread waiting on the counter. “Hope you like red clam sauce. Dinner won’t take long.”

  As he popped the bread into the oven he saw a haunted look come over her face. She turned her back to him and squatted to pat Hershey on the head. The dog forgot about the toy and rolled over onto his back, baring his stomach for more loving.

  “I shouldn’t stay here tonight,” she finally said.

  “I thought we had that settled. Besides, Turner already saw you here, so the damage is done.” He busied himself stirring the sauce, not wanting to think about the damage to his career if word got out at the hospital about her being here. Not if, when.

  “You don’t believe anything he said, do you?”

  Her face had that same look of anguish mixed with a hint of hope that he’d seen when he told her that he’d take care of everything yesterday morning. A look that sent his own pulse skittering and made his stomach clench with the need to protect her, to fix everything for her—keep her safe from the killer, stop her boss’ vendetta, even heal her swiss-cheesed brain. If only she would let him, grant him that privilege.

  The sauce bubbled and splattered his hand, bringing him back to reality. He quickly spun to the sink, running his burned fingers under cold water.

  “I think denial is a very strong emotion, capable of making people believe almost anything other than the truth that is too painful to face,” he finally answered her. He wasn’t sure if he was talking more about Turner or Kate. Why couldn’t she give up these crazy delusions of hers? She hadn’t had one today—at least not that she’d told him about.

  She was silent for a long minute, staring at him as if weighing him. She always looked straight into his eyes, he’d noticed. Into his soul? Her dark eyes seemed to know the secrets of his heart.

  She abandoned Hershey, stood up and reached for the phone. “No. You’ll be safer without me around. I have a friend I can stay with, Tony Martini.”

  Josh frowned. He remembered the height-impaired reporter all too well. “Martini—he told me he was your fiancé. Tried to bluff his way in to see you before Detective Carter threw him out of the hospital.”

  That earned him a crooked smile. “Mel and Tony don’t exactly see eye to eye on everything, on anything, in fact. Tony and I grew up together, been best friends since fourth grade.”

  He noted she said nothing about an engagement. Her relationship with Martini wasn’t the point, anyway. “Look, when I have a complicated case, I like to have a game plan. I think we need to sit down and talk this through, not go running around aimlessly. After all, isn’t that what this guy wants to do? Take control of the situation, force the cops into playing his game?”

  “I have a plan. I’m leaving.” She raised the phone and began dialing.

  Josh’s teeth ground together as he watched. Once more relegated to sideline civilian. It was a role he was beginning to despise. He now understood how friends and family members felt when they were forced out of the trauma bay, assigned the much more painful job of waiting.

  Before she could finish dialing, her mouth went slack, and she sat frozen for a moment, then jerked and pushed her hands forward as if blocking something. Her eyes were wide with terror, and Josh thought for a second that she might scream, but she made no sound.

  “Kate.” He took her hands in his, held on tight. “Kate, come back. It’s all right.”

  At the sound of his voice, her eyes regained focus. Her face had lost all color, and he could feel her pulse racing.

  Josh pried the receiver from her rigid fingers. He hung up the phone and turned to Kate. “You had another one, didn’t you?”

  She shrank away from him, retreating back into the corner of the couch.

  “No,” she said, her voice coming out in a choked whisper.

  He kept hold of her hands. She seemed so childlike, so vulnerable at this moment. He knew she was a hard woman, her job demanded that. She was probably less frightened of the killer stalking her than she was of the thought of her mind betraying her with these visions.

  “Kate, it wasn’t real. There’s nothing to be frightened of. It wasn’t real. Let me take you back to Three Rivers, do the tests I wanted.”

  “He killed you.” Her voice was trembling, her teeth chattering. She pulled her hands away from his. “Just like before. At my apartment.” She looked down at her hands, turning her good one over to examine it. “All that blood—”

  Josh sat back on his heels, stunned. It wasn’t everyday a beautiful woman told you that you were about to die a horrible death. He relaxed his fists, thankful she hadn’t divulged any of the details. He wasn’t certain he could handle that. Even if it was all a delusion, hallucination.

  He looked at her with the discerning eye of a clinician. It was painfully obvious she wasn’t handling it well, either. God, what he wouldn’t do to get her some answers, to find a cure, to fix everything for her.

  “You said it happened at your apartment. How can he manipulate you into going someplace you have no intention of going?” he asked, trying to use logic to disarm her fears.

  “How did he know to find me at home today?” she snapped. “You didn’t plan to discharge me until next week. How did he walk into a cemetery with over a hundred cops around, kill one and leave again? Or shoot a cop with a bar full of his buddies less than thirty feet away?” Then she met his eyes and he was taken back by the intensity of her gaze.

  Logic had no effect against the strength of her delusions. She was on the brink, had been ever since they left her apartment.

  “You talk like this guy is God, or a force of nature. Don’t give him that kind of power, Kate.”

  “He’s human. I know that. I’m only saying that this guy is smart, he knows cops. How we think, how we act, where we go, even how we take down a suspect. He knew Rob was coming from his blind side that night. He ignored me to shoot him first. Now this guy has acquired a taste for kil
ling cops. He likes the control, the feeling of superiority it gives him. We can’t go to one of our own’s funerals or drink a toast in a dead friend’s memory without putting our life on the line—much less being out on the street, doing our job. Now that he’s started this, there’ll be others. No one in a uniform will be safe until we nail this guy.”

  She took a deep breath then sank back, as if surprised by her long speech. Hershey jumped up beside her and licked her face, but she gently pushed him away.

  “Do you think this guy is a cop?” Josh asked after a moment’s thought. “You said he knows your routines.”

  “I don’t think this guy is a cop, but I’ll bet he applied for the academy at one time and was turned down. He likes to have control over people, to be able to change their lives. And now’s he’s like a god, even the cops can’t touch him.” She looked around the room and focused back on him. “It must be the medicine you have me on, I haven’t talked this much in ages.”

  “It’s not the medicine. I think you’re close to this guy.”

  “What do you mean? I don’t know him!”

  He remembered Turner’s accusations and hastened to explain. “Let me finish. I don’t mean close in a physical sense. I think you’re close to his perspective, you’ve got a handle on how he thinks.”

  “Thanks a lot, doctor. Is that your way of saying that I’m ready for a room at Western Psych?”

  “No. You’ve met him twice now in person and somehow he can’t let you go. Why is he so fixated on you? Visiting you after he killed Conrad and Dimeo?”

  “I wish I knew. Why can’t these visions tell me something constructive like where this guy lives, or what his name is?”

  “He meant to kill you that night, not just Rob,” Josh said slowly, wishing she wouldn’t rely so much on these figments of an overwrought brain.