Keller County Cops Book Seven: Code of Vengeance (13 page)

He pulled into a parking place near the door, cut the engine, and sucked in a deep breath. Some days, he wished he could simply stay in the car and keep driving without having to answer to anyone, especially the taxpayers. Crime would increase if he did, however, until Keller County had just as many robberies, murders, and aggravated assaults as it had suffered with before he took office.  He
had
made a difference, damn it.

Now, he had to find a way to prove to the voters the county was better off with
him
in office instead of Henry Maillet, an idealist who had no law enforcement experience.

"That jackass lives in a fantasy world." With a growl of disgust, he jerked the keys out of the ignition and climbed out of the car.

As he shut the door, a crack rent the air and a sharp sting lanced his left shoulder.

What the--

He turned his head and looked down. A dark red stain bloomed on his left upper chest.

Blood.

Spreading fast, stealing his strength.

His mind finally clicked into action, and he went for his gun. His left arm wouldn't work, so he held the weapon one handed and dove back inside the SUV.

"I don't believe this," he said with a moan, the razor-sharp pain in his shoulder registering as he struggled to right himself and shut the door. Who in hell was shooting at him? He blinked in an attempt to clear his fading vision. "One shot. Just...
shit."

He fumbled with his phone and finally pulled up the number for dispatch.

"Pat," he gritted out once the dispatcher picked up. "It's me... Blaylock. I'm... I'm hit. Send help... to Willa Burke's office on Martin Street, near the mall. Need an... ambulance."

"Of course, Sheriff." Her brisk tone gave him hope as she put the call out over the air. Moments later, she was back. "All right, sir. EMS is en route, along with three patrol units. One's really close. Please stay on the line and tell me what happened."

"You just want me to... keep talking."

"That's the idea, sir."

"Well..." He snatched up the newspaper he'd bought this morning, folded it, and pressed it against the wound in his shoulder. An involuntary groan spilled from his lips.

"Sheriff?" Pat's frantic bark jarred him. "Sheriff, are you okay?"

"Um... no." A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face. He brushed it away and blinked again. The world swam. "Just... got out, and... and somebody... shot me."

"Is the perpetrator still at the scene?"

"I-I... I don't... I don't know." He slumped down and winced.
God, it hurts so much.

Pat kept talking, and he could've sworn Willa shrieked, but their excited voices faded in and out. Rick managed to stay awake until the loud wail of a siren took over.

A half second later, darkness claimed him.

*****

"Where were you the night your wife died, Mr. Wicker?"

"At Ed Prejean's house." The accused shifted in his seat. "It was poker night."

"Gretchen Prejean has already testified you arrived at their house at seven, like always, but also claims you left early. Around nine p.m." Abington halted and peered at the nervous man as if he were scum. "Only a half hour before Rebecca's approximate time of death."

"How in hell would Gretchen know that? She was upstairs."

"Not the entire time, apparently."

"Well, she let me in, but she took off upstairs right after Paul Jansen got there." Wicker scowled. "I never saw her again, and I had a great view of the stairs."

"Mr. Wicker--"

"Every damned piece of evidence you've come up with so far is circumstantial. You have nothing concrete. No physical evidence. How in hell can you ever expect to--"

"That's enough, Mr. Wicker. I'll thank you to watch your language." Judge Rouse banged his gavel, effectively cutting off the angry defendant. Then he turned to the prosecution's lead chair and lifted a brow. "Get on with it, Mr. Abington, or I'll hold you in contempt."

Enraged by Wicker's lies, Keegan sketched the squirming man. Her hands nimbly captured his unease, yet her mind drifted while the prosecutor continued to question him. She compared him to another wife beater. Another murderer who'd sat in the same chair not too long ago. A man who had twisted every rule, charmed the jury, and beaten the system.

She lifted her head and glared hard at Ronald Wicker.
Dirk's already dead. I wonder if you'll meet him in hell?

Two Keller County detectives sitting on her row pulled out their cell phones and checked their displays. Behind her and off to the left, a uniformed deputy did the same thing. All three of them glanced at each other, then rose in unison and hurried from the courtroom.

Keegan's stomach knotted. Something was up.

