Dangerous Kiss (14 page)

She grabbed the first weapon she found—a heavy glass beer pitcher from the drying rack. The only problem? What in the hell was she supposed to do with it? If only she…

The gun.

Grunts and groans filled her ears. She dropped to her knees to find where the gun had fallen. Frantic, she felt along the floorboards. She cheered silently when she saw it near the bottom of the ice machine.

Exalted, she swiped it off the floor. She stood, spread her feet shoulder width apart and bent her knees slightly. The gun felt cold when she gripped the handle with both hands. Her first impulse was to shoot, but she couldn’t risk hitting Jake. She raised the gun toward the ceiling. Her heart hammered as she waited for the Voice of Doom to separate from Jake.

She hurried around to the front of the bar. The fighters seemed evenly matched. Jake was a bit bigger, but the maniac had enough meth-fueled crazy in him to negate the weight advantage. They grappled on the floor, turned into a small round table, knocked it down. The killer rolled on top of Jake, but he flipped the other man off his body and the men separated. Both breathing hard, they sized each other up like boxers at the beginning of the tenth round.

Doubt seized her. The gun trembled in her hands. What if she missed? What if she hit Jake instead? Her heart pounded in her ears. There may not be another chance. She had to do it now.

Claire lowered the gun and aimed at the Voice of Doom. Willing her hands to calm, she eased the trigger back. The gun cracked to life and bounced her arms back.

The killer shrieked. A warm serenity soaked through her body as blood spread across the seat of his jeans. She’d hit him in the ass.

It was just a flesh wound so the danger he posed wasn’t past. They couldn’t afford for him to realize she wasn’t as cool and collected as she pretended.

“You bitch! You shot me!”

Bile rose in her throat. She’d gone hunting with her father as a girl, but she’d never hit anything. Now she’d shot a human being. Sure, he was a tweaked-out psychopath, but still she’d pulled the trigger and put a bullet in a person. The reality of it all made her nauseous. Counting to twenty, she pushed back her inner turmoil into a closet in her mind. She slammed the mental door shut. She’d deal with it later.

“You.” She continued to aim the gun at her human target. “Hands on your head.” Isn’t that what they always said on TV?

He shot her a scathing look, rolled to his stomach and intertwined his fingers behind his head. “This is not right. Why is everyone so against me?”

“I don’t think anyone is particularly thrilled with you right now.” She pressed back against the bar for support, worried her shaky legs wouldn’t hold out much longer.

Jake stood guard over him. “We need to tie him up. Anything handy nearby?”

“Suzie’s got a bar apron back here. Why don’t you use that to tie his hands behind him?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jake kissed her on the top of her head and walked behind the bar to search for the apron.

Her stomach calmed somewhat, but her arms began to ache unbearably. Who knew guns could get so heavy, so fast?

“Got it.” Jake came back around, trussed up the man’s feet and wrists and reached for his cellphone. He leaned down and whispered something in the killer’s ear.

She couldn’t hear the words, but they must have had their desired effect. Jake stood and laughed, a cold sound masquerading as humor. The man’s body stiffened.

Claire lowered the gun to the bar and sank onto a stool. Her stomach twisted and cramped. She laid her head down on the dark wood. The cool surface calmed her riotous nerves, gave her a chance to think for a moment. She’d made the right move. Really, she never had another choice.

Sirens cried in the distance. With a relieved sigh, she slid off the stool. Her knees shook a bit, but she maintained her somewhat wobbly stance. She’d always heard it seemed like forever for law enforcement to respond. Now she understood what that meant.

“You okay? You’re not looking so hot.” Jake tilted his head.

Now was not the time to flake out. She’d have plenty of time for that when she finally made it home.

She tried to look reassuring, but her calmness wavered. “It’s over.”

