Line of Fire

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  “Why’s she acting like this?” Huish demanded. “What’s wrong?”

  I lifted my gaze to meet his. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

  “Sorry about what? Make sense, would you, woman?”

  I wasn’t offended, not after what I’d seen. “I’m sorry about Janine. I’m sorry about the cancer coming back and that it hasn’t responded to treatment. You need to tell the boys, though. They need as much time as possible to deal with losing their mother. And Mack, you have to do something about him now. Before it’s too late.”

  The color seeped from Huish’s face. “How did you … you couldn’t know … we haven’t told anyone. We’ve been going to Portland for her treatments.”

  I nodded. “Until last week, when you stopped.”

  “How could you … ?” Commander Huish looked around as though trying to find someone to blame. “Have you been snooping into my personal life?”

  “No, it was this.” Shannon set the photograph back on Huish’s desk. “It was imprinted on the frame. Believe me, commander, we have no interest in your personal life unless it affects the case.”

  He was wrong. I cared. I was sorry for Janine, for Huish, and for their boys. It was all so senseless.

  Huish reached for the photograph. “You’re right,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. “My wife is dying, but no one except us and her doctors know yet. And her sister. When we took that photo, we hoped for good news, but she’d been having headaches. She suspected.” He sighed and punched the intercom. “Stacy, I need you to give the Vandykes a call. Tell them I need to see them right away.” To me, he added, “We’ll make sure to check out the first husband more thoroughly, but for now you can read what little we have on him in the file. I’m afraid it’s not much more than I’ve already told you.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “You’d better be right about this.”

  I knew I was right, and that meant the suspect pool had widened. Besides, if Jenny’s biological father was involved, she might still be alive.

  A tap came on the door, and Huish, his rigid control reestablished, barked, “Come in!”

  Greeley entered, an angry expression on his disagreeable face. “It’s not there.”

  Huish’s eyes narrowed. “What’s not there?”

  “The boot. It’s missing from the evidence locker.”

  Huish stood. “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, who took it?”

  Greeley’s face flushed. “Levine is tracking down the last person to sign it out, but we don’t know yet.”

  “Find out,” growled Huish. “I want it on my desk within the hour.”

  “Yes, commander.” Greeley backed out the door, casting an accusing stare at us. In any other situation I would have laughed, but this could mean the difference in whether or not we’d find Jenny.

  “Oh, and Greeley,” Huish said before the door closed, “any sign of Beckett?”

  “Not yet. But we’ll find him.”

  “We’d better.” Huish’s jaw worked.

  “What about the computer?” I asked.

  “The FBI has it. I already sent someone to get it.” Greeley nodded at Huish and let the door close.

  Shannon took out his card and passed it to the commander. “Here’s my number. We’ll wait to hear from you about the Vandykes. Meanwhile, we’ll grab some lunch and go over this.” He tapped the file tucked under his arm.

  At Shannon’s words, my stomach growled. We’d left Portland in the morning, grabbing breakfast and eating it on the drive here, but that had been hours ago and I was starving. Problem was, I was particular about my food, and with all that was going on, taking time to find a decent organic restaurant couldn’t be high on my list of priorities.

  We were all the way to the door when Huish said, “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t say anything about my wife’s condition.”

  I inclined my head. “Of course not.”

  I walked in silence to Shannon’s truck, contemplating our next move. I didn’t know where Cody was, so talking to him was out, and with the evidence unavailable, Jenny’s parents not yet here, and Jenny’s file in our possession, there was nothing holding us to the sheriff’s office for the time being.

  I only hoped the missing boot didn’t mean a bad cop or a leak in the department. If it did, we’d probably never find Jenny and Cody would likely go to jail whether he was guilty or not.

  Chapter 6

  Now what?” Shannon asked, opening my door for me.

  “The hospital. If we’re investigating Cody, we need to find out what that man was doing at his house. Since we’re already here in Salem, we might as well stop by.”

