Authors: Karen Rose
Izzy’s heart was in the right place. But Stevie didn’t deserve to be lied to.
Stevie. She’s there. In the house
. Clay’s need to see her again bordered on desperation. But he dreaded it at the same time. Dreaded the pain of looking at her face. Of seeing what he’d wanted for so long standing right in front of him. And not being able to touch. To have.
He dreaded how much it would hurt when he drove away. Again.
This isn’t about you
, he reminded himself. This was about what was best for Cordelia.
But when does it get to be about me?
Right about now, it was looking like never. He cleared his throat harshly. ‘Don’t forget your flowers,’ he said to Cordelia.
‘I’ve got ’em.’ She held up the bouquet of rosebuds she’d chosen. ‘She likes flowers. I hope it helps her be not so mad with me.’
Clay shouldered the pink bag covered with fairies and steeled his spine. ‘I think she’ll be angrier with me. I’ll try to smooth things over.’
They’d taken two steps when the front door flew open. Stevie stumbled down the front steps, clutching the railing with one hand and a glitter-covered cane in the other. She righted herself when her feet hit the ground, stalking toward them, undeterred by her uneven stride.
She was furious. Beautiful and furious. Just like the first time he’d seen her. Clay’s mouth watered and he had to grit his teeth and clench his fists to keep from reaching out and grabbing her. Because she’d hate that. Because once he held her, he’d . . .
God.
He’d kiss her until she couldn’t breathe. Until neither of them could breathe.
She’d like it. She’d liked his kiss before. That one time he’d touched his lips to hers. But she’d hated that she’d liked it. Hated that she’d wanted it. That she’d wanted him.
Part of him didn’t care that she hadn’t wanted to want him. That part wanted to make her
see
, make her
know
.
Make her beg
.
But he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Whatever her reasons, Stevie had told him no. So he’d back away. No matter how much it hurt.
This . . . this was going to hurt like a goddamn bitch
.
Stevie came to a stop midway between his truck and her house. Her chest was rising and falling with the breaths she took, a combination of exertion and anger.
Cordelia slowly approached, coming around the front of his truck, the bouquet of rosebuds clutched behind her back. Her little hand trembled and Clay’s heart cracked.
‘Stevie, it’s not her fault—’ he began, but she cut him off, her hand slicing the air.
‘Go to your room, Cordelia. Apparently I have to explain things to Mr Maynard. Again.’
Clay flinched. This was going to hurt even worse than he’d anticipated.
Cordelia paled. Nodded. Then brought the flowers from behind her back. ‘They’re for you,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sorry, Mama. I shouldn’t have lied to you. I just wanted to see the horses.’
Stevie looked at the flowers as if she’d never seen any before. Like she was having trouble figuring out what they were. She started to reach for the bouquet, but wrapped her arms around Cordelia in a hard hug instead, the flowers crushed between them.
Clay looked away, the sight making his chest ache. As he let out a long breath, he saw the car approach. A normal car. A red Chevy Impala, about five years old. Going about twenty-five on a residential street. Nothing special. But the car slowed and the hairs on the back of Clay’s neck lifted. The seconds began to tick in his mind, each louder than the one before.
Tick
. The driver was wearing a ski cap.
Tick
. And was sliding an arm out of the window to lie flat against the car door.
Tick
. The arm raised, a gloved hand holding a pistol.
Clay lunged, going airborne before tackling Stevie and her daughter, knocking them to the ground. With his left arm he pulled them to his body, hoping to take the brunt of the fall on his shoulder while his right hand whipped his gun from its holster.
He heard the cracking of wood. A shrill scream from the front porch. A terrified cry beneath him.
Cordelia
.
Don’t be afraid, baby. I’ve got you
.
But before he could push the words from his throat, the air was slammed from his lungs, his body propelled forward. Two strikes in rapid succession. Two shots.
Clay hunched his back as the Kevlar he never left home without absorbed the force of the bullets. Raising his arm, he centered the driver of the red Chevy in his sights and fired a single shot. He thought he saw the driver’s arm flinch, but he ducked his head again at the sound of bullets pinging off metal and glass shattering.
The guy was shooting at his truck.
Alec’s in there.
Praying that Alec had the time to hide, Clay curled into a ball, protecting the two beneath him first.
Curses came from the front porch, then large feet ran past his head, toward the street. The car engine revved. Tires squealed. The shooter was escaping.
Goddammit.
Clay stayed where he was, counting the heartbeats pounding in his head. He could hear Cordelia breathing in uneven, hitching gulps. Stevie had gone very still against him. Her arms still banded around her daughter’s body, but he couldn’t hear her breathing. He could feel it though, shallow little pants against his throat.