“Ha!” the killer croaked from the floor. “You have no idea what you’re in for now, Honey Child. By this time tomorrow, you’ll be laying—”

Jake ended the tirade with a kick to the psycho’s stomach. Though bloody and battered, the killer looked…happy. His face lit by some evil inner light, he looked like someone who taunts you because he knows the best secret in the world but has no intention of sharing it.

“Honey, just look at your choice of lovers to know all is not right with your world. They always leave you in the end. Always.”

His maniacal laugh made her take an involuntary step back. Her throat constricted.

“I should have killed you last night at the house. I’d have saved you a lot of heartbreak. Literally.”

Jake squatted down and slammed his fist into the Voice of Doom’s face, silencing the killer.

L
ooks like you only grazed him,” the EMT muttered as she packed up her equipment and stuffed it into a navy and black duffel bag.

“Maybe I’ll have better luck next time.” The words were out of Claire’s mouth before she had a chance to censor them.

The EMT looked up as she unwound a stethoscope from around her neck. Her severe French braid pulled her face tight, but couldn’t help with the bags puffing up underneath her exhaustion-dulled hazel eyes. They were the serious eyes of a woman who’d spent too many sleepless nights trying to keep the dying alive.

For a moment, Claire could hear her own heart beating as it pounded in her chest. Damn. Why couldn’t she think before she spoke? She opened her mouth to say something, anything, to mitigate the callousness of what she’d just said but nothing came out. Instead, she stood there with her mouth agape like a fish flopping around on the bottom of a boat.

The EMT looked away and stuffed the stethoscope into a zippered pocket. “Yep. I heard about this one. You probably don’t remember, but I was here the night you found that girl. We brought her to the morgue.” She closed the bag and slung it over a shoulder. “I wouldn’t blame you if you shot him right between the eyes. Just next time, even though officially I hope there isn’t a next time, please shoot him in the next county. I don’t like having to patch up tweaked-out murderers.” She gave a terse nod and joined her partner at Harvest’s door.

Claire stared after them as they walked out into the parking lot. She envied them. They got to escape the Voice of Doom. She had to stay in the same room with him until the investigators got a chance to talk to her. Unease crept along her skin as he watched her from across the room. Because of his injury, he remained on the floor surrounded by deputies. Their presence did little to ease the fear scattering her thoughts as her muscles tensed.

The blood that had seeped through the right back pocket of the Voice of Doom’s jeans jarred Claire’s mind back to Saturday night. Dried blood matting Kendall’s hair. Fear grabbed ahold of her heart and she squeezed her eyes shut. Stark terror rose up, took her back to that night.

“Do you understand these rights as I’ve read them?” The deputy’s voice sounded too loud to her ears.

“I’m not an idiot, of course I understand, Officer Donut.”

His snide tone triggered the memory of the first threatening phone call. Tears pushed against her closed eyelids. A familiar helplessness descended over her. Just like that night, she was scared and unable to protect the people she loved.

She shivered and Jake tightened his arms around her. The heat emanating from his body soaked into her cool skin. She’d almost gotten him killed pretending he was her bodyguard with benefits. How could she have done that? How could she have been so selfish? Gritting her teeth, Claire choked back a sob.

For forty-eight hours she’d lived on the precipice of disaster. Through it all, she’d held on to her anger with an iron grasp and let it guide her actions. She’d refused to show how scared she’d really been.

The click of the handcuffs locking around the killer’s wrists exploded her tough-girl facade.

Claire lost it. Fat tears cascaded down her cheeks and her shoulders shook from her efforts to stifle her sobs.

Jake turned her around in his arms and pressed her cheek to his chest. His hands stroked her hair.

“Let it go, Claire.” His lips brushed the top of her head. “Just let it go.”

It poured out of her. All the fear and frustration ran down her face in hot tears that dripped off her chin. Jake rubbed her back in circular motions. His touch anchored her to him. Somehow she understood that he’d hold her until the tempest insider her ran its course.