  Shannon gave me a crooked grin. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  “Oh? I was hoping you’d insist on finding a good restaurant.”

  He laughed. “This isn’t Portland with all its weirdos.”

  “Are you calling me weird?”

  He stepped away from the door, but instead of going around the truck, he reached in the back and brought out a small cooler from under a tarp. “Maybe I am, but I came prepared.” He set the cooler on my lap and shut the door. I opened it, almost weepy to see two whole wheat turkey clubs from Smokey’s, the organic restaurant across from my antiques shop. No, not two but three sandwiches.

  “Two for you,” Shannon said with a grin. “But we’ll have to find a place for dinner later. Maybe Commander Huish can help us find something.”

  I’d nearly been shot, had read disturbing imprints, and suspected my biological father was hiding something serious, but suddenly the day was perfect. It always was with Smokey’s.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Shannon shook his head. “It was for my own protection. I know what you’re like when you’re hungry.”

  “You’re no picnic yourself.” I busied myself with a sandwich, not wanting him to see how much I wanted to believe he knew me that well. But I wondered, come summer when I was stomping around barefooted again, if his feelings for me would last. Did I care? I mean, women changed boyfriends all the time. Maybe I wasn’t even ready to settle down. I’d thought I’d been ready with Jake, but my surprising feelings for Shannon had destroyed that notion. Maybe I was better at solving cases than maintaining a relationship.

  Sighing internally, I opened Jenny’s file with my free hand and began reading.

  Shannon ate in silence while he drove, doing both with such finesse that I knew he’d done it many times.

  “Listen to this,” I said. “One of Jenny’s friends says that Jenny was tired of her mom treating her like a baby. That’s a motive for running away.”

  “Do any other friends corroborate the idea?”

  “No. But she might have been closer to that girl.”

  Shannon shook his head. “We might have to talk to her.”

  I’d read half the file, eaten my first club, and made a good start into the second before we arrived at the hospital and entered their underground parking garage. I chugged down one of the drinks I’d bought at the gas station after the shooting and reluctantly tucked the remains of my second sandwich back into the cooler.

  “He could be still in surgery,” Shannon said before eating the last bite of his food.

  I started for the elevator. “If he’s awake, are they even going to let us talk to him?”

  “Depends on how organized the sheriff’s office is and what orders they’ve given to the hospital. My badge might be enough, but if we have trouble, we’ll have to call Huish.”

  “Hey, it’s you.”

  We looked to see Kirt, the clerk from the gas station, emerging from the elevator. He held hands with a pretty brown-haired woman, his right arm in a sling. Under his coat, I glimpsed a fresh change of clothes. His narrow face was relaxed, and the slightly unsteady way he walked told me he was under some heavy painkillers.

  “These are the people who saved my life,” Kirt said. To us he added, “This is Diana, my fianc�
�e.”

  “Thank you so much,” she gushed, her heart-shaped face coming alive. “I don’t know what I’d do without Kirt. He’s my whole life.”

  He smiled at her with a mildly patronizing expression, his profile stirring some memory in me I couldn’t pinpoint. Probably something from when he’d been shot at the gas station.

  “Well, thanks again,” Kirt said.

  Shannon nodded. “No problem.” We stepped onto the elevator.

  In the end, our stabbing victim was out of surgery, and Shannon’s badge was enough to get us in to see him, but the man still hadn’t awakened. “He might be in a coma,” Lisa at the ICU desk told us. She was a grave woman with a narrow face and brown hair that was just beginning to go gray, and she spoke with the clipped tone of the very busy. “He really should be awake by now. All but one of the wounds were not severe and that one didn’t take long to fix, but he’d lost a lot of blood before he got here. They gave him two pints in the ambulance and three more before and during surgery. We’ll have to wait and see if he wakes at all. Poor thing. We don’t even have a name for him.”

  “There wasn’t that much blood at Cody’s place,” I said in an undertone to Shannon. “The attack definitely didn’t happen there.”

