“Well, that’s not usually my kind of thing, but I’ve been known to make exceptions before.” His tongue flicked out and licked her ear. Jill flinched. The gun pressed harder into her neck. Hate surged through her. Hate made her strong.
“It’s not her you want,” Alex said, interrupting Honeywell’s foreplay, studying his adversary through narrowed eyes.
“Well, ain’t that sweet?” Honeywell drawled. “Detective Alex Shannon to the rescue. But let’s be honest, Alex. Your girl here has done some very bad things. I might actually be doing you a favor by getting rid of her.”
Honeywell’s weight shifted behind Jill as he repositioned the gun. The tip now pressed squarely into the soft flesh underneath her jaw. Her breath caught. She pushed the sparks of fear back and focused on her hate. She scanned the countertop looking for something she could use as a weapon, something she could use to distract Honeywell.
Where the hell was Molly?
“How did you get in here?” Jill asked through gritted teeth. “The house is being watched.”
Jill thought about the squad car Captain Lewis had posted outside their house after Jackson’s attack. She’d cut through the backyard to avoid being seen.
“Oh, you mean the police officers your husband was kind enough to dismiss when he got home? Made my job a hell of a lot easier, I have to say. Duke was planning to take care of them. But turns out, Alex saved us the trouble. I suppose he didn’t want any witnesses for your little showdown. Am I right, Alex?”
“Where’s Duke now?” Alex asked.
“I’m right here.”
Duke materialized from the shadow of the darkened doorway. The silver hoops in his ears glinted in the dim light. His flat blue eyes met hers and Jill pulled in a sharp breath.
“Duke here took care of your dog. She was kicking up quite a fuss. Wouldn’t do to disturb the neighbors.”
Alex flinched, and Jill saw a flicker of pain spasm across his face. In an instant, it was gone.
“How’s your partner?” Duke asked. His lips spread wide in a junk-yard-dog grin. “He wasn’t looking so good last time I saw him.”
Alex’s jaw clenched tight as his gaze shifted toward Duke. The same hate she felt was reflected in Alex’s cold stare. Jill lunged, pushing off Honeywell, hoping to catch him off guard. But he was too strong. He held her pinned tight against him. The gun dug painfully into her flesh.
“Jill.” Alex shook his head. A warning.
“Try it again, bitch. I’m fucking begging you,” Honeywell breathed into her ear.
Jill heard a rumble coming from the table. Alex’s cell phone shimmied across the surface. The ringer was off, and it was set to vibrate.
Did she hear sirens? Impossible. Wishful thinking on her part. But then she caught Honeywell’s reflection in the window. His attention shifted to the cell phone. His grip loosened a fraction, and Jill knew this was her only chance. She slammed the heel of her foot down hard on Honeywell’s instep.
Honeywell gasped and she pushed off hard, sinking an elbow solidly into his gut. Leaping forward, she broke free of his grasp and stumbled toward Alex. In one fluid motion, Alex grabbed her shirt and shoved her back behind him. She fell, hurtling toward the backdoor. He reached for the gun he had tucked behind his back. Her gun.
The crack of gunfire rang in Jill’s ears as Alex crumpled to the floor, inches from where she lay on her side. She smelled the acrid stench of cordite and blood. Looking up, Jill saw a red stain bloom on the front of Honeywell’s shirt as he fell.
Honeywell’s gun clanged to the floor, and without hesitation Jill grabbed it and leveled it at Duke. She pulled the trigger and emptied the clip into Duke’s broad chest. Duke’s head hit the floor with a sickening crack. The swelling pool of blood assured Jill he was dead.
She heard the sirens draw closer. Jill scrambled toward Alex, palms firmly planted over the wound in his chest. She tried desperately to stem the flow of blood. She moved one hand to Alex’s throat. She felt a pulse, weak, but there. Blood seeped from beneath his body, soaking her bent knees as she crouched over him.
“Stay with me, Alex. Help is almost here,” she whispered in the darkened room. “Stay with me.”
55
Sunlight warmed Jill’s back as she stretched a long strip of packing tape across the flaps of the cardboard box, sealing it closed. Gently placing the tape gun at her feet, she picked the box up and set it on top of the shortest stack lining the garage wall.
Molly groaned softly. She lay, half propped against the line of boxes, head resting on the asphalt. The fur around the wound in her shoulder had mostly grown back. Jill could still see the four-inch crescent shaped scar where Duke’s bullet had wounded the dog. Molly didn’t run anymore, but she got around reasonably well.
Cool wind ruffled Jill’s hair, bringing with it the floral scent of the fruit trees now in bloom. She would miss this, these rare Seattle days in early spring when the rains had passed and the air carried the freshness of the season.
The crunch of footsteps on gravel perked Molly’s ears. Jill turned. Jackson lumbered down the driveway toward her. The smile that settled across his wide lips was subdued. His gait was slow, each step proof enough that there were still some lingering effects from the shooting.
