Marked for Murder

by Colleen Helme

  Beal let out a frustrated bellow and brought the knife toward my face. I jerked to the side, and he caught my throat with one hand and squeezed, lifting me from the chair. Panting heavily, he brought the scalpel to my neck, ready to cut my carotid artery and watch me bleed to death.

  “Stop,” I croaked. “I’ll tell you… how… I do it.” I couldn’t get enough air. I struggled to breathe, but he held my throat too tight. “Please. Stop.” Black spots danced before my eyes, and my ears started to ring.

  He released me. I fell back onto the chair and bent forward, gasping in air and coughing. My throat burned, and tears flooded my eyes. He grabbed my ponytail and pulled my head back. With his face inches from mine, he growled. “Start talking.”

  “I can read minds,” I sputtered. “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s the truth.”

  He let me go with disgust. “You can’t be serious.” He let out a dismayed huff. “That’s… that’s not possible.”

  “It’s true.” My chest heaved. “Test me. It’s easy enough to prove.”

  A speculative gleam came into his eyes. He thought that, if I could read minds, it opened a whole new level of scientific study. Maybe even lead to a breakthrough in thought processes. But how did something like this happen?

  “I got shot in the head. That’s how it happened.” His eyes widened, so I told him the story, going into as much detail as possible, hoping to give Ramos enough time to rescue me.

  He listened to each word, fascinated that it was true. It was still hard for him to believe I could read minds, but, because it explained everything so well, he had to believe it. “So is that when you started your own business?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about Manetto? Does he know you can read minds?”

  Should I lie? But how could I keep it from him? All he had to do was start cutting me, and I’d tell him everything he wanted to know. “Yes. He knows my secret.”

  Beal nodded, understanding what a valuable asset I could be to a mob boss. In fact, he might pay a pretty penny to keep me from harm. He was worth millions. A few million to keep me around would hardly be missed. With that much money, Beal could start over. He could even start a new study, with me as his test subject. That meant he’d have to keep unlimited access to me as part of the deal, but he could work that out. And if Manetto didn’t agree, he’d kill me and savor every minute of it.

  His gaze caught mine, and his eyes widened. Had I just heard everything he’d been thinking? “Do you think Manetto will pay a ransom for you?”

  “I sure hope so.”

  Beal chuckled. “Why don’t we ask him?” He plucked his phone from his pocket and scrolled through the numbers until he found Thrasher Development. It rang several times before it went to voicemail. His gaze caught mine. “Why didn’t he answer?”

  “Uh… maybe because it’s Sunday and he’s not there?”

  He scowled. Was I making fun of him? He knew how to get around that. “I think you should call him. Where’s your phone?”

  “Uh… in my purse at the police station.”

  “What about the burner phone I gave you?”

  “The chief has it.”

  Beal didn’t believe me. “Get up.” I didn’t move fast enough, so he jerked me to my feet.

  “All right,” I said, gasping from the pain in my arm. “It’s in my front jeans pocket.” I turned my head and tried not to flinch while he reached into my pocket.

  Pulling it out, he asked, “Do you know his phone number?”

  “I wish I did, but who memorizes numbers these days?”

  Beal let out a frustrated breath and swore in his mind. He believed me this time. So now he needed Manetto’s number. Good thing he’d kept a few files from BioTech in Jason’s condo. It should be in one of them, and he knew right where to look.

  That meant he’d have to leave me here for a few minutes while he found the number and made the call, but it shouldn’t take long. He set the scalpel down on the tray and grabbed my arm. Twisting me around, he unlocked the handcuffs. Leaving one on my wrist, he clipped the other one to the handle on the refrigerator.

  “Stay put. I’ll be back.” He quickly left the room, locking the door behind him.

  I closed my eyes, grateful for the reprieve. I gently rubbed my bruised throat, wishing for a drink of water. If I could unlock the handcuff, I could get out of here. I’d practiced doing that a few times, but I wasn’t very good at it. I searched the room, hoping to see a paperclip or something else I could use.

  The table held salt and pepper shakers, but no paperclips. If I could somehow reach the tray, I might be able to use the scalpel or the needle. Stretching as far as I could, I lifted my leg to reach the tray with my foot. I barely tapped the corner.

