by Tee O'Fallon
Backup, hell, what he needed right now was a friggin’ SWAT team.
Yeah, right.
Like he could ever stand down when Cassie’s life might be at stake. His instincts screamed louder and louder she was in trouble. Big trouble. He knew better than to go in alone—again—but he had no choice. This time, the victim would not be murdered.
Mike bolted across the wet grass. Stabbing pain shot from the wound in his chest. Suddenly his world went black and he fell to his knees.
Deep breaths. He shook his head to clear it. Stay focused.
After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only seconds, his vision cleared, and he staggered to his feet and pressed on. At the corner of the house, he leaned around to survey the backyard.
Light spilled through the kitchen’s screen door onto the porch. Only the sound of a few chirping crickets filled the night. Something was definitely wrong.
At the bottom of the porch stairs, he looked down. Two sets of muddy prints. One Cassie’s size and the other…bigger.
Ignoring every tactical rule in the book, he tore up the steps and raced to the screen door. A muffled, choking sound came to his ears, and in one terrifying heartbeat, he processed the scene.
A killing rage overtook him.
He yanked open the screen door and burst inside. The man strangling Cassie raised his head.
Mike aimed and fired.
The shot reverberated in the small kitchen. Blood seeped from the hole in the middle of the assassin’s forehead. The man’s eyes went wide and his body stilled, frozen, but his hands remained on the rope wrapped tightly around Cassie’s neck. The assassin was dead, but the guy’s brain was no longer sending signals to his body.
Mike charged forward and rammed his booted foot into the guy’s face, knocking him backward against the wall. His skull whacked into the Sheetrock, and he slid to the floor in a heap, leaving a thick red and gray smear on the white wall.
With his heart in his throat, Mike stuck his gun in his belt and fell to Cassie’s side. His gut twisted in terror as he unwrapped the rope from around her throat and flung it away.
This wasn’t happening. He couldn’t lose her.
Not like this.
An angry red welt encircled the smooth skin on her neck. Mike gently lifted her head and shoulders off the floor and cradled her in his arms.
“Cassie? Sweetheart, wake up.” She didn’t answer, but right before busting in, he’d heard her choking. She’d been alive moments ago. She was pale. Too pale. For one zillionth of a second, years of specialized training fled, panic nearly immobilizing him.
He placed his hand on her chest between her breasts. Christ, he wasn’t sure she was breathing. He lowered his cheek to her mouth, praying for a wisp of her breath to brush over his skin. Nothing.
“No!” he shouted. She’s not dead. Not my beautiful Cassie.
Mike touched two of his fingers to her carotid artery. He didn’t feel anything and repositioned his fingers.
“Dammit, no.” He prepared to begin CPR when he heard a soft intake of air.
He watched her chest for movement. “Cassie, come back to me. Wake up, baby.” Her lips parted, and Mike heard her take another breath, louder this time. Her chest rose and fell visibly now. The relief shooting through him was unlike anything he’d ever experienced.
“Sweet Jesus.” He shut his eyes for a second and groaned. He’d thought she was gone, and it had almost killed him.
Cassie gasped again, then coughed. Mike gently pulled her upright, cradling the back of her head between his chest and shoulder. A lock of hair fell in front of her closed eyes, and with a shaky hand he tucked the coppery strands behind her ear.
“Cassie.” His throat tightened with a slew of emotions he couldn’t name. “I thought I’d lost you.”
Mike kissed her forehead, her cheeks. He held her hand to his lips. Her fingers were cold, and he pressed them more firmly against his mouth to warm them. Her eyelids fluttered until pain-filled emerald green eyes met his.
“Hey,” he whispered and gave her a wan smile she tried to return.
“Hey,” she croaked, squeezing his hand.
With her other hand, she touched his cheek. He turned his face to kiss her palm, and his heart nearly busted in half. There was still so much between them and perhaps always would be. None of it mattered right now. Cassie was alive and in his arms.
Color gradually returned to her cheeks, replacing the pasty whiteness. A lone tear trickled from one of her eyes. He leaned down to kiss it away, noticing blood vessels in the whites of her eyes had burst.
