Picture Me Dead

by Heather Graham

  “Is that a fact?” Jake started into the house. Ashley felt the gun at her ribs edge away as Sandy shifted his hold so as not to be seen.

  Jake paused in the doorway. Ashley gritted her teeth, desperate not to give herself away.

  “Ashley,” he said suddenly, his eyes steady on hers. “I needed to ask you about something. I was talking to John Mast, and he was telling me about another talent you have. In fact, you mentioned it to me one day—suggesting that you could give me a demonstration.”

  She frowned, then realized what he was saying.

  She smiled. “I showed John.”

  “Show Sandy.”

  “Jake, I haven’t got time,” Sandy said impatiently.

  “Now!” Jake said.

  Ashley slammed her leg back, her heel catching Sandy hard between the legs. As he gasped for air, Jake made his move. Fast. So fast that she screamed, not a warning, but a startled cry of surprise. One minute Sandy was standing at her side and Jake was in front of her. The next second, Jake had thrown his full weight against Sandy, and the two of them were down in the sand and the gravel.

  Sandy was trying to aim the gun. A shot went off, flying wild. Jake slammed Sandy’s wrist hard against the ground. Another shot went wild.

  “Damn it, drop the weapon!” Jake warned.

  “Fuck you!” Sandy spat back, struggling against the power of Jake’s hold, determined to fire until he could fire no more.

  “Drop it! Ashley, get inside before—”

  A bullet thudded into the door frame, far too close to her head. She didn’t go in; she flew around the two men, kicking the sand and gravel into Sandy’s face.

  “Drop the weapon,” Jake repeated. He slammed Sandy’s wrist against the gravel once again. The Glock went skidding away at last.

  “Get up,” Jake ordered roughly. He rose himself, catching Sandy’s jacket lapels and dragging him up.

  “I’m up, I’m up….” And he was up—halfway. His face was red; he held out a protesting hand and started coughing violently. He gasped in a breath and started coughing again, his entire body shuddering.

  “Shit,” Jake swore. “Ashley, call 9-1-1. This bastard is not going to die on my watch.”

  Ashley reached into her bag, searching for her phone.

  Just as her fingers closed around it, Sandy’s coughing abruptly stopped. At the same time, he made a lunge to escape Jake’s hold, diving into the dirt for the Glock.

  Jake swore. Sandy reached out for the gun. Grabbed it. He turned. By then, Jake was pointing the little snub-nosed .38 he’d stuck into the back of his waistband.

  “Sandy, don’t—” Jake began angrily, his finger on the trigger.

  A gun exploded.

  Sandy dropped back into the dirt.

  Jake hadn’t fired.

  Ashley and Jake both jerked around, staring at the door. Nick was there, his service revolver in his hand, still smoking.

  “Sorry, Jake. I had to do it. He might have gotten a shot off first—because he knows you’re an ethical cop. I’m not a cop. That bastard would have killed my niece. And he’s been using me, my bar, for years. Besides, I think he’s still alive. Sharon just dialed 9-1-1,” he said. “Hey, the coffee is done.”

  Nick took the Glock from Sandy’s nerveless fingers and went into the house. Ashley stared at Jake incredulously. “How did you know? How did you figure it out at just the right moment?”

  “That phone call was Franklin. I had him checking into Sandy, and he found the proof I needed. He likes single malt whiskey, by the way. Remind me to send him the best bottle I can find.”

  He ducked down, checking the pulse in Sandy Reilly’s neck. “Nick’s right, he’s still breathing.”

  They heard the sound of sirens.

  “You should go have some coffee with Nick. In a few minutes, we’re going to be talking for hours again. And the paperwork…Man, there’s going to be a lot of it.”

  She shook her head, offering him a rueful smile. “I’ll wait for you, Jake. Because…do you know what this means? Last piece of the puzzle. It’s over—really over.”

  EPILOGUE

  The ceremony was just as wonderful as she’d hoped, Ashley thought.

  Her own name had never sounded more wonderful to her ears.

  And when she walked down the aisle…the feeling was just incredible.

  Everyone who counted was here to share her happiness. Nick, Sharon and her adorable new cousin, Justin Montague. Karen, still with Len. Jan, with John Mast. The two had met, disliked one another so intensely that they’d had to see one another again to finish an argument and had been together since. Stuart was there, along with his parents. Jake’s dad, whom she had gotten to know well and liked immensely. There were also a slew of police officers in attendance, including Gwyn, Arne and the rest of her original class.

  And, of course, Jake was there.

  He was the first to congratulate her on the fact that after a year of working as a forensic artist, she had been able to take the time to go back and finish up at the academy. Her job wasn’t going to change, though; both civilians and sworn officers worked in forensics.

  The picture-taking seemed to last forever. There were shots with her friends, with her family, and with Jake. And one of her alone. The picture Nick especially wanted, to go beside that of Ashley’s dad.

  Then there was a huge celebration at Nick’s. For all twenty-eight new officers and their families. Nick had insisted.

  And finally…

  Finally there was the moment when she and Jake returned to his boat. She was amazed at the way he’d set it up. There were balloons and flowers. And a big bottle of champagne.

  “Oh, Jake! It’s wonderful,” she told him, turning into his arms.

  “You missed the box by the champagne,” he pointed out.

  And she had. A tiny box. She picked it up curiously. He took it from her fingers, opened it, pulled out the ring and said, “Not quite as exciting as a badge…but I hope you’ll accept it. Nick suggested platinum instead of gold, said it would go better with the badge. That is, of course, if you’re willing to accept it.”

  She stared at the diamond, then into his eyes.

  “It goes beautifully with the badge,” she assured him, and threw herself into his arms. Then she drew away for a moment. “Actually, it’s been something I was afraid I was going to have to ask you.”

  “Why? I knew you wanted to get through the academy first.”

  “Well…you know my new cousin, Justin?”

  “Yes.”

  He stared at her blankly for a moment. Then he smiled slowly. “Wow!”

  He repeated the word, then pulled her into his arms.

  “So eloquent,” she murmured.

  “Wow? That isn’t enough?”

  “A few more words would be great.”

  “How about—I love you? And I’m grateful that you’ve agreed to spend your life with me. I’m incredibly proud of you. And I’m elated that we’re going to be parents. Anything you want to add to that, Officer Montague?”

  She leaned back in his arms.

  “Wow.”

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-2866-9

  PICTURE ME DEAD

  Copyright © 2003 by Heather Graham Pozzessere.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, MIRA Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  MIRA and the Star Colophon are trademarks used under lic
ense and registered in Australia, New Zealand, Philippines, United States Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries.

  Visit us at www.mirabooks.com