Rapid Fire (27 page)

Cassie’s
eyes darkened. “What did you do to her? Where is she?”

“She’s at
home,” he said, answering the safer of the two questions. When she took a step
closer to him, fists lifted as though she was considering slugging him one, he
grimaced. “Look, what’s between Maya and me isn’t—”

“Don’t
even try it,” she growled. “Maya may come off as totally settled and serene,
but she’s the softest one of the three of us by far. She wounds easily. She
might bury the hurt deep, but it’s there.”

Thorne
winced. “I know. I know about all of it. Her ex. The accident. All of it.” When
Cassie’s eyes narrowed consideringly, he shook his head. “It wouldn’t work
between us. Trust me, I’m doing her a favor.”

Cassie
snorted. “No, you’re not. You’re doing yourself a favor. Things got too intense
and you’re running.”

Her words
resonated too deeply. He rose and scowled down at her. “Like hell I am! You
have no idea what I would give to be with her.”

“Clearly
not enough.” Cassie waited a beat while the argument sank in and a strange
feeling rose within him. When he didn’t defend himself—wasn’t sure how
anymore—she spun on her heel. “Fine. Do whatever you want. But be warned that
I’m going to have a few things to say to the chief if he’s thinking about
taking you on full-time.”

“Don’t
worry,” Thorne said, “I don’t want the job.”

And for
the first time in the conversation, his words rang with absolute conviction. He
thought about standing and squaring off against Maya’s friend, or maybe pacing
off the restless, unhappy energy that surged through him. But in a sudden bout
of self-clarity brought on by his and Maya’s fight, he realized that the anger
and the pacing was another barrier, another defense mechanism. She’d been right
about that, but she wasn’t right about the flashes. She couldn’t possibly be.

Because
if she was right, he wasn’t crazy.

He was
selfish and blind.

He
frowned at Cassie. “Look, you don’t want me here and I don’t want to be here
anymore. So either leave and let me get back to work, or sit down with me and
let’s figure this thing out. There’s something…” He trailed off and tapped his
computer mouse, bringing the screen back to life so the timeline shone in
plain, boldface type. “There’s something here. I just can’t figure out what.”

After a
long, searching pause, Cassie moved around the desk to join him. But she didn’t
crouch down to stare at the screen. She stared at him. “Do you love her?”

Startled
into honesty, Thorne blurted, “I’m crazy about her.”

Cassie
sneered in contempt. “More evasions. That’s not what I asked. Do you love her?”

Thorne
was saved from answering when the phone on her hip beeped and Cassie jolted.
She slapped open the unit and scowled. “I hate this phone. How could I have a
message when the damn thing never rang?”

“Something
to do with cells and roaming, I think,” Thorne answered, blunting the unease of
her last question by shuffling through the notes on the desk.

He
uncovered one in Maya’s handwriting.

Too many
lines of evidence point toward a current or former Bear Claw cop. Is this
intentional? Is the PD the ultimate target?

It wasn’t
a novel idea or question, but the words echoed at a new level within him as he
stared at the computerized timeline.

Hot damn.
She was right.

The PD
had been the target all along.

He
pointed to the screen, to the data that had been bothering his subconscious all
along, and turned to Cassie.

She had
the phone pressed to her ear. She’d gone pale.

“What’s
wrong?” he said quickly, heart jamming into his throat when he saw the answer
in her eyes. He lurched to his feet with a quick motion that sent her stumbling
back. “Damn it, I told her to stay the hell put!”

Cassie
flipped the phone shut and headed for the door. “It’s not Maya. It’s personal.
It’s—” She broke off and cursed, pausing just inside the door. “To hell with
it. You may want to call it crazy, but I know love when I see it.” She blew out
a breath and said in a low voice, “That was Maya. She’s headed out to the
Henkes’s house on the chief’s orders. She didn’t want me to tell you. Said it
was complicated.”

“Not
anymore, it isn’t.” Thorne expected anger and felt only hollow worry, only a
big, gaping pit where his heart used to be. “It’s all too simple. Come on,
let’s go.”

“Wait.”
Cassie held up a hand. “I need to find Alissa and Tucker. We’ll need backup.”

Thorne
nodded, but the moment she was gone, he checked his weapon, grabbed his coat
and headed for his car.

To hell
with backup. If he was right, there wasn’t time for backup.

There
might not even be enough time for him to get there.

“HELLO?
ILONA? KIERNAN? It’s Officer Cooper.” Maya rang the bell again, then knocked on
the solid oak door that fronted the Henkes home. The pillared gates had glided
open as though someone inside had been watching for her arrival, but there
seemed to be nobody to answer the door. After a solid five minutes of ringing
and knocking, Maya tried the handle.

It gave
beneath her fingers and the door swung inwards, gliding on well-oiled hinges.

She
hovered at the threshold, her need to hear what Kiernan had told his mother
warring with caution. The echoing emptiness of the foyer smacked of a setup.

