Burnout (NYPD Blue & Gold) (19 page)

Rope.

It tightened, the sharp, prickly nubs biting into her skin as her oxygen was cut off. She clawed at the rope, trying to pry her fingers beneath it. A strangled sound escaped her mouth. Then nothing. She tried to scream but couldn’t. No air. Her airway was cut off.

Oh my God, oh my God!

The full ramification of what was happening slammed into her. She couldn’t believe it would end this way. There was nothing she could do. He was too strong.

I’ll never leave this room alive.

Not. Gonna. Happen.

With twisting motions, she tried dislodging him, but it was no use. She was pinned flat on the floor by his foot pressing into her back.

Cassie flailed her arms out to her sides, then behind her—hoping to get in one last blow. Her vision clouded. The light in the kitchen dimmed. She swung her hands over her head, flailing uselessly. In seconds, her arms became heavy and she couldn’t lift them. Her eyelids fluttered, then closed. Her head…too heavy. No more strength to do…anything.

Mike…

Through the haze…a raspy voice. “Die, bitch.”

Chapter Eighteen

Between the rain pounding the cruiser’s windshield and the electrical storm screwing with cell phone communications, Mike had barely been able to understand the duty cop at the NYPD’s 1
st
Precinct. From what he could make out, Detective Dominick Carew was out of town and Detective Cassandra Yates was on assignment.

Yates.
The name was familiar, but Mike couldn’t focus long enough to recall why.

He pressed his fingers to his forehead and tried unsuccessfully to ease the ache behind his eyes. Cassie really was a cop, a detective. Possibly the only thing she hadn’t lied about.

In his mind, Cassie’s face wavered in and out, distorted, intertwining with his last memory of Elaine when she’d admitted her identity as an IA cop trying to pin bullshit charges on him.

Bite the bullet, Flannery. They both used your ass good.

Things were over between him and Cassie. Of that, he had no doubt. Interrogating her so soon after her butt-kicking revelation was the last thing he wanted, but somehow he’d get through it. For the moment, she was in his town and, as such, his responsibility.

He dragged his hand across his stubbled chin as a wave of dizziness hit him. The cruiser began veering into the other lane.

“Shit.” He jerked the wheel just in time to avoid running into a ditch. The wound in his chest really had been worse than he’d thought. If he didn’t get off the road and off his feet soon, he’d be no good to anyone.

He glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard. Nearly midnight. Cassie would be at the station by now, but it would take him another fifteen to get there and he didn’t want her bolting on him. He yanked his cell phone from his belt to dial the station.

No service.

“Crap.” He tuned the cruiser’s police radio to a private frequency assigned to his dispatcher and clicked the microphone. “Maddy?”

“Go ahead, Chief.” Maddy’s voice was muted by static.

“Tell Cassie I’m on my way to the station.” For long moments all he heard was clicking.

“…no one here but me, Chief.”

Mike clicked the microphone, but all he heard was static. Several attempts yielded the same results until he faced the inevitable.

Phone
and
radio communications were down.

“Great.” He threw the useless microphone onto the passenger seat. He never should have trusted Cassie and let her out of his sight.

She might be trying to leave town to avoid another confrontation with him. No, she wouldn’t do that. She was a professional, and as such was aware there was protocol to be followed. And why wouldn’t she have gone to the police station where she’d be the safest?

Jesus, Raven is at the house.

Where a hit man might very well be waiting. To verify his kill.

Mike flipped on the red and blue strobe lights. The cruiser’s tires spun on the wet pavement as he slammed his foot on the accelerator.

He had no proof Cassie was in any trouble, but instinct had him gunning the cruiser past ninety. Even at this speed, he was a solid ten minutes from Cassie’s house.

Red and blue strobes reflected off fields of crops as Mike sped along the road toward Hopewell Springs. A spasm of pain shot from his wound, so intense his vision blurred. “Damn.” Without slowing, he pounded his fist on the steering wheel until the road came back into focus. If he didn’t get to Cassie’s house soon, he might not make it at all.

What would it take for her to consider relying on someone—him—for backup?

Speaking of backup, he had none. With no radio or cell communication, he’d be going after her alone.

Worry gripped him as he entered the residential section of town and flicked off the strobes. Something else could be driving her besides Raven. Guilt and anger. He knew it well enough, since he’d been in that same situation himself. After two people died because of his actions, he’d wanted to take it out on someone so badly he could taste it. In his case, there was no one he could take it out on. The bad guy had conveniently blown his own brains out.