A few minutes later, Judge Rouse recessed court for lunch. Giddy with relief, Keegan threw her sketchpad, eraser, and pencils into her bag and headed for the break room, hoping the sandwich and apple she'd packed this morning would silence her growling stomach. Halfway down the hall, she spotted Detective Jonah McKee jogging toward the main courthouse doors, a worried look on his face.

"Jonah!" she called out, her curiosity getting the better of her. If every cop in Keller County was stirred up, something serious must have happened.

He halted, and she hustled toward him.

"What's going on?" she asked. "Mitch, another detective, and a deputy ran from the courtroom a few moments ago like their tails were on fire, and now you're running, too."

"Sheriff Blaylock's been shot." His voice broke. "I-I need to get to the hospital."

"Oh, my God." The news hit Keegan like a blow to the chest. Why, she didn't know, but all the breath left her lungs and she could only stand there and gape at Jonah like a landed fish.

He gripped her shoulder. "Wait... do you know Rick?"

She met his eyes, but didn't speak. His question didn't make sense.

"Keegan?" Jonah gripped her other shoulder, too, gave them both a squeeze, and looked her in the eye. "Are you all right?"

"M-may I come with you?" The words came out like the creak of a rusty gate. She met his eyes. "Please, Jonah."

"Why? Are you guys friends?" Jonah frowned.

She shook her head. "N-not exactly. We only met yesterday. I-I'm a witness in a case he's working. Dirk Woodward's murder. We're supposed to meet again this afternoon at his office. I promised to text him after court. So I--"

"Oh." He dropped his hands. "Well..."

"Please, Jonah. I need to find out if he's all right."

"What about court?" He studied her. "Don't you have to go back in after lunch?"

"Yes, but I won't stay at the hospital for very long. Please."

"Okay," he said after a long moment, but he didn't look too happy.

She didn't care. Her pulse thrummed in her ears as she hurried along beside him to the door and out to his duty car, a clunky black Mercury that had seen better days.

Once they were on their way, he turned to her. "What time do you have to be back?"

"Court reconvenes at one-thirty, but I can be a little late."

"Fine." He aimed his troubled gaze out the windshield. "I'll try to get you back on time."

"If you'd rather stay for a while, it's okay. I can catch a ride with someone else or even call a cab. It won't be a problem."

"Nah." He wagged his head. "I'll give you a ride."

"Thank you," she said.

He shot her one last curious look before pulling onto the beach road and flooring the accelerator. Ten minutes later, he wheeled into the parking lot in front of Mercy General's emergency entrance. No parking spaces were available, so Jonah pulled the car half onto the sidewalk about thirty feet from the door and threw a battered
Police
placard onto the dash.

"Let the bastards tow it." He flashed her a defiant look and got out of the car.

She suppressed a smile and followed him into the ER. Jonah held up his badge, and the hospital security officer waved them through to a waiting room packed with cops -- in uniform and plain clothes, even a few dressed for the golf course. They all turned and looked at her and Jonah as they walked in. A couple of them gaped openly at Keegan.

She felt more than a little out of place, but lifted her chin and marched across the room behind the detective without saying a word. Other than Mitch Ransom, he was the only cop in the room she knew by name, although she'd seen many of the others in court.

Mitch lifted a brow as she walked up. "Keegan, what are you doing here?"

"She's worried about Rick," Jonah said, giving the other detective a knowing look.

Keegan's cheeks grew hot. "I-I'm a witness in a case he's working. He's supposed to interview me again this afternoon."

"Well, that won't happen now." Mitch met Jonah's enigmatic gaze. "No word yet."

"Shit." He raked a hand through his close-cropped hair. "Where'd it happen?"

"At his campaign manager's office, on Martin Street. In the parking lot. Deputies are combing the area, but haven't found anything so far."

"Was it at close range, or from a distance?"

"I'm not sure."

"We need to know, damn it." Jonah scowled. "How wide is the search area? Are they considering they might be dealing with a sniper?"

"Yeah, of course. C.J.'s on it," Mitch said. "So don't worry. He'll make sure they--"

The double doors leading to the trauma rooms swung open and a tall, reed-thin man in a long white lab coat strode into the waiting room, paused, and looked around. He didn't seem surprised by the number of cops in the room.