“You’re looking a little the worse for wear,” she said, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun.
Jill smiled. She would miss the deep, velvety warmth of his voice. Jackson reached for her, enveloping her in the gentlest of bear hugs. She closed her eyes. Good-byes weren’t her strong suit, and she’d said too many of them already. The lump in her throat dissipated, and she stepped out of the protective circle of his arms.
“You look like you’re making good progress.” Jackson nodded toward the boxes littering a third of the open space. Molly struggled to her feet and ambled toward Jackson. Her tail wagged low around her hindquarters. Jackson bent to scratch her behind the ears. Molly’s tail swung in lazy arcs.
“Getting close.”
“Sure I can’t help you with this?”
She appreciated Jackson’s loyalty. In the months since Alex’s funeral, he had dropped in to check on her regularly, while everyone else had silently dropped away. Molly plunked down on the concrete beside Jackson, her bulk wedged against his leg.
“I don’t think your doctor would approve.”
“What he doesn’t know won’t fucking hurt him.”
“Superman. Right. I forgot.” Jill wagged her head. Having survived a vicious attack, here he was older and wiser, but still larger than life.
As the laughter settled between them, Jill’s eyes strayed to the interior of the garage, beyond the neatly stacked boxes, beyond the piles of items she had set aside for Goodwill, to a series of canvases she had propped in a clearing, for safekeeping.
She must have packed away dozens of Alex’s sketch pads, full of drawings and caricatures—some of faces she knew, others that she didn’t. Over the past few years, there hadn’t been much time for more serious projects. It wasn’t talent he lacked, but maybe time, or inspiration. There were at least a dozen canvases showing his skill with oil paints. He’d finished this one just before football season started.
“I found something Alex would have wanted you to have.”
The corners of Jackson’s mouth tightened, and she could see him pull in a deep, steadying breath. Jill pivoted and headed inside the garage. Bending down, she flipped through the canvases until she found what she wanted.
“He was planning to give this one to you for your birthday. He titled it The big 4-0.”
She turned the canvas toward Jackson as she approached. His lips parted, large hands reaching for it as she handed it to him. Surprise, admiration, and pain all flashed across his face in quick succession before his eyes met Jill’s.
Alex had completed the portrait from memory. A smiling Jackson filled the canvas and was looking down, away from the artist. Somehow Alex had captured the essence of his friend in
a way that showed the world what he saw when he looked at Jackson. The canvas reflected back a face that combined intelligence and wit.
“I knew he was good, but I didn’t know he could do this.” Jackson voice was thick with emotion as he shifted his gaze from Jill back to the painting.
“In the five years we were married, this was the only painting he completed. You were very important to him.”
Jackson moved his lips wordlessly before angling the painting in toward his chest, as if he was unable to look at it any longer. Jill stepped forward, wrapping her arms loosely around his waist.
“You’ve meant a lot to both of us.”
They stood silently, leaning against each other for a long moment before Jackson cleared his throat. Jill stepped away.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” He gestured toward the boxes again. “You’re sure you’re ready to leave?”
Her smile was tight and she angled her eyes toward the garage floor. A thick lock of dark hair fell across her forehead, and she tucked it back behind her ear. Did she want to leave? Oh yes. It was only through a sheer force of will that she had stayed this long. Besides, she would begin to show soon. The home pregnancy test confirmed what she began to suspect not long after the funeral. This was news she had no intention of sharing.
Over the past few months, Jill had methodically searched the house for Alex’s notes on the Lilith investigation. If there were notes to be found, they certainly were not within these walls, nor were they in his office. If they had been, someone would have found them by now. So whatever evidence Alex had amassed was safely buried. With any luck, it would never see the light of day.
“It’s time to move on,” Jill said. “I couldn’t stay here, even if I wanted to. Not after everything.”
Jackson’s nod was one of mute understanding. Everyone had expected her to move out of the house after the funeral. Instead, she stayed, insisting she was fine. Fine was an overstatement, of course. She hated the kitchen. She couldn’t go in there after dark. Too many ghosts.
“You’ve got support here—me, Alex’s family.”
“I’ll be fine. I’m the independent sort.”
Her hand grazed the slight pooch of her belly, and she thought about the life that grew there, inside her. She wouldn’t be alone. Not really. There was one part of Alex that she would carry with her.
“So what’s the temperature like in Phoenix this time of year?”
“Somewhere in the nineties, I think.”
“Shit.” Jackson blew out a long whistle between clenched teeth. “No thanks.”
“I’ll take the heat any day. It’s going to take decades before I miss the rain.”
“You’re not going to become a Cardinals fan, are you?”
Jill’s smile was wry. Jackson was every bit the Seahawks fan that Alex was.
“Not a chance,” she assured him.
Silence stretched out between them. There was nothing left to be said. Jill felt her throat constrict. She was never one for long send-offs, and Jackson’s eyes were soft on her face.
