Burnout (NYPD Blue & Gold)

by Tee O'Fallon

The air was thick with humidity and still charged with latent energy from all the lightning. Rivulets of water trickled down her forehead from her matted, drenched hair. Blood spatters dotted the front of the silk blouse that stuck like glue to her skin. The handbag over her shoulder was so wet and heavy it felt as if there was a lead brick inside.

  There was, sort of. Her gun was tucked away in the bottom of the bag, a stark reminder of her duties and obligations. Sitting through a night of interrogation by Mike, knowing he didn’t love her, would be the hardest assignment of her life.

  As she grabbed the door handle, the patrol car’s engine roared, and Officer Mackey took off down the street in the direction of Effinger Park. Inside the station, fluorescent lights illuminated the front desk. Mike’s dispatcher, Maddy, sat behind the desk, speaking into a microphone. Maddy had to be inundated with duty calls. Every available officer in the vicinity must have been assigned to Effinger Park to deal with the aftermath of the explosion. Sure enough, the portion of the parking lot reserved for official vehicles was empty of all police cruisers.

  Cassie pulled the glass door open. As much as she wanted to leave town and never have to see the disappointment on Mike’s face again, she had to agree with him that the station was the safest place in case the hit man tried again. Loads safer than her house.

  Her house.

  Raven!

  Her dog was at the house. Alone. And the hit man knew where she lived.

  A frisson of fear shot up her spine. Cassie was certain the bastard had been skulking around the house this morning when Raven had alerted. Maybe Raven was the only thing that had kept him from attacking her then.

  She sidestepped out of Maddy’s line of sight. Not a chance in hell she’d leave her beloved dog alone at the house with a homicidal scumbag lurking about town.

  Backup would be wise, but Mike was still at the hospital and the rest of his men were at Effinger Park. Everyone was at least fifteen minutes out. Her house, on the other hand, was only five blocks from the station. She could be there in minutes.

  Cassie tore down the steps. The road was dark, save for the antique streetlamps lighting her way. Not a single car passed her as she ran down Main Street, splashing through puddles, her bag slamming against her hip.

  Jesus, what if the hit man tried to blow up her house? With Raven in it.

  Cassie picked up her pace, lengthening her stride until her quads burned. With every house she passed, her worry heightened tenfold. She took the next corner at top speed, nearly slipping on the slick pavement.

  Three blocks to go.

  Two blocks.

  At the next turn, she ran through a deep puddle, soaking her shoes and bare legs. One more turn and she’d be home.

  When her house came into view, she stopped, gasping as she braced her palms on her thighs. At least the house hadn’t been blown up like her Trail Blazer.

  Cassie yanked out her Smith & Wesson, comforted by the nubby grip beneath her fingers. She tossed her bag behind a nearby shrub and ran the last thirty feet to the house, using trees and telephone poles for cover along the way.

  Lighting was marginal at best from the streetlights, but with all the lightning strikes in the area it was a miracle power hadn’t gone out altogether.

  Nothing on her front lawn moved. If anyone was hiding near the house, Raven would have let her know. All was quiet, yet as she stepped onto the brick walkway an eerie sense of foreboding crept through her. She tensed, every muscle in her body vibrating.

  In a few seconds, Raven would hear Cassie coming and start barking like a hound from hell. She started down the walkway, realizing she was taking one heck of a chance. A professional killer would have to verify his hit in order to take full payment. If he knew she hadn’t died in the explosion, he could be waiting inside. But she had to get Raven.

  At any cost.

  A steady breeze rustled the waterlogged bushes along the property line, bringing with it the smell of roses—a scent Cassie normally loved.

  Not tonight.

  As she continued down the brick walkway, the unease creeping up her spine grew steadily. She scanned the front yard again, darting her gaze from left to right, reassessing every inch of the property. Still nothing moved. Nothing out of place.

  So why was the hair at the base of her neck prickling as sharp as a cactus?

  Because I’m at the bottom of the stairs and Raven hasn’t made a sound!

