Waking Nightmare (41 page)
She cursed, both from surprise and pain, and struggled for a moment as fear, old and new, collided.
The shadows pressed in, dark and oppressive. The heavy breathing sounding close. She was alone. Vulnerable in the darkness.
Shaking free of the past, she swung back with the keys, hoping to catch her assailant in the face. The blow was deflected and her keys went flying. In the next movement she struck back with one of her feet, connecting with a hard knee.
“Shit!”
She was crowded closer to the car, her face forced down to the trunk lid as a big body pressed against her. “Smart little bitch, aren’t you?”
She stilled, straining to recognize the venom-filled voice in her ear. “Knew you were trouble the first time I saw you. Had to go running to Robel, didn’t you? Couldn’t come to me first. Let me explain.”
Comprehension filtered in and Abbie drew a breath, her mind racing. “I had to tell Robel, Nick. You know that.”
“Bullshit.” He stepped back and roughly turned her over to face him, one hand braced on her chest. “You had it in for me from the first. You bitches are all alike. You’re the one who never belonged on that task force. I should still be there, doing the job. What the hell have you contributed, huh?”
Abbie stared up at Nick McElroy assessingly. He was drunk, but not incapacitated by any means. Was he drunk enough not to weigh the cost to his career if he hurt her? She didn’t think so. But she also didn’t know the man well enough to predict what he was capable of.
In the last twenty-four hours or so, she hadn’t done especially well assessing potential harm to herself.
“What do you want, Nick? What is this going to solve?” If she could distract him, she’d have a chance to pull her gun. And regardless of Nick McElroy’s intentions, she’d feel a lot safer with her Sig in her hand.
“I want you to undo the damage you did by repeating Chan’s garbage to Robel. You’re going to go to Dixon himself. Tell him I don’t fit the profile and that it’s your opinion I’m needed on the case.”
Abbie felt the urge to laugh, knew it was ill advised. “Dixon isn’t going to believe that. You’re better off—”
With one hand around her throat, he pressed her head back, rapping it smartly against the car. “I belong on this task force. I belong on the job. You’re going to help me get my suspension retracted.”
Swiftly, Abbie recalculated her earlier assessment. McElroy wasn’t rational. And she wasn’t about to wait and take her chances with the man. “Maybe you’re right, Nick. There is one thing I could do.”
His grip on her throat eased. “Damn right there is.”
Abbie rammed her knee with all the force she could muster into the man’s groin, rolling away when he folded in on himself and fell heavily against the car. Pulling free of his weight, she spun and aimed a kick at the side of his head and then bent to pull her weapon from her ankle holster.
Hearing footsteps crunch on the gravel behind her, she sidled away to keep both McElroy and the newcomer in her sight. “Stop right there. Both of you.”
But as soon as she uttered the words, she knew they’d be ignored. Because McElroy was already straightening, his face a mask of rage illuminated by the beam of the other man’s Maglite. A familiar figure was stepping between him and Abbie, pushing Nick away when he would have taken a step in her direction.
Ryne. Abbie didn’t know whether to be thankful or dismayed to see him. His presence here was sure to inflame an already volatile situation.
“Step back, Ryne. I’ve got it under control.”
But her words were lost on him. She could see the fury on his face, could guess his intentions even before he dropped the light and sent his fist into McElroy’s face.
The other detective swung back, a heavy haymaker that would have rendered Ryne unconscious if it had connected. But Ryne ducked and sent a swift jab into McElroy’s solar plexus, before clipping him again in the jaw.
Nick lunged, head-butting Ryne, and they both tumbled to the ground in a flurry of blows.
It was sorely tempting to just fire a shot in the air to get their attention, since it was clear that neither of them was in any position to listen to reason. The resulting paperwork, however, wasn’t worth it.
Abbie strode up to where the two men were grappling. Ryne was throwing punch after steady punch at McElroy’s head, while the other detective had both hands wrapped around Ryne’s neck.
