by JB Lynn
“Mildred,” she wheezed painfully.
“She’s safe at home.”
“Not.”
Pete shared a worried look with Tara wondering if Alyssa had some sort of brain injury. “Not what?”
“Not safe. We have to get to her.” She struggled to get up, letting out a sharp cry at the sudden movement.
“I’ll call Roscoe,” Pete soothed, gently pushing her back to the ground.
He dialed quickly and waited. It rang once.
“Not objective,” Alyssa muttered, tears leaking from her eyes, mingling with her blood.
It rang twice. Then a third time.
Time seemed to slow as it rang for the fourth and fifth times.
Uneasiness prickled the back of Pete’s neck.
“You. Have. To. Save. Her.” Alyssa gasped, grabbing his arm and squeezing it.
Save her.
“Go,” Alyssa begged.
“Go,” Tara seconded. “I’ll stay with them. The keys are still in the ignition of the van.”
Pete hesitated. The choice was agonizing.
“In my job, I have to make tough decisions,” Tara said gently. “My guiding rule is: Help those you can. There’s nothing you can do to help Alyssa right now, but the old lady…”
The sound of approaching sirens wailed through the night sky.
“Help for her and Gerald is on the way.” Tara held out the soaking wet bag of cat to him. “Go.”
Pete pressed a gentle kiss to Alyssa’s lips. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Then, taking the cat, he ran toward Tara’s van.
He did a bit of a double-take when he climbed into the vanilla-scented haven, but he quickly found the heat control and cranked it up, thinking the cat getting sick from the cold was one problem he didn’t need.
He sped through the streets, his mind a jumble of worry about Alyssa, Gerald, and Mildred. He was only a few blocks away from the Michelman house when he nearly collided with a speeding fire truck.
Since it was going in the same direction he was, he drove behind it, right up until the cop directing traffic. By then, the sinking feeling in his stomach was telling him that the fire truck driving the same route wasn’t a coincidence.
Parking his car, he ran toward the Michelman home.
Or at least what remained of the Michelman house.
At least half of it was engulfed in flames.
Chapter 24
Alyssa faced three doors.
She’d seen the perp run down this alley, but now he was nowhere to be seen.
Gripping the gun at her side tighter, she glanced behind her, hoping the captain had caught up, but she was alone in the dark, dank alley.
She fought to control her breathing, straining to hear over the thundering of her heart, but she couldn’t hear anything that would tell her which door to go through.
Which door?
She knew she should wait for back-up.
But she also knew there wasn’t time.
Every second counted.
Deciding the logical choice would have been for her target to go through the first door he encountered, she raised her gun to the ready position and reached for the door handle.
It turned.
Slowly, carefully she pulled the door open. She could see some sort of industrial refrigeration units. She tiptoed inside, senses on alert, looking for any clue as to where he might be hiding.
Seeing a movement in the far corner, she called out. “Stop! Police! Put your hands up!”
“Don’t shoot,” the man begged, raising his arms into the air
“Step toward me,” Alyssa ordered, hoping he couldn’t hear the nervous quaver in her voice.
“Montgomery?” a voice called from the alleyway.
“In here,” she shouted, not taking her eyes or gun off the suspect.
He kept moving forward. Finally stepping into the light so that she could see his face. He wasn’t the guy she was chasing.
Her heart fell.
A woman screamed.
Two shots rang out.
Her suspect dropped to the floor, cowering in a trembling heap.
“Montgomery?”
Leaving the wrong man behind, she flew back into the alley, toward the sound of the shots.
She expected to see the captain injured or dead.
Instead, she was spun around by two bullets that lodged in her bulletproof vest.
She groaned from the pain as she fell to the ground, closing her eyes against it. The scent of death assaulting her as she tried to catch her breath.
“Don’t,” she gasped. “Please don’t kill me.”
“You’re okay,” a voice murmured gently. “You’re safe.”
Blinking, she struggled to open her eyes.
“That a girl,” the man urged, squeezing her hand.
Not any man.
Pete.
She struggled to focus on his face as the room spun.
“It smells like death,” she whispered.
A smile creased his face. “It’s a hospital. It smells like institutional antiseptic.” He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand.
She moved to grab it and a sharp pain lanced through her shoulder. Surprised by the pain, she cried out.
His smile disappeared. “Easy now.”
The pain reminded her of what happened. The ransom drop. The gun.
Her stomach lurched at the reminder of the fall, how helpless and out of control she’d felt.
Pete squeezed her hand again, grounding her. “The doctors say you’re going to be fine. Bumps and bruises and a couple stitches, but with a little rest, you’ll be as good as new.”
She’d almost died. She’d seen the lights. Headlights.
Despite the pain, she raised herself onto her elbows. “Gerald?”
Pete grinned. “Our bowtie-wearing friend had the presence of mind to strap on his seatbelt before he tried to run the gunman over. He’s going to be just fine.”
Relieved, she sank back into the bed. “Mrs. M.?”
“She’s safe.”
It wasn’t much of an explanation, but it was enough to reassure her. “Tired,” she murmured.
“Sleep,” Pete urged. “The doctors say it’s the best thing for you.”
