Dirty Deeds (17 page)

After the shooting, she'd more or less folded into herself and her focus had been one hundred percent on finding the person responsible for her brother's condition. There'd been little time left over for personal affairs and she hadn't cared all that much. The few relationships she'd been in were over quickly and with little emotion involved. Paul was different. Something about him was different and she was afraid to delve too deeply into why.

Her hastily discarded clothes were now folded and within easy reach. Beside her clothes were handcuffs, her holster, and her gun. She lifted her head and saw him leaning against a tree, a dark shadow in the muddy light of early morning. As she dressed she watched him, his back straight, his head never moving as if something of grave importance unfolded in front of him.

What was he thinking? Was it regret? Or was it something more along the lines of what she felt … confusion? She didn't just jump in bed with men and she didn't roll around on a forest floor buck naked for God and everyone to see. Except she had and without so much as a minute's hesitation. All the stars had aligned in that moment and lovemaking was as right as anything had ever been. Even now she should feel ashamed of herself for being not only unprofessional, but downright indecent. Except that she didn't. It was true that all it would have taken was one passerby glancing over to see a naked butt and they'd have been busted.

Actually, that thought made her smile. Chris always told her she was a little too serious and that life had to be challenged, had to be pushed to really enjoy it. That was the philosophy that had taken him to the Army Rangers and then on to DEA. She'd been the careful one, the detail person who stayed within the bounds, who always colored within the lines.

At least until she met Paul McDonald. Now she had a bit of an idea what Chris tried to tell her. She felt wicked and alive, and not in the least bit ashamed of herself. The last couple of days her life had been filled with twists and turns she could never have imagined. Some of it was good, like making love to Paul, and some of it not so good, like the bullet killing Kendall Stewart.

For now, Louie would let things be. She'd been trying for years to make life conform to her way and that hadn't worked out so well. Just for one day, she was going to let things roll. She'd let go and let life take control.

Dressed and with her jacket slipped back on, Louie shivered, the dampness of the early morning seeping through her despite her clothing. "Hey," she said as she touched Paul's shoulder.

He didn't turn his head. "Look," he began, his tone very serious.

She stopped him before he could say anything further. "If you say you're sorry I swear to God I'll shoot you, McDonald."

His shoulders began to shake as laughter burst forth, a startling sound in the quiet brush. He turned to look at her, his eyes full of joy. "You're something else, Russell."

"I know you mean that in the best possible way."

"Absolutely."

"Have you slept at all?"

He sobered and shook his head. "It wasn't that our little tryst didn't calm me down a whole bunch, it's just I'm both furious and worried about Jamie. It's sad that with a beautiful, naked woman next to me all I could think about was Jamie."

"Aha, and here I thought you couldn't stand your brother."

He ran both hands through his hair that curled even more as the damp air worked its way in. "Yeah, I thought so too. I guess when it comes down to it, I'm furious with him because I care. I mean I'm so pissed off I could kill him, but at the same time I want to protect him. Jamie's gotten himself into more trouble than even I believed possible, and I'm scared he's gone too far this time. I don't know if anyone can help him."

She put an arm around his waist and pressed her cheek to his arm. "It'll be okay. We'll grab him when he comes for the bike and have him back in custody before lunch. He'll be safer behind bars than anywhere else."

He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. She loved how warm his body was and how a slight scent of cologne still clung to him. "I hope so," he said. "I really hope so."

She heard the note of question in his voice and honestly couldn't blame him. Even her statement was more reassurance than fact. James McDonald was into something very dangerous and he was in deep. She'd been around crime all of her adult life and knew what dangerous looked like. Putting him in jail was somewhat protective so she wasn't lying to Paul. It wasn't, however, foolproof and James might find himself in trouble inside the bars as well as outside. There were no guarantees. Some powerful people had a very long reach.

The sun was beginning to peep over the mountains and she was glad. The sooner they got their quarry and were back in the nice warm car, the better. She was ready for the hunt to be over even if she wasn't quite ready to let go of the hunter. She hugged him even tighter and waited for the sound of approaching traffic.

