Donnell Ann Bell

by Donnell Ann Bell

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  Mel walked with Drake across the sparsely populated parking lot like she was trudging through swampland. The majority of cars utilized the drive-thru, thank God, but there were always the few who preferred to go inside, and, of course, the bank employees.

  Her mind raced for options. If she did as Drake wanted and approached the teller, she faced prison. There was no way, with her record and her history with Drake, that an ambitious prosecutor wouldn’t convince a judge and jury she’d been in on the robbery all along. She pictured a smug Bruce Bennett grandstanding before the jury, and her heart seized.

  Luke.

  He’d end up with his grandparents after all. She gripped the pen in her sleeve and willed her kidnapper to make a careless mistake. But he’d moved a good two feet away from her as they approached the bank. Not only did Drake have a loaded gun tucked inside his belt, he possessed superior strength. To carry out her plan, she needed the element of surprise, she needed the luck that had deserted her for the last twenty-four hours, and, unfortunately, she needed the scum of the earth close by.

  Her gaze traveled the lot. Perhaps if she made a break for it. Could she get behind one of the distant vehicles, hide until help came? No. She’d be dead with a bullet in her back before she got ten feet.

  Joe. Where was he? Was he frantic? Looking for her? Mel squeezed her eyes shut, dismissing the useless questions. Joe couldn’t help her now.

  Drake and Ramirez had planned their strategy well. They’d parked away from other vehicles, so once Drake and Mel left the bank with the money, Ramirez would hit the gas and they’d make a quick escape. She wasn’t under any illusion they would let her live if she went along with their plans. Though she’d said she’d go with Drake, he hated her too much to let that happen. After she robbed the bank, he would either leave her for the cops or murder her on the spot.

  Sweat beaded her forehead. She forced her breathing to even. She wasn’t against praying, and was doing it nonstop anyway, but right now, she had to help herself.

  A maroon minivan drove into the parking lot, and though Mel silently intoned the driver to keep going, he pulled into a slot a few spaces down from where Ramirez sat ready to make his getaway.

  “Keep walking,” Drake said. “Just what we need for you to do this job. Another customer.”

  But the driver wasn’t a he. She was a woman. A young blonde, who hopped out of the van and slid open the passenger door. A toddler’s wails filled the parking lot, and the woman’s frustration became evident. “All right, Vanessa, Mommy’s coming.” Her shoulders sagged. “Jeremy, honey, where’s your shoe?” Clearly, the young mom had her hands full.

  Noting Drake’s sardonic interest in the scene, Mel increased her pace. The woman had no idea that the longer she took to care for her fretting children, the longer she might stay alive. A shoe flew out of the van and landed a few feet from Drake. Catching Mel’s stunned reaction, he stopped, lowered his sunglasses and flashed her a wink. Then ambling to where it lay, he picked up the toddler’s sneaker.

  “Drake, no.” Her heart began a staccato drumming. She’d seen this look before. The early dawn morning he’d walked into a convenience store and made small talk with the clerk he’d later tried to kill. She hadn’t recognized it then, but she did now. Drake enjoyed killing. If Mel didn’t do exactly what he said, these people would die.

  “Excuse me,” he said, as he walked toward the hapless young woman. “Looks like your little man dropped this.”

  With her back to Drake, the woman stiffened. Most assuredly, the nearness of a stranger while she wrestled a child out of a car seat brought out her need to protect. But as she turned, took one look at Drake’s handsome façade and her child’s belonging in his hand, she, like so many others, failed to recognize the danger.

  “Oh, jeeze, Jeremy. I’m sorry, sir.” She took the shoe from Drake and started to go about her business.

  “Need some help?”

  Mel wanted to scream. What the hell was he doing? She glanced over her shoulder to where Ramirez sat waiting in the idling Jeep. He seemed equally confused and outraged over his partner’s actions and pounded the steering wheel.

  “If you don’t mind, I could really use the stroller in the back.” The woman unlocked the rear door with her access key. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t overdrawn.”