“I need you to take Molly. The move would be hard on her.”
“Just two old dogs in recovery, eh, girl?”
Molly wagged her tail.
“I’m not going to say good-bye,” he said at last.
“Good. I hear they’re overrated.” Her smile was a painful twist.
Tucking the canvas under his arm, he bent and buzzed her cheek with his lips. She squeezed his arm, then let go.
“Take care of yourself,” she said. “No more putting your superpowers to the test by taking on bullets.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He flipped her a mock salute. “Let me know when you get settled.”
Jill’s nod was noncommittal. She cinched the leash to Molly’s collar and handed it to Jackson. Arms folded across her chest, she watched him lumber down the driveway, Molly sticking close to his side. Jackson paused, taking a long look at the canvas before placing it carefully into the trunk. Molly jumped into the backseat. Her head dipped behind the headrest. With a final wave, he climbed into his car and pulled smoothly away from the curb.
Jill drew in a deep breath and felt the tight band compressing her chest ease. There wasn’t much left to be done now. A few more boxes to pack. The remaining items would be sold off at auction. She wanted few reminders of the life she was leaving behind.
Her thoughts turned away from the past, moving beyond Alex to a new life, a new beginning. Closing the garage door behind her, Jill stepped out of the shadows and into the sunlight.
THE END
To find out what happens in the next heart-stopping installment of the Jill Shannon Murder Series, check out Vow Of Silence.
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www.ChrisPatchell.com
About the Author
Chris Patchell is the award-winning, USA Today Bestselling author of five novels. A former tech worker turned author, Chris Patchell pens suspense novels set in the Pacific Northwest. Her novels have been praised by Kevin O'Brien and Robert Dugoni, and her rich complex plot lines and well-drawn characters will keep you turning pages well into the night.
Kerry J Donovan: The DCI Jones Casebook: Ellis Flynn
The DCI Jones Casebook: Ellis Flynn
By Kerry J Donovan
Author’s Rating:
Language: *** Sexuality: *** Violence: ***
For your convenience each book in this collection has been rated by the author for language, sexuality and violence, so that you as a reader can make an informed choice.
Our collection includes books that span the intensity range.
Language Intensity:
* - No or mild profanity, if any
** - Stronger profanity, with up to 5 uses of the f-word
*** - Strong language
Sexuality Intensity:
* - Sexual reference or no sexuality
** - Sexual reference which might include some details.
*** - Intense, descriptive sexual scenes
Violence Intensity
* - Violence, but no gory details.
** - Mild violence, fairly detailed with some blood
*** - Detailed violence
The DCI Jones Casebook: Ellis Flynn ©2013 Kerry J Donovan
The right of Kerry J Donovan to be identified as Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this novel may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system without prior written permission of the Author and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on any subsequent purchaser. Your support for the Author’s rights is appreciated.
All characters in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Published by Human Vertex Publications, France.
Blurb
An empathetic detective and his Swedish-born colleague hunt for the abductors of a teenage schoolgirl—a police procedural set in England and France.
When fourteen-year-old Hollie Jardine fails to return home from school, her terrified parents call the police.
It doesn’t take veteran detective, DCI David Jones, head of the Midlands Police Serious Crime Unit, long to discover a link between Hollie and convicted sex-offender, Ellis Flynn.
With Hollie’s chances of survival fading, Jones and his colleague Alex Olganski risk their careers when they ignore protocol to follow Flynn’s trail across the Channel into France.
What they discover in an idyllic backwater will stretch Jones’ detection skills to the limit, and Alex’s loyalty to heartbreak.
Please note, this book uses UK English spelling, punctuation, and grammar.
Part I
“Gone. Our baby’s gone.
Find her, Chief Inspector.
Please find her.”
1
Young Love
Early afternoon, Birmingham.
Harsh light from an early summer sun bounced off the pavement and dirty shop fronts. Ellis Flynn leaned against the railings outside Joe’s Piercing Salon with a hand raised to shield his eyes and scanned the street for his latest target, Hollie Jardine. She had long, strawberry-blonde hair, blue eyes, and the innocent, open smile of a new teenager. She fitted the requirement to perfection.
The time on his Rolex knock-off showed her as fifteen minutes late.
He kept the pleasant smile—the one he practised in the bathroom mirror—pasted in position.
Two long weeks he’d spent working this one. It hadn’t been difficult. He’d been charming, attentive, drawing her to where she accepted the belly button piercing. It was yet another way to bind her to him. A couple more trinkets and she’d be ready, hooked.
Hollie, the one Flynn thought of only as ‘The Hottie’, had hesitated at first when he suggested a belly piercing would look wonderful on her softly rounded stomach.
“All the women are wearing them these days,” he told her.
“I can’t have a piercing,” she whispered, but he could tell by the glint in her eyes the idea excited her. “Dad would have a fit.”
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