Cover Me (18 page)

Chapter Seven

Molly couldn’t believe it had taken her this long to notice the similarity between Flannery Thrasher and Patrick Flay. “You’re Patrick Flay,” she said. “It’s so obvious now. You lost weight, got your nose done, grew a beard, but it’s you. You didn’t die in Katrina.” She sat forward on the edge of the chair.

“I told you to sit still and be quiet,” Flan said. “We
were talking about Martin being governor. We just need to be sure that everything goes smoothly between now and the election. And that’s where you come in, Molly.”

“Me?” she repeated, stunned. “I’m not going to help you—”

“Shut! Up!” Thrasher screamed. “I’m missing one piece of paper. It’s the last scrap of evidence against your brother. I know you have it.”

“Dear God, I see it
now,” Martin exclaimed. “Molly’s right. You’re Patrick Flay. You used the storm to disappear with—how much? You must have stashed away millions. Why come back? Why not just stay—wherever you were and enjoy all that money?”

Flan ignored his words. “Just think of the power. As Martin’s sister, you can be first lady of Louisiana. I’ll be secretary of state—the power behind the throne, if you
will. Nobody will be able to touch us. I’ll make sure of that.”

“Why do you think we’d even consider this?” Molly said. “I’ll go to the police. Better, I’ll call the FBI.”

“Oh, your little boyfriend. Right. I know he’s back in town. Well, let me assure you that if you will
shut up
and let me finish, you’ll understand perfectly. The reason we can all work together in harmony is very simple.”
Flan spread his hands and smiled. “I know where Benjamin goes to preschool and where Martin’s wife, Jan, is. I know where they’re living. Jan’s sister has two beautiful little girls. You’ve seen them, haven’t you, Molly?”

Molly’s heart pounded in her ears. He was threatening Martin’s family. Her family. “So, let’s just get all the ugly details out of the way. Where is the memo?”

“I thought
you got everything,” she said. “It was all in the safe in my closet.”

“Yes, well. My bungling employee will pay for his mistake. He missed the most important piece of evidence.”

Molly swallowed hard. The man who’d attacked her had left something behind?

“Ah, you’re thinking,” Thrasher said. “Good.” He pulled a bag from his pocket and tossed it to her. She caught it in midair.

“That’s a prefilled syringe. It contains a large dose of an anesthetic. I want you to inject it into your brother’s arm. In a couple of minutes, he’ll fall sound asleep. While he’s asleep, you and I are going to go get that memo. But be careful. If you accidentally hit a vein, you’ll give him an overdose and he’ll die. You’re supposed to shoot it into the muscle.”

She shook her head.

“If you don’t, I’ll use this.” He pulled a second syringe out of his pocket. “It’s potassium. It will stop his heart. And since he just had a heart attack last night, no one will question another, fatal attack today.”

“Okay,” she said.

“Molly—” Martin said.

“Don’t worry,” she responded, standing carefully and moving slowly over to her brother’s bedside. “He’s not going to kill
us. He needs you to be governor.” She sent Thrasher a disgusted look. “He can’t do it himself.”

“All you have to do is pinch the arm muscle, plunge the needle into the muscle, then press the plunger slowly.”

She did what he’d told her. After about five seconds, Martin’s eyes drifted shut. “That’s it,” she said. “I’m not giving him any more.”

“No!” Thrasher cried. “Give him the rest.”

She pulled the needle out of Martin’s arm. “Make me,” she said, pointing it at Thrasher. Martin moaned but didn’t wake completely.

“You stupid cow—” Thrasher started.

Just as he spoke, a huge crash sounded from the direction of the foyer, and suddenly there were hard, resounding footsteps and people shouting.

“Police! Freeze!”

“Get your hands up!”

Ray. Molly turned.
As soon as she realized her mistake, she turned back toward Thrasher, but she was too late. He crossed the three feet that separated them, knocked the syringe out of her hand and grabbed her.

“No!” she screamed, struggling, but he managed to get her into a choke hold, just like before. Only, this time, she felt cold steel against her neck, just as she had when she was attacked in her house.
She shuddered.