  “The deputies will realize that soon, if they haven’t already.”

  Down the hall, a bored-looking man in blue overalls was dragging a mop halfheartedly over the floor. He looked away when I met his gaze.

  Raising his voice, Shannon spoke to the nurse. “What about his clothing? And any belongings? Do you have those?”

  “The clothes were removed or cut off during surgery. The sheriff’s office asked us to save them. I believe they’re sending someone to pick up the bag.” She leaned forward and said confidentially. “My coworker’s cousin works for the sheriff’s office, and he told her they’re in an uproar there. So much going on. They might have forgotten about it.” Her brow furrowed. “Oh, wait. I bet that’s why you’re here—to get the clothes. Come on, I’ll show you where they are. We’ve locked them in a cupboard in his room.” She glanced at a monitor. “Looks like a nurse is with him now. He’s probably due to receive his next round of medication, but after we get his belongings, we can check to see if he’s showing any signs of waking.”

  She motioned us to follow her down the hall that circled around the main desk. Rooms faced onto the hall, the walls and doors made of glass, with curtains for privacy. Our stabbing victim’s room was only four doors down, just around the bend from the desk, and I wondered if that meant he was still critical. His curtains were pulled, obscuring our view.

  The male nurse turned as we passed through the curtains, a needle in his hand. Lisa headed for the cupboard near the wall. “Does he look close to waking?” she asked. “This officer needs to question him.” She unlocked the cupboard door and removed a large, clear plastic bag.

  “I don’t believe so.” The nurse had longish black hair and broad shoulders that barely fit inside his green scrubs. He turned back to the patient, but he fumbled as he neared the arm of the unconscious man. His needle dropped to the ground and rolled under the bed.

  “Why aren’t you giving it to him in the IV?” Lisa asked.

  The nurse shrugged. “Doctor’s orders.”

  I didn’t like the way the man wouldn’t meet our gaze. “I’ll get it.” I dived under the bed and retrieved the needle. I didn’t make it to my feet before the imprint came.

  Hurry, quick, give him the drug. He wouldn’t be able to tell the police anything. Too bad it had to end this way. He’d been a good man but squeamish in the end. After all, money was money. It didn’t matter if it was drugs or other cargo you had to move, if the price was right. He should have learned that by now. Had to do my job. Nice little bonus in it for me. Maybe when this was all over I’d take a vacation.

  I staggered to my feet knowing the imprint was going to repeat, and I didn’t want to experience again the disjointed reasoning of a man who was obviously a paid killer. No time to alert Shannon to pull his gun, but close combat was my department anyway. I could handle it.

  “Here.” I lifted the needle, but instead of placing it into the nurse’s outstretched hand, I plunged it deep into his arm. I didn’t intend to push in the medication, but this at least would keep him from murdering the man in the bed.

  “What are you—” Lisa began.

  The intruder pulled out the needle and dived toward the bed. I kicked his leg to stop him, my blow landing on his knee. His next lunge was at me. I threw a jab and tried to spin out of the way, but he was faster than I’d anticipated for his bulk. He threw his arm around my neck, dragging my body to him, using me as a shield.

  “Step away from her.” Shannon had his gun out, pointing it at the man.

  “I don’t think so. She’s my ticket out of here.” The man glanced at the needle that had fallen again, obviously weighing the odds of completing his mission. If he tried, I’d give him an elbow and kick his knee again. I trained several times a week with people a lot better at tae kwon do than I was, and though he had the advantage of weight and reach, I was faster and strong for my size. I wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating him again.

  His grip on my neck tightened for an instant as he arched his body, pulling something from under his shirt. The hard feel of a barrel against my back told me what it was.

  “Give her that sack and move away from the door,” he ordered. “Or I’ll shoot.”

  Lisa looked at Shannon, who nodded calmly. With faltering steps, she came toward me, shoving the bag of bloodied clothes into my arms before skittering to the other side of the bed. Shannon edged slowly away from the door, his head moving back and forth slowly. I didn’t know what he was trying to convey, but I knew if I left this room with the gunman, I probably wouldn’t live to see Shannon or my sister again.