She felt his lips flutter against hers before she smiled and drifted off.
Chapter 25
When Jane arrived, looking almost as worried as Pete felt, she promised to stay with Alyssa.
Even though Pete didn’t want to leave her, he knew he couldn’t accomplish what he needed to in order to keep her safe by sitting in the hospital, holding her hand. Grudgingly, he left her in Jane’s care and went into the hospital corridor to talk to Tom.
“You look even worse than the last time I saw you,” Tom kidded gently. “You okay?”
“I don’t know,” Pete replied honestly, leaning against the wall for support. He’d almost seen the woman he was in love with die. How could anyone be okay after that?
Then when he’d gotten to the Michelman’s place and seen it burning, he’d thought Mildred and Roscoe were gone. He’d grown fond of the two in the short amount of time he’d known them.
And then, like a scene out of a movie, Roscoe had burst through the front door, the old woman slung over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. A moment later, there’d been a crash, a whoosh, and the house had seemed to collapse in on itself, belching smoke and spitting flames.
The memory sent a shiver through Pete.
“What did Brady get you into?” Tom asked, a trace of anger threading through his tone.
“I’m not sure. Yet.”
“Jackson and Mauricio are waiting for us in the cafeteria.”
Pete nodded. “I’ve got to talk to a couple of people. Then I’ll meet you down there.”
Tom nodded and walked away.
Pete moving quickly, rapped on the door to a room farther down the hall.
“Come in,” Roscoe replied.
“How are you?�
�� Pete asked stepping inside.
“I played in the NFL,” Roscoe quipped. “It’s not like I’ve never gotten hit before. They’re just keeping me overnight for observation.”
Seeing the giant purple knot on the side of the ex-football player’s head, Pete thought that was a good idea.
“Is she okay?” Roscoe asked.
“Mildred’s fine. Thanks to you carrying her out of the burning house.”
“She ran upstairs to get an old vase and a photograph.” Roscoe shook his head. “Didn’t know an old woman could run that fast.”
“She’s lucky you were there.”
“If that was true, her house wouldn’t have burnt to the ground.” Self-recrimination dripped from every word Roscoe spoke. He hung his head.
“It was arson,” Pete told him firmly. “You saved her life.”
“I didn’t do enough.”
Pete sighed. “I know the feeling.”
Roscoe looked up curiously.
Pete told him what had happened at the ransom drop. With a wry chuckle, he ended his story with, “So I didn’t end up saving the girl or the cat.”
“Gerald?” Roscoe asked, disbelieving.
Pete nodded. “What was it you said about brains over brawn? The kid was a hell of a lot smarter than I was.”
“He had an advantage.”
“Oh yeah, what’s that? He’s younger and has more brain cells?”
Roscoe shook his head. “His judgment wasn’t clouded by love.”
Pete opened his mouth to deny the assertion, but then snapped it closed. Roscoe was right.
“So the kid’s all right?” the big man asked, kindly changing the subject.
Pete nodded. “He’s good. They’re keeping him for observation too, but the air bags and seat belt did a decent job of protecting him.”
“Small miracles,” Roscoe muttered.
“And Mr. Burberry is back with his rightful owner,” Pete concluded.
“So why do you look so unhappy?”
“Because I don’t understand who’s behind all this, and until it’s figured out, no one is safe.”
“So get to work.” Roscoe waved him away. “I need my beauty rest, you know.”
Chuckling, Pete left his room. He was still grinning when he entered the room Gerald was in.
Instead of his usual bowtie, Gerald wore a hospital gown. It wasn’t a good look for him, revealing an angry, bruised welt where the seatbelt had cut into him on impact. It looked painful.
“How are you feeling?” Pete asked sympathetically.
“I need a computer,” Gerald said as way of greeting.
Pete strode over to the bed and stuck out his hand.
Automatically, Gerald shook it.
“What you did was incredibly brave,” Pete began.
Gerald flashed a grin. “Or incredibly stupid.”
“You saved her life.”
“I crashed your car.” The younger man winced at the memory. “Sorry about that.”
“Cars can be replaced.”
“But she can’t?” Gerald guessed.
Overcome with emotion, Pete nodded.
“So you’re not mad?”
“About the car? Not at all.”
“So can you get me a computer?”
“Will a smart phone do for now?”
Gerald nodded. “Yeah. Mine was broken in the ummmm, accident.”
“Crash,” Pete corrected, pulling out his own phone.
“An epic crash,” Gerald agreed.
Pete handed him his phone. “If there’s something you need?” he offered, thinking Gerald had loved ones he wanted to get in contact with. “Just tell me. I’m in your debt.”
“Careful,” Gerald joked, “I may hold you to that someday.”
“I am,” Pete replied seriously.
“I think she may have been right.” Gerald’s fingers tapped away at the screen.
“Who?”
“The animal lady.”
“Tara?” Pete didn’t understand what this had to do with Gerald needing a phone. “Right about what?”
“That the statue was a fake. I was doing some research before the whole thing on the bridge happened.”
Pete nodded. That explained why the kid had been so busy with his phone.