She placed the muzzle of her gun against McElroy’s temple and said, “Stop now.”
If the warning in her voice didn’t get through the alcohol haze, the pressure of her weapon against his skin did. His hands loosened from Ryne’s neck, fell away.
“Get up, Ryne.”
“Abbie, let me—”
“Back off!” Right now it’d be a tough call to say which of them she was more pissed at.
With a seething look at her, he obeyed, shoving away from the other man and getting to his feet. McElroy sat up, wiped the blood from his mouth sullenly. “What the hell are you doing here, Robel?” Then in the next instant his mouth twisted. “Don’t tell me you’re putting it to Tinkerbell.” He gave an ugly laugh. “Now that’s something Dixon should find interesting.”
“Shut up, Nick.” Abbie wouldn’t have been capable of diplomacy even if it had occurred to her. “If you were sober, you’d realize that you have no one to blame but yourself for your current situation. You’re in this mess because of your involvement with Chan, and that doesn’t have a damn thing to do with me, or with Ryne. Now go home and sober up. You come near me again and you’ll be pulling your balls out of your throat.”
“Already am,” the man muttered, struggling to his feet. “You never would have landed a kick if I hadn’t had a couple beers.”
“A couple?” Ryne’s tone was derisive as he stooped to recover the flashlight. “I told you to stay out of trouble, not to spend your days boozing. This isn’t going to help your situation. You’re just making things worse.”
McElroy made a show of brushing off his jeans and T-shirt. “I just wanted to talk to her. This had nothing to do with you.”
“Yeah?” The low lethal tone of Ryne’s voice had all of Abbie’s senses on alert. “Well, the next time you want to
talk
, pick up a telephone. You go near her again and you won’t be walking away, McElroy. I’ll see to that.”
talk
, pick up a telephone. You go near her again and you won’t be walking away, McElroy. I’ll see to that.”
Nick glared at him. “Fuck you, Robel. You’re just Dixon’s bitch, think we don’t all know that? How else would a homicide cop end up lead detective in this task force? Hell, how else would a Boston cop wind up in SCMPD?”
Ryne took a step toward McElroy, then halted, a physical threat radiating from him. “This is the only warning you’ll get. Steer clear of the case and stay away from Abbie. Or I will hurt you. And I’ll damn well enjoy it.”
Abbie watched as McElroy wheeled around, stalked down the drive. It hadn’t occurred to her until then to wonder where he’d parked before he’d been skulking outside her place. His vehicle must be on the street, but she hadn’t noticed. There were always cars parked out there. Many of the houses in the neighborhood lacked garages.
She holstered her weapon, then retrieved her laptop. Finding her keys and the attached flashlight proved more of a challenge. Peering at the ground, she retraced her steps around her car.
Ryne found them before she did, sweeping the area with the beam of the Maglite and scooping them up, before playing the beam over the path to her back door. “Why the hell didn’t you get a light installed out here when the security company came?”
The anger in his voice took her aback. Grabbing the keys from him, she made her way to the house, uncaring whether or not he followed. “I have a penlight for the rare nights I come home in the dark. It’s not worth the expense to put a bunch of money into a short-term rental.”
“It’s worth it when your safety is an issue. It’s worth it when you’re afraid of the dark.”
That stopped her cold. Setting her jaw, she turned to face him. She didn’t like to recall that instant of mind-numbing fear when McElroy had knocked the light from her hand, his body keeping her captive against the car.
“I handled myself, darkness or not,” she reminded him, his words still smarting. They all had their vulnerabilities. She’d worked hard to overcome hers. Reminding her of a weakness didn’t endear him to her. “Things were under control. You just made it worse with your caveman theatrics.” She turned and stalked up to the house, reaching for the key to unlock the back door.
“Well, excuse me all to hell for thinking that a woman struggling with a drunken idiot who outweighs her by eighty pounds just might need a little help.” He followed her into the house, his voice truculent.
