Nothing To Lose: A Grey Justice Novel (3 page)

Nick’s car had slid almost sideways into the parking lot, while the words “it’s a mistake, it’s a mistake” drummed like a mantra in his mind. The identification was wrong. It was someone who looked like Thomas.
 

He’d jumped out of the car and shoved open the store door, barely slowing to flash his badge. Uniformed and plainclothes cops had hovered around, their faces wearing the same bleak look of hopelessness.

“Back here, Gallagher,” a voice called out.

Nick ran to the sound and then skidded to a stop. Thomas lay on his back, the front of his shirt covered in blood. His eyes were closed, and two EMTs were working on him.

“Dammit…no,” Nick whispered.

Amazingly, Thomas must have heard him. His eyes flickered open, and he muttered a faint, “Nick…need to talk…Nick.”

“We need to get him to a hospital,” one of the EMTs stated.

The other EMT scooted out of the way. “Sit here. I’ll get the transfer ready.”

Nick knelt beside his best friend and could literally feel his own heart breaking. They’d known each other since college—cheerful, charming Thomas and angry, sarcastic Nick. Their friendship shouldn’t have worked, but somehow it had. He gave Thomas all the credit. The man had tenaciously pursued him as a friend. For which Nick would be forever grateful.

Thomas’s eyes glittered with a strange, intense light. Pain? Fear? Somehow, Nick got the idea there was another reason

“Need you…do me a favor,” Thomas whispered.

“Anything. Name it.”

“Take care of Kennedy for me. She’s going to take it hard.” He swallowed and added, “And our little girl. Please…take care of her.”

His eyes stinging, Nick said, “I promise, Thomas. I’ll take care of both of them.”

“You’re a good man.” A small smile lifted his mouth. “Despite what your ex-girlfriends say.”

Nick forced a laugh. “Always joking.”

His eyes opened wider, and Thomas said softly, “Tell Kennedy…” He drew in a rattling breath. “Tell her…best…thing…ever happened to me. Love her...” His eyes closed, and then he opened them even wider. Grabbing Nick’s arm in a surprisingly strong grip, he rasped, “Don’t let them hurt—”
 

The hand on Nick’s arm went slack, and Thomas gave a final gasp.
 

“Thomas!” Nick shouted.

“Back away.”

Nick jumped out of the way and watched as the two EMTs worked frantically. When one of them said, “It’s no use,” Nick yelled, “What do you mean it’s no use? Do something. He’s a healthy man. He’s got a wife…a kid on the way. Do something!”

“I’m sorry…he’s gone.”

Nick looked blankly over at Lewis Grimes. “What happened?”

Grief filled his eyes as he muttered, “Robbery. Thomas tried to stop it.” He gestured to a black body bag. “At least he got the little bastard.”

The whistle of the kettle drew Nick back to the present. Feeling like he’d aged a hundred years in the last hour, Nick prepared the tea and headed to the living room. Kennedy sat on the sofa, staring into space. Julie was talking softly to her, but he doubted any of the words penetrated.
 

He’d seen this reaction dozens of times. Had been there himself. First, there was the denial. The push back against a truth so horrific, your mind refused to acknowledge its existence. Then came the inevitable numbing shock. That was actually a welcoming place. Everything went on shutdown. You didn’t think about the agony ripping at your heart. There was no knowledge of reality. You didn’t think, period. You breathed in and out. You swallowed, occasionally nodded at the soft murmurings around you, even though you didn’t comprehend the words. You just existed.

Nick had been eighteen years old when he had experienced that pain firsthand. His mother had been driving home from work, and some drugged-out bastard had decided to do a little target practice. Eight people had been shot. His mother had been one of three who’d died.

He had been home, cooking dinner, when the doorbell rang. Unaware that his life was about to be completely changed, he’d casually opened the door and faced two policemen. He still remembered their words, their solemn expressions…the sympathy in their eyes. He remembered the bellowing cries of their next-door neighbor, his mother’s best friend. He even remembered the dog across the street that barked incessantly at all the cars and people who’d showed up a few minutes later. Those kinds of details—innocuous and unimportant—were ingrained in his memory.

Years later, even when the pain had dimmed, Nick knew Kennedy would remember these odd, unimportant moments, too. They lingered like small dark clouds. Not necessarily painful but just little reminders of life in all its messed-up glory.
 

He held the hot tea in front of Kennedy, wrapping both of her hands around the mug until she had a good grip. Assured she did, he dropped into a chair across from her and watched her carefully. Soon, the shock would wear off, and the truth would hit her once more. Only this time the pain would be harder to bear, because denial was no longer something to fall back on.
 

An ache developed in his chest as he watched her struggle to hold it together. He’d been a homicide detective for two years now, delivered news of a loved one’s death to countless families. Though he’d always felt a measure of sympathy for them, he had always been able to hold himself apart. But there was no way in hell to separate himself from this tragedy. His best friend was gone.

Thomas had asked him to take care of Kennedy, and though it was something he would have done in the first place, the vow he’d made held extra weight. Nick would do whatever it took…give her whatever she needed, no matter what. From now on, Kennedy and her baby were his responsibilities. Whatever anyone said about him, no one could dispute that he took care of his own. And that’s what Kennedy was now.
His
.

Chapter Three

“Okay, let’s go over it one more time.”

“I don’t know what more I can tell you, Detective Gallagher. I mean…it happened so fast.” The grocery store owner, Mike Bailey, looked as ravaged as if he’d been shot himself. Since the poor guy had seen two people die in front of him only hours ago, that was understandable.
 

“Just take your time, Mr. Bailey.”

“One minute, that nice Mr. O’Connell…I mean, Detective O’Connell, was shopping for mangoes and the next thing I knew, I had a gun stuck in my face.”

“And what did the gunman say to you?”