"Is anyone here related to Sheriff Rick Blaylock?"

"Not by blood, but we're all his brothers in blue." The badge on his belt in plain view, Mitch walked over to the doctor. "He doesn't have any real family."

Keegan's heart plummeted at that news.

The doctor nodded. "Okay, Detective." He eyed the other cops. "Sheriff Blaylock is in good condition after surgery. The bullet entered the back of his left shoulder and exited through the front in a clean through-and-through. By some miracle, he doesn't have any major damage to the shoulder joint. He'll be out of commission for a while, however, and will need a good bit of physical therapy to get back up to speed."

"That won't be a problem. We'll take up the slack." Mitch put his hands on his hips, causing his coat to flare. "How soon can we see him?"

"Well, he's in recovery right now. I'd prefer you wait until we get him settled in a room." The doctor glanced at the clock over the TV. "Give us another an hour or two."

"No problem, Doctor," Jonah said, relief evident on his face. "Thank you."

Mitch added his thanks, as did the rest of the guys and Deputy Tiffany Ransom, his wife, who'd just wandered in. She strode up to Mitch and grabbed his hand. He hurriedly filled her in on Blaylock's condition, then turned to Keegan. "I guess you heard all that."

"Yes," she said, the word ghosting from her lips. Her heavy heart ached because she wasn't part of the sheriff's surrogate family and had no idea why that bothered her. She'd just met him, and yet her body vibrated with a visceral connection to him that came from somewhere deep inside. Hoping to hide her unease, she gave Mitch a tremulous smile. "I'm so glad he's going to be okay."

"Me, too." He cocked his head. "Aren't you supposed to be in court?"

"Um, yeah." Feeling more than a little guilty, she eyed the clock. "In just a few minutes."

"I'm about to head back to the courthouse myself." He released Tiffany's hand and pulled out his keys. "Give me a second to talk to my wife, and I'll give you a ride."

"Thanks. I'd appreciate that." Wishing she didn't have to go back, Keegan turned away so Mitch could speak with Tiffany and told Jonah she would catch a ride back with Mitch. He seemed relieved, because he had to get back to work.

Much of the tension inside the waiting room had dissipated, and several of the deputies had already left the ER. The ones who remained stood talking quietly in groups of two or three. Jonah nodded at them as he angled for the outside door on his way back to the station.

A few minutes later, Mitch motioned for Keegan to follow him to his car. It was almost identical to Jonah's, and she settled into the passenger seat without saying a word. Mitch didn't speak either until they were almost halfway to the courthouse. Then he turned to look at her.

"Why'd you come to the hospital?"

"What?" His question startled her, and she had to drag herself out of her thoughts.

He twisted his lips. "You heard me. Why were you so worried about Rick?"

"I-I don't know." She looked down at the satchel she clutched on her lap. She'd brought it along because she hadn't had time to drop it off in her office. Her dry mouth mocked her. "Really, I don't."

"Have you known him very long?"

"No." Her cheeks flamed like they had back at the hospital when Jonah asked her the same thing. Hoping Mitch wouldn't notice, she aimed her gaze out the window.

He paused a moment, and then said, "C.J. Bowman let it slip that Blaylock told him you're the witness on the surveillance tape in the Woodward case. Claims you failed to identify yourself to the nine-one-one operator, and the sheriff had to hunt you down."

"He found me by accident." She gnawed her lip.
Because of my stupidity. I never should've gone back to the Kitty Kat Klub to look for that damned earring.

The detective remained silent for a moment. "Why didn't you come forward?"

"I'd rather not say." Keegan swallowed, hard.
I didn't want to incriminate myself.

He glanced at her again then, and even though she wasn't facing him, the heat of his gaze seared her. "Were you hoping he wouldn't make it? Is that why you came to the hospital?"

"What?" She spun to glare at him, the shock of his words like a glass of cold water tossed in her face. "No, of course not. I would never--"

"Then why?"

Not wanting to tell him the truth, she turned away and pressed her lips together.

He blew out a weary sigh. "Keegan--"