A warm body knelt beside him. ‘They’re gone,’ a man said. ‘Anybody hit?’
Clay pushed himself to his hands and knees, hanging over Stevie and the child she clutched to her chest. Her dark eyes were wide as they met his. Wide, but sharp. And curiously unsurprised. ‘Are you all right?’ he rasped. His lungs had yet to refill.
‘I think so.’ Stevie glanced up to the man beside them. ‘Clay was hit. Twice.’
Clay looked up to see JD Fitzpatrick evaluating them all through narrowed eyes. ‘Can you stand?’ JD asked, already reaching to pull him to his feet.
‘Yes.’ Rising, Clay saw the mess the fucker had made of his truck. Every window was shattered and holes riddled the doors. Alec was nowhere to be seen. ‘
Alec!
’
‘I’m okay.’ Alec’s voice came back shaky. But alive. He crawled around the front of the truck and Clay had to lock his knees to keep them from buckling.
God
. ‘I was right behind you,’ Alec said. ‘I dropped when you jumped.’
If he’d been in the truck he’d have been killed
. Clay shook the thought out of his head. Alec hadn’t been in the truck. He was okay. Everyone was okay. ‘Get in the house. Don’t stop to check on me.’ Clay crouched down, took Cordelia into his arms, keeping his gun in his hand.
Just in case the shooter comes back.
‘Get Stevie in the house,’ he said to JD, then beelined for the front door, looking over his shoulder to make sure JD and Stevie were following. Just turning to glance behind him hurt like a bitch.
Kevlar might have saved his life a time or two or three, but the shots still hurt. He’d be bruised and sore for days. He looked down at the little girl in his arms. She stared up at him, her eyes unseeing, her teeth chattering.
The flowers were crushed into her jacket.
Undiluted rage boiled up inside him, but he kept it far enough away from his eyes that he didn’t frighten her further. JD was supporting Stevie’s weight as she hobbled, but as Clay carried Cordelia through the door, JD picked Stevie up and slung her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and ran the rest of the way in, slamming the door behind them.
Alec sat with his back to the wall, knees to his chest. Alert. Unhurt.
A small, blonde woman Clay had never seen before sat next to Alec, clutching a phone to her ear. She was talking to the 911 operator. Her voice was calm but her face was paper white and she pressed the heel of her other hand to her breastbone. Her shirt was bloody.
‘Are you hit?’ Clay demanded and she shook her head.
‘It’s from earlier,’ JD said wearily. ‘This is Stevie’s second shooting today. Her third since yesterday.’
‘Her third—’ Clay nearly stumbled, but he kept himself upright. Kept Cordelia safe in his arms. ‘What the hell, JD?’
‘You’ll have to ask Stevie. She knows better than everyone else.’ JD said the words bitterly as he laid Stevie on the sofa.
She immediately sat up and reached for her daughter. Pain flashed in her dark eyes and she hunched her left shoulder, but her arm stayed outstretched, waiting.
It was then that Clay saw the blood seeping through the sleeve of her Baltimore PD T-shirt. A white bandage peeked out from below the sleeve. Three shots in two days. She’d been hit.
‘Give her to me. Please,’ she added hoarsely.
Clay settled Cordelia in her arms and stepped back. ‘Blankets?’
‘Upstairs,’ Stevie whispered. ‘Hall closet.’
JD grabbed Clay’s arm. ‘I’ll get them. You sit down. You look like shit.’
‘Cops’ll be here in less than three minutes,’ the blonde said.
Holstering his gun, Clay sat down on the other end of the sofa. His lungs were beginning to function again. He drew a deep breath, testing his limits, then winced. Lungs worked, ribs didn’t. He drew a few shallower breaths, then turned his eyes on Stevie.
Her eyes clenched shut, she rocked her daughter in small movements he wasn’t sure she was aware of. Her lips moved soundlessly, all the color leached from her face. He’d seen her paler – the day she’d nearly bled out in his arms on the courthouse steps. But not much paler.
He focused on her mouth, on the words her lips formed.
I’m sorry
, she was saying. Over and over as she rocked.
One shooting yesterday. Two more today. Today, the anniversary of her husband’s murder.
It seemed like too much coincidence. Clay had never believed in coincidence.
‘Stevie,’ he said softly, not wanting to distress Cordelia who now mewled pitifully, her face pressed against her mother’s shoulder.
Stevie met his eyes over Cordelia’s head. She no longer looked terrified. She looked haunted. Guilty.
‘What the
hell
is going on here?’
