by Vella Day
An ache, more severe than any bullet or blow, nearly crushed his body. What did he really want? He'd never had anyone who believed in him, so he'd built a shell around his heart so thick, he wasn't sure even he liked himself. Could Susan love someone like him?
Only one way to find out. Ask her. But first, he needed to tell her that he loved her.
Wow. Love. Was that what this desperation and need coursing through every cell in his body was called?
Yes.
He rushed down the hall to the elevator. This time when he reached her room, the cop was on duty in front. This time, he didn't give Jake any grief when he showed up. He'd been about to tell the cop his services weren't needed, that all of the threats to Susan's life were over, but given he hadn't eaten in who knows how long, he wasn't about to trust his decision making skills.
Could there be anyone else out there? With James in surgery, Dominick and Richard Thomason dead, and Papa Francisco in custody, had all the pieces fallen?
At the moment, he'd leave that piece of the puzzle to Stanton and the gang.
Susan's eyes were closed when he walked in, and from the even rise and fall of her chest, she was asleep. He slid into the chair next to her bed and took hold of her hand. Her skin was porcelain white. The stitches in her cheek were gone, leaving a long, red welt. He thought she looked beautiful, all relaxed and peaceful. The bruises that covered her neck would heal, but the fact they even existed jacked up his temperature once more.
His fists stung from ramming into Francisco's face, but the pain was the good kind of pain, all full of satisfaction and built up disgust. The throbbing reminded him he'd hurt the bastard who maybe had started this mess.
Her lids fluttered.
“Jake?” Her brows pinched, as did her pretty mouth.
“It's okay, sweetheart. It's really over.”
“Over?”
“Yeah.”
He told her about Joseph Francisco and how he was now in custody, or would be soon.
“And James?”
“I haven't heard if he's out of surgery. I don't think the staff is willing to tell me much of anything, given my recent outburst.”
“I would have liked to have seen that fight.”
“It wasn't much of a battle.” He held up a finger. “I almost forgot. Stanton called.”
She squeezed his hand. “Did something bad happen?”
He chuckled. “No. He's not always the messenger of bad news. They found Maria. She's fine.”
Susan let go of his hand and relaxed back into the bed. “And Peter? How's he?”
“He'll mend.”
Now came for the hard conversation. “I guess you'll be getting out of here soon and returning to your old life.” His mouth turned dry. This was worse than being in front of his ninth grade class to give a required two-minute speech.
He leaned forward, expecting her to be excited at the prospect of entering into another trial. Instead, she turned her head to the side. Her eyes glistened and her mouth pinched.
“What's wrong?”
She turned back to him. “I've been doing a lot of thinking. When I was a little girl, I always wanted to please my father. He was my world. My dad was an attorney as I've mentioned before. Ergo, I wanted to be an attorney.”
“I think many kids want to do what their parents do.”
Not him. He'd wondered about the identify of his biological father, but the futile exercise always left him angry.
She wet her lips and his mind darted off in a different direction.
“I always like getting up in front of people and trying to persuade them that my ideas were right. I never planned on doing criminal law. When my father was shot by someone he'd put in prison, my world changed. Then some drunk driver plowed into Craig, ruining his life. I wanted justice and figured the best way to get it was to follow in my dad's footsteps.” Her eyes turned all dreamy.
“And now?”
Her lips pulled back. “I have to rise above my frustrations and fears and do what I really wanted to do in the first place and not what would please others.”
He had no idea where this was headed. “I need to buy a clue here.”
“I want to teach. I want to stay away from the criminals, from the threats.”
A smile tugged on his lips. “That's the first sensible thing I think you've said.”
Her mouth dropped. “First sensible thing?”
He laughed. The sensation of joy creeping up his body was foreign, but a damn good one. “I mean about being safe.”
Now she smiled. “What do you know about safety? You put your life in danger every day, protecting people.”
He leaned back in his chair. “About that. I'm thinking of giving up the bodyguard business.”
“You?”
“If the Bureau still wants me, I'd like to do homicide or something that would keep me in one place.”
Her skin lost all color. “What are you saying?”
Damn. He'd blown it. His heart thudded in his chest. He'd never told anyone he loved them—at least not since after he'd turned six. Spit it out.
“That I love you and want to be by your side, not some stranger's.”
Her mouth opened. Susan pushed up from the bed and surprised the hell out of him by throwing her arms around his neck. She leaned back and kissed him. “You do? You really, really do? Love me, that is?”
Isn't that what he'd said? Repeating those words would be hard—at least at first. “Yes.”
“Me too.”
He hadn't expected her to return his feelings. “You do?”
She ran a hand over his head. “Yes, silly. You are an amazing person; one who is principled, driven, caring, and loving. I want to be with you.”
Before he had a chance to absorb everything she said, someone cleared a throat. Susan glanced up. The light in her eyes didn't dim, but the smile evaporated. She moved away from him, and he twisted around.
“Stanton.” How much had he heard? If the upturn of his lips were any indication, quite a lot.
“I just checked with the doctor. James didn't make it.”