  “Don’t even think about shooting him,” Shannon said as my captor’s gaze went to the bed. “Or rather, go ahead. It will give me the perfect opening to shoot you.”

  “Put down your gun, or I’ll kill her.”

  “No. If you do shoot her, you won’t make it out of here alive.”

  I knew Shannon was making the best choice he could. If he put down his gun, the man in the bed was dead—and probably Lisa, Shannon, and me into the bargain. This man had come here with murder in mind, and unlike at the gas station where Shannon had put down his gun in the hope of negotiation, there would be none here, and I didn’t have a gun to back him up. Neither was I free to throw something, as I had then. Still, it was odd hearing Shannon talk so calmly about the man shooting me.

  With a grunt of frustration, the gunman started toward the door, dragging me with him, keeping his body lowered and behind mine. I wanted to struggle, but my training made me wait for the right opportunity. At least he was moving with difficulty, after my blow to his knee.

  I went over and over it in my head. I had to hurt him enough that I could be free to drop to the ground, giving Shannon a clear shot. I didn’t think the man would shoot me before he’d cleared the door and maybe the ICU altogether, but I could be wrong.

  The opportunity came when he pulled me through the curtain and reached for the door.

  Dropping the bag of clothes, I struck. Elbow to stomach, foot to knee.

  “Ow!” He struggled to hold me, but I gained enough purchase to worm free. He brought up the gun. My stomach dropped. Thankfully my next kick landed on his arm, and though he maintained his hold on the gun, it was no longer in position to shoot me. By that time Shannon was through the curtain, ready to fire.

  The gunman leapt for the door, clearing it as he let off a wild shot. Determined to keep hold of the evidence, I swooped up the bag of clothes and hurried after him, only to dive behind a cart in the hallway as another volley of shots followed. More shots than from just one gun, though behind me Shannon wasn’t shooting. All around us people screamed and darted for cover.

  I spied the man who’d been cleaning the floor
running toward our perp, who hobbled on his hurt knee. He also carried a gun. They rounded the bend near the desk, the fake janitor supporting his friend. Shannon and I ran after them. More shots at the entrance of the ICU, but by the time we’d reached the doors, they’d vanished.

  “In there,” said a security man sprawled on the ground, holding his hand over a wound on his leg, pain etched on his face. “The stairs.”

  We followed. Sure enough, we heard pounding on the steps, though they were already out of sight. We vaulted after them, taking multiple stairs at once, Shannon slightly ahead. We heard a scream below and a voice shouting for someone to hurry. Then everything fell quiet.

  We reached the lowest floor and slammed through the door into the parking garage. A couple, an older man pushing a woman in a wheelchair, and a young mother with a baby on her hip gaped at us.

  “Police,” Shannon shouted. “Which way did they go?”

  The young mother dragged her gaze from his gun. “That way.”

  The elevator arrived and with a frightened glance at me, the young mother jumped inside, followed quickly by the others.

  “Stay here,” Shannon said to me. A good idea, one I actually would have agreed to if a gray van hadn’t come careening from the opposite way our gunmen had gone, screeching to a stop not ten yards away.

  “Move!” Shannon ordered, grabbing my hand and not giving me a choice.

  As several men piled from the van, we ducked behind a row of cars, hunched over and still running. The bullets began flying, one ricocheting much too close to my head for comfort. Shannon fired over his shoulder, miraculously hitting one of the men.

  More shots, this time from the other direction. My heart sank. The gunmen we’d followed from inside the hospital were coming back, obviously planning to meet up with their associates for a clean getaway.

  Shannon fired in their direction, and I was pleased to see two shadows disappear behind some cars. If only we could keep them there until the police arrived. Someone must have called them by now. Shannon aimed more shots at the guys from the van, who’d now taken refuge behind more parked cars.