“He said, ‘Give me all the money from the cash drawer.’” Bailey shook his head. “I’ve been held up before, so I thought about going for my gun. But then I remembered that Mr. O’Connell was a policeman. I figured he’d know what to do.”

Nick had seen the video of the robbery. The grocer’s words went along with what the footage showed. Miguel Ruiz, the punk-kid gunman, had shoved a .22-caliber pistol into the storeowner’s face. The video hadn’t picked up the audio, so Nick had to rely on Mr. Bailey’s memory.

“What happened after he demanded the money?”

“I opened the drawer and was pulling the money out when Detective O’Connell came around from the back and told the kid to drop his gun.”

“And then what?”

“He turned around and shot Mr. O’Connell.” Tears flooded the old man’s eyes. “He was such a nice man.”

Nick shoved aside the emotion. He knew he shouldn’t be investigating Thomas’s murder. Other detectives were on the case. Personal involvement always blurred judgment. Didn’t matter. He had to do something.
 

Thomas’s funeral was tomorrow. Nick had been granted a couple of days’ leave but hadn’t been able to do anything but think about Thomas. He’d talked to the detectives on the case. They had the case virtually wrapped up already. A robbery gone bad. A man shot down in his prime. The loss of a good cop. End of story.
 

Nick turned and stared at the spot where Thomas had breathed his last breath. And on his last breath, he’d said something that haunted Nick.
Don’t let them hurt—
 

Hurt who? Who had he been talking about? Commonsense told him Thomas’s pain-dulled mind had been focusing on Kennedy and their baby. That his words had meant something about not letting them hurt because of his death. That made sense. So why the hell did his gut tell him something else?

His focus returned to the store owner. “And you’re sure it was the kid who shot first?”
 

“Oh yes, it was definitely the kid. Mr. O’Connell told him to put the gun down. That he didn’t have to do this...that we all have choices.”
 

“Choices? That seems like an odd thing for Thomas to say.”
 

Mr. Bailey nodded his head. “That’s because the kid said he didn’t have any.”
 

Adrenaline rushed through Nick. Wanting to question the man without alarming him or putting him on the defensive, Nick said casually, “That’s interesting. Him saying he didn’t have a choice. Wonder why he said that.”
 

“I don’t know. It was the strangest thing. He told Mr. O’Connell that he was sorry, but he didn’t have a choice.”
 

“So he apologized to him?”
 

“Yes. I told the other detectives that. They said it must’ve been because the kid was poor and felt he didn’t have a choice but to rob the store for money.”
 

Again, commonsense told Nick that was a possibility. Desperation made people do stupid things.
 

“What happened after the kid said he didn’t have a choice?”
 

“That’s when Mr. O’Connell told him that we all have choices. Told him again to put the gun down.”

“And then?”
 

“The kid said, ‘I’m sorry,’ and pulled the trigger. It must’ve been only a half second later that Mr. O’Connell pulled his trigger, ’cause he and the kid went down almost at the same time.”

That had shown on the video…the kid and Thomas fell at the same time. “But you’re absolutely sure the kid fired first?”
 

“Absolutely. I had my eyes focused on the gun in his hand. I saw him squeeze the trigger.”
 

Nick thanked the grocery store owner, took one last look around, and then walked out the door. He thought about going to Kennedy just to make sure she was okay but forced himself to turn in the other direction. Julie was with her, as were her other friends. He would just be in the way. This was the only productive thing he knew he could do.
 

He drove aimlessly, the kid’s words of apology spinning around in his head. The detectives on the case had a point. The kid might’ve felt desperate for money, and saying he didn’t have a choice could mean exactly that. So why were Nick’s instincts saying something else? Was he nitpicking just to occupy himself? No matter what he did, Thomas would still be dead.
 

Seeing a break in traffic, Nick made a U-turn. No, there was something there. He had trusted his instincts way too long to ignore them now. Miguel Ruiz’s parents had to know what was going on in their son’s mind. He had to talk to them. He couldn’t let go until he knew for sure.

Kennedy lay on the bed, still in her black dress. She’d managed to slip out of her heels, but that was it.
 

Night was falling, and as dusk settled around the empty bedroom, her thoughts were filled with Thomas. How they met, the first time he smiled at her, their first kiss. His brilliant smile when she agreed to marry him, the happy tears he shed when she told him she was pregnant.
 

Today she had said goodbye to him for the last time. In a way, the moment had been surreal. She had stood over his coffin and gazed down at the man she loved more than life. He had looked like her Thomas but not. The expression on his face had been much too bland and peaceful. She was used to Thomas’s light blue eyes twinkling with laughter, his quick smile and animated features. It had been close to four in the afternoon and his beard should already have been showing. Usually, by the time he made it home at night, he needed a shave. His beard had stopped growing. She had touched his face…his skin had felt cold and smooth. Not like her Thomas at all.
 

Thomas’s mother and sisters had been standing beside her. When Kennedy had asked for a few minutes alone with him, his mother had thrown her the same look she’d been giving her for the last two days—one of accusation.

Kennedy couldn’t deny the blame was well deserved. When she had asked for the mangoes, she hadn’t known that Thomas would have to go across town to get them. Stupid not to have thought about that before she had asked. And Thomas, being Thomas, hadn’t complained. He had put her needs first—just as he had from the moment she met him.

If he hadn’t been in that store, for her, Thomas would still have been alive. God, if only she could go back and relive that one moment. She would have given anything if that had been possible.
 

Thomas’s family had left right after the funeral. His mother lived in Nebraska, and his four sisters were scattered across the country. They had barely taken the time to say goodbye before they’d marched out the door with their silent condemnation. Thomas had been the baby of their family and the only male. Kennedy had never felt close to any of her in-laws, and now that Thomas was gone, she didn’t see things improving.