  Cassie clenched her jaw. Dammit. She bolted for the side of the house. Water splashed her legs as she raced through the wet grass. She pressed her back against the house’s stone foundation. Her heart thudded, and she gulped to slow her breathing and listen.

  Still no Raven. This was so not good.

  The grisly image of Raven—shot, bleeding, lying in a pool of blood—flashed before her eyes.

  “No,” she breathed. No. No. No.

  She’d brought this bastard to Hopewell Springs, and it was time to end this once and for all. If she went down, she’d go down fighting. And if that fucker had hurt her dog, she’d tear his nuts off.

  Let’s get it on, asshole.

  Crouching low, she worked her way along the side of the house, pausing beneath the living room window. No sound came from within. Raven was either no longer in the house, or critically wounded. Worse, her K-9 was dead. There was no other explanation for the dog’s uncharacteristic silence.

  Cassie’s stomach clenched with sadness and rage.

  Don’t lose it now, Yates.

  She swallowed hard and glanced at the neighboring houses, also dark and quiet. A jarring sound came from above. Cassie aimed high. A large bird flew out of a tree. An owl, judging by the large wingspan.

  With her back to the house, she sidestepped to the rear porch. The old rocker tipped back and forth in the breeze. Suffused light from the open kitchen door spilled onto the decking. No way had she left the door open. Or the kitchen light on. The entire house had been locked up tight when she left for the picnic.

  The hit man was inside her home.

  Cassie gripped her gun tighter, fighting back a growl.

  Fucking bastard, you’ll pay for this.

  But Christ, she needed the guy alive—to grill him about the sonofabitch who hired him. That put a different spin on things. This couldn’t be a kill scenario. It had to be a capture.

  Keeping low, she crept around the back of the porch and scanned the base of the stairs, shifting her gaze from side to side, searching for a dark figure.

  The solid heft of her duty weapon felt good in her hands, although it was probably the last time she would ever use it. For ten years she’d been a cop, but that part of her life was over. Whether she left this house on her own two feet or in a body bag, tonight was the end of her police career.

  She took the porch stairs one at a time, then crept across the deck, wincing as her soggy shoes made sucking noises with every step. A timely gust of wind rustled the trees, muffling her unstealthy approach.

  As she reached for the screen door handle, danger tingled along her skin like a swarm of bugs. The door squeaked as she tugged on it. Realizing a silent approach was out of the question, she yanked open the door and went in low. With precise motions, she cleared the room, aiming her gun throughout the kitchen until she was sure of one thing.

  No one was there.

  The only sound besides the clock ticking over the stove was her heart—pounding like a jackhammer. She glanced at the clock. Nearly midnight.

  Cassie peered through the kitchen, into the living room, to the front door. At first, she didn’t see a thing. As her eyes adjusted, something came into focus. On the floor. In front of the door. Something dark and not moving. Cassie gasped.

  “Raven!”

  She stepped into the hallway and froze. She didn’t know what it was…a wisp of unexpected air movement… The all-but-silent inhalation of another person in the room…

  The crush of shoes on carpet.

  He’s here.

  Takin
g a step backward into the kitchen, Cassie gripped her gun tighter, her eyes narrowing as she tried in vain to pierce the veil of blackness cloaking the living room.

  Her heart thumped wildly. The only sound she heard now was her own heavy breathing.

  As the hairs on the back of her neck tingled in warning, she retreated another step into the kitchen. Instinct pushed her to run headfirst into the living room to Raven’s aid, but that same feeling told her he was lying in wait.

  To kill me.

  The heel of her shoe bumped against the threshold, and she barely caught herself before falling on her ass.

  A second later, a massive body knocked her against the doorframe. Sonofa— The breath was knocked out of her chest. Pain knifed into her side, and she hit the tile hard, her gun skittering across the floor.

  She lashed out, making contact with the meaty part of her attacker’s thigh. Dark pants and a white T-shirt with something written on it. She raised her head to look at his face.

  A goatee.