  Repositioning my body, I stretched further, pulling hard against my wrist. This time, I managed to catch the lip of the tray with the toe of my shoe. I angled it toward me and it tipped sideways, then fell to the ground with a clatter.

  The syringe rolled across the floor, and the tray landed on top of the scalpel. Damn! I stretched again, but everything was too far away to reach. Exhaling, I glanced at the counter, realizing there were plenty of drawers I could search.

  I riffled through each drawer that I could reach, but all I found was a wooden toothpick. There were a couple of plastic forks, but they wouldn’t help me at all.

  Ugh! I opened the refrigerator. Maybe there was some butter or mayonnaise I could put on my hand that would make it slippery enough to pull out? All I found was a jar of pickles and a box of soda. No butter, no mayo, nothing.

  As I closed the fridge, the knob on the door rattled. It stopped, and I held my breath. The knob turned, and the door slowly opened. I froze, then gasped with relief. “Ramos! You found me.”

  He quickly stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. “There’s no time. Let’s get you out of here.” He rushed to my side, slipping his gun in his waistband to unlock my handcuff. Grabbing his lock set, he took out the one he needed and inserted it into the cuff. A second later, it popped open.

  “Thanks.” I rubbed my swollen wrist.

  Before I could move, the door burst open. Beal rushed inside, firing his gun at Ramos. A bullet hit Ramos, and he staggered back from the impact. Managing to pull his gun from his waistband, Ramos fired two shots at Beal, hitting him in the leg and shoulder.

  Beal let out a yowl and raised his gun to fire at Ramos. Knowing Ramos had been shot, I stepped in front of him. The bullet caught me in the chest, knocking the breath right out of me. Sharp pain sent me crashing backward into Ramos, and he fell, dropping his gun.

  I fell to my side, facing Ramos, and struggled to catch my breath. Fighting to stay conscious, I glanced Ramos’s way. Terror filled my heart. He blinked his eyes, but he couldn’t seem to move. He just lay there helpless, with blood flowing from his chest. Raw panic sent my head spinning.

  Beal approached, dragging his leg. His intent to shoot Ramos washed over me. Gasping for air, I desperately searched for Ramos’s gun.

  Holding his injured arm, Beal slowly lifted his gun to shoot Ramos. My fingers found the gun. Clasping it in my palm, I twisted to my back and fired in Beal’s direction.

  The bullets hit him in the chest, and he staggered back. I fired two more times, frantic to stop him. I kept shooting until there were no bullets left. The gun dropped from Beal’s fingers, and he fell to the ground, unmoving.

  Letting out a cry, I dropped the gun. Turning, I crawled to Ramos. His eyes were shut, and it didn’t look like he was breathing. Hardly aware of my own pain, I leaned over him.

  “Ramos.” He didn’t respond. I pushed to my knees and found the bullet wound in his chest. It looked too close to his heart, robbing me of reason. “Ramos! Don’t you dare die. You can’t die on me.”

  In desperation, I felt for his pulse. It was there, but faint. He was losing too much blood. I placed my hands over the wound to staunch the bleeding and pressed down. “Please, please, please. S
tay with me Ramos. You can’t die. You can’t.”

  Footsteps sounded in the hall. I turned to see Jerry leading the chief toward me. “Jerry! Chief! I need an ambulance, quick. He’s been shot. It’s bad.”

  Chief Winder spoke into his radio. He caught my gaze. “They were on standby so they’re close.” He touched Beal’s neck to find a pulse but felt nothing.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, coming to my side.

  “The vest saved me, but Ramos… there’s so much blood.”

  The chief knelt beside Ramos, thinking it didn’t look good. He glanced around the room for a towel to stanch the bleeding. “Keep pressure on it,” he told me. He stood to get help, then let out a relieved breath. The paramedics came to the door.

  “Hurry!” I called. “He’s barely breathing.”

  They stepped over Beal’s body and knelt beside Ramos. The paramedic moved my hands from Ramos’s wound, quickly replacing them with a gauze pad and pressing down. Another paramedic came to my side and asked me to move so he could get an IV started.