She didn't have to wait long. Ten minutes passed, and they heard the rumble of a big truck. Soon a semi bearing the logo of a Spokane egg company on the trailer pulled to the side of the road behind the leaning Fat Boy.

The passenger's side door opened and Louie caught a glimpse of red hair as someone jumped down and slammed the door shut.

"Thanks, Scott." The voice carried in the still morning air.

Paul's body tensed, and Louie's arm dropped away. Without conscious thought, her hand strayed to her back, her fingers closing around the handcuffs on her belt right next to her gun.

The driver also jumped out and both men went to the back of the truck. The driver swung the big door open and James appeared a moment later with the motorcycle wheel. The driver locked the trailer up again and climbed inside once more. The truck pulled away and James McDonald began to roll the tire to the motorcycle.

Paul started to walk out of the brush and toward the highway, his back straight and his green eyes focused on his younger brother. He seemed to have forgotten Louie was with him. She hurried to keep up with his long and determined strides. The gentle lover from hours earlier was nowhere to be seen in the somber man in front of her.

"Jamie." Paul's voice carried over the air with a timbre of authority that only one accustomed to being in command could carry off. The air seemed to crackle with electricity.

James stopped rolling the new tire. His head snapped up. The motorcycle wheel and tire he'd been rolling tipped over on its side. He took several steps back as if he was thinking about bolting.

"Paul?" Shock was clear in his voice.

Louie hurried to catch up with Paul. Man, could he move fast when he wanted. No wonder he was such a terror on the ice. If he could walk this fast, what could he do on skates? Her leg muscles burned with the effort of keeping pace.

They were almost to James when a loud, unmistakable sound shattered the morning quiet. Paul stopped.

"What…" Louie gasped as her right hand dug into her jacket to grab the gun at her waist. The sound came again and again. One, two, three.

His momentary paralysis gone, Paul took off at a run, screaming a single word. "No!"

Louie's head whipped to the right, the direction the shots had come from. She dropped to a shooter's stance and scanned right to left, left to right. Nothing, not a flash, not even a rustle. Nothing. The cop in her wanted to run in the direction of the shots, to give chase. The woman in her wanted to turn and rush to Paul's side. The woman won. She abandoned the visual search and rushed to Paul, on the far side of the road next to the motorcycle.

Paul knelt, cradling his dying brother in his arms. A red stain was growing larger and larger in the middle of Jamie's chest. His face was gray.

She'd seen that color on a man's face more than once.

Chapter Eleven

"Oh yeah, baby," he said under his breath as he looked at his handiwork through the high-powered scope. Damn, but he was good. Sometimes he wondered why he'd given up wet work. Nobody was as good as he. He probably could have made a fortune as a gun-for-hire.

The relief that came over him as he watched James leave this earth was almost as great as the pleasure he got when he pulled the trigger. The last of his problems was bleeding out on the side of the rural highway. His troubles were over and it was full speed ahead. Some nice work here this morning.

With that piece of unfortunate business finished, there were shipments to be made and a new guy to get up to speed. This time around, he'd keep his finger on the pulse more than he had with James. He didn't want another fuck-up. As much as he liked using his special rifle, he'd prefer to do it on his own terms and on his own schedule. He didn't like the feeling of being behind the eight ball, and that's what it had been like with McDonald.

Far in the distance, the scream of a siren disturbed the quiet of the morning, his call to get out quick. He'd love to sit and watch the paramedics try to undo the damage he'd inflicted on the boy's body. It would make him laugh. If he'd wanted to wound McDonald, that's what he'd have done. He shot to kill. What was the point otherwise? No matter what they tried to do for James, it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference. A kill shot was a kill shot was a kill shot. One, two, three, and dead he will be. He laughed at his own pitiful poetry.

He took one more look through the scope and then lowered the rifle. He stood, slung the rifle and the binoculars over his shoulder, and began to walk back to his car. It had been a long, cold night, and yet he'd never felt better. A perfect hunt always gave him an incredible high. Some people got it from booze and some from drugs. Not him, it was all about the pull of that trigger and a perfectly sighted shot. There wasn't a substance on earth that could equal the high.