“Mike?” His name came out in a harsh whisper.
“I’m here, baby.” His own voice cracked. “You’re safe.” He ran his hand over her back, her shoulders, then her legs, searching for other injuries.
“But the—” She turned her head to the body lying on the floor next to them.
“Dead.” Mike took his first real look at the sonofabitch.
Dark hair and goatee, probably of Middle Eastern descent. And wearing an I Love Hopewell Springs T-shirt.
Fury boiled dangerously close to the surface as Mike took in the red ring encircling Cassie’s neck and her swollen jaw where the bastard must have hit her. Part of him wished the guy was still alive so he could beat the shit out of him. Feeling the bastard’s bones crushing beneath his fists would have given him immense pleasure. But the killer’s dark eyes were dull, unseeing.
Cassie clutched at his arm. “I need to get up,” she rasped.
He shook his head and cupped the side of her face. “Easy there. The only place you’re going is to the hospital. I want a doctor to check you out.”
“No!” The look on her face was panicked as she tried to stand. “Raven!” Cassie cried as Mike put a steadying arm around her shoulders. “Where’s Raven?”
She pushed past him and staggered into the hallway. He hustled after her.
At the front door, she fell to her knees. Raven lay on her side. Cassie’s scream was guttural, gut-wrenching. “Raven! Raven!” She touched the dog’s head and ears, but Raven didn’t move. Cassie’s shoulders began to shake. “I don’t think she’s breathing.”
Mike flicked on the hallway light switch and knelt to run his hands over and under the dog’s body, sifting his fingers through the satiny, black fur. He looked at his hands, expecting to see blood, but there was none. He felt a fluttering heartbeat, but Raven was barely breathing.
Something on the adjacent living room rug caught Mike’s eye. A dart. The kind used to tranquilize an animal. Or kill one.
“Stay with her.” He ran to the kitchen, searching the drawers until he found a plastic freezer bag. Using the bag as a glove, he picked up the dart and turned the bag inside out, sealing it.
“Please tell me she’s alive,” Cassie whispered, her eyes glossy with tears. “Please.”
“Take this.” Mike handed Cassie the bag, then scooped Raven into his arms. “She’s alive.” The dog’s head draped over his arm. “Barely, though. We’ll drive her to Doc Tesch. He can figure out what kind of poison this is.”
Cassie yanked open the front door. Mike took in her stricken face. She was distraught and on the verge of a full-scale panic attack. He sure had a bead on that score. He’d just gone through it.
With his arm cradling Raven’s neck, Mike hustled down the front steps and along the street to where he’d parked his cruiser. Cassie followed on his heels. “Open the passenger door and get in.”
She jerked open the door and slid in, then tossed the plastic bag with the dart onto the dashboard. Mike gently laid Raven on Cassie’s lap and shut the door. He ran to the driver’s side and got in. A second later, they were speeding toward the vet’s office.
The misery etched into Cassie’s tear-stained face made him grip the wheel tighter. If he could make the vehicle fly, he would have. A quick glance at the unconscious dog sprawled across her lap told Mike what he already knew.
Someone else in Cassie’s life probably
wouldn’t make it through the night.
Chapter Nineteen
The vet’s waiting room was like an icebox, thanks to the overactive, whirring air conditioner mounted into the wall. Cassie shivered, but it was more from fear that her sweet, beautiful dog was moments from death.
Every time she thought of Raven lying alone on the cold metal examining table where Mike had laid her not thirty minutes ago, her stomach churned with nausea. She rocked back and forth on the wooden bench, trying to calm herself. Only Mike’s quick thinking at grabbing the poisoned dart and rushing Raven to the vet’s office gave the dog a fighting chance.
Mike leaned his hip against the empty receptionist’s desk, professionally and efficiently dictating details of the shooting to whomever he was speaking with via the landline. First, he’d called his dispatcher, ordering her to get word to Jimmy and have units secure Cassie’s house until forensics arrived. Then he’d notified the coroner and the State Police.
