Cold Target (32 page)

How many more deaths could she bear?

And how much more guilt?

twenty

N
EW
O
RLEANS

The siren wailed as the car careened toward the Fuller home.

Gage drove as fast as was safe. He was only too aware of the woman who shared the front seat with him.

He'd feared exactly what was happening. The last time he'd confronted Fuller, he'd sensed the seething fury in the man. He'd hoped he'd tamped it. Instead it appeared he'd ignited it. He was furious with himself.

He also wondered at the timing. Fuller must have heard about the death of the father of his wife's attorney. He was also fully aware of the attacks on Meredith. Had he been waiting for an opportunity?

Gage prayed silently that squad cars were closer than he and Meredith. He felt the tension emanating from her. He felt it in himself. He knew he shouldn't have brought her with him. But he'd also known she wouldn't have stayed at home. She would have driven herself to the Fuller home.

He pressed down on the gas pedal, jerking in and out of traffic. As they neared the location, he debated turning off the siren. Sometimes it would instigate even more violence. Other times, it would scare off the intruder.

He's a bully. Bullies want the advantage. They're mostly cowards
.

Take a guess
.

He kept the siren on.

The car screeched up to the curb in front of Fuller's home just as two squad cars arrived.

“Stay here,” he told Meredith.

He bounded out of the car and went over to the first cruiser. Two uniformed officers left the second one and met them.

“A cop,” Gage said with disgust. “There's a restraining order against him.”

“Hell,” said one of the officers, then looked to him for advice.

“I'll go in. I know him.”

A shot echoed from inside the house and lingered in the humid air. Gage drew his weapon, told one of the officers to call for more backup. He looked around and saw Meredith leaving his car.

“Detective!”

At the shout of one of the uniformed officers, he whirled and saw Fuller running from the house. He was in uniform and had a gun in his hand.

Gage yelled, “Police. Stop.”

Fuller turned around. He obviously saw Gage, then Meredith. He raised the gun and pointed it at Gage.

“Drop it,” Gage shouted.

Instead Fuller turned the gun on Meredith. Fuller and Gage fired at the same time. It was like watching a movie in slow motion. His heart skipped as Meredith twisted around. Fell. In the periphery of his vision, Fuller dropped to the ground.

Meredith
. He ran to her. Knelt. She clutched her arm and blood oozed between his fingers.

“Let me see.” He pried her hand away from the wound. The fist around his heart unclenched. It was a flesh wound.

The officers had dived for cover when the shooting started. They rose and went over to Fuller, kicking away his weapon and checking for a pulse. “He's dead,” one said loud enough for both of them to hear.

Gage went over to him, checked Fuller's neck for a pulse himself. Wordlessly, he returned to Meredith's side.

“Go and look after Nan,” Meredith said. “I'm all right.”

He turned and ran inside. He knew that paramedics were automatically dispatched on a 911 call. He directed two of the other officers to check the rest of the house … to check on the children.

“Mrs. Fuller!” he called out. He moved from one room to the other in the modest bungalow. Then he saw a closed door. There was a bullet hole in it.

From his one previous visit, he knew it led to a bathroom.

He heard a noise from behind and whirled around.
Meredith
. She was dripping blood. An officer behind her spread his hands in an expression of helplessness.

He wanted to rail at her, but he knew the sooner he found Nan Fuller, the sooner he could get Meredith to listen to reason.

He tried the doorknob. It was locked.

“Mrs. Fuller? Police.”

Silence.

“It's Detective Gaynor. Meredith Rawson is with me. You called her.”

The lock clicked. The door opened slowly and he saw Nan Fuller in front of him. Her face was pale and tearstained. Drying blood stained her dress.

“My kids,” Nan said, her voice rising as she tried to push past them. “He said he would get them. He said he would get Ms. Rawson. He said he would finish the job.”

“Where are the children?”

“At the shelter, but he said he knew where it is.”

Gage was sickened that a police officer would cause such terror. “They're okay. Your husband is dead.”

“Dead?” She looked dazed.

He hesitated, then said. “I shot him. He was threatening Ms. Rawson.”

“Oh my God,” she said, leaning against the wall, then her eyes focused on Meredith and the blood dripping from her arm. “I … It's my fault.”

“It's not your fault,” he said softly. “He made the decisions tonight, not you. Don't ever think differently.”

“He shot through the door but I was against the wall. I thought he was going to break down the door. He tried. Then he heard the sirens.”

She trembled all over.

Meredith stepped over to Nan, hugging her with her good arm. “He won't hurt anyone again.”

He heard another siren. The ambulance. “Both of you should go to the hospital,” Gage said.

“My children!”

“I'll have a car pick them up and take them to the hospital. Do you have someone who can stay with you tonight?”

“A counselor from the shelter.”

Gage broke in. “I'm sorry, Mrs. Fuller.”

“Why?”

“I should have recognized.… I thought keeping his job would keep him away from you.”

She shook her head. “He knew his career was over. That he would never get a promotion. He blamed it on me. And Ms. Rawson. He said he would make her pay.”

Gage looked back at Meredith. She was still bleeding. He went into the bathroom and grabbed a towel to wrap around her injured arm.

“You don't follow directions very well,” he said more harshly than he intended. He had nearly lost her. “You should have stayed in the car.”

“I know but I heard the shot.…”

He heard the siren of the ambulance cut off as it stopped in front of the house. “Come on,” he said. “I want them to attend that wound.”

“I don't want—”

“I don't care what you want,” he said. “You need stitches.”

She started to get that stubborn look, then nodded. “Will you come with me?”

God, how he wanted to. “There's been a shooting, Meredith. I have to stay here and I'll probably be tied up for hours. I'll make sure someone meets you at the hospital and takes you home.”

