Killer Closet Case: a Danger Cove B&B Mystery (Danger Cove Mysteries Book 6) (18 page)

"Put the gun down," Bradley barked from in front of the window.

Nick, or little Danny Durham, or whoever the heck he really was, whipped around toward him, the gun now trained on my brother. "You didn't think this through, did you?"

I watched as Cris worked at the loose tape and quietly undid her arms and legs. She rested them back in place but cast a quizzical glance my way, obviously not sure what her next move was supposed to be.

Nodding my head toward the axe in the corner, I mouthed the words
one
and
two
, but before I could get to
three
, the back door flew open. Relief flooded out the fear as I saw Mal's form in the doorway. He quickly made a grab for Nick's gun.

Nick cradled the pistol with both hands, his eyes narrowing on Mal. "I might as well start with the big guy and work my way down." His finger slid inside the trigger guard just as Bradley raised an arm and snaked it around Nick's neck. Bradley pulled him backward as the shot spat out that was aimed at Mal, lodging in the doorframe just next to him instead.

Nick struggled against my brother's grip, dragging him around a bit before Bradley finally got control and spun him around. He punched Nick in the face with one hand and grabbed at the gun with the other. They wrestled around as Mal sidestepped alongside them, obviously reluctant to join in as long as the gun was facing my brother. Finally, Bradley got the barrel pointed into the air. As two shots spat into the ceiling, Mal grabbed the axe and clocked Nick in the back of the head with the blunt end.

Cris called out "Timber!" as Nick crumpled into a pile of pink gingham and khaki on the garage floor.

Bradley kicked the gun into the corner and darted to Cris's side.

Sirens screamed in the distance, melting away the panic. I was pretty sure I had enough witnesses this time to prove my case against Nick and no red paint anywhere to be found.

Mal flipped on the light, scanning the garage. When we made eye contact, he darted to my side. Brushing my bangs away from my face, he smiled down at me. "I knew you wouldn't stay home."

"You got here quickly. I'm impressed."

He laughed. "Aye, I only made it about halfway home before turning around. I had a feeling. When I got that text, I knew my gut was right."

"Should've gone for the pinky promise," I huffed, attempting to look serious. That didn't last long. Smiling up at him, I gushed, "I'm so glad you came back."

His smile turned into a scowl.

Stammering, I pleaded, "Cris was here. I knew she was. I had to come find her."

He shook his head as he plucked at the tape on my wrists. "That's not an issue right now. We'll discuss that later. That's a nasty bruise on your cheek."

"Yeah, I've got a matching nasty headache." I tried to pull my hand to my face, but they were still stuck.

"If I had my work knife, you'd be free already. This guy taped you down good. You must have really hacked off the wanker."

I looked away from his knowing gaze. "Maybe." I couldn't help but wonder what he'd have done after I really made him mad if Mal and my brother hadn't shown up.

The sirens came to a stop in front of the garage. Within seconds, an officer announced, "Nick Lafollette, come out with your hands up!"

"Not gonna happen," I bellowed without thinking.

"We have the garage surrounded," another cop barked.

As I opened my mouth to clear up my misleading statement, Mal put a finger to my lips.

"Let me." He stood and yelled, "Nick is unconscious. He's not a threat."

Bradley unlocked and lifted the garage door, and two men, Officer Stallone and Officer Faria, stood there, guns poised at the ready.

Officer Stallone holstered his gun, walked over to Nick's huddled form, and crouched next to him. Placing a finger to his neck, he announced, "He's still alive." He swung a smug look my way. "Looks like it wasn't red paint this time, after all, huh?"

I couldn't raise my hand due to it still being taped down and all, but that didn't stop me from flipping him off. I just didn't get the satisfaction of him knowing it.

I sat in the waiting area at the police station with Bradley later that evening. Mal had graciously offered to stick around the crime scene to answer questions. "What's taking so long?" I stood up and started pacing the small floor space of the lobby.

"They have to verify who Nick, or Danny, or whoever this guy really is. I mean, I know you're telling the truth about him having an alter ego, but they have to prove it." Bradley tried to grab my arm and pull me to a stop, but I shirked from his grip. His gaze followed me as I again circled the confined space while he continued, "I'm sure that Cris is giving them every last detail about her time held in his crawl space. That alone will keep him locked up for now."

I hitched my chin high with stubborn pride, pausing in front of him. "That's all good, great, and wonderful, but I want our parents released from this nightmare, now."

"They will be, as soon as…"

I shoved a hand in his face, not wanting to hear any more of his legal speak and how we had to wait for evidence, just cause, or any other crap. "Now. I want them home now." I crossed my arms over my chest. "Besides, I did all the hard work for them, finding Cristal and everything."

"Which was reckless and dangerous." He stood up, towering in front of me, and grabbed my shoulders. "But from the sounds of it, necessary. I'll be forever grateful." He wrapped me into a big bear hug. "I just wish you'd have at least called me before going off half-cocked. It's a good thing you're so damned predictable and I went looking for you."