As she watched Mike, his demeanor all business, Cassie’s heart felt as if it had been sliced into a million pieces then run through a food processor. In just a few hours, immediately following the debriefing, she’d hit the road and Mike would be nothing more than a memory, a dream that would never come true.
He finally ended his call and hung up.
“Why are you here with me?” Her voice sounded as if someone had taken a cheese grater to her throat. “A shooting in any town, let alone a quiet place like Hopewell Springs, has to be a huge deal. Shouldn’t you be at my house coordinating things from there, instead of babysitting me and my dog?”
He frowned. “Probably.”
“I’m sure you’re not staying with me out of kindness in case Raven…dies.”
She blinked back tears at the horrible thought, then it hit her—the real reason he was with her instead of at the house handling the shooting—and it had nothing to do with kindness.
“I get it.” She gave him a bitter look. “You’re afraid I’ll run and you’ll never get the chance to grill my ass. You’re only here to keep a tight rein on me.”
Mike didn’t deny a word of what she’d said. He looked away, as if he couldn’t stand the sight of her.
The large metal-rimmed clock on the wall ticked off the minutes slower and slower each time she checked it. It was after one in the morning. Another day. Cassie dared herself to think today couldn’t possibly be worse than yesterday but knew better.
She couldn’t recall much immediately after Mike rescued her and had only a vague recollection of him holding her, wearing an icy look of rage as he touched his fingers to her throat. He’d spoken to her, but she couldn’t remember a word he’d said. He’d probably been yelling at her for not going to the police station as ordered.
The swollen red ring around her throat began to throb worse than before. Cassie put her hand to her neck, and as her fingers made contact with the sensitive flesh, she winced and began to cough. The back of her throat was scratchy and raw, the way she imagined it would be if someone had jammed a burning torch down there. Or spiked her chili with hot sauce.
When she finished hacking, she felt Mike’s eyes on her.
“Are you okay?” His concerned gaze flickered briefly to her neck.
She nodded.
“I still want to take you to the hospital. You should have your neck X-rayed.”
“No.” The word came out sounding harsh and not remotely like her own voice. “I’m staying here.”
“I meant later. Raven’s a strong, healthy dog—and she’s a fighter. Doc Tesch is the best vet in the county. If anyone can get her through this, he can.” He held her gaze a moment longer, and Cassie could swear he wanted to say something else. The reception desk phone rang and Mike answered it.
Unable to sit still, she paced the gray tiled floor. She made three complete circuits of the waiting room, past the reception desk, past the closed green door behind which Raven was fighting for her life.
Mike shoved his free hand into his pocket. A bloodstain stood out like a red beacon on the polo shirt where his wound had once again bled through the white fabric. Cassie wondered if he was in a lot of pain. In the hospital, she’d seen him wince when he’d thought nobody was looking.
“Hold on,” Mike said and leaned over the desk to grab a pen and a pad of paper. “Go ahead.” He began scribbling on the pad.
Cassie knew he’d been waiting to get a name on the hit man. The opportunity to grill the sonofabitch over the contract between the hired assassin and Manici was down the toilet, but maybe his ID could give Dom and Gray something to go on. She’d tried calling them both from another phone in the vet’s office, but their cell phones kicked right over to voicemail. Eventually they’d get the messages and no doubt haul ass up the thruway to secret her away to a safe house, somewhere far, far away from Hopewell Springs.
“Got it.” Mike tore the top sheet of paper off the pad. “Thanks, Jimmy.” He hung up then turned to her. “We’ve got an ID on the hit man.”
Cassie stopped pacing.
“His DL says he’s Ahmed Methopolis from Manhattan. No wants, no warrants. Not even a speeding ticket. A squeaky clean record is consistent with high-priced assassins. They usually want to stay off police radar.” Mike’s forehead creased as he stared at the sheet of paper. “I remember reading an INTERPOL alert years ago about a suspect named Methopolis associated with a group of hired killers. Called themselves the Pyramid, although no law enforcement agency has ever actually proven they exist. Still, there could be a connection.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Cassie grimaced as her throat burned. “Manici will send someone else after me.”
