Deadly Aim (41 page)

“Come in and have a cup of coffee,” her mother called from the kitchen. “I’m making your favorite pastries.”

Angel kissed her cheek, poured herself a cup of the Italian blend, and picked up the flaky turnover filled with raspberries and cream cheese.

“I’m glad for you, honey,” Anna said.

Angel sat on the bar stool at the counter. She thought of Callen and envisioned him standing in her mother’s kitchen. Had he heard the grand jury results yet?

“It isn’t over, you know.” Angel bit into the delicate, flaky crust and filling. “I still have the civil suit.” And she still had to deal with her own guilt. Nothing would ever change the fact that she had raised her gun and put a bullet into a twelve-year-old boy. Maybe her bullet hadn’t killed him, but she’d given the other shooter ample opportunity.

Angel spent the next couple hours running along the beach and working out. She’d just gotten home when Brandon called.

“Hey, I heard. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“Want to have dinner with me tonight?”

“That’s not a good idea.”

“Please. I’m in seclusion and incredibly lonely. I have a suite at the best resort on the Oregon coast. There’s a Jacuzzi in my room, and I have an awesome view.”

Angel smiled. “Sounds nice, but... Brandon, we have to talk.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“Not really. We’ve been friends for a long time, and I just think we need to be honest with each other.”

“Meaning?”

“Come on, Brandon, I saw the way you and Michelle Kelsey were looking at each other. You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

He didn’t answer right away. “Angel, it isn’t what you think.”

“Don’t lie to me.” She smiled and shook her head. “If you love her, call her and invite her to dinner.”

“It isn’t that easy. She’s a client. I need to at least wait...”

“Brandon, I know a great attorney who would be thrilled to take over the Kelsey case for you.”

“Rachael?”

Had she heard a thread of relief in his voice? “Recuse yourself.”

“What about you? Will you be okay? I feel like an idiot proposing to you. I was trying not to let myself get involved with Michelle.”

“I know the feeling.”

After wishing Brandon well, she hung up and went to her refrigerator to get something to eat. Thanks to Callen and her mother, her cupboards were anything but bare. But making a meal required putting some of the basics together—not something she was ready to attempt alone.

She thought about going to her parents’ place, but they would’ve eaten already. Knowing her mother, there would be plenty of leftovers, but hanging out with her parents was not the way she wanted to spend the evening.

Maybe she’d call Callen and invite herself over. As she’d seen on her visit, he had a well-stocked refrigerator and
pantry and knew how to use everything in it. He’d most likely be back from Portland by now.

Angel dialed his number and hung up, thinking a visit might be better. She wanted to tell him about the grand jury decision in person. She wanted to see his face light up. She wanted to feel his arms around her. All of a sudden calling first wasn’t an option. She shrugged into her jacket, her heart already speeding up in anticipation of seeing him.

She pulled up in front of the house on the opposite side of the street. Callen’s car wasn’t there. Disappointed, she started to drive on then changed her mind. Using her cell phone she dialed his number.

Callen answered on the second ring.

“Hi.”

“Angel.” Callen chuckled. “I just called your place.”

“Well, I’m sitting in front of your house, waiting to be fed.” Suddenly Angel thought that sounded terribly forward and wished she could take the words back. “Um, where are you?”

“Just east of Lincoln City. I should be home in about twenty minutes.” He told her where to find an extra key. “Feed Mutt for me, will you? When I get there, I’ll fix us one of my specialties.”

Angel found the key in the mouth of an ornamental frog on the back porch and let herself in. She waited for Mutt to bark and race across the floor to greet her. No bark. No toenails clipping across the floor at fifty miles per hour.

The hairs on the back of her neck and arms stood on end as she slipped inside and looked around. The dining room curtains fluttered as the wind blew through the open window.

D
uke sat in his car, contemplating his next move. Everything that could have gone wrong had. He thought he’d found what promised to be the perfect dealer in Broadman. The guy had connections, and he was slick and needed money. Duke had warned Broadman against getting involved in the Delaney shooting, but the guy was greedy and saw the lawsuit as a way to make some extra bucks. Like he needed more.

Then the idiot had gone berserk and killed Dixon. Broadman had called him, frantic, saying Dixon was threatening to walk away and tell the media there was no case. “What else was I supposed to do?” Broadman asked. “I couldn’t let him go to the media; he’d have destroyed any chance I had to get money out of the city.”

Duke had told him to calm down. He’d asked all the right questions and told Broadman exactly what to do to keep from getting caught. Then he himself went to the resort, not as Duke, of course, but in uniform. He’d talked to the kid who had waited on Dixon and Broadman, and when the kid had told him he’d heard them arguing, Duke said they should go down to the department to get his testimony on tape. The kid was excited about helping out.

Duke felt bad about wasting that one, but what choice did he have? He couldn’t afford to let Broadman get arrested.

He had run into the biggest snag with the bloody clothes and shoes. If it hadn’t been for Angel and her lawyer snooping around, everything would’ve been fine. He’d personally gone to Broadman’s house to get the bloody clothes out of the neighbor’s can like he’d promised, only to find the women digging through the garbage. He’d taken off then, figuring Broadman was on his own. Fortunately, he’d done all his negotiating on the phone, so Broadman couldn’t ID him. Duke doubted he’d talk anyway—no sense implicating himself further—and if he did, he’d never be able to finger Duke.

Now he was faced with another problem. He had no one to pick up and distribute the drugs to his dealers. The pickup was supposed to be simple. Jake Ensley would bring the shipment in on his boat and call him. At a prearranged time, he’d bring the drugs into the abandoned warehouse office, then go back to his boat, where his money would be waiting for him. All of that would’ve gone off just fine if Detective Riley hadn’t been snooping around. Duke had caught him in the warehouse and had no choice but to whack him and get the drugs to a safe location. He’d never killed a cop except for his old man, and that didn’t count. But he had to do something about Riley. The guy was too persistent for his own good.