Cassie, on the other hand, had someone to take her anger out on—the hired killer. The guy who’d hurt Leo. Mike would bet Cassie was going home to grab Raven, and if the sonofabitch was waiting at her house, she’d confront him alone. She would figure it was her penance, what she deserved.

Even if it meant dying.

Mike had never prayed a day in his life, but as he turned onto Cassie’s street and skidded to a stop at the curb a few houses from hers, he prayed like hell he was wrong. Maybe the bastard had booked out of town after the explosion and was a hundred miles away by now. Then again, hired guns were paid to kill. If they didn’t hit their mark, they didn’t get paid.

After shutting off the engine, he got out of the cruiser and forced himself not to charge into the house Rambo-style. Rookie mistakes might get Cassie killed. He drew his gun from his ankle holster and took a quick assessment as he ran toward Cassie’s front yard.

The street was empty, except for a few parked vehicles. Most of the houses were dark. The rain had completely stopped, but the air smelled and felt as thick and humid as a greenhouse.

Sweat trickled down his temples as he surveyed the lawn. All clear. He scanned the front porch. Clear. No movement at the windows.

Where’s Raven?

Raven had a soft spot for him, but it was so dark out, how would the dog know who had stepped onto the property?

She wouldn’t. That dog was as sharp as any K-9 he’d worked with. Even with his relatively quiet approach, Raven should be barking up a storm by now.

Mike took off at a dead run.

Water sprayed his pants as he pounded through the soggy, wet grass, his boots sinking in deep. With his back against the house, he took cover between two living room windows. He gripped his Glock in both hands and slowed his breathing to listen. No sound from the house.

Warning bells clanged in his head. If ever there was a need for backup, it was now.

Backup, hell, what he needed right now was a friggin’ SWAT team.

Yeah, right.

Like he could ever stand down when Cassie’s life might be at stake. His instincts screamed louder and louder she was in trouble. Big trouble. He knew better than to go in alone—again—but he had no choice. This time, the victim would
not
be murdered.

Mike bolted across the wet grass. Stabbing pain shot from the wound in his chest. Suddenly his world went black and he fell to his knees.

Deep breaths.
He shook his head to clear it.
Stay focused.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only seconds, his vision cleared, and he staggered to his feet and pressed on. At the corner of the house, he leaned around to survey the backyard.

Light spilled through the kitchen’s screen door onto the porch. Only the sound of a few chirping crickets filled the night. Something was definitely wrong.

At the bottom of the porch stairs, he looked down. Two sets of muddy prints. One Cassie’s size and the other…bigger.

Ignoring every tactical rule in the book, he tore up the steps and raced to the screen door. A muffled, choking sound came to his ears, and in one terrifying heartbeat, he processed the scene.

A killing rage overtook him.

He yanked open the screen door and burst inside. The man strangling Cassie raised his head.

Mike aimed and fired.

The shot reverberated in the small kitchen. Blood seeped from the hole in the middle of the assassin’s forehead. The man’s eyes went wide and his body stilled, frozen, but his hands remained on the rope wrapped tightly around Cassie’s neck. The assassin was dead, but the guy’s brain was no longer sending signals to his body.

Mike charged forward and rammed his booted foot into the guy’s face, knocking him backward against the wall. His skull whacked into the Sheetrock, and he slid to the floor in a heap, leaving a thick red and gray smear on the white wall.

With his heart in his throat, Mike stuck his gun in his belt and fell to Cassie’s side. His gut twisted in terror as he unwrapped the rope from around her throat and flung it away.

This wasn’t happening. He couldn’t lose her.

Not like this.

An angry red welt encircled the smooth skin on her neck. Mike gently lifted her head and shoulders off the floor and cradled her in his arms.

“Cassie? Sweetheart, wake up.” She didn’t answer, but right before busting in, he’d heard her choking. She’d been alive moments ago. She was pale. Too pale. For one zillionth of a second, years of specialized training fled, panic nearly immobilizing him.

He placed his hand on her chest between her breasts. Christ, he wasn’t sure she was breathing. He lowered his cheek to her mouth, praying for a wisp of her breath to brush over his skin. Nothing.

“No!” he shouted.
She’s
not
dead.
Not my beautiful Cassie.

Mike touched two of his fingers to her carotid artery. He didn’t feel anything and repositioned his fingers.

“Dammit, no.” He prepared to begin CPR when he heard a soft intake of air.