“Who’s Manici?” Mike had come to stand in front of her.
For a moment, Cassie’s mind went blank. She gazed into the eyes of the man she loved more than anything else in the world, wanting nothing more than to throw her arms around him and have him hold her tightly. Sadly, the hard glint in his eyes was all cop.
After a deep inhale, Cassie began her story.
“Manici is the guy who paid for the hit.” No sooner had she said the words than niggling doubt insinuated itself into her mind. “He owns a nightclub, a drug-dealing, white-slavery, go-go bar. I was the bartender and nailed his ass solid on recordings. The hit is to keep me from testifying, so I decided to get lost for a while. I headed north and didn’t stop until I pulled off the highway to eat and landed in Hopewell Springs. That was the day you and I met.”
Never in a million years would Cassie have imagined that fateful meeting would wind up the way it had tonight. Then, Mike’s gaze had been one of a man interested in a woman. Now he was focused solely on police business.
“I don’t get it. Manici puts a hit on you, but the body wire recordings can be introduced in court as evidence whether you’re alive or dead. What makes you so dangerous someone wants you dead?”
“That’s the billion dollar question.” Exhausted beyond belief, Cassie dragged herself to the wooden bench and all but fell onto it. “I suppose Manici could be ignorant of criminal law.”
Mike raised his brows. “He has a lawyer, right?”
“Of course.”
“Then he probably knows, but to play it safe we should assume he doesn’t.” Mike’s boots clumped on the tile floor as he walked to the bench. When she looked up, he towered over her, frowning again.
“Methopolis’ body is being moved to the morgue. We’ll send his photo and prints to the FBI and INTERPOL. We might get a hit, but it could take a day or two.”
Mike paused, and Cassie could practically hear the gears spinning in his head, no doubt planning his next move. “When word gets out about the shooting, Manici will know his contract with Methopolis is null and void. We can try to keep it quiet for a while, buy us some time. But sooner or later Manici will find out and get someone else to fulfill the contract. As long as Manici’s still out there, so is the threat to your life.”
Buy us some time?
Strange how Mike’s
words implied he planned to help her. It had to be out of duty to the town and the people he’d sworn to protect. Much as she wished differently, she was no longer a part of this community and no longer a part of Mike’s life. His personal life, that was.
Heartbreak aside, something still bugged her about the hit. She began tapping her fingers on the wood bench, struggling to get to the source of her niggling doubt.
“What’s on your mind?” Mike asked. “I know you too well, so don’t hold out on me now.”
“Nothing about Manici ever struck me as being vindictively homicidal. True, he’s an asshole and a sleazebag, and he couldn’t care less who he hurts making a buck. But I never figured him for the type to kill anyone outright, let alone hire a professional assassin.”
Mike crossed his arms over his chest. “Desperation drives people to do screwed-up things.”
The tug at the back of her brain refused to let go. “It’s only a hunch, and I don’t have anything to back it up with.”
“Don’t ignore your instinct.” Mike propped his boot on the bench. “Go with it.”
“I don’t know what to go with. It has to be Manici. Who else has a motive to kill me?”
Mike leaned his forearm on his knee. “You tell me.”
Hinges squeaked as Dr. Tesch came through the green door.
Cassie launched from the bench. Mike’s boots sounded on the tile floor as he came to stand beside her. The wiry doctor’s lean face revealed nothing, and she was sure Raven was dead. A knot the size of a grapefruit lodged in her throat.
Dr. Tesch wiped his brow with a paper towel, then gave her a hesitant smile. “I think she’ll make it.”
“Thank God.” Without thinking, Cassie turned and threw her arms around Mike’s neck and pressed her face to his chest. His arms wrapped around her like a warm, steel blanket.
A moment later, Mike stiffened and released her, a stark reminder that he wasn’t there to provide comfort but to make sure she didn’t flee. God, how she wished she could turn back time and do everything differently.
Cassie choked down her tears as she turned away from Mike. Tears of joy over Raven. Tears of pain at knowing things hadn’t changed between her and Mike.