  Drake presented her with his most charming smile. Raising his eyebrows at Mel, he said, “Not us. We’re here to make a withdrawal.”

  The bastard. He was already at work setting up Mel as his accomplice. By including her in his conversation, though, it provided her with a chance to intervene. “Yes, dear, but if we don’t hurry, we’ll face charges.”

  Drake pulled the stroller out of the rear compartment and set it up. The mom, who was settling both toddlers into their seats, shot Mel a less than approving look.

  “My wife,” he explained as they crossed the parking lot. “She only thinks of herself.”

  Watching Mel carefully, he held the bank door open for the blonde as she negotiated the children in their double stroller inside. But before Mel could move past him, he grabbed her arm. She stifled a gasp. This was the first time he’d come close enough, but his manacle-like grip held her immobile.

  His restless gaze darted around the lobby. “Those brats, Melanie? They’ll go first. I swear it. Just like we discussed. Walk up to the teller, show her the gun. Any funny business, I blow these people away.”

  As the young mother pushed her treasured cargo toward the patrons in line, Mel knew how a convict felt when his time was up on Death Row. Her steps hesitant, she scanned the customers at the teller windows. From the familiar, friendly faces behind them, to the loan officers behind glass-walled partitions, to the chatty customer-service representative at a nearby desk, whom did she select to place even at greater risk?

  Fresh bouquets sat on various counters and desks, emitting their floral scents, a direct contradiction to Mel’s unwashed body since being Drake’s prisoner.

  To keep these people alive, he left her no choice. She would have to rob the bank. Her shoulders slumped from the weight of her concern.

  Luke. Would he ever forgive her?

  Joe. Would he think he’d been right in the first place?

  A silver-haired woman in bifocals left her office concentrating on paperwork. Just for a second she focused on Mel, and in that instant, she mouthed the word, “Help.”

  The employee’s gaze seemed to narrow beneath the glasses, but in the next moment she resumed perusing the forms. Had she gotten the message?

  “Go,” Drake said. He let go of her arm and gave Mel a small push.

  “I can’t do this,” she murmured when they’d walked farther into the lobby.

  “Have it your way, babe.” His hand traveled toward the gun stashed in his belt and hidden by his sports coat.

  Mel had no doubt he would fulfill the threat. He might even be hoping she’d refuse so he could let loose his need to kill. But for the first time she was free, and at the same time close enough to Drake to take her one and only shot at escaping this nightmare. She yanked the pen from her sleeve.

  Reverting back fifteen years, she relived her fear of the trucker, the female convicts holding her down, and fast forwarded to the last terrifying twenty-four hours.

  Aided by the strength of these memories, she attacked. Jabbing the bastard’s neck with the pointed end of the pen, Mel screamed, “Get down, get down, get down!”

  Children cried, customers scrambled, bank employees hit the ground.

  And as sirens blared from the outside, Drake went for his gun. But before he could fire, Mel tugged the unloaded weapon from inside her windbreaker, and slammed the butt against his cheekbone.

  Then from out of nowhere the silver-haired lady appeared. Carrying one of the bank’s massi
ve ledgers, she formed a batter-like stance and struck Drake in the back of the head.

  The bastard went down, losing control of the gun.

  His dive to retrieve it had Mel sliding across the marble floor to beat him to it.

  Feat accomplished, she jumped to her feet, raised the gun and aimed it at him.

  At that moment, Joe and another police officer burst through the doors, weapons drawn.

  Mel glared at the man on the floor. The pain in her jaw was nothing compared to her time in prison, the years she’d spent living a lie, or the fear for her son. She tightened her grip, loving the feel of her finger on the trigger and finally having the upper hand on her enemy.

  Vaguely aware of Joe coming near, but trapped in a fugue of then and now, she kept the gun pointed directly at Drake’s face. He lay writhing; calling her every vile name that came to his lips.

  The gun shook in her hand, but she never altered her target.

  “Don’t do it, Mel.”

  Anger replaced the fear she’d underwent just moments before. She itched to pull the trigger. It would be so easy, so warranted. She ground her teeth. The urge to kill Drake Maxwell was as prevalent as her need for air. She could do it. Rid the world of the menace, and for her trouble, a jury of her peers would send her back to prison.