“Your
help
made matters worse. I’d already gotten away from him when you arrived. If I’d had a chance to defuse the situation, I might have been able to—”
help
made matters worse. I’d already gotten away from him when you arrived. If I’d had a chance to defuse the situation, I might have been able to—”
“You might have been able to what? Talk him to sleep? Invite him inside for a couch session and shrink his head?” Ryne stopped short in her kitchen, and eyed the cartons stuffed high in the trash can, before continuing, “Even you have to admit he was beyond talking sense to. There was only one thing that was going to get through to him and that was a good ass kicking.”
She stood in the doorway to the living room to block him from coming any farther into the house. Because she was abruptly anxious to see him go.
After the sleepless night she’d spent with Callie, followed by eight hours of work and then the run-in with McElroy, she found herself completely devoid of the patience to deal with Ryne, who was inexplicably in the grips of testosterone overload.
“Perhaps it escaped your notice that I’d already pulled my weapon when you arrived.” It was hard to say what infuriated her more—his disparaging remarks about her profession, or his disregard for her capability to take care of herself. “No one asked you to ride to the rescue.” Her voice had risen to a near shout, which was yet another reason to get Ryne out of there. She didn’t want to lose control in front of him. That would top off the last twenty-four hours. “I’m not one of those women who needs a man in my life directing every damn move I make.”
His voice was sharp as a blade. “All evidence to the contrary.”
She was shaking now, with combined fury and fatigue. “Get out. I don’t want to be around you right now.”
A shadow passed over Ryne’s expression and he took a step toward her. “Abbie . . .”
“Get . . . out.” She didn’t stay to watch him comply. Instead she turned and walked through the small living room, flipping on a lamp and setting her laptop on the desk. She stood there, fists clenched, muscles bunched, until she heard a small noise. The unmistakable sound of the back door closing quietly had the tension seeping from her, a little at a time.
She scrubbed both hands over her face, wincing when she came into contact with a knot forming over one eye. As a matter of fact, a chorus of aches and pains were making themselves known. She had a matching lump on the back of her head, both of them courtesy of close contact with the trunk of the car.
Grimacing, she considered that maybe she should have kicked McElroy harder. She crossed to the bathroom, rubbing a tender spot on her hip, and assessed the damage in the mirror.
Gingerly, she probed at the lump above her eye. If she iced it, she might be able to keep it from swelling any more. The last thing she wanted was to have to answer questions about her appearance tomorrow at . . .
Catching a glimpse of her shirt in her reflection, she lowered her arm to examine it. It was spotted with blood. Uttering an oath, Abbie quickly unbuttoned it and shrugged it off to examine the injury beneath.
The wound between the neat stitches was oozing in a couple places, but it didn’t look like she’d pulled a stitch loose. Which was lucky, since the ER doc last night hadn’t looked too convinced by the story she’d come up with to explain the injury.
She cleansed it with a dampened cloth, then applied some first aid ointment to it. Ordinarily she’d spend hours working late into the evening on the case, going over the results of the day’s investigation, and putting them in some sort of order. But exhaustion was bearing down on her like an out-of-control truck. She doubted her ability to remain upright much longer.
It was when she headed to her bedroom that she heard it. A scrape of a shoe on worn linoleum. Her blood chilled and she froze, straining to listen for another noise. But one didn’t come.
She hadn’t locked the back door.
Her eyes slid closed in self-reproach. It was an unforgivable oversight, especially after the events of the evening. But if this was McElroy coming back for another round, she wasn’t going to be nearly as gentle this time.
Swiftly she bent and drew her weapon, training it steadily on the doorway separating the two rooms as she inched closer. Could it be Callie? She didn’t think so—both times Abbie had spoken to her that day she’d mentioned staying in for the evening.
There was another noise. Closer now. Abbie deliberately controlled her breathing as she ducked behind the overstuffed chair, using it for cover. The angle would allow her sight of the kitchen. And the intruder standing in it.
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