  He smacked her in the jaw with the back of his hand. The next thing she felt was cold tile as her head hit the kitchen floor. Pain lanced through her skull, and she nearly blacked out.

  The bastard gripped her hair, jerking her head back. She screamed as he dragged her across the floor by her hair. Tension built along her scalp, then sharp, stabbing pain as some of her hair was pulled out at the roots. Screaming again, she flailed her arms behind her.

  No! This is not happening. Not this way!

  Cassie fumbled blindly behind her, her heart racing as she tried landing a blow. She connected with one of his shins. Take that, asshole! He grunted but continued to drag her into a corner of the kitchen.

  Twisting in his grip, again Cassie lashed out, punching his groin. He growled and released her hair so suddenly her head hit the floor with a whack. She grunted, momentarily disoriented, then began scrambling on her hands and knees toward the kitchen door. It was her only avenue of escape.

  Almost there. She got to her feet, bolting for the door just as he grabbed her arm, practically wrenching it out of its socket. Lancing pain shot up her arm to her shoulder, and she cried out.

  He jerked her back against his chest, gripping both her arms. The more she struggled, the tighter his hold. His breath was hot against her neck and smelled of stale coffee. Cassie’s stomach churned until she wanted to vomit. “Bastard,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “No matter what you do to me, they’ll come for you. They’ll never stop coming for you.” She tried jabbing her free elbow into his ribs, but he twisted away.

  “Bitch,” he growled, then abruptly let her go.

  She spun to see his fist a fraction of a second before it slammed into her jaw. She flinched, raising her arms to deflect the blow.

  Too late.

  Bolts of pain shot through her face. White stars clouded her vision. She went down hard. As she struggled to rise, a heavy foot on her back pushed her down. The next thing she expected to hear was a gunshot as a bullet entered the back of her head.

  Something bristly looped around her neck.

  Rope.

  It tightened, the sharp, prickly nubs biting into her skin as her oxygen was cut off. She clawed at the rope, trying to pry her fingers beneath it. A strangled sound escaped her mouth. Then nothing. She tried to scream but couldn’t. No air. Her airway was cut off.

  Oh my God, oh my God!

  The full ramification of what was happening slammed into her. She couldn’t believe it would end this way. There was nothing she could do. He was too strong.

  I’ll never leave this room alive.

  Not. Gonna. Happen.

  With twisting motions, she tried dislodging him, but it was no use. She was pinned flat on the floor by his foot pressing into her back.

  Cassie flailed her arms out to her sides, then behind her—hoping to get in one last blow. Her vision clouded. The light in the kitchen dimmed. She swung her hands over her head, flailing uselessly. In seconds, her arms became heavy and she couldn’t lift them. Her eyelids fluttered, then closed. Her head…too heavy. No more strength to do…anything.

  Mike…

  Through the haze…a raspy voice. “Die, bitch.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Between the rain pounding the cruiser’s windshield and the electrical storm screwing with cell phone communications, Mike had barely been able to understand the duty cop at the NYPD’s 1st Precinct. From what he could make out, Detective Dominick Carew was out of town and Detective Cassandra Yates was on assignment.

  Yates. The name was familiar, but Mike couldn’t focus long enough to recall why.

  He pressed his fingers to his forehead and tried unsuccessfully to ease the ache behind his eyes. Cassie really was a cop, a detective. Possibly the only thing she hadn’t lied about.

  In his mind, Cassie’s face wavered in and out, distorted, intertwining with his last memory of Elaine when she’d admitted her identity as an IA cop trying to pin bullshit charges on him.

  Bite the bullet, Flannery. They both used your ass good.

  Things were over between him and Cassie. Of that, he had no doubt. Interrogating her so soon after her butt-kicking revelation was the last thing he wanted, but somehow he’d get through it. For the moment, she was in his town and, as such, his responsibility.

  He dragged his hand across his stubbled chin as a wave of dizziness hit him. The cruiser began veering into the other lane.

  “Shit.” He jerked the wheel just in time to avoid running into a ditch. The wound in his chest really had been worse than he’d thought. If he didn’t get off the road and off his feet soon, he’d be no good to anyone.