  “Mel.”

  She raised her gaze to find that Joe and the cop beside him had their weapons trained on her.

  She’d given Joe her heart, and although his panicked expression belied his actions, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “He hurt me, Joe. He would’ve hurt Luke.”

  Joe lowered the firearm to his side and took a small step forward. Holding his free hand out to her, he kept his voice soft. “Baby, I know. I know. But it’s over. Put down the gun.”

  Her stomach rolled. “Kind of like old times, isn’t it, Officer Crandall? If I run...”

  “I’ll chase you. Melanie, I’ll have to. Baby, I love you. Please. We’ve got lots of innocent people in here. What do you say? Put down the gun.”

  The oxygen seeped from her lungs. Mel searched Joe’s face to find him in agony. As much as she detested Drake Maxwell, she loved Joe Crandall more. Tears filled her eyes. Seduced by his words, and utterly exhausted, she allowed the gun to slip from her fingers.

  It fell to the floor at the same time Drake pulled a Derringer from an ankle holster and got off a shot. A new contingent of screaming and panic erupted. The rest swirled around her in slow motion. Mel collapsed as Joe fired. The last thing she saw before everything went black was Joe’s bullet’s objective. It hit her nemesis squarely between the eyes.

  Chapter Fifty-eight

  The morning after the shooting, Mel sat up in her hospital bed, her injured arm bandaged and in a sling. She tried not to frown as yet another nurse came in to take her blood pressure. “Excuse me,” Mel said. “Can you tell me when the doctor will be by? It’s been three days since I’ve seen my son, and I want to go home.”

  The nurse patted her arm. “You’re not the doctor’s only patient, dear. Try to relax and I’ll give him a call.”

  Mel looked to the ceiling and blew out a frustrated breath.

  “She’s right, Mom,” the young man said in the doorway. “You need to chillax.”

  Mel squealed and held out her good arm. “Luke! Oh my God. Luke!” Her son crossed the room and she crushed him in her one-armed embrace. For days she’d been crying tears of sorrow, today she shed happy ones. Brushing the blond hair out of his eyes, she studied the endearing face she thought she might never see again. “I was so worried about you.”

  “You were? What do you think you did to me? You made the papers, Mom. The kids at school are calling you an Amazon warrior. They think it’s pretty sweet you brought down an ex-con as bad as Maxwell.”

  She blushed at her son’s praise, but wasn’t about to take all the credit. “Actually Lt. Crandall had something to do with it, and so did the bank manager.” Dorothy Hayward, the woman who’d used the bank ledger to bring Maxwell’s rampage to a halt, had paid Mel a visit earlier that morning. Mel’s silent plea for help had gotten Dorothy’s attention, and it was then that she said she’d recognized the vulgar man who’d pretended to be a potential bank customer the day before.

  “I would’ve done much, much more to keep you safe,” Mel said.

  It was Luke’s turn to turn red. “Hope you don’t mind, but I brought company.”

  Supporting herself with her good arm, she shifted awkwardly. Joe and Matt stood in the outside hall. She smiled and waved them inside.

  Matt entered the room, bobbing his head like the proverbial cool cat. “Somebody must have connections. Check out all these flowers.”

  “You think?” Mel laughed. Her boss had spared no expense to fill the hospital room with exquisite arrangements. Lenora Sims had sent her a bouquet, too.

  Across the room, Luke rifled through all the well wishes and zoned in on a box of chocolate. “Crandall, get over here.”

  Joe used the boys’ distraction to join her in a chair by the bed. “How’s the arm?”

  “It looks pretty awful, but they tell me it’s just a flesh wound, and I’ll be fine.” She winked. “Want to see?”

  “No. I faint at the sight of blood. Especially yours.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. Then turning it, he kissed her palm. “I thought I’d go out of my mind, Mel.”

  She squeezed his hand. “Did I thank you, Joe? When I think of everything I stood to lose, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay you.”