He probably shouldn't be happy, but he was. Scum sucker didn't deserve to live. “And our other resident killer?”
“He won't be going anywhere soon.”
Shit. “Surely, we have evidence tying him to the killings.”
“You misunderstand. He won't be going anywhere because when you landed on Francisco, the knife he was holding cut his spine. He's paralyzed from the waist down.”
Jake shut off the sympathy part of his brain. He didn't want to think about what he'd done to the man. “Pity. We'll prosecute him, won't we?”
“Oh, yeah. Tom's a genius. Or maybe I should give credit to Richard.”
“Richard? How?”
“When Richard received the threatening phone calls, he recorded them. Tom was able to match Joseph's voice to the recording.”
That wasn't enough. “We can't get him for killing the jurors?”
“That's the sweet part. Yes, we can. With the help of the forest rangers, we combed the area where you shot Dominick. We found his body—and his cell phone.”
“And I bet by that smirk on your face that Tom was able to locate the call logs, which proved Dominick spoke to his dad.”
“Yes. The timing of the deaths is too perfect. But the best one is the picture of you holding up Cho, along with one of Cho alive. I have no doubt Dominick Francisco stood outside the window to frame you.”
He was truly exonerated. “That's great.”
“We still have a little more work to do before we can bring Francisco to court, but we'll get him. Perhaps Maria knows something.”
“Is she talking?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Jake wasn't sure what else there was to say. He wanted to get back to the conversation with Susan. Stanton took the hint and eased out of the room.
“So, where do we go from here?” he asked her.
“I say let's get out
of here. I'm sure once I get you home, I'll figure something out.”
The glint in her eye brought him amazing peace and closure to his life. She'd been what he'd needed his whole life.
“Let's make it quick.”
**
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**
I hope you enjoyed Susan and Jake’s story. Up next is DANGER AND DESIRE. Here is the first chapter.
**
Tampa Florida Homicide detective Derek Benally slammed his cruiser's door and scanned the crime scene. Streetlights along the I-275 entrance ramp flooded the main street. He ducked under the tape, his gray police issue, t-shirt plastered against his back. Damned humidity.
Cars honked on the busy thoroughfare and gas fumes mingled with the fishy smell of the bay, adding a measure of unpleasantness to what had already become an unpleasant night.
He halted at the scene and flashed his badge. The two officers guarding the body stepped back. The jumper lay broken on the concrete in front of the thirty-story Waters Edge Condominium. Derek looked up at the surrounding balconies, and his gut soured at the man's violent death.
Loosely covered by a bloodstained sheet, a hand and a foot stuck out at odd angles. Derek knelt next to the victim and studied the blood spatter that extended a good two feet to the street side of the body. Another nine inches and the vic would have soiled the stone fountain. Wouldn't the rich condo owners have had a fit over that desecration?
He shoved his hand in his pocket, squeezed his sage packet, and closed his eyes to center himself, to separate his logical mind from his emotions. He waited to learn if his spiritual guides would send down a hint about what had happened.
A low rumble grumbled in the sky. Could it be them? Anticipation sped up his pulse.
Flashes from the crowd broke his concentration—or had his guides cut the connection? Damn curiosity seekers. He needed help from above.
Did these gawkers actually think a photo of a covered body would satisfy them? Brain matter had oozed out from under than dead man's head, and from the bloody protrusion of the right femur, the victim's leg had been crushed in the fall. If they ever had an up-close look at a real dead body, they'd be sorry. They only looked good on TV.
He swatted away the bugs that landed around his eyes and nose. When one little bugger began feasting on his arm, he flicked the insect away.
Derek lifted the sheet covering the white male, careful not to touch the body. What a waste. Even after nine years on the force, he didn't like seeing the gruesome effect blunt force trauma had on someone.
He studied the building's balconies, trying to figure out why the body had come to rest so far from the condo? Assuming the man stepped off the balcony and hadn't leaped off the railing like a cliff diver, the victim should have landed closer to the entrance, not out by the road.
Given the body's location, suicide didn't seem to be cause of his death. Perhaps the man had been pushed. His pulse sped up at the emotional pain this man must have experienced, and the implication of a possible murder prickled his skin.
Cars honked at the slowdown clogging the Interstate onramp in front of the condo. Damn rubberneckers.
Before Derek could make more mental calculations, Gonzalez, a new recruit, who had been the first on the scene, hovered over him.
Derek stood and looked down at the short, stocky officer. The young cop looked like a puppy dog—eager to please and happy to have to a job. Ah, to be twenty-one again.
“The doorman ID'd him as Carl Vanderwall of condo 2104,” the puppy cop said. “Given the location, I called the Captain.” He puffed out his chest.
“And?”
The officer's baby-browns shot down to the sidewalk. “The Captain told me to tell you not to hassle the tenants too much.” His voice faded at the last few words.
Derek bristled. He wanted to stop any speculation, especially since Gonzalez was new to the force. “I've never strong-armed anyone into talking.”