“I couldn’t make sense of why they wanted $120,000. It seemed like a random amount.”
“Alyssa and I talked about that too.”
“Did you figure it out?”
Pete shook his head. “Did you?”
“Maybe.” He looked up from the screen. “If Tara was right about the statue, but Mrs. M. didn’t know about it, that would mean that someone had switched it out with an inexpensive replacement.”
Pete nodded, following the kid’s logic. “Makes sense.”
“So they probably pawned it or something. So I wondered,” Gerald turned the phone so that Pete could see the screen. “How much would it cost to buy it back?”
Pete stared at a screenshot from an online site. There was the statue of the cat and there was the selling price. $120,000.00. “Holy crap.”
“I’m guessing whoever was going to buy it planned on using the ransom money for the living cat to replace the cat statue.”
“But then Tara pointed out it was a fake.”
Gerald nodded. “So they burnt the house down.”
“To hide the fact there were other fakes,” Pete concluded.
“I assume that a woman like Mrs. M. had her collection well-insured,” Gerald said, giving him his phone back.
“So the question is,” Pete said slowly. “Who’s going to benefit from the insurance money?”
A strange look flashed across Gerald’s face.
“You okay?” Pete asked.
“Kind of tired.”
“Rest. You deserve it. You sure you don’t need anything else. I could call someone for you…”
Gerald closed his eyes. “Naah, I’m good.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
Gerald waved good-bye without opening his eyes again.
After asking directions to the cafeteria at the nurses’ station, he hurried in its direction and almost running over a brunette who had her back to him in the process.
“Sorry,” he murmured, hurrying on.
“Did you save her?” she called after him.
He stopped in his tracks, turning back to face Armani. “What are you doing here?”
“My friend Maggie is obsessed with the hospital’s chocolate pudding.”
He stared at her, trying to determine whether she was serious.
“Did you save her?” she asked again.
“No.” Gerald had saved Alyssa and Roscoe had saved Mildred.
“No?” She wrinkled her forehead as though he’d just uttered a language spoken on another planet.
“I tried,” he explained weakly.
“What happened to her? Is she… dead?”
“No they’re not dead.”
“They?”
Exasperated, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Well who’s the ‘her?’”
Armani shrugged. “Not my department.”
Annoyed, he turned away from her.
“What about Tara? Did she work out?”
Grudgingly, he turned back around. “Yes. She saved the cat.”
Armani grinned her delight. “See? I told you so.”
Pete frowned. “I suspect you cherry-pick your wins.”
“Save her,” Armani countered, turning on her heel, flipping her hair, and leaving him standing there watching her limp away.
“Where are you going?” he called after her.
“To find Maggie. You’re on your own, Petey.”
He stared after her, dumbstruck. There was only one person who had ever called him Petey, his brother Geoffrey.
He pushed the thought from his mind. He had to focus on the task at hand, finding out who Mildred Michelman’s enemy was and bringing him or her to justice.
&
nbsp; Chapter 26
When Alyssa woke up, the morning sun blinded her. Lifting a hand to shield her eyes caused a burning pain to travel the length of her arm.
The pain reminded her of what happened and where she’d ended up.
She turned her head, hoping to find Pete.
Instead, she found Mildred Michelman, perched on the edge of a hospital’s visitor’s chair, watching her intently, her purse clutched in her hands. She looked more tired and frail than usual. The older woman smiled slightly. “You’re awake.”
She nodded.
“Your friend Jane just stepped out to use the ladies’ room.” Mildred stood and put her purse down on the chair. “She’s a lovely young woman. Cares deeply about animals. Cares deeply about you.”
“Pete?” Alyssa barely managed to croak out the single syllable, her mouth and throat so dry, it hurt to talk.
“He’s fine.” Mildred poured a cup of water from the plastic pitcher beside the bed. “Everyone’s fine. They’re releasing young Gerald and Roscoe this morning. Can you sit up to drink this?”
Despite a myriad of aches and pains, Alyssa struggled into a half-sitting position and reached for the water. Her hand shook so badly that she spilled some of it on the bedclothes.
“My mistake. I overfilled it,” Mildred soothed, wrapping a supportive arm around Alyssa’s shoulders and helping to guide the cup to her lips.
Alyssa gulped at the cool liquid greedily. It tasted sweet on her parched tongue. When she’d finished it, she slumped back onto the bed, exhausted by the effort. “I’m sorry.”
“Whatever for, dear?”
“Failing you.” Guilt-fueled tears burned the back of Alyssa’s eyes. She squeezed them shut to keep the droplets from escaping.
“You didn’t fail me.”
“I didn’t save Mr. Burberry.”
Mildred patted her hand. “You did your part in his rescue.”
Alyssa frowned. Hadn’t Mildred been told that her cat had drowned? Were they keeping his death a secret from her because the shock would be too much for the older woman?
“If the hospital would have allowed it, I would have brought him with me to visit you,” Mildred continued.
Alyssa’s eyes snapped open. “What?”
“Of course he’s not as handsome as usual after his impromptu bath,” Mildred chuckled.
“I don’t understand,” Alyssa admitted.