What if
this was an ambush? If Henkes was the Mastermind, then there was no telling
what awaited her inside the house. She fingered the weapon at the small of her
back, untucked her shirt and pulled it down to cover the gun butt.

“Wait for
backup,” she whispered to herself, senses alert for the slightest hint of sound
or motion from within the house. “The chief is sending someone. They’ll be here
any minute.”

Months
earlier, when she’d been officially on the job, there wouldn’t have been any
question. She would have waited. But her perceptions had shifted in the past
few months. Hell, in the past week.

“Officer
Cooper?” a voice called from inside the house. “We’re in the sitting room.”

It
sounded like Ilona, sending a wash of relief through Maya, who called, “I’ll be
right there.”

But as
she stepped through the door into the opulent foyer, she pulled her weapon and
held it at her side, pointed toward the ground. The scene didn’t feel quite
right. Best-case scenario, she’d scare the dickens out of Ilona and her son
with the gun.

Worst-case
scenario, she’d need to use it.

She eased
across the highly polished marble, her rubber-soled shoes barely making a sound
as she crossed the foyer and headed toward the sitting room.

Seeing
nothing amiss, Maya relaxed her guard and strode toward the source of the
voice. “Didn’t you hear me ring the bell? I—”

She
rounded the corner and stopped dead at the sight that confronted her. Ilona
Henkes and her son were sprawled unconscious on a Victorian-era couch.
Unconscious. Maybe dead. Wet crimson was splashed across the woman’s pink silk
blouse, and a man was sprawled beneath a nearby upholstered chair. His legs
stuck out at odd angles beneath expensive-looking tan slacks, and he wore one
loafer, which was barely scuffed on the bottom.

Though
his head was turned away, Maya’s gut told her it was Wexton Henkes.

It’s a
setup—get out! Her instincts screamed at her, going into overdrive on a kick of
adrenaline and fear. She spun to run, to flee, to get the hell to her car and
call in the cavalry. She skidded to a halt when she saw a man’s bulk filling
the doorway.

“Chief!”
she said, nearly squeaking in relief. “Thank God you’re—”

Then she
saw the gun in his hand and the look of homicidal rage on his face.

And knew
she’d made a terrible mistake.

Perhaps a
fatal one.

THORNE
WAS DOING NEARLY SEVENTY when he turned into the Henkes’s driveway. He’d
figured on ramming the gates, but didn’t need to because they hung open, as
though inviting him in.

Bad sign.

He saw
Maya’s car, saw no signs of violence nearby, but that didn’t mean anything. If
the Mastermind had planned an ambush, he’d have wanted her inside, so the truth
would remain concealed until he decided to reveal himself.

As he
slapped the transmission into Park and vaulted from the Interceptor, Thorne
acknowledged that the bastard had been one step ahead of the Bear Claw PD all
along.

But not
this time.

He hoped.

Knowing
his arrival had probably been noted, or at least anticipated, Thorne didn’t
bother with stealth. He marched up the carved granite steps and tried the door.
Locked. Knowing the Mastermind would have left it open if he’d meant to make it
easy, Thorne didn’t bother knocking or ringing the bell. He slipped the pick
set out of his inner pocket and went to work on the door, hands far steadier
than his heart, which beat an irregular, anxious rhythm, or his brain, which
teemed with images of blood and death and a sitting room furnished with
expensive antiques.

At the
realization, his fingers fumbled on the picks.

He
recognized the scene now, and the players. There was nothing left now to do but
go through the motions—or rather for the first time since he’d escaped from
Mason Falk’s captivity, refuse to go through the motions.

This
time, he would make his own future. Maya’s life depended on it. His love
depended on it.

Love.
Thorne thought the word without realizing it, then felt the punch of
aftershock. He said it aloud. “Love. I love Maya.”

Lightning
didn’t strike him dead. The world didn’t end.

Instead,
he felt a click of rightness and a stab of bone-deep fear. She wasn’t Tabitha,
didn’t want to exploit a piece of him for her own gain. She wasn’t the woman
he’d known back at the academy, either. She was stronger and softer at the same
time. Determined and dependable. And sexy. So damned sexy it made his bones
ache.

Yes, he
acknowledged, Cassie was right. He loved Maya. But he hadn’t told her so.
Worse, he’d left her unprotected, knowing there was no way in hell she was
going to follow orders and stay in the condo. Their final parting words had
been angry, and for his part dishonest.

He hadn’t
left her to protect her. He’d done it to protect himself.

And now
it might be too late to apologize, too late for them.

“Hell,
no,” he said, refusing to consider the thought. “He hasn’t won yet. He’s not
going to win. I swear it.”

When the
lock balked, he touched the knob again on the faint hope that it had come
undone. He picked up a flash of dark eyes and dark hair, of a petite woman
passing through the same portal minutes—or longer—before. He caught a wash of
determination and heartache. He applauded her for the first and felt shame for
the second. He’d make it up to her, he promised. He’d spend the rest of his
life making it up to her.