  I shifted out of the way behind Ramos’s head. From the first paramedic, I picked up his thoughts that Ramos was in bad shape. He didn’t expect him to make it. He’d lost too much blood, and the bullet looked close to his heart. If he was going to have a chance, they needed to get him to a hospital fast.

  With the IV started, they loaded Ramos onto a gurney and strapped him in. Quickly rolling him from the room, they began to run, pushing him down the wide hall. I struggled to stand, intending to follow. Sharp pain caught my chest. I gasped, and the pain increased.

  Unable to catch my breath sent panic through me. A soft moan escaped my lips, and the chief grabbed my arm. “Shelby, just breathe. Here. Lay back down. It will help.”

  “But I need to go.”

  “We’ll get you to the hospital. Just relax. Another gurney is on its way.”

  I took shallow breaths to ease the pain, but it made me light-headed and dizzy. Black spots appeared in my vision, and panic filled me, causing tears to spill down the sides of my face.

  “Shelby, it’s me.”

  “Jerry?” I panted.

  “Yeah. I’m here,” he said, taking my hand.” You’re doing great. Try to relax, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “The other paramedics are here. They’ll take you to the hospital. You’re going to be fine.”

  They came to my side, sliding an oxygen mask over my nose and mouth. A few minutes later, they lifted me onto a gurney. As they wheeled me away, the tears continued to spill down the sides of my face and into my hair.

  I couldn’t seem to stop crying. I knew I’d be fine, but what about Ramos? I didn’t want him to die. All the way to the hospital, I prayed for Ramos, pleading for him to live, that, somehow, he’d be strong enough to make it.

  CHAPTER 15

  “Shelby?” I opened my eyes to find a kind woman leaning over me. “How are you feeling? Are you in much pain?”

  “It’s not too bad, it just hurts to breathe.”

  “So none of this blood is yours?” My hands still had Ramos’s blood on them. Taking stock, I noticed blood on my right arm and elbow, with more on my jeans and t-shirt.

  I swallowed. “No, it’s not.”

  “Okay. We’ll get you cleaned up, but first we need to get you out of this Kevlar vest so we can take a look at your chest. Are you up for that?”

  “Sure.”

  “Let’s move you into a sitting position to take it off. We’ll probably need to take your shirt off at the same time so we can see the damage.”

  “Okay.” I moved my legs to the side of the bed and sat up. Sharp pain exploded in my chest, and my breath caught. The nurse quickly pulled the Velcro bindings from the sides of the vest and removed it. Next, I lifted my arms, and she helped pull my t-shirt over my head. I closed my eyes and panted until the pain subsided.

  The nurse’s brows rose at the sight of the huge bruise. “It looks like you got hit in the sternum. Probably cracked it.”

  I glanced down to find my chest covered in a monstrous, black-and-blue bruise that spread outward from the center. “No wonder it hurts. I thought maybe I was having a heart attack.”

  “No doubt,” she agreed. “I think you can leave your bra on for now. But let’s get you in a hospital gown.” She shook out the gown and helped me get it over my shoulders to tie in front. Next, she opened a package of wet, cloth wipes to wash the blood off my hands and arm.

  “There. That’s better. You can lie down if you want, and I’ll send the doctor in.”

  “Wait,” I said. “Do you know how my friend is doing? The one who got shot?”

  Her gaze caught mine, and pity clouded her eyes. She wasn’t supposed to tell me, but what could it hurt? “All I know is that he’s in surgery.”

  “So he’s alive?”

  “Yes.” But, from what she’d heard, she wasn’t sure how long he’d last. “I’ll get the doctor now.” She left, pulling the curtain behind her.

  Paralyzed with fear for Ramos, I could barely think straight. The doctor arrived and quickly examined my bruise. “It looks like you might have a cracked sternum, but we won’t know for sure without an x-ray. I’ll order one up. How’s the pain?”

  “It hurts to breathe.”

  “I’ll get you something for that, too. Let’s prop the bed up to a sitting position so you can lie back. It will take a few minutes before they come get you for the x-ray.”