The officer looked up with eyes wide and held up two hands. “Hey, don't shoot the messenger. He also said to remind you the Mayor lives in this high rise.”
Like he gave a rat's ass. Derek nodded toward the balcony. “Anyone see him jump?”
Gonzalez motioned toward two teenaged girls sitting in the police car at the side of the building, away from the crowd. “They were leaving the library across the street when they saw him fall, but they couldn't say whether he was pushed or not. They remained calm at first, but then rushed to tell the doorman. They're pretty shaken up.”
“Damn.” Kids shouldn't be exposed to such horror. “Did the doorman see anything?”
“No, sir. He was attending to something at the desk when the man jumped. The moment he returned to his post, the girls raced up to him.”
“Okay. I'll have a word with them. Did you call the medical examiner yet?”
“Sure did. He's on his way.”
“Good work.” He half expected Gonzalez's tongue to roll out and pant, but instead the new recruit shot Derek a toothy grin.
“And you notified the crime scene unit, right?” He couldn't be sure if procedure was cemented in his brain yet.
“Yes, sir.”
Derek nodded, and then made his way to the witnesses. He whipped out his phone and called the precinct a few blocks away. Thinking the girls would feel more comfortable if a woman escorted them home, he asked for a female officer. He'd never been any good at handling females in a time of need.
A cool puff of rotten egg smelling wind pushed through the humid air, relieving the oppressive heat. The bay sure was in a bad mood tonight, belching algae bloom like a smokestack.
Derek stepped over to the cruiser where a beat cop stood watch. The two witnesses were huddled in the backseat—a blonde girl consoling a sobbing brunette. He couldn't be sure under the glare of the streetlights, but he guessed they were no more than sixteen or seventeen.
Derek dropped to his haunches and pulled out his notepad and pen. His pants bunched at his thighs, and he tugged on the fabric to ease the constraint.
The air conditioning poured out from the opened door, providing brief relief.
“Hi, I'm Detective Benally.”
The blonde pulled out her IPod earplugs as the brunette sat up and froze, her eyes wide. He knew his six foot seven frame and bald head scared a lot of people, but he didn't know how to make himself look less intimidating other than to crouch down.
“Can you tell me your names?” He used as soft a tone as he could muster.
“I'm Carrie Wilman,” the blonde answered.
“I'm Jennifer Mendez,” the brunette said wiping the back of her hand under her nose and sniffling.
Derek pulled out a clean handkerchief and handed it to her.
“Thanks. He's really dead, isn't he?” the brunette asked.
“I'm afraid so. Can you girls tell me what you saw?”
The brunette spoke up. “We were crossing the street from the library to go to our car when I happened to look across the street. He was...in mid air.” She hiccupped a sob. “It was terrible. His arms were flapping and his feet were kicking.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I can't get the sight of him out of my head. When he hit the ground, he made such a loud thunk. Oh, God.” She dropped her face into her hands and sobbed once more.
His heart lurched at her pain. She'd never forget the man's shattered body. He could still remember the first time he'd seen a fatal car wreck, and the horrific image had never faded.
Derek turned toward the more composed girl. “Did you happen to look up and see anyone on a balcony?” As in someone who pushed the victim?
“No,” the blonde said.
It had been worth asking. “I've called for a policewoman to follow you home.
“Thanks,” the brunette said, holding out his handkerchief.
It was going to be a long, grueling night.
**
Seven frigging days of non-stop work and Derek still hadn't made any headway in the Vanderwall case. He had yet to figure out whether Carl had jumped from the high rise or had been pushed. The neighbors had offered no insight into the man's apparent suicide. His coworkers had claimed there was no way he'd take his life. They said he'd only invested a small portion of his money in market, and when it tanked, he'd remained calm, unlike so many of his clients.
Before Derek had a chance to decide his next investigative lead, the phone next to his bed rang. He dropped the dumbbells he'd been hefting and answered, slightly out of breath. “Benally.”
“Uncle Derek,” his nephew whimpered. “Mom's...Mom's dead. She's really dead. I don't know what to do.” Billy's breath hitched. “She...she shot herself in the head.”
The fear lacing his voice ripped at Derek's soul. His mind screamed a panic alert as his blood pressure skyrocketed. Think. I'm a First Responder, dammit. His nephew was fifteen. He could handle this. “Are you sure she isn't breathing?”
Good. ABC. Airway, breathing, circulation. A bullet to the head wasn't an automatic death sentence.
“She's not moving or anything.”
His heart nearly jumped out of his chest. Rayne couldn't be gone.
“Call 9-1-1 and hold a towel to the wound, okay? I'll be there as fast as I can.”
Anger clenched his gut. Derek grabbed his sage packet and squeezed hard, but his talisman failed to give him any solace.
“Hurry!” Billy cried.
Heart racing, he snatched his wallet, badge, gun, and keys. Once in the car, Derek dialed Billy needing to hear that maybe his nephew had overreacted; that his sister might be only slightly wounded, but the line was busy. Shit, that's right. 9-1-1 kept the caller on the line until help arrived.