Chapter Five
Baltimore, Maryland, Saturday, March 15, 6.19
P.M.
S
tevie opened her mouth, but no words came out. Clay was staring at her angrily, his eyes hard, his jaw clenched. He breathed shallowly. But at least he breathed.
He’d taken two bullets.
For me
. She pulled Cordelia closer to her body.
For us
.
‘I . . . I c-ca—’ She choked on the words, shaking her head. Rocking her daughter.
Clay’s expression softened, anger becoming worry. Keeping his head away from the window, he slid off the sofa to kneel in front of her. ‘Are you all right?’ he murmured.
She managed a nod.
He hesitated, then ran his finger under the sleeve of her shirt, lifting it to expose the bandage the ER doctor had applied, what seemed like a lifetime ago. ‘You’re bleeding. How bad was it?’
‘She had five stitches,’ Emma said from against the wall. ‘The ER doctor wanted to keep her overnight for observation, but she refused.’
Clay nodded, keeping eye contact with Stevie. ‘A five-stitch wound isn’t bad at all.’ He brushed gentle fingers across Cordelia’s hair. ‘Did you hear that, Cordelia? Five stitches is practically nothing. Your mom is okay. Give me a little nod if you hear me.’
Cordelia kept her face pressed into Stevie’s shoulder, but she nodded once.
‘Good, honey,’ Clay said, his voice soothing. ‘That’s good. Are you hurt anywhere, Cordelia? I know I’m heavy. I need to know if I squashed you.’
Cordelia shook her head and the constriction in Stevie’s throat loosened.
‘Good. I’m glad.’ He stroked Cordelia’s hair again. ‘Squashing you would have been bad.’
Cordelia turned her face a fraction. ‘My flowers,’ she whispered. ‘They got squashed.’
‘We’ll get more,’ Clay murmured. ‘Your mom knows you got them for her and that’s the important thing.’ He lifted his eyes to Stevie’s once again. ‘Are you hurt anywhere else?’
She hurt all over, but didn’t know if any of the aches were new or not. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘All right.’ He looked over his shoulder, wincing with the movement. ‘I don’t think we’ve met,’ he said to Emma. ‘I’m Clay Maynard. That’s my assistant, Alec Vaughn.’
‘I’m Emma, a friend of Stevie’s. You look like you hurt your shoulder. I’ll get you ice.’
Alec came to his feet. ‘No, I’ll do it. I’ll check the lock on the back door while I’m at it. No good in hunkering down here if anyone can just waltz in.’ He went to the kitchen as JD came down the stairs, a stack of blankets in his arms.
‘I watched the street for a minute,’ JD said. ‘I didn’t see the red Chevy, but I did call in the description of the car, the driver as much as I could see, and the gu—’
Clay coughed loudly. ‘Skittles,’ he said firmly. ‘Rainbows and flowers.’
Stevie frowned, but Cordelia seemed to know exactly what he was talking about.
‘And puppies,’ her daughter whispered, still hiding her face. ‘I like puppies.’
‘Well, who doesn’t?’ Clay asked pragmatically.
Cordelia pivoted her forehead on Stevie’s shoulder to look at Clay. ‘Mom says they drool.’
Stevie winced at the not-so-skillfully veiled criticism, but Clay just smiled. ‘Naw,’ he said. ‘Puppies don’t drool. Puppies chew. They’ll destroy all of your shoes, but only one of each pair. They are diabolical. Now, big dogs drool. Big slobbery strings of drool that mess up your clothes. And let’s not even talk about their sneezes.’ He brushed the hair off Cordelia’s cheek, serious again. ‘You think of puppies, Cordelia. Cute little shoe-chewing puppies. Promise me.’
‘I promise,’ she whispered fiercely.
‘Good girl.’ He took one of the blankets from JD’s stack and tucked it around the two of them, then sat back on his heels. ‘When will the police be here?’
‘They are here,’ Emma said, hanging up the phone. ‘The 911 operator said so.’
Alec appeared around the corner with several bags of frozen peas. ‘I saw them driving up.’
‘They’re checking out the front yard and putting up roadblocks for the red car,’ JD said. ‘I told them we had things more or less under control in here. They’ll be knocking in a few minutes to take statements. When they give the all clear, the EMTs will check you out, Clay.’
‘I’m okay. But apparently hungry for peas,’ he added with a frown.
‘I didn’t see any bags for ice,’ Alec said, ‘but frozen peas work just as well. Let’s get your coat off.’ He put the frozen vegetables on the floor and helped Clay remove his leather jacket, revealing a lavender oxford shirt.