She stood as still as she could. “Please,” she whispered, “let me go.”

Thrasher moved the barrel of the gun from her neck to her temple. “Shut up!” he growled, just as Ray shouted, “Let her go, Flay! Drop the damn gun!”

Over their words was the deafening noise of heavy shoes and boots on hardwood as police officers entered the room.

“Drop the gun!”

“Flay.
Put the damn gun on the floor and step away from Molly!”

Molly couldn’t see the face of the man holding her—Thrasher or Flay or whoever he was—but she could feel his heart beating against her back and could hear his gasping breaths. He was panic-stricken, and she knew that didn’t bode well for her.

“Flay, I’m giving you to the count of three to drop your weapon,” Ray yelled. “One.”

Molly looked into Ray’s eyes, realizing that he was calling him Flay. He’d figured it out, she thought in relief. He knew that Thrasher was Flay.

“Two!” Ray yelled, raising his weapon and sighting down the barrel.

Don’t shoot!
The thought screamed through her mind. Martin was lying in the bed right behind Thrasher and her.
Don’t kill my brother.

As if he’d heard and understood
her, Ray sidestepped until he’d passed in front of a police officer who held a handgun aimed at Thrasher. Molly followed him with her eyes. Watching Ray and seeing in his bearing and his expression that he knew exactly what he was doing was the only thing that kept her from panicking. She concentrated on staying as calm as she possibly could, hoping her lack of panic might influence Thrasher.

Ray kept his eye on Flay. That son of a bitch had fooled everybody, Molly included. And now he held Molly in a choke hold, and there was no way Ray could take him out without the risk of hitting her.

He didn’t want the other officers to shoot, either. He hadn’t wanted them here at all, but he’d lost that argument at the district station. He’d been forced to wait for backup, because that
was what procedure called for. But it had rankled.

When he broke through the doors and saw Molly being held at gunpoint by Flay, he’d nearly lost it. Then, when she saw him, hope and trust filled her eyes.
Trust?
Did she really trust him? And did he deserve that much unwavering faith?

He looked at her now and tried to send her a message that everything was going to be all right as he
continued moving sideways, then backward until he was standing next to the police officer in charge, Sergeant Drake Lane. “How ’bout calling off your officers, Sergeant?” he whispered to Lane. “I got this now.”

“No way, Special Agent Storm,” Lane responded quietly. “You don’t got it.”

Ray never let his weapon waver from Flay’s right eye. “Flay’s holding her too close. A shot will hit
her.”

“Our job to worry about, Mr. Storm.”

“You’re sure, Sergeant?”

“Yes, sir, I am.”

“Okay, then,” Ray said. He started toward Flay.

“Special Agent Storm!” Sergeant Lane snapped.

“No closer, Storm,” Flay yelled at the same time. “I’ll shoot her. I swear I will.”

“This is not going to end well for you, Patrick” Ray said.

“Don’t call me that. Patrick is dead.
What the hell is this anyhow?” Flay asked. “You busted into a private residence.”

Ray’s vision went red. “I’ll tell you why we
busted in.
You’re wanted on numerous counts of fraud, specifically conspiracy to steal federal grant moneys from the state of Louisiana.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I wasn’t even living here eight years ago. And wouldn’t the statute of limitations
have run out?”

Ray laughed. “Oh, come on, Flay. You’re smarter than that. I never mentioned when the fraud was committed. And seriously, how can you claim you’re not Flay and at the same time talk about statutes of limitations that apply to Flay. Besides—” Ray took a breath.

Molly spoke up. “There’s no statute of limitations on a plea bargain, Thrasher, or Flay, I guess I should say.”

“Shut up!” Flay yelled and Ray saw the gun’s barrel sink deeper into the skin of Molly’s temple. She winced. Ray’s hand tightened on his handgun and his finger twitched—actually twitched—to pull the trigger. But he couldn’t do that, any more than he could allow the police officers to pull theirs. Any gunfire in the room and Molly or her brother could be hurt—or killed.

“Flay, you’ve got
two choices,” Ray said. “You can drop the gun and go with the officers here, or you can shoot me.” Slowly and deliberately, Ray bent his knees and set his handgun on the floor.