  After raising the bed, he helped me get settled. Soon, the nurse entered with some pain pills, and I swallowed them down with a glass of water. Several minutes later, she came back with a wheelchair. In a daze, I endured getting the x-ray, without much pain, and realized that the pain pills had kicked in. By the time I got back to my bed, I could even breathe easier.

  A few minutes after the nurse left, she came back in with a smile. Behind her, Chris stepped inside. His anxious gaze gave way to relief. Seeing him brought tears to my eyes. I held out my arms, and he enfolded me in a careful embrace, holding me while I sobbed. Each sob hurt my chest, so I worked hard to get under control.

  “Am I hurting you?”

  “No… well maybe a little, but I don’t care.”

  He pulled away, but held my hands a moment longer. Noticing my runny nose, he found a tissue, and handed it to me. “It sounds like you may have a cracked rib or something.”

  Wiping my nose, I nodded, but could hardly talk through my tears. The curtain parted again, and the doctor walked in. He introduced himself to Chris while I dashed the tears from my cheeks. He explained the results of the x-ray, telling us that my sternum was cracked, and I would need to take it easy for a couple of weeks.

  “We’ll send you home with instructions and some pain medication. I’ll get them ready, and then you can leave.”

  After he left, Chris took my hands again. “I’m glad it wasn’t worse. From what I heard it was a close call.”

  “Oh Chris, it was awful. Beal is dead, and Ramos got shot. It doesn’t look good for Ramos, and I’m so worried. What if he doesn’t make it? It’s my fault.”

  Chris tightened his hold on my hands, wanting to reassure me. “None of this is your fault. Ramos is strong. He’ll pull through.” Even though he wasn’t sure about that, he’d say anything to help me feel better. “Did they give you something for the pain?”

  “Yes. I’m okay. It hurts, but nothing I can’t handle.”

  The nurse came back inside. “It looks like they’re sending you home. Would you like to put your shirt back on? There’s a police officer waiting to talk to you.”

  “Okay.” With Chris’s help, we got my shirt over my head with only a few groans of pain from me. He cringed to see the bruise and swelling, thinking it had to hurt a lot worse than I let on.

  With that done, I sank back on the bed, exhausted from the effort. The nurse left the partitioned room, and Chief Winder came inside. After a quick greeting to Chris, he came to the other side of my bed. “How are you doi
ng?”

  Chris took my hand again, offering his support. “I’ve got a cracked sternum. Other than that, I’m okay.”

  “Ouch. That’s too bad.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “I’m glad I had that Kevlar vest on.”

  “That’s for sure.” He hesitated, then got down to business. “I need to know what happened. Are you up to telling me?”

  “Sure.” Between short breaths, I explained everything, starting from the time Beal held the gun to my neck, and ending with the chief’s arrival. I left out the part about where I confessed to reading minds, only telling him that Beal left to check on something, and Ramos somehow knew where I was and found me.

  “They shot each other. I stepped in front of Ramos and got shot in the chest. With Ramos down, Beal was going to shoot him again. I managed to grab Ramos’s gun, and I shot Beal. I’m the one who killed him.” Just saying it out loud sent shivers down my spine, making me a little light-headed. Had I really killed someone?

  Chris tightened his hold on my hand, and I picked up his shock. It was worse than he’d thought, and gratitude that I hadn’t been killed warred with his anger at what Beal had done. He was glad Beal was dead and only sorry that I’d been the one who’d killed him.

  “It was clearly self-defense,” the chief said, wanting me to know he had my back. “You did well, Shelby. We found the bomb and diffused it because of you. You’re a credit to the police force, and I’d like to thank you for your help today.”

  I nodded, and tears flooded my eyes. The chief patted my arm and continued, “Your friend is still in surgery. I hate to admit it, but he found you without any help from us. We owe him a debt as well. I hope he pulls through.”

  I couldn’t speak, so I nodded again. The chief told me to rest up, and he left the room. The doctor came back in with instructions and a prescription. I barely heard his instructions, counting on Chris to listen for me. All I could think about was Ramos.

  “Ready to go home?” Chris asked.