  He glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard. Nearly midnight. Cassie would be at the station by now, but it would take him another fifteen to get there and he didn’t want her bolting on him. He yanked his cell phone from his belt to dial the station.

  No service.

  “Crap.” He tuned the cruiser’s police radio to a private frequency assigned to his dispatcher and clicked the microphone. “Maddy?”

  “Go ahead, Chief.” Maddy’s voice was muted by static.

  “Tell Cassie I’m on my way to the station.” For long moments all he heard was clicking.

  “…no one here but me, Chief.”

  Mike clicked the microphone, but all he heard was static. Several attempts yielded the same results until he faced the inevitable.

  Phone and radio communications were down.

  “Great.” He threw the useless microphone onto the passenger seat. He never should have trusted Cassie and let her out of his sight.

  She might be trying to leave town to avoid another confrontation with him. No, she wouldn’t do that. She was a professional, and as such was aware there was protocol to be followed. And why wouldn’t she have gone to the police station where she’d be the safest?

  Jesus, Raven is at the house.

  Where a hit man might very well be waiting. To verify his kill.

  Mike flipped on the red and blue strobe lights. The cruiser’s tires spun on the wet pavement as he slammed his foot on the accelerator.

  He had no proof Cassie was in any trouble, but instinct had him gunning the cruiser past ninety. Even at this speed, he was a solid ten minutes from Cassie’s house.

  Red and blue strobes reflected off fields of crops as Mike sped along the road toward Hopewell Springs. A spasm of pain shot from his wound, so intense his vision blurred. “Damn.” Without slowing, he pounded his fist on the steering wheel until the road came back into focus. If he didn’t get to Cassie’s house soon, he might not make it at all.

  What would it take for her to consider relying on someone—him—for backup?

  Speaking of backup, he had none. With no radio or cell communication, he’d be going after her alone.

  Worry gripped him as he entered the residential section of town and flicked off the strobes. Something else could be driving her besides Raven. Guilt and anger. He knew it well enough,
since he’d been in that same situation himself. After two people died because of his actions, he’d wanted to take it out on someone so badly he could taste it. In his case, there was no one he could take it out on. The bad guy had conveniently blown his own brains out.

  Cassie, on the other hand, had someone to take her anger out on—the hired killer. The guy who’d hurt Leo. Mike would bet Cassie was going home to grab Raven, and if the sonofabitch was waiting at her house, she’d confront him alone. She would figure it was her penance, what she deserved.

  Even if it meant dying.

  Mike had never prayed a day in his life, but as he turned onto Cassie’s street and skidded to a stop at the curb a few houses from hers, he prayed like hell he was wrong. Maybe the bastard had booked out of town after the explosion and was a hundred miles away by now. Then again, hired guns were paid to kill. If they didn’t hit their mark, they didn’t get paid.

  After shutting off the engine, he got out of the cruiser and forced himself not to charge into the house Rambo-style. Rookie mistakes might get Cassie killed. He drew his gun from his ankle holster and took a quick assessment as he ran toward Cassie’s front yard.

  The street was empty, except for a few parked vehicles. Most of the houses were dark. The rain had completely stopped, but the air smelled and felt as thick and humid as a greenhouse.

  Sweat trickled down his temples as he surveyed the lawn. All clear. He scanned the front porch. Clear. No movement at the windows.

  Where’s Raven?

  Raven had a soft spot for him, but it was so dark out, how would the dog know who had stepped onto the property?

  She wouldn’t. That dog was as sharp as any K-9 he’d worked with. Even with his relatively quiet approach, Raven should be barking up a storm by now.

  Mike took off at a dead run.

  Water sprayed his pants as he pounded through the soggy, wet grass, his boots sinking in deep. With his back against the house, he took cover between two living room windows. He gripped his Glock in both hands and slowed his breathing to listen. No sound from the house.

  Warning bells clanged in his head. If ever there was a need for backup, it was now.