For a few minutes the world consisted of Jake and her, the deputies working around them forgotten. She basked in the comfort he provided and snuggled in deeper. His responding sigh set off a fluttering in her stomach.

Everything she needed in life was wrapped around her.

The realization came to her crystal clear and fully formed, as if someone had spoken it aloud. Suddenly, the warmth in her body vanished. Her breathing turned heavy as she sucked air in and out, unable to fill her lungs. Her arms tingled. Fighting off a wave of dizziness, she pushed away from his chest.

She promised herself after Brett that she’d never need someone else that much again. The idea of needing Jake scared her almost as much as the events of the past two days.

“What’s wrong?” Worry lines creased his forehead.

Her line of sight narrowed. Focused on his slate-blue eyes, her peripheral vision turned dark. Her fight-or-flight response surfaced, demanding release. Unable to form words, she jerked away from him and stumbled backward until she smacked up against a barstool.

“Claire, we need to take you down to the station. The investigators can talk to you there so you don’t need to wait around while he’s here.” Hank dipped his head toward the Voice of Doom, whose gaze bored holes into her.

She inhaled several deep, cleansing breaths. Her heart slowed and her surroundings came back into focus. She grabbed Hank’s hand tight in her own.

“Jake, Sgt. Carlyle will take you over in a bit.” Hank ushered her toward the door.

“Claire.” Jake’s voice rang out above the deputies’ chatter and the snapping of the forensics guy’s camera flashes.

She glanced back, unprepared for the determined set to his square jaw. Before she could process what it meant, his face softened. His signature smirk set off fireworks inside her. She fought against the instant buzz of attraction but, her nipples tightened.

“We’ll talk later.” There was no question in his words.

His challenging tone set off a warm flush that heated her chest.

“Promise me, Claire.”

Even if he wasn’t here for the long haul, he wanted him. Needed him. For her, it wasn’t just physical. She yearned for the total package. Her heart skipped a beat. “I promise.”

A relieved sigh escaped as Claire sank back down onto the cheap vinyl couch in Hank’s office. She could sleep tonight without every light in the house on. The sound of her phone ringing wouldn’t set off alarm bells. A giddy excitement buzzed through her body, she couldn’t wait for everything to be normal again.

Absentmindedly, she picked at a one-inch tear in the stiff fabric. A seed of discontent bloomed. It wasn’t really over. Not yet. She had to know why it had all happened. She wasn’t leaving the sheriff’s office until she did.

Beth had told her once that juries didn’t like to convict unless there was a motive. Apprehension squeezed her upper back tight. She rolled her neck and stretched her shoulders, but the muscles remained coiled. If he went free, he’d make good on his promise to hurt her and her family. Dread wormed its way into the recesses of her mind.

She would spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder, waiting for the moment when the Voice of Doom would appear. She shuttered. If he didn’t spill his guts to the investigators, she’d have to find the phone and flash drive. If juries wanted motives, she’d find one. There was no way this psycho would stroll out of jail ever again.

An antsy she could shake itched its way up her spine and she paced around Hank’s office as she chewed her bottom lip. She’d been hanging out in the cramped space for the past hour, ever since the investigators finished talking with her. They’d introduced themselves as Strunk and White, no first names, asked her a few questions and released her right as the first-shift deputies were heading home for dinner.

The walls of Hank’s office closed in on her as she marched around the small space. She had to get out of here. Waiting and worrying was making her nuts.

She grabbed Hank’s coffee cup and hustled out the door. The fluorescent bulbs, sizzling above the hallway’s Army-green vinyl floor, intensified her hungry headache. Her stomach growled for dinner, a snack, anything. Maybe she could snag a donut in the break room.

Anything would do, but the apprehensive little girl inside her cried for comfort food: creamy mashed potatoes, lasagna stuffed with meatballs, warm chicken noodle soup, anything made with chocolate. Unfortunately, she’d have to placate her hunger with the vending machine’s heart-attack-in-a-plastic-sack food.