I backed out of his embrace and narrowed my gaze on his. "Had I called you, would you have joined me or stopped me? And on top of that, how would that have looked to your firm?"

He huffed out a long sigh of defeat, looking around the room. "Touché."

"Ha. If we weren't in the police station, I'd so do the I-told-you-so dance." I wiggled around in a less flashy version just for fun.

"Thank God for public places, then." He pulled me to a stop and ran a finger over the scrapes and bruise at my cheek. "Are you sure this doesn't need to be looked at?"

I pulled away from him. "A paramedic looked at it back at the scene. I'm fine. I just need a glass of wine and a good night's sleep."

Detective Marshall cleared his throat from the hall, grabbing our attention. "Wine isn't recommended, in case there's a concussion. The good night's sleep is a must, however."

I shifted to face him. "Can we take our parents home now?"

He patted the folder in his hands. "We can't get Nick to confess to anything. We've had several officers trying to wear him down."

"Please don't tell me you're letting him go." I cringed, backing away.

"Oh, heavens no. We have enough to keep him indefinitely and charge him with the attempted murder of you and your friends. We just need him to give up something for us to go on about the bodies."

Bradley stepped up next to us. "What about his fingerprints. Surely those prove that he's not who he says he is."

"Well," the detective breathed. "Those came back as Nick Lafollette, just like he said he was."

"But Mom said—" I bellowed but was cut off.

The detective raised a hand between us. "We have your mother's statement about his high school aspirations as a Navy SEAL and sniper, which would explain a lot if he really is Danny Durham. We've requested information on him through our government channels. Unfortunately, we probably won't hear anything back until Monday, and that's if they're feeling generous." He rolled his eyes but quickly returned to the normal hardnosed expression he usually sported.

My shoulders slumped, and I stared down at the black flats I'd slipped on earlier to complete my cat-burglar ensemble. "Can we at least see our mom and dad before we leave?"

"I'll see what I can do." He turned and disappeared down the hall.

I grabbed my phone and the blanket I'd been given by the paramedics, and we waited at the entrance for the detective to return. Mom and Dad appeared at the end, smiling and waving with their cuffed hands as they made their way toward us. Detective Marshall opened the door to the interrogation room we'd been assigned just as the other opened next door, Nick/Danny shuffling out of it into the hall, shackled as well. He glared at me, lunging just enough to make me flinch and bring a smile to his makeup-melted face, complete with raccoon eyes from his smeared mascara. He could pull off a heck of a morning-after walk of shame. But when his gaze met Mom's, his whole demeanor morphed from big badass to heartsick teenager.

"Janet," he called, his voice wavering as he tugged against the grip of the officer escorting him. Without his perfectly caked-on makeup and flamboyant attitude, he looked a lot different, a lot more like the kid from the graduation picture.

Mom walked up to him, shaking her head, tears welling in her eyes. "Danny? It really is you. Why?"

He glanced around from person to person, his chest heaving in panicked gasps. He leaned as close to her as they would allow and whispered, "It wasn't supposed to be like this. You weren't supposed to be arrested." He looked over my mother's head and cast an evil, narrowed glare at my father. "He's kept us apart for too long. We were supposed to be together." His face softened as he looked back at Mom. "I got into the SEALs and became their best sniper, just like I told you I would." His chest puffed with pride, and his tone suggested he'd slipped back in time to high school again. "Then the FBI picked me up for covert operations, off the books, you know." He stood up straight and had a crazy look twinkling in his eye, as though my mother should be majorly impressed that he was
covertly
killing people.

Mom just stared at him. She tried to keep a smile on her face, but I could see the horror lurking in her eyes.

He sighed. "I was so happy to see you at the café in Grover Beach." Any niceness he'd had turned to hate, flushing his face bright red. "Then I found out you'd married
him
."

For a brief moment, I wondered why they were letting him ramble on. But just behind Nick, or Danny, was an officer, frantically writing down everything being said.

Nick/Danny stomped his foot like a spoiled two-year-old. "I told you to wait for me. I told you I'd come back. Why did you break my heart and make me do this?"

Mom let out a resigned sigh. "Do what, Danny? What did I make you do by marrying my John?"

He stood taller, lilting out a maniacal laugh. "I thought it was a pure coincidence that my first covert contract kill was in the same town you were living in. I tried to dump all of the thoughts of you, of us, right along with that body and move on. Honestly, I tried."

Mom swallowed hard, her voice hoarse as she eked out, "How did you find us now?"