“Ray, no!” Molly cried, at the same time as Sergeant Lane spat, “Storm, what the hell are you doing?”

Ray ignored them and started walking toward Flay. He looked Molly in the eye and kept trying to send her his
mental message.

She never took her eyes off him. Those bright brown eyes widened in fear and her mouth opened as if she wanted to scream at him to stop. He continued on, slowly, steadily.

“What the hell—” Flay cried. “Stop! I’ll shoot you. Stop!” Flay took his gun away from Molly’s neck and pointed it at Ray, which was exactly what Ray wanted him to do. He breathed an internal sigh of
relief as he raised his hands, palms up.

“Go ahead, Flay. Shoot me. Make it worse for yourself.”

“I’ll do it,” Flay shouted. “Don’t think I won’t.”

Molly gasped as Flay’s arm tightened around her throat. But Ray couldn’t let his gaze waver from Flay’s eyes, not for a millisecond.

Flay lifted the gun and aimed it at Ray’s head, which was the other thing Ray had been counting
on.

Carefully, Ray softened his knees and rolled up onto the balls of his feet as Flay’s dark eyes flickered so slightly that no one but Ray could see it. Then he dived from a standstill, straight at Flay’s feet.

Flay’s gun fired twice before Ray slammed into his shins. Flay and Molly fell in a heap on top of Ray. He managed to grab Molly around the waist and roll, pulling her with him.
Once he felt her body hit the floor, he shoved her with all his might, then whirled back around to face Flay, who was scrabbling for the gun he’d dropped.

Before Ray could grab him, the three police officers were on top of the man. Within what had to be no more than five seconds, they had Flay facedown and were fastening handcuffs on his wrists and calling for manacles for his ankles.

Ray pushed himself to his feet. For some reason his head was hurting.

“Ray!” Molly cried, scrambling up. “You’re hurt!”

At that instant a hot, wet drop of something tickled his temple. He wiped at it and his hand came away streaked with blood. He sent Molly a chagrined smile. “Must be a scalp wound,” he said ruefully, right before he collapsed.

Chapter Eight

The next morning, Ray knocked on Molly’s door with a shaky hand. While he waited for her to answer, he stuck his hands in his pockets, then pulled them out. He thought about taking his jacket off, but he was carrying his weapon in his paddle holster, so it was probably not a good idea. Just about the time he’d decided he was going to tear the bandage off his forehead
because the hot sun was making it itch, she opened the door.

Molly stood there with the pink kimono wrapped around her and a toy truck in her hand.

“Hi, Mols,” he said with a little smile.

She frowned, more puzzled than angry. “Hi,” she said, checking the closure of the kimono at her neck.

“How’re you doing?” he asked awkwardly. He’d never felt as uncomfortable, as speechless,
as downright stupid, as he did right now. He owed Molly an explanation—a bunch of explanations. There were others who’d offered to do the job for him. Martin was one. Teague Fortune was another—as if he’d let that good-looking Cajun within twenty miles of her.

The only person who apparently couldn’t give her the explanation she deserved was him. He’d spent most of the night in the emergency
room, until the E.R. doctor decided to believe him when he said he collapsed because he was dizzy and not because of any kind of concussion from the bullet that grazed his head.

Plus, according to the FBI, he’d been wounded in the line of duty, and they wanted him back in Washington—now. Didn’t matter that he’d been on vacation and not on duty at all.

In fact, there was a helicopter
waiting for him at the airport. Talk about déjà vu.

“I’m fine,” Molly said, although she didn’t look fine. Somehow, in the fray, she’d gotten a cut on her lip and a bruise on her cheek. Ray didn’t know how it had happened, but he was afraid it had been when he’d slung her out of the way after he’d knocked her and Flay down.

“You?” she asked shortly.

“Good.” He pointed at his head.
“Scalp wound.” Then he checked his shoes, and after assuring himself they were still there but could do nothing to help him, he looked up again. “Can I come in for a minute?”

She blushed. “I’m not dressed. I was just about to—get dressed.”

He smiled. More déjà vu.