  He rose from the chair, scooted next to her and pulled her into his arms. “No problem. I’ve already come up with the terms. You’re not leaving my bed for weeks.”

  She looked toward the boys and sent Joe a censuring look.

  As much as she’d tried to banish the memories of the last two days, they surfaced. “That man named Ramirez?” she asked. The moment he’d heard sirens, the gang leader had fled the scene.

  “He’s in custody. The Sheriff’s office provided backup and cornered him a few miles from the bank. He made a critical mistake in bragging to you about killing one of his gang members. We’ve located Ernesto Sanchez’s body. Ramirez will be going away for a very long time.”

  Sagging with relief, she breathed deeply and closed her eyes. Drake Maxwell was dead; Ramirez was going back to prison. That’s all she needed to know. “Good. Can we talk about something else then, please?”

  “Love to. Let’s talk about us.”

  Us. The word conjured up all the longing and dread she’d been avoiding in recent weeks. She emitted a bitter, humorless laugh. “As much as I’m grateful you kept me and my son alive, Lieutenant, I’m afraid there’s still no us.”

  “I don’t agree,” Joe said.

  A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Bruce Bennett stood in the doorway. At the D.A.’s presence, Mel yanked her hand out of Joe’s. She stiffened, expecting him to move away as well. When he remained steadfast by her side, the logical part of her brain cried your career, while the part that was in love, rejoiced.

  “May I come in?” the prosecutor asked. In his left hand he carried a briefcase.

  She looked to the boys. There was no way she would rehash the events of her kidnapping in front of them, or let Bennett insinuate she was a criminal in front of her son. Luke had been through enough. “This isn’t a good time, Mr. Bennett.” She lowered her voice and lifted an eyebrow. “Do I need a lawyer? I’m not seventeen anymore, and I promise you, he won’t be a public defender.”

  Luke and Matt paused in their chocolate raid across the room.

  “No. You don’t need a criminal lawyer, but perhaps a civil one to see to certain aspects taking place. Also, when you’re ready, Mrs. Norris, the police department and the district attorney’s office have a little gift we’d l
ike to bestow on you.”

  “Really?” Luke tossed a piece of chocolate back into the box, and wandered close to her bedside. “Mom, talk to the man.”

  She eyed Joe warily, then refocused on Bennett. “What kind of civil aspect? Is someone suing me? And what could you possibly mean about a gift?”

  “It’s a plaque actually,” the D.A. said. He opened the briefcase to remove a framed award. “It reads, ‘In grateful appreciation, the City of Colorado Springs acknowledges Melanie Norris for her part in the apprehension of the Chaos Bandits.’ Signed The Honorable Sanderson Carter, Mayor, Arthur Gallegos, Chief of Police and Bruce Bennett, El Paso County District Attorney.”

  She couldn’t be hearing right. Stunned, she reached for the plaque, blinking away the

  tears that blurred her vision. But it was true, signatures and all. Wondering if one could die of happiness, she ran a finger over the lettering. “Wow. Oh, wow.”

  Joe kissed her forehead and tightened his hold.

  “One more thing,” the D.A. went on. “The CSPD thought of one more way it might show its gratitude.” He removed a manila envelope and handed it to her.

  “I can’t look.” Overwhelmed, she passed it to Joe.

  He opened it and inspected the pages. In a husky voice, he said, “It’s a petition, Mel, containing a boatload of signatures by quite a few men and women on the force.”

  “A petition? To whom?”

  “The governor.” His Adam’s apple convulsed as he struggled to speak. “It’s a request to expunge your criminal conviction.”

  The culmination of the past few days and that remarkable act of kindness renewed the water works. She stifled a sob. Expunge? It was more than she’d ever dreamt of. “You’re serious?”

  “Absolutely,” Bruce said, pointing. “As a matter of fact, if you’ll look here, the signatures include not only the police department, but the employees of the Department of Corrections. Notice the first signature.

  She leaned over to view the papers in Joe’s hands. At Warden Simon River’s influential scrawl, she knew their friendship was intact and her heart overflowed.