“It's over,” she said. “It was probably Rick Fuller all this time. I should be safe enough now.”

He didn't like easy solutions. He suddenly realized how much he had come to care for her. He liked her. Admired her grit. Hell, it was a lot more than that.

He had avoided admitting that to himself but watching her fall had caused icy fear to twist around his heart. “We can't be sure of that.”

“I'll be careful.”

He reached up and touched her cheek. “Don't go home alone.”

“I won't,” she promised.

Despite her wound, she put her arm around Nan and led her to the door. It was obvious her concern was more for her client than for herself.

He wished he could follow them to the hospital. He knew he couldn't and he braced himself for what was coming. It was a righteous shooting. He had four other officers as witnesses and a wounded civilian. Still, he knew there would be endless hours of interrogation and a suspension with pay.

When they went outside, he saw that the neighbors had started to gather. Two paramedics were kneeling beside Fuller.

He went over to them and stared down at the officer.

Gage had wounded before, but never killed.

He tried to swallow the bile in his throat.

B
ISBEE

Using her new Social Security card, Holly opened a bank account, planning to deposit part of her money and keep the other half in cash. She might need some quickly without leaving any trail. She didn't want to think about that on this momentous occasion. She didn't want to think of leaving and building another identity. She had been very lucky so far, and she knew it.

But the bank account provided a bankcard. It was one more form of identification, as well as building credit.

She'd already obtained a temporary driver's license, passing the test yesterday with flying colors. For the first time, she felt secure in driving. It gave her a huge sense of freedom.

The bank account gave her a sense of equally strong accomplishment.

She was opening a bank account for money
she
had earned. She had become independent. For someone who had been told from childhood that she wasn't capable of being anything other than an ornament, it was heady stuff indeed.

Empowerment
. She had been reading a lot about abusive behavior and empowerment. She saw herself only too clearly as a victim. She had thought about leaving Randolph, but she'd feared losing her son. It hadn't been until she was faced with her own death that she had been able to take the steps toward freedom.

She signed the bank papers and carefully counted out fifteen hundred dollars. Another fifteen hundred was hidden in various places in her house and in her car. And now her small sculptures were selling well enough to provide what little she and Harry needed to live day to day. Everything above that went into savings.

The assistant manager gave her a broad smile. “We're delighted to have you as a customer. Your bankcard should arrive in a few days. Here are some temporary checks until you receive the personalized ones.”

“Thank you,” she said, rising from the chair.

“If you need any investment advice or anything at all, please call me,” the woman said, giving her a card.

Investment advice. The words implied a future, stability. Success. Permanence. Independence.

A future.

And it was
hers
.

A thrill of accomplishment ran through her, chasing away some of the dark shadows that had been hovering around every minute of every day. She warned herself she would still have to be cautious. But she had taken positive steps on her own, and had succeeded.

Now she had one thing left to do to try to secure her safety and that of her son.

She would have to record the recent events as they had happened. She wished she had kept the paper with the security code for her home written on it, the paper she had found in the pocket of the intruder. But she hadn't, and the least she could do was alert authorities in the event Randolph found her.

But who to entrust with her story?

She didn't know anyone she could trust in New Orleans. Not after what had happened. How long was her father's and Randolph's reach in New Orleans? She didn't know. She couldn't take chances.

But her new friends?

Would she be putting them in danger if she gave them information to forward in the event anything happened to her? An attorney here. That would be her best bet. Client-attorney privilege was absolute. She knew that.

With renewed confidence, she left the bank. She held Harry's hand firmly. Her son clutched a red lollipop, a gift from the bank, in his free hand.

Home. A phone call. Lunch. Then work.

Normalcy.

It felt good.

N
EW
O
RLEANS

Meredith had to wait three hours at the hospital before the busy emergency room staff had time to swab her arm with antiseptic and stitch the wound.

The level of pain increased with each passing minute. Now it hurt like hell. She'd had a shot to deaden the area before the stitches were made, but it had worn off. Now she had to wait to be released.

Nan needed a simple bandage and had left with the counselor from the shelter. She would be all right.

Now.

Meredith was tired, exhausted from the emotional aftermath of the funeral and then the shooting. Too tired to consider rationally what had happened.

Nan had said Rick had pledged to get her. Could he have been behind everything that had happened? He had been on duty the night she'd been attacked, but he certainly had access to shady characters who wouldn't shy away from violence.

That seemed easier to believe than a conspiracy that reached back thirty-three years.

Had one bitter, deranged man who had wanted to terrify her and take away anyone close to her been behind the terrifying events of the last week?

If so, she was safe now. It was over.

She could return to normal.

Normal
?

Nothing would be normal again. She knew she would never leave a door unlocked again. She would never walk in her city without fear again.

And she still had a sister to find.

She looked out the hospital doors. It was past midnight. Her limbs were weak, unsteady. Most of all she felt rootless. Rudderless. She thought about her mother lying in another hospital across the city.

She shouldn't die alone
.

Or was doing as she asked more important?

Meredith didn't know any longer.

She didn't even have transportation. Her car was at her parents' house, where she'd left it when she and Gage raced to Nan's home. She imagined Gage was at headquarters, being grilled.

She could call Sarah.

She played with the idea, then dismissed it. She hated to put other people out, to ask her staff to do chores unrelated to the practice. She would call a cab. Go home. Have a pot of hot chocolate and a long, scented bath.

She allowed her thoughts to return to Gage, to the expression on his face as he had leaned over the body of Rick Fuller. For a man who usually kept thoughts hidden, it had been raw, naked. Devastated. The look had lasted only seconds. Then the mask had fallen back in place.