“Fine,” she said, scowling as if reading his mind. “Come in—for a minute.”

Inside, she stood resolutely in the
foyer.

“Okay,” he said, drawing in a deep breath. “There are a couple of things you ought to know.”

“Okay,” she echoed him. But she didn’t move.

“The memo. I found it on the floor in the hall,” he blurted. As he had the first time he’d faced her, four days ago, he figured he might as well get it over with. “I stuck it in my pocket and didn’t tell anybody until yesterday afternoon.”

She didn’t respond, nor did she move.

“A detective found out that Patrick Flay had a Swiss bank account. With some major nudging by the FBI and the CIA, we found out that there was fifteen million dollars in the account and that Patrick Flay and his brother, Theodore, were the only ones who had access to the account.”

“His brother?” Ray saw a spark in Molly’s eyes for the first time.

He nodded. “Patrick Flay has been declared dead. His brother, Theodore, who lived in Ireland until 2007, when he came to the U.S., has confessed to working with Patrick to move the money from the U.S. to Switzerland. He also confessed that he took the name Flannery Thrasher in order to come to the U.S. and blackmail your brother into running for governor. Theodore was sure, with all that money,
Martin’s intelligence and charisma, and the information he’d gotten from Patrick during the time Patrick was Martin’s attorney, he could in effect run the state of Louisiana.” Ray shrugged. “Apparently he was more ambitious than Patrick.”

Molly looked dumbstruck. “Is all that really true?” she muttered. “It sounds preposterous.”

Ray nodded. “Ha. I know. Myself, I don’t understand people
who get off on power, but as we in the good old U.S.A. know, politics is full of them.”

“Does Martin know all this—”

Ray nodded. “I ran by the hospital earlier and filled him in. He feels terrible about not realizing who Thrasher was, but that’s not his fault. Nobody knew, until that techie buddy of Fortune’s dug up that Swiss account.”

“Wow,” she said, putting a hand to her forehead.

“Yeah.”

Molly watched him, seeing how nervous he was and wondering what else he had to say to her. The way he was acting, Molly was pretty sure she knew what it was and she was real sure she wasn’t going to like it.

But then, could she really expect anything else from him? When she’d known him before, he’d been all about his job. When he showed up again after eight years, it was
because of his job. And now, she was certain, he was about to tell her that he had to leave—because of his job.

She took a deep breath. This time, she didn’t want to be the one left with a broken heart. “Ray,” she said.

“Mols—” he started in the same breath. Then, “Go ahead.”

She nodded. “Look, I know you came back here to finish what you started eight years ago—”

To her chagrin
if not her surprise, he nodded sagely.

“And you did. I’m thankful for what you did for Martin. If he actually can get probation for his part in the grant-money diversion, it will be like a new lease on life for him. He wants to keep up the philanthropic work he’s been doing, once he recuperates from the bypass surgery the heart doctor told him he has to have. And Jan, his wife, has been with
him in the hospital ever since yesterday. She spent the night there last night.” Molly smiled and held up the toy truck. “Benjamin stayed with me. Jan picked him up a little while ago.”

“Martin has filled in a lot of the blanks for us, from back then and from now. He’s been a big help in getting the goods on Theodore Flay.”

“Thank you, Ray,” Molly said, her expression softening. “I appreciate
everything you’ve done.” She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Everything,” she whispered.

To her surprise, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “Everything?” he muttered.

“Ray,” she said, putting as stern a tone into her voice as she could. “I don’t want this.”

“Then why’d you start it?”

“I didn’t—” she faltered “—didn’t mean to. I mean, it’s over
now, right? You’re going back to Washington.”

“Shut up and kiss me,” he demanded, then covered her mouth with his.

She dropped the toy truck, and all the determination Molly possessed drained out of her at the feel of his lips. She tried—really hard—but she couldn’t stop kissing him back. Then when he kicked the front door closed behind him and pushed the kimono off her shoulders, gasping
when he saw that she was naked beneath it, she couldn’t make herself stop him.

When he took her hand and led the way into her bedroom and laid her down on the bed, then stripped and lay beside her, she knew she was doomed. Because she didn’t even want to stop him.

They made slow, tender love, each of them feasting on the other’s body as if it were the first time all over again. Molly
lay back against the pillows as Ray used his mouth to take her to complete and utter satiation, then she pushed him back against the sheets and did the same for him. Languidly, they continued to stroke and caress each other until they once again came together and made love until neither one of them could move.

When Molly opened her eyes, she found Ray watching her, a softness in his dark
eyes she’d never seen before. She sat up and pulled a corner of the sheet over her. “I didn’t mean to—” she started.

“I know, hon,” he said softly. “But I did.”

She started to get up, but he stayed her with a gentle touch on her arm.

“I need to get dressed,” she protested. “I want to go see Martin in the hospital.”

“You’ve got plenty of time,” he said, still watching her.

She looked at him questioningly, and caught a subtle change in his face. He looked a little...scared.

“Ray. What is it? Is there something else you need to tell me?”

His gaze wavered for an instant, then he looked her in the eye. “Yes,” he said solemnly. “It’s not going to be easy to say this, because I know how you feel about me.”

That surprised her. Did he? She’d thought she’d
hidden the fact that she’d never gotten over him. She shook her head. “It’s okay. Trust me. I’m fine. I understand perfectly. You don’t have to—”

He put his fingers on her lips. “Mols, I have no earthly idea what you’re talking about, but could you shut up for a minute and let me finish?”

If he only knew how badly she wished he would never finish. If talking would keep him from leaving,
she’d talk until she wore her tongue out. But suddenly, she couldn’t think of a thing to say, except
Don’t go.
And she sure couldn’t say that.

“Do you remember my telling you about Remy Comeaux and Mack Rivet?”

“Who?” The question surprised her. She knew the names, but her brain wasn’t working very well right now.

“The two police officers who were on my investigative team back before
Katrina.”

“Oh, sure.” Why was he dragging this out? She pulled on the sheet, trying to get more coverage. She didn’t want to be naked when he left her.

“Well, they’re opening a private investigations business, here in New Orleans.”

“Ray, please!” she cried, crushing the cotton sheet in her fists. “I can’t stand this. Please just go!”

“Go?” He looked genuinely shocked. “You
want me to go?”

She uttered a small, frustrated scream. “No, I don’t want you to go. But it’s what you do. And I don’t think I can stand this much longer. Could you just leave so I can start getting over you again?” Oh, no. She hadn’t meant to say that.

Ray stared at her for a second, then started laughing. “Oh, Mols, hon. I’m making a huge mess of this. I don’t want to go.”

“You
don’t?”

He shook his head and became serious. “If you think you can forgive me and give me a chance to prove how much I love you, I’ll quit the FBI today. I’ve got an open invitation to go into business with Mack and Remy.”

“Forgive? Oh, Ray.” A lump lodged in her throat and she couldn’t speak. All she could do was reach for him as tears began to course down her face.

“Is that a
yes?” he said, his mouth near her ear, and she was certain she heard a catch in his voice. She nodded and buried her face in the soft place between his neck and shoulder. After a moment, she managed to murmur, “I love you.”

“What?” he said. “You what?”

She leaned back and swatted his arm. “I l-love you, you stupid man.”

“Good,” he said and pushed her down on the bed and moved above
her. “I should be back in a week, after I’ve taken care of everything in Washington,” he muttered between nibbles on her ear.

“Be back? You
are
leaving,” she cried indignantly. “When?”

He kissed her long and hard, then lifted his head and smiled down at her. “As soon as I get to the airport, I guess.” Then he kissed her again.

She turned her face away. “Ray? Stop it. As soon— Please
tell me there’s not a helicopter waiting for you.”

He pressed his lips against hers. “There’s a helicopter waiting for me,” he whispered, tickling her lips.

“Ray,” she said, trying to push herself up to a sitting position, despite the fact that his entire 190 pounds was on top of her. “You can’t make them wait.”

“Watch me,” he said as he bent his head to kiss her again.

* *
* * *

Keep reading for an excerpt of
Cowboy Cop
by Rita Herron!