On a lot of men a lavender shirt might have looked less than masculine. On Clay . . . Stevie wasn’t sure the man could look anything other than completely masculine. He’d managed it even while holding her little girl’s pink Tinkerbell ballet bag, which he’d been doing when she’d flown out of the house.
Like an idiot
. She closed her eyes.
I couldn’t have made myself a more accessible target if I’d painted SHOOT ME on my back.
And because of that Clay had been the one shot in the back.
He must have been wearing Kevlar and thank God for that. No more blood on my hands, please
.
‘
I’m not sure you can salvage the jacket, Clay,’ Alec said.
She opened her eyes to see Alec poking two fingers through bullet holes in the leather.
‘Sure I can.’ Clay unbuttoned his shirt slowly, his movements stiff. ‘That jacket’s been patched ten times since I got it in ’95.’ He grimaced when he tried shrugging out of the shirt.
‘Good God. Don’t
any
of you know how to ask for help?’ Emma demanded. She took over the task of removing Clay’s shirt and . . .
Hell
. The sight of her friend’s small hands removing Clay’s shirt made Stevie’s stomach churn. Which was ludicrous on every level. Emma was happily married. And Clay . . .
Isn’t mine. He might have been, but I sent him away.
For his own good.
I did it for his own good
.
Her thoughts splintered when his face contorted in pain. Alec and Emma were peeling the Kevlar off Clay’s back. Alec’s wince told her it was bad.
Cordelia shifted and Stevie knew she was watching. Clay must have noticed too, because he gave Cordelia a brisk nod.
‘This is temporary,’ he said. ‘It’s just a bad bruise. I’m not even bleeding, right, Alec?’
‘That’s true.’ Alec lifted the Kevlar vest, so the inside was visible. ‘See, Cordy? Not even a pinprick of blood.’ He handed the vest to JD and grabbed a bag of frozen peas in each hand. ‘Ice for twenty, then off. Ready?’ He didn’t wait for an affirmative answer before setting a bag on each of Clay’s shoulders.
Clay flinched, his heavy pecs flexing. ‘Yeah,’ he said dryly. ‘I’m ready.’
‘The peas conform to the injured area,’ Alec said. ‘Better contact than with an ice bag.’
‘He’s right,’ Emma said. ‘I keep a few bags in my freezer for post-crying-jag face repair.’
Clay gave her a what-the-hell look. ‘You cry a lot?’
‘Oh no, not me. My daughter was, until recently, a teenager. Dramatic breakups, a zit on prom night, a back-stabbing friend? A bag of peas will shrink puffy eyes to normal in a snap.’
‘I am
so
glad we had a boy,’ JD muttered. He checked his phone screen. ‘Text from Hyatt. He wants to take our statements. Can we do that in the kitchen, Stevie?’
‘Of course.’ Stevie shifted, intending to stand, but Cordelia wrapped her arms around her neck and held on. She was trembling again. ‘Cordy, baby, I need to talk to my boss. I won’t leave the house. Okay?’ She tried to pry her daughter’s arms from her neck, but Cordelia held on, whimpering. Stevie almost asked Clay to help, then remembered why she couldn’t.
The man was here, in her house. And after not even fifteen minutes, it was as if he belonged.
But he doesn’t. He can’t. He doesn’t belong here
.
‘Emma?’ Stevie said softly. ‘I could use a hand.’
Emma sat on the sofa. ‘Come sit with me, Cordelia. We’ll sit right here, so you can see your mom at the kitchen table.’ Cordelia made herself limp as Stevie transferred her to Emma’s lap. ‘I have something for you, from my boys. When we’re by ourselves, I’ll give it to you.’
Cordelia’s brows lifted. ‘Why by ourselves?’
Emma kissed the top of her head. ‘Because if your mom sees it, she’ll eat every last bit.’
‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ Stevie murmured and Emma smiled.
‘Do what you need to do, Stevie. Cordy and I will be fine.’
The doorbell rang as JD pulled Stevie to her feet. Alec opened the door as Stevie held JD’s arm to steady herself, feeling Clay’s eyes on her all the while. ‘Where’s my cane?’ she asked.
‘Right here.’ Hyatt came into the room, her sparkly cane in his hand. ‘You dropped it on the ground outside.’ He gave Clay a brief visual inspection, narrowing his eyes at the bags of peas. With a shake of his head, he turned to JD and Stevie. ‘I’ve posted officers at the front and back while we process the crime scene. You need to tell me what in the hell happened here.’
Saturday, March 15, 6.25
P.M.
Son of a bitch
. Henderson drove madly through the sedate little neighborhood, one hand on the steering wheel. The other hand was numb.
My whole arm is numb. Sonofabitch got me
.
Blood seeped from the shoulder wound and for an instant, the road blurred.
Just hold on
.
Ordered neighborhoods became open fields, then finally woods. Henderson heaved a sigh of relief when the turnoff for the side road came into view. Parked among the trees was the white rental Camry.
Exactly where I left it
.
Pulling off the road, Henderson stumbled out of the stolen red Chevy, its theft having been made so much easier by the rural owner hanging the keys from a peg just inside an unlocked kitchen door.
Gotta love the countryside. Nobody locks their doors
.
Tying a tourniquet around the wound was no small chore, but was finally accomplished, leaving Henderson breathing hard. But stable.
And not bleeding all over everything
.
The next question was, what to do with the red Chevy? Blood had seeped into the vinyl seat.
My blood.
But it could be worse.
Robinette had ensured that his team filed the paperwork to have their DNA wiped from the military’s database when they were discharged and the cops had nothing in theirs, either.
Because I’ve been careful. Never left blood or hair behind on a job before. Never got close enough to the victim for the cops to find anything even if I did
. Distance was a sniper’s best friend. But apparently not today.
Get rid of the blood.
Just because the cops couldn’t match it to anything in their precious databases was no reason to give them evidence to use later.
Teeth gritted against the pain, Henderson cut the seat away from its frame and tossed it into the trunk of the Camry, doused the grass around the Chevy with gasoline and tossed a match.
By the time the Camry was on the main road, the flames reached higher than the trees. Nothing would be left of the Chevy. But it had been close. Way too close.
Finally a safe distance away, Henderson’s temper flared. Who the
fuck
had that guy been back there? That the guy had managed to wriggle free on the Parkway had been bad enough, but throwing himself over Mazzetti and the kid? Much worse. And shooting like a motherfucking Army Ranger?
He shot better than I did.
It was humiliating.
Unless Henderson had been extraordinarily lucky, Detective Stevie Mazzetti still breathed.
God
damn
that woman.
She had more lives than a frickin’ cat. Robinette would be unhappy.
A glance at the bottle in the cup holder revealed it to be empty, all the vodka gone. Henderson curled trembling fingers around the steering wheel and held on tight.
Just get yourself home. You can relax when you get home
.
Saturday, March 15, 6.30
P.M.
Stevie took a last look over her shoulder toward the living room before sitting at the kitchen table with the others. Cordelia was curled up on Emma’s lap, head on her friend’s shoulder.
‘Stevie?’ Hyatt rumbled. ‘I need you with me. Now. You can see to your daughter later.’
‘I know.’ Stevie carefully sat at the head of the table between her boss and her partner, every muscle in her body screaming for a hot tub.
Clay sat across from her, elbows on the table, head down, hunched over, still balancing the bags of peas on his shoulders. Alec sat at his side, casting worried looks at his back.
‘Mr Maynard,’ Hyatt began, ‘you seem to have a habit of appearing at Detective Mazzetti’s side at uniquely tense moments.’
Clay spared him a short glance. ‘Ain’t that the goddamn truth.’
Hyatt’s lips twitched, just a hair. ‘So, tell me how you came to be in Detective Mazzetti’s front yard this evening. With a gun.’
Stevie leaned forward. ‘I’d like to know that, too. Not that I’m not grateful, of course. I’d also like to know where my sister is. I’ve been trying to contact her all afternoon.’
Clay’s face had become expressionless, once again reminding her of hewn rock. He looked at Hyatt. ‘Izzy got a last minute wedding job. I told her I’d bring Cordelia home.’
A beat of silence passed. ‘From?’ Stevie prompted, hoping he wouldn’t say ‘ballet’. To her knowledge, Clay Maynard had never lied to her.
Please don’t start now. Please
.
‘From the ice cream shop.’ He shifted his gaze to JD. ‘She said you always took her out for ice cream on the day her dad died, but that you’d probably forgotten.’
JD winced. ‘She’s right. I always take her to get ice cream. And I did forget.’
Stevie patted JD’s hand. ‘She understands about the baby.’
‘She does,’ Clay confirmed. ‘She said you weren’t getting any sleep and that she’d remind you in a few weeks. And maybe you’d feel so bad you’d get her a sundae instead of just a cone.’
‘Wow, she’s wised up young,’ JD murmured.
‘Yeah, she did,’ Clay said in a sad way that indicated he spoke of more than ice cream. ‘Before the ice cream shop we stopped at a florist. I was buying flowers and she asked if she could get some for her mother. So that she wouldn’t be so mad at her.’