At the car, he slipped out of the camouflage so that in his jeans and plain shirt he'd be just another guy driving down the road. He again placed the rifle between the folds of the blanket on the back seat. It was like tucking in a baby.

When the sound of the siren stopped, he was headed south. If they decided to sweep the area, not only would they fail to find a single clue he'd been there, but he'd be long gone. It would take far greater skill than local police in this area possessed to catch him. Hell, it would take more skill than anyone possessed to stop him. He was like the Holy Spirit. People could feel his presence but they never saw his face.

* * * *

This couldn't be happening. One second Jamie was next to the bike looking like a little kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar and in the next, he was on the ground with a big red hole in his chest. Paul didn't stop to think, he just reacted. He bolted from the edge of the woods and across the fifty-five mile an hour highway as fast as he could run.

Once when they'd been kids, Jamie'd crashed on his bicycle, cutting his elbow so bad it took ten stitches to close it up. Paul had been right behind him, wrapping his shirt around Jamie's bleeding arm and getting him back to the house. He'd gone to the hospital with Mom and Jamie, holding his brother's hand when they'd started on the stitches. Jamie hated needles but Paul talked to him the whole time and before Jamie realized it, the doctor was done. Paul remembered that morning as he now pulled off his shirt and held it to the hole in grown-up Jamie's chest. Within only a couple of seconds, his shirt was soaked. He pressed harder, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

"Come on, Jam, hang in there." The cloth beneath his hand was growing heavier, wetter. The smell of blood was strong. He had to make it stop.

Jamie's face wasn't pale; it was pasty. The stark white skin made his green eyes look huge. The fear in them mirrored the fear gripping Paul's heart as he held Jamie tight. He remembered how awful he'd felt for Jamie so long ago when his injured arm took away the already short summer. That was nothing compared to this horror. Paul could almost see the life slipping away from his little brother and he could do nothing to stop it. He held Jamie closer, his head against Paul's chest.

"Stay with me, little brother. Stay with me."

Louie's warm hand on his shoulder cut through the ice in his body, and he looked up, surprised to see her in a shooter's crouch with her gun drawn. She wasn't looking at either him or Jamie. Her gaze was sweeping everything around them.

Strange as it was, he'd forgotten about the shooter, if he'd even really given the invisible killer a thought. After he'd heard the first shot he'd thought only about getting to Jamie. That he might have put himself in the line of fire never even occurred to him. Judging by her stance and hardened gaze, it had occurred to Louie. At least somebody was watching his back.

"I'm sorry." Jamie's words were so low it was hard to hear him.

Paul looked back down into Jamie's face and hot tears began to sting. "It's all right Jamie, it's all right. Just stay with me, little brother."

In the distance, the sound of sirens began to get louder. Louie must have called for help, bless her heart. They'd have to hurry; the shirt he pressed to Jamie's chest was thick and heavy with his brother's blood, so soaked through that it now streamed rather than dripped from the sodden cloth. Way too much blood.

"I love you, Paulie. Tell the folks I love them too."

"You tell them yourself."

"Tell 'em…"

The tears began to slide down Paul's cheeks, hot and salty as they touched his lips. He leaned in close to hear because Jamie's words were little more than whisper. "What, little bro?"

"Tell them I'm sorry."

Jamie's eyes fluttered shut. His lips had a strange blue tinge to them as he took one final, shuddering breath. His body went still, limp and heavy in Paul's arms. He wanted to shake him, to make him open his eyes, but it wouldn't do any good.

Jamie no longer needed to worry about a federal indictment, a trip to jail, or a dead girlfriend.

* * * *

The three bullets had hit James McDonald's body with frightening accuracy. The result was like a target practice dummy where the shooter tried to line up all the shots and see how close together he could get them. This shooter was no amateur and that bothered Louie. It bothered her a lot.