He watched her chest for movement. “Cassie, come back to me. Wake up, baby.” Her lips parted, and Mike heard her take another breath, louder this time. Her chest rose and fell visibly now. The relief shooting through him was unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

“Sweet Jesus.” He shut his eyes for a second and groaned. He’d thought she was gone, and it had almost killed him.

Cassie gasped again, then coughed. Mike gently pulled her upright, cradling the back of her head between his chest and shoulder. A lock of hair fell in front of her closed eyes, and with a shaky hand he tucked the coppery strands behind her ear.

“Cassie.” His throat tightened with a slew of emotions he couldn’t name. “I thought I’d lost you.”

Mike kissed her forehead, her cheeks. He held her hand to his lips. Her fingers were cold, and he pressed them more firmly against his mouth to warm them. Her eyelids fluttered until pain-filled emerald green eyes met his.

“Hey,” he whispered and gave her a wan smile she tried to return.

“Hey,” she croaked, squeezing his hand.

With her other hand, she touched his cheek. He turned his face to kiss her palm, and his heart nearly busted in half. There was still so much between them and perhaps always would be. None of it mattered right now. Cassie was alive and in his arms.

Color gradually returned to her cheeks, replacing the pasty whiteness. A lone tear trickled from one of her eyes. He leaned down to kiss it away, noticing blood vessels in the whites of her eyes had burst.

“Mike?” His name came out in a harsh whisper.

“I’m here, baby.” His own voice cracked. “You’re safe.” He ran his hand over her back, her shoulders, then her legs, searching for other injuries.

“But the—” She turned her head to the body lying on the floor next to them.

“Dead.” Mike took his first real look at the sonofabitch.

Dark hair and goatee, probably of Middle Eastern descent. And wearing an
I Love Hopewell Springs
T-shirt.

Fury boiled dangerously close to the surface as Mike took in the red ring encircling Cassie’s neck and her swollen jaw where the bastard must have hit her. Part of him wished the guy was still alive so he could beat the shit out of him. Feeling the bastard’s bones crushing beneath his fists would have given him immense pleasure. But the killer’s dark eyes were dull, unseeing.

Cassie clutched at his arm. “I need to get up,” she rasped.

He shook his head and cupped the side of her face. “Easy there. The only place you’re going is to the hospital. I want a doctor to check you out.”

“No!” The look on her face was panicked as she tried to stand. “Raven!” Cassie cried as Mike put a steadying arm around her shoulders. “Where’s Raven?”

She pushed past him and staggered into the hallway. He hustled after her.

At the front door, she fell to her knees. Raven lay on her side. Cassie’s scream was guttural, gut-wrenching. “Raven! Raven!” She touched the dog’s head and ears, but Raven didn’t move. Cassie’s shoulders began to shake. “I don’t think she’s breathing.”

Mike flicked on the hallway light switch and knelt to run his hands over and under the dog’s body, sifting his fingers through the satiny, black fur. He looked at his hands, expecting to see blood, but there was none. He felt a fluttering heartbeat, but Raven was barely breathing.

Something on the adjacent living room rug caught Mike’s eye. A dart. The kind used to tranquilize an animal. Or kill one.

“Stay with her.” He ran to the kitchen, searching the drawers until he found a plastic freezer bag. Using the bag as a glove, he picked up the dart and turned the bag inside out, sealing it.

“Please tell me she’s alive,” Cassie whispered, her eyes glossy with tears. “Please.”

“Take this.” Mike handed Cassie the bag, then scooped Raven into his arms. “She’s alive.” The dog’s head draped over his arm. “Barely, though. We’ll drive her to Doc Tesch. He can figure out what kind of poison this is.”

Cassie yanked open the front door. Mike took in her stricken face. She was distraught and on the verge of a full-scale panic attack. He sure had a bead on that score. He’d just gone through it.

With his arm cradling Raven’s neck, Mike hustled down the front steps and along the street to where he’d parked his cruiser. Cassie followed on his heels. “Open the passenger door and get in.”

She jerked open the door and slid in, then tossed the plastic bag with the dart onto the dashboard. Mike gently laid Raven on Cassie’s lap and shut the door. He ran to the driver’s side and got in. A second later, they were speeding toward the vet’s office.

The misery etched into Cassie’s tear-stained face made him grip the wheel tighter. If he could make the vehicle fly, he would have. A quick glance at the unconscious dog sprawled across her lap told Mike what he already knew.

Someone else in Cassie’s life probably wouldn’t make it through the night.