Duke rubbed a hand down his face, hoping the evidence-planting would work. If all went according to plan, Detective Riley would be out of commission for a long time. Of course, Delaney was another problem. It would’ve been easier if she had died in the car bomb. Not that he’d wanted her dead. Broadman was obsessive in his revenge, and Duke suspected he’d contracted a hit from jail. Duke had nothing against Angel, just wished she’d stay out of things. He didn’t want to kill either of them, just get them out of the way for a while so he could regroup and maybe move on.

He had it timed perfectly. According to dispatch, Detective Riley would be in Sunset Cove in twenty minutes. He didn’t like cutting things so close, but he had to wait until after the sun set. He’d take the beach access out to the sand dunes
and walk south to Riley’s house, place the package under the deck, and leave the same way. Then he’d make his anonymous phone call.

Angel closed the window that Mutt had somehow opened and darted outside, shutting the patio door behind her. “Come on, Mutt. Come here, boy.” She circled the house, calling his name and whistling. When he didn’t show, she headed for the beach. She heard his playful bark at about the same time she saw a white blur streaking up and down the beach, scampering in and out of the waves about a quarter of a mile south of where she was standing. Mutt stopped and growled at a clump of seaweed and then raced down the beach. She called to him again, and he skidded to a stop, flipped around, and ran toward her, then stopped just a few feet from her, jumped in the air, and took off.

He clearly wanted to play, but it was getting too dark. Angel kept calling him, then picked up a stick and threw it. “Get the stick, Mutt. Come on.” When he finally brought it back, she scooped him up.

“You’re a little dickens, do you know that?” She laughed as Mutt slobbered kisses all over her face. She muzzled her nose in his wet fur. He smelled of salt water and dog and was getting her jacket all wet and sandy. “Come on. Let’s go back to the house and get you cleaned up.”

The wind was blowing steadily from the north, blowing into her face as she trudged through the soft sand. She came up over the sand dune and stopped cold. Someone was kneeling beside Callen’s porch and placing a package there. The large bulky figure looked all too familiar. She’d seen him on the dock the night Mike’s contact was killed, but he’d been too far away for her to recognize him.

But no. She had to be mistaken.

Mutt whined and barked and squirmed out of her arms, racing toward the dark figure. Mutt circled the man’s legs, barking. The man swore and kicked the dog into the air.

“No!” Angel screamed and started toward Mutt, who’d wriggled to his feet and was staggering toward her.

“Don’t move.” The man whirled around and pulled a gun.

Angel froze. “Eric, what are you doing here?”

She took a step closer, unable to assimilate her runaway thoughts. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he was here on a call. Maybe one of the neighbors had called the police when they saw her going into Callen’s house. But why the package, and why would he be out of uniform?

He backed away, his white teeth glistening in the dim light. “Stop right there, Angel. Don’t make me shoot you.”

“Why would you do that? I don’t understand.” She didn’t, but was beginning to.

“This isn’t the way it was supposed to happen.” His voice held a hint of regret.

Her gaze darted to the package he’d put under the deck. “What’s that?”

His jaw worked back and forth. “Evidence that’ll put your detective on ice.” He shook his head. “Why are you here? You aren’t supposed to be here. I didn’t want to hurt you, Angel. Now I have no choice.”

“You did it, didn’t you? You shot J.J. and the street contact. You knew Mike and I were meeting him on the docks that night. Did you shoot Billy too?”

“Shut up.”

“You did. And the evidence. You had to steal it because of the GSR test.” She lifted her gaze to his face then looked away. How could she have misjudged him? She’d trusted him. “Was it drugs? Are you on drugs or... dealing?”

He pinched his lips together. “You’re so smart, Angel. You tell me.”

“Did you vandalize my apartment too?” Mutt put his front legs on her pants, wanting to be picked up.

“No. I wouldn’t have hurt you like that. I warned Broadman—told him to leave you alone.”

“What about Brandon’s car...” When their gazes met, she shivered.

“I had nothing to do with the car.”

Angel looked around for a weapon—a piece of driftwood, anything. “What are you going to do?”

His face had become a hardened mask. “You’ll find out soon enough. Now move.” He grabbed her arm and hauled her onto the deck, pushing her in front of him. “Inside.”

Angel thought briefly about running, but Eric would have a bullet into her back before she got two feet. So she entered the house. Mutt squeezed in ahead of her, almost making her trip. He raced down the hall, apparently trying to get to a safe haven. Angel wished she could go with him.

“Eric, don’t do this. You need help.”

“What, now you’re telling me I’m nuts?” The back of his hand flashed across her field of vision, connecting with her cheek and nose before she had time to react. She staggered back, hitting the wall. Her knees collapsed, and she sank to the floor. Blood streamed out of her right nostril and followed a path to her mouth and onto her shirt.

Looking up, she thought she saw a flicker of compassion in his eyes. “I need to use the bathroom,” she said. Maybe she could climb through a window and go for help.

“Forget it.”

“Please. My nose. I need to stop the bleeding. Please.”

He glanced around, then grabbed the box of tissues on the counter and threw them at her. Angel mopped up the worst of the blood and set the box aside. She heard a car drive up. Callen.

Eric straightened and looked toward the door. “Looks like we have company.”

Angel had no doubt Eric would shoot Callen the minute he came in the front door. She had to do something, but what? For a split second Eric’s attention would be divided; that’s when she had to make her move.

Callen tried the knob then inserted his key in the door. Eric glanced away from her.

“Stay out!” she screamed, and at the same time threw herself into Eric, hitting him in the side. He staggered and slammed her in the stomach with his elbow.