He shook his head, looking at her like she was the crazy one. "Sometimes true love needs a little nudge, right? I had the ability to find out where you were in our computer system, so I asked for the Pacific Northwest job and rented the house next to you. I dyed my hair, wore makeup, all of this, just for you." He ran his hands down his sides with just a bit of the old Nick flourish. "Until I could figure out how to get you back." He snorted. "When that contractor guy wouldn't leave you alone, I had to get rid of him. I put him in your wall, knowing I could use the body later since most of the town saw your husband make an ass of himself, trying to get the guy to leave you alone. This bought me some time to work up a fail-proof plan to frame John, but when Summer Breeze's boy toy found it, I thought it was fate yet again." His face fell somber. "You weren't supposed to be tied to any of them though. I made sure to toss the other body with John's prints on the knife—the one he'd been using while helping your contractor— so they'd know it wasn't you. Then next year at our thirtieth high school reunion, after you'd had time to come to terms with
John
never coming back, I was going to make you forget all about him while he rotted away in prison." Danny spat at my father and lunged toward him. The officer yanked him back, holding him at bay. "You would have fallen in love with me." His head bobbed, eyes rounded and crazy. "Just like it was always supposed to be."

Busted.

*   *   *

While mindlessly trolling the internet with one hand, I fluffed my drying hair with the other. It was amazing how a good night's sleep and a long hot shower could make a person's outlook on life so much brighter. And there was the whole thing of washing away the mental crap from the night before right along with the dirt, but that might need a little wine later.

I heard car tires crunching the gravel alongside the house, stopping near the back door. Curiosity got the best of me, and I made my way through the back living room and out the door.

There stood my parents next to a police car, shaking Detective Marshall's hand. I couldn't contain my excitement and flew down the stairs, tossing myself into their open embraces. The detective smiled and gave me a little salute as he got back into his car and left.

Finally, I backed away enough to look them in the eyes. "I thought we had to wait until the government got back on whatever-his-name-is's prints?"

Mom tucked my damp hair behind my ears. "His confession to me last night spurred someone into action, apparently. Two men in dark suits and even darker sunglasses were there this morning to pick him up."

Dad sighed, smiling out at the ocean. "They made us sign a waiver promising to keep silent about all of this, and were told no government agencies were involved, but it meant we got out of that hellhole today. Worth it."

Tears welled in my eyes as I stepped back to look at them in all of their '80's clothed glory and soak it all in. "I'm so glad you're home." Then Dad smacked Mom on the butt and made all sorts of inappropriate grunting noises, making me second-guess my previous statement.

He dropped his chin and stared at her through his lashes. "I've wanted to do that for days now."

Mom cast him a smoldering look. "Know what I've been wanting to do?"

Dad growled. Not the little grumbly noise but a flat-out giant bear rumble. "But the RV is still impounded."

Tugging him along behind her across the drive, Mom purred, "Last time I checked, we still owned this place, so the garage apartment is ours."

As they were trotting up the steps, pausing to make out periodically on their way up to the apartment, I bellowed, "Please move my clothes off the bed first. Or burn them afterward. Whichever."

They stumbled through the door, wrapped in a groping embrace that I was fairly certain would haunt my dreams as well as my waking moments for life. I plopped onto the side steps that led up onto the porch, and dropped my head against the railing. Several times. Had I not still had a raging headache from Nick, Danny Durham, or Little Double D-Cup, whoever he really was, I would've done it a little harder in hopes of knocking that image of my parents loose.

"That seems a little counterproductive," Mal said from behind me.

I bounced to my feet and twirled around to face him, standing right behind me at the top of the stairs.

His hands were tucked deeply in his pockets, a knowing smile lighting his face. "At least you know they love each other."

I nodded as I climbed the small staircase to stand next to him. "Anyone who has known them longer than ten minutes probably has that pegged." I waved a hand between us and changed the subject. "Thanks again for saving me last night. Did you get everything straightened out with Kelsey?"

"Yeah, she's behind bars. I mentioned to them that she might need psychiatric help."

"Might? That's like saying the sun
might
be hot." I shook my head. "Sorry, my cynicism isn't helping anyone. That's very noble of you. Hopefully, since you mentioned it, she'll get the help she needs."

He scoffed and shook his head. "I always mention it, but her daddy usually shows up and posts bail, whisking her back to their house in Beverly Hills. Hopefully, the police will have her in a facility before he can ride to her rescue this time."

I nodded. "Hopefully."

He leaned in and ran his thumb lightly across my bruised cheek. I couldn't feel anything on my face due to the rush of warmth pooling much farther south from his touch. His voice was gruff, his accent deep. "Are you feeling any better?"

All I could focus on was his accent, and it reminded me of the phrase he'd muttered before all hell broke loose the night before. "What was it you said to me when you left last night? You promised to translate it for me."

"I thought maybe you'd forgotten. It's Gaelic for…" He folded his arms over his chest and huffed. "Wait a minute. You didn't stay put like I told you to."

"Well," I drew out. "There's your problem, right there. You
told
me. Had you
asked
, we probably wouldn't be having this conversation right now."

A single brow arched high on his forehead. "I rather doubt that. You would have gone anyway. You are definitely a spitfire."

Bradley walked past us, muttering, "Truer words have never been spoken. You have no idea, my man." He patted Mal on the back and walked around to the front porch, where Cris was waiting on the swing, looking a million times better than she had the night before.