Bring the Heat (3 page)

Once finished, which didn't take long, she headed back outside. Chris and Tonio met her a good distance from the car where Austin still sat.

“Strangulation is the cause of death?” Chris asked.

“Almost positive, but tests will probably bear it out. The scene looks pretty straightforward.”

“Beating and strangling a pregnant woman to death, that's a crime of intense rage,” Tonio said in disgust.

Chris shook his head. “Or just seriously crazy.”

“I'd say both, but motives are your area of expertise.” Glancing past them, she spotted the captain's still figure in the car and sighed. “Is someone taking Austin home, staying with him?”

“We're driving him home,” Tonio said. “Not sure who's staying with him tonight, but he won't be alone. The paramedic gave him a sedative to help him sleep, too.”

“Okay, good. I'm going to speak with him. I'll be in touch.”

“Take care,” Chris said, and Tonio echoed him.

With no small amount of dread, Laura walked over to the car. Austin's strong profile came into view, and she saw he was sitting upright, just staring out the front windshield. Sunlight glinted off his deep auburn hair, setting it on fire. He gave no indication that he heard her footsteps approaching, so she called out softly.

“Austin?”

No response. She called his name again, and when he still didn't answer, she crouched inside the door and touched his leg. Slowly, he turned his head and looked down at her. His brows drew together as if trying to figure out exactly why she was there.

Then recollection dawned in his green eyes, the hurt so deep and profound it took her breath away.

“They're dead,” he whispered. Tears filled his beautiful eyes.

“Yes. I can't tell you how sorry I am.”

His hand covered hers. “Help my men find out who did this.”

“I'll do my best.”

“Take care of them.” His voice broke, and so did her heart.

“You know I will.” She swallowed hard, determined not to lose it. “I'm here for you. Always.”

“I know. Thank you.”

He hung his head and didn't say any more, just gazed at the floorboard. After several more seconds of lending her silent support, she gave his hand a squeeze and stood. Forcing herself to walk away from him was the hardest thing she'd ever done.

It felt wrong on every level to leave him there. But he was in good hands for now.

And she had a job to do. For Austin, and his lost family.

•   •   •

Austin awoke to darkness. Somehow, he was in the bedroom of his rented house in Sugarland. In his bed.

Light from the hallway spilled through a crack in the door, partly illuminating the room. From the living room he heard the sound of the television. Quiet talking. It seemed there were at least two people in his home.

Not that this place would ever be
home
. Not really.

Nor would it ever be, not without his son.

No, the awful memory wouldn't stay away forever, no matter how much he wished it gone. Wished it had never happened at all. Someone had taken his dreams. Stolen his soul.

Forcing himself from the bed, he shuffled from the room, feeling like an old man. He wasn't surprised to see that Danny, Chris, and Tonio had made themselves at home. Pizza boxes littered the coffee table, and soft drink cans. No beer, a first for this crew.

“Hey.”

At once, all eyes were on him. Chris made room for him on the couch, and they all started trying to feed him and make him comfortable.

“Are you hungry?” Chris asked.

Tonio nodded. “You should eat something.”

Danny was frowning. “Sit down. Are you cold? You're shivering.”

“I'm fine. Not hungry, not cold. Thanks.” But he did sit, contemplating the pizza. Then his stomach lurched and he gave up the idea of food.

They were all silent for a few moments before Danny spoke up. “I suppose you want to know how the investigation is going.”

He had to give his friend credit for not beating around the bush. “Yes. Do they have any suspects?”

An uncomfortable silence descended, and his three companions shared a look. Of course. Austin gave a sad laugh. “Sure. I'm the primary one, right? Estranged husband going through a bitter divorce, custody-rights battle, doesn't get along well with the soon-to-be ex. How am I doing so far?”

Danny sighed. “You're a person of interest, not a suspect. Nobody believes you did it, but every angle has to be studied, to count you out if nothing else.”

He knew that. But it still hurt.

“There must be more. What am I missing?”

“You don't want to hear about the details right now,” Chris said. “Let it rest for tonight.”

“You may as well tell me. I'm going to find out one way or another.”

At his insistence, Chris relented. “The murder weapon was a man's belt. It's the same size as two other ones still in your closet over there.”

The reality of that slid over him with cold horror. Ashley had been strangled, with an object that likely belonged to him. Someone really was out to destroy Austin's life.

So far, the bastard had done a good job.

“I think I'm going to lie back down,” he told them, standing. Any second, he was going to be sick.

“There's a sleeping pill on the nightstand, next to a bottle of water,” Tonio said. “In case you need it.”

“Just one?”

“Yeah. Just one.” Tonio's meaningful gaze told him that was all he was getting, too. They were watching him like a hawk, and self-destruction was not on the agenda.

Returning to his room, Austin shut them all out. Then he swallowed the pill and crawled under the covers. He waited a long time for the medication to take effect before he finally got sleepy.

But nothing would really help. Never again.

•   •   •

There wasn't a dry eye in the packed church—except Austin's.

He couldn't cry. Couldn't rage, eat, sleep, or function outside one single purpose. His sole focus had been on getting through five days of hell to plan the funeral for his wife and son. Glenn, Danny, Austin's men, the other officers, and his own parents had been solid rocks of support, and he was grateful.

But beyond today? Nothing. Tomorrow? More of nothing.

Ashley's parents wouldn't sit with him. Wouldn't even look at him. After the graveside service, he made the mistake of approaching her mother.

“Barbara, I'm so sorry—”

A resounding crack exploded against his cheek as the older woman slapped him with more force than he'd ever dreamed she was capable of. Stunned, he put his hand to the blazing flesh and stared at the woman he'd believed to be a second mother.

“If you'd been the husband she needed, if you hadn't left them, this never would've happened!”

And there it was. The blame. The guilt.

He couldn't even refute her. Hadn't the same accusation been forming in the back of his own mind, unspoken?

“I was going to do right by her and the baby, I swear,” he whispered. “We just couldn't stay married.”

“The only words I ever want to hear out of your mouth in the future are that you've caught the monster
who murdered my daughter and my grandson,” Barbara spat. “Then I never want to speak to you again.”

She walked away, his former father-in-law holding her up. He knew he'd never see either of them again.

A hand on his back startled him, and he turned to find himself wrapped in his own mother's embrace. For a few moments he lost himself in her familiar scent. The softness of her arms. Then his dad was there, too, and he thought maybe he could survive this.
Maybe
.

And he kept thinking that—until it was time for everyone to go home.

His parents wanted to stay, but he had gently sent them on their way, insisting he was going to be fine. Same with his friends. The day after the funeral, his house was quiet for once. Austin was still on family leave, a good idea anyway because of the investigation. His detectives were chasing leads, though they called frequently to check on him.

And, inevitably, in the silence that followed, reality set in. Then the true darkness descended.

He should call a Realtor, put his and Ashley's house on the market. Get it cleaned out. But he couldn't bring himself to take that final step. Instead he went to the liquor store and bought a variety of painkillers in variously colored bottles.

At his rented non-home, he parked himself on the couch, set his bottles on the coffee table, and poured himself a glass of whiskey. It burned all the way down, but left a pleasant fog in its wake that he liked, a lot. So much that the second one went down even better. And the third.

If you hadn't left them, this never would've happened!

His brain wouldn't shut down. Even though his team wouldn't allow him into his house, he'd worked enough crime scenes to know what had happened. To Ashley and his innocent son.

When the next bottle was done, he stared at it blearily, head swimming. Should he go to bed now? Sure, not that he'd sleep.

There were more bottles for tomorrow, and the day after that.

•   •   •

He woke up on a hard surface. His body hurt all over. He pushed up, tried to stand. His legs were jelly and he nearly fell. He was on the floor? Where?

Holding on to the wall, he managed to stay vertical, just barely. His brain felt like it was on a roller coaster and nothing made sense. A dangerous rumble in his stomach alerted him that he was going to be sick, and he stumbled faster.

He'd no sooner made it to the toilet and fell to his knees than he lost what little was in his stomach. He heaved again and again until he thought the lining inside him must be raw and bleeding.

No liquor in the world was enough to dull the pain. He'd failed his family. His son.

They were dead because he hadn't been there to protect them.

End this. End the agony
.

Staggering out, he weaved down the hallway. His vision doubled. Tripled. His foot connected with something and he lost his balance. Fell headlong into the end
table, taking out the glass hurricane lamp with him. It shattered, but he hardly felt anything. Looking down, he saw crimson on his arm. A river of blood flowing from the nasty gash.

Ignoring it, he crawled around the table. A mess of empty bottles was strewn everywhere and he knocked them aside, scattering them in search of one that was still full. It took some time, but finally he wrapped his fingers around a bottle of something clear. Vodka? He was so far gone he couldn't read the label.

After fumbling several times, he got the top open. Tilted his head back and drank deeply. Somewhere in the distance he heard his cell phone ring, but ignored it. Didn't matter. Nothing did.

Gradually his arm became heavy. Still, he was a little surprised when the bottle fell from his grasp to land with a
thunk
onto the floor, and his body went limp. Somehow he found himself lying on his side, unable to move. To do anything but listen to the thump of his slowing heartbeat.

So sorry, baby boy. Daddy's sorry . . .

A tear trickled from the corner of his eye, ran across the bridge of his nose.

Then the pain finally, finally faded to nothing.

•   •   •

Laura paced her kitchen, coffee mug in hand.

She was getting worried. The funeral two days earlier had been just about as bad as it got. From the weight of the horrible tragedy right down to the flared tempers and unjust blame leveled on Austin's head.

She'd given the captain plenty of space, but
something told her he could use a friend. A couple of her own friends knew the torch she carried for the man and might tease her for being self-serving, but she didn't see things that way. Austin had no lack of people in his circle, it was true. But she felt a connection to the man, even more so of late.

Now, unable to get him on the phone, she was worried. In the past few days, he had at least answered when she'd checked on him. Postfuneral depression was a notoriously bad reality for many, especially those who lived alone, and these were the worst of circumstances. Austin wasn't the self-destructive type, and yet . . .

A really bad feeling stole over her. That was enough to get her moving out the door and to her car. She would gladly own up to feeling foolish once she saw he was safe.

The drive to his rented house took almost twenty minutes from her place outside Nashville. She debated phoning one of his cop friends to meet her there, and feared they'd think she was overreacting. About ten minutes out she made a call anyway, to Detective Chris Ford. She'd worked with all of them at one time or another, but she liked Chris and knew he'd take her concern seriously.

Turned out she wasn't the only one worried.

“I'm glad you called,” the detective said. “In fact, Shane and I haven't been able to get an answer, either. We were just about to head over there.”

“See you in a few.”

In all, it was the longest twenty minutes of her life.
She arrived before the cousins and saw that the captain's truck was parked in the driveway. She jogged to the front door, knocking loudly and calling out.

“Austin? Austin, open up!” She repeated the pounding and calling out twice more, and there was no answer. A quick peek at the windows was no help, since the blinds were drawn.

She paced the porch until a big black truck pulled up to the curb. Shane and Chris hopped out and hurried over to her.

“No answer?” Shane asked.

“None. His truck is here, but maybe he went somewhere and someone else drove?”

“Could be. Do we take that chance?”

Chris shook his head. “No. We have to get in there and be sure. I'll pay for the door one way or the other.”

His cousin nodded. “I'll help. Okay, let's do this.”