by Leslie Jones
“Joss, tell me you didn’t.” Lark’s voice rose. “You tried to frighten me? Threatened my family? My sister?”
Jocelyn frowned. “I’d never hurt you, Lark. But I needed you to stop before you found out what we were doing. But you didn’t stop. You’re like a dog with a bone.”
Melvin jerked Mrs. G closer, using her as a human shield as he whipped the handgun around to point at Tag. “One more step, asshole. Take just one more step.”
Tag stilled.
“Get down here, Lark,” Melvin barked. “Get over there with the others. I don’t have any qualms at all about shooting you. You have ten seconds. Then I’ll shoot this woman first, then your boyfriend, then you. Are you understanding me, Lark?”
He didn’t want to . . . but Mace came the rest of the way down the stairs, keeping Lark behind him.
Melvin raised the gun, pointing it at him. “I said—”
Jocelyn shot him.
Even as Melvin fell, Mace leaped to her side, snaking his arm under her neck in a choke hold and trying for the weapon in her hand. She twisted her wrist, dropping the handgun, and he missed the grab. To his shock, she stepped back into his choke hold, pressed her fingers against the back of his hand, twisted, and threw him into the ground. He rolled out of the throw and jumped to his feet.
Lark screamed in rage, lunging at Jocelyn, grabbing her hair and yanking down furiously. Jocelyn ducked low and turned toward Lark, slamming her knee into her gut. Lark choked, the wind knocked out of her, and dropped to the floor, clutching her middle.
Mace saw red. No one hurt Lark. He gave his best death glare, feeling as feral as he probably looked. Seeing his expression, Jocelyn’s face whitened.
Her martial arts knowledge had taken him by surprise, and he cursed himself for not anticipating it. She crouched low, hands open. As a smaller woman, she probably favored taking the fight to the ground, where the advantage would be hers.
“Just let me walk out of here,” she said. “I can disappear.”
“Not a chance,” he growled. “You’re going to jail for your crimes.”
He came at her fast, throwing a wide looping punch to draw her in. As expected, she parried the punch, grabbed his wrist, and moved in close to his body, setting him up for a shoulder throw. Before she could thrust her hips back, he twisted his arm free, stepped out, and drove the heel of his foot into her knee.
She screamed as her patella shattered, falling to one hip. She grabbed her ruined knee, rocking in agony.
Mace saw her handgun by her head the same time she did. As she rolled for it, Tag scooped Melvin’s Springfield off the floor.
“Mace!”
Tag launched it across the room. Mace snatched it out of the air one-handed, turning back to Jocelyn. Who had her revolver pointed at his heart.
Mace pulled the trigger.
The two shots hit Jocelyn once in the chest and once in the head. She collapsed like a marionette with her strings cut.
Lark screamed, scrambling on all fours to her side, gathering Jocelyn’s head into her lap and sobbing over her body. Jocelyn’s blood soaked into Lark’s clothing. Mace dropped his gun hand to his side, heart shredding, torn between wanting to comfort her and understanding that Lark would blame him for her oldest friend’s death. He stood awkwardly, unsure of what to do.
“You didn’t have a choice,” Tag said. “It was her or Lark.”
Mace nodded. “I know that. But Jesus, Tag. What if she can’t see it? What if she can’t forgive me?”
Tag put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Easy, there, Mace. She’s a smart cookie. It might take her a while, but she’ll get there.”
“I hope so,” he muttered. What if she didn’t, though? He could lose her for good.
“So much for rest and relaxation,” Jace said. “Your shoulder’s bleeding again.”
“It’s fine.” Mace couldn’t tear his gaze from Lark, hurting for her.
“This will take a while to sort through,” Jace said. “And then Mrs. Larkspur will no doubt invite us to depart.”
As if on cue, police cars screamed to a stop in front of the house.
Mace set the handgun on a stair and squatted next to Lark, who was still crying like her heart was breaking. “Honey, I’m so sorry. She didn’t give me any choice. I didn’t want to shoot her, believe me.” He reached out a tentative hand to stroke her hair, expecting to be rebuffed.
Instead, Lark pressed her head closer to him. His heart leaped in his chest.
“I know,” she whispered. “She was going to kill you, Mace. I can’t believe she would do something like that, but she’s not the same person I used to know. Or maybe I’m just fooling myself, and I never knew the true ChaosCowboy at all.”
He curved himself protectively around her. “Shh. Plenty of time to dwell on that stuff later.”
Tag checked on Melvin. “Single shot to his head. He’s dead.”
The police streamed inside. Everyone started talking at once.
“Quiet,” one of the cops shouted. He keyed his shoulder mike. “We need a bus down here, pronto.”
It took several hours to clear everything up. The police took witness statements and gathered up the evidence. The coroner bundled Melvin and Jocelyn away in body bags.
At last, only the special operators and the Larkspurs remained.
“You bring chaos with you wherever you go, Hadley,” her mother said, mouth pinched tight and her arms crossed over her chest. “Why can’t you be more like Kaley?”
Mace bristled, wishing he could slap the sour expression right off her snooty face. Lark brought color and joy with her, and anyone who couldn’t see that wasn’t worthy of her regard. He rubbed an irritated hand along the back of his neck. Goddammit.
Lark stiffened her spine and marched right up to her mother. “I am not like Kaley and I will never be like Kaley,” she said loudly. “I’m sorry you think I’m less than, but I’m not. I’m sorry you can’t see me for who I am, but that’s your problem, Mother, not mine. I’m a good person and I deserve your respect. Now. My friends and I are going to relax here at the mansion for at least a week. We’ll swim and sail and be loud and obnoxious. We’ll run around naked if we want to. You’re welcome to stay, if you want, but that’s what’s going to happen.”
Isla Larkspur drew her head back, looking Lark over from head to toe, a curious expression on her face. Finally, she uncrossed her arms, letting them hang loosely at her sides. “Well, then. I’ll head back to Scottsdale with your father. Take care of Peggy, please. She’s had a shock.”
The entire group watched her mount the stairs and enter the mansion.
Lark’s breath caught in her throat, both hands rising to cover her mouth. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “I did it.”
Mace looked down at Lark, and found her staring back at him, a wondering expression on her face. “What is it?” he asked, feeling his eyes warm with tenderness.
“You let me fight my own battle,” she said, mouth round with surprise. “Like you did in Mr. Sokolov’s limousine. You didn’t try to jump in and take control away from me.”
He chuckled. “You were handling it.”
“Oh my God oh my God. You’re like the world’s best amazing person.”
He burst out laughing. The phrasing was so uniquely Lark.
He grinned, grasping both her hands between his, bringing them to his mouth to kiss her knuckles before placing them against his heart. “I’m so proud of you.”
A bright smile lit her face. “And you. Don’t think you’re escaping my grasp. You . . . you’re my person,” she whispered.
He grinned. “Do you realize how much I love you, little bird?”
She looked into his face and beamed.
“I do.”
Acknowledgments
This book would not have been possible without the all-encompassing support and patience of Nicole Fischer, my incredible editor. Thank you for working with me through all my false starts and hiccups, an
d for believing that I could finally finish this most difficult book. I appreciate you so much!
I’d also like to recognize the expertise and care of Tracy Wilson, copyeditor extraordinaire, and the Witness cover art team for designing this fantastic book cover—it, and you, are amazing.
And to Sarah E. Younger, your know-how continues to guide me through my writing career, and your humor always cheers me up. I promise there will be a dog or cat in the next book!
I would like to express special gratitude to Scott Jones, whose great suggestion to revise my battle scene improved it tremendously and made it credible.
And finally, nobody has been more supportive of me than my family. Kim and Scott, your love and belief in me brings me joy in good times and sustains me in difficult times. I love you both!
Announcement to Duty & Honor Series
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About the Author
LESLIE JONES was an Army Intelligence officer for many years and she brings her firsthand experience to the pages of her work. She resides in Phoenix, Arizona, and is currently hard at work on her next book. Her debut novel, Night Hush, was nominated for the Best First Novel RITA® Award.
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Also by Leslie Jones
Framed
Deep Cover
Bait
Night Hush
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
framed. Copyright © 2018 by Leslie Jones. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins Publishers. For information, address HarperCollins Publishers, 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007.
Digital Edition JANUARY 2018 ISBN: 978-0-06-249947-9
Print Edition